Yuletide Baby & A Husband for Christmas
Autor:in
Deb Kastner
Gelesen
18,7K
Kapitel
30
Chapter One
Silent night. Holy night.
Pastor Shawn O’Riley pulled in a deep breath, savoring the rich combination of scents. Poinsettias and evergreens.
Christmas.
He relished the deep peace of the now-empty chapel and was grateful for the blessed evening, although he was equally glad it was finished. Christmas Eve for a pastor could be rather stressful, especially for a simple cowboy preacher who worked on the land for a living and pastored the little church part-time. He’d mended as many literal fences for the neighbors as he had spiritual ones, but he loved every second of it—all of it. Especially, on a night like tonight.
Not many knew of all the behind-the-scenes effort needed to pull the more complicated church services together. The children’s nativity pageant had gone off without a hitch—give or take a few easily distracted preschool-aged angels and a donkey who couldn’t stand still long enough to recite his single line. The parents had loved it and the children had enjoyed performing, and that was all that really mattered to Shawn.
Following that had been the Christmas Eve midnight service, which was one of his favorites, starting with beloved carols and ending in the tranquility of candlelight.
All is calm. All is bright.
And it was. The atmosphere couldn’t be more silent and serene. So why did he have a niggling deep in his gut that something was wrong?
He scoffed softly and shook his head. It had been a long week, between preparing some of his animals for the big stock sale coming just after the first of the year and organizing the Christmas Eve festivities. He was overtired, it was as simple as that. There wasn’t any deeper significance to whatever unease he was feeling. If he had any sense he’d stop standing here straining for sounds that didn’t exist and head back to his ranch so he could get himself to bed where he belonged. Settle in for a long winter’s nap, and all that.
Before heading out, all he had left to do was make sure all the lights were off, the candles blown out and the doors locked, and then he could go home.
Alone. To an empty house.
Was that the real reason he lingered?
It wasn’t the first time he would be spending Christmas Eve on his own, and he was sure that it wouldn’t be his last, but for some reason he was feeling it more than usual. He hadn’t spent Christmas with his family since—Well, he didn’t want to think about that.
He shook his head to unsettle the disturbing sense of melancholy. He wasn’t alone. He might be feeling a little lonely, but the Lord was always with him. God had seen him through many a Christmas past.
With a weary sigh, he flipped all seven switches on the light plate, plunging the vestibule into darkness and leaving only the soft flickering of candles beckoning from the warmth of the sanctuary. He’d forgotten to extinguish them.
Shawn grunted and combed his fingers through the short tips of his reddish-blond hair and ran a hand across the five-o’clock shadow on his jaw. Just as well that he had to head back into the sanctuary to take care of the candles. It would give him a moment to refocus and shake this unexpected despondency, remind himself that feelings weren’t everything. God was always his comfort and consolation, whether Shawn could feel Him or not.
The light beckoned him. He removed his cowboy hat from his head as he passed through the familiar arch that marked the entrance to the sanctuary. Reverently, and with a catch in his throat, he approached the altar.
He’d been given so many blessings. His health. A little spread of land he was proud to call his own. His six-year ministry at a chapel he adored in a town full of folks he loved. He hadn’t been born in Serendipity, and yet the community had welcomed him with open arms as one of their own.
He had so much for which to be grateful. How could he possibly complain when many people were blessed with far less?
As he reached the foot of the altar, he knelt, his eyes dropping from the large wooden cross centered on the wall to the straw-stuffed manger the children had used during the pageant. He grinned as he recalled squalling Baby Jesus, Eli and Mary Bishop’s newborn son. The little nipper had squirmed so hard the entire manger—
Something moved within the straw.
Shawn blinked and rubbed his eyes. What was that?
He must be more exhausted than he’d realized. For a moment there he was positive he’d seen—
There it was again.
From the manger. Just the tiniest quiver within the stalks of hay, as if a whisper of a breeze had passed over it.
Only there was no breeze in the chapel.
A shiver ran up his spine as he bolted to his feet and took an involuntary step backward. The candlelight was no help, casting shadows across the walls and floor. His heart hammering in his throat, Shawn approached the crèche.
When he leaned in to see what had caused the disturbance, his eyes widened and his breath tugged.
A baby.
A real-live newborn infant, loosely wrapped—not in swaddling clothes, but in a tattered Dallas Cowboys snug-wrap blanket. As Shawn watched, the infant’s face scrunched as if it were about to break into a wail, but then just as swiftly its expression relaxed back into the peace of sleep.
Adrenaline surged through Shawn, erasing whatever fatigue and anxiety he’d been combating moments before. His mind went into overdrive with a brand-new kind of worry. He was fearful to move, even to breathe.
What was going on here? This couldn’t be happening. Not in this little church, in a small town in the middle of nowhere, and not on Christmas Eve. He rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, but when he glanced back down at the manger, the baby was still very much present.
Real. Alive. And kicking.
The hair on the back of his neck prickled as his mind raced to take in the facts, what few there were. Where was the baby’s mother? Shawn cast a glance around the sanctuary, but there were no additional movements in the darkness. Somehow, the woman had come and gone without him even knowing she’d ever been.
And she’d left behind the most precious of cargo.
He knew he didn’t have any new or expectant moms in the congregation, other than Mary Bishop. To Shawn’s untrained eye, all newborns looked like Yoda, but he was certain this wasn’t the same little guy who’d played Baby Jesus. He’d watched Eli and Mary pack up their little bundle and exit the church an hour earlier.
Come to think of it, he wasn’t even sure the baby presently lying in the manger was a little guy.
The infant’s eyes popped open, revealing an unfocused smoky blue-gray gaze. Shawn reached out a finger and the infant grasped it, pulling his hand toward its tiny mouth. Despite all the tension he was feeling, Shawn couldn’t help but smile softly as he slid his large palm underneath the baby’s head and tenderly scooped it into his arms. Babies were blessings from God, plain and simple.
Only, in this case, the plain and simple part of it was a little more complicated. He hoped he was doing this “cradling the baby” thing right. He was hardly an expert on the subject. He was supposed to support the baby’s head and neck—that much he remembered from christenings. With this little one, it wasn’t hard to do. The infant was so tiny it almost fit into one of his large palms.
“Shh, shh, shh,” he murmured gently to the whimpering infant. He rocked on the heels of his boots. “It’s okay, little one. I’ve got you. Everything’s going to be okay. I promise.”
He frowned. That wasn’t exactly right. Not that the baby could understand his words, but he was hardly in a position to make a promise like that. There wasn’t one single thing about this situation that was okay.
Where was the mother now? How had she gotten into the church and back out again without anyone noticing her? Had she disappeared for good, or was she lingering around somewhere to make sure her baby was well cared for? Had she picked this chapel for a reason, out of all the places she could have taken the child?
And maybe the most pressing question of all—what was he supposed to do with an abandoned baby on Christmas Eve?
If he wasn’t mistaken, there were safe-haven laws in Texas to deal with the issue of child abandonment, but Shawn didn’t know the exact details. Would a church even be considered an acceptable drop-off point in such a situation? Perhaps allowances could be made, since the nearest hospital was over an hour away? And speaking of hospitals, he should call Delia Bowden, the town doctor, who would no doubt want to check the baby’s health. Also, he would need to call the police immediately, to report what could potentially be considered a crime.
He forced a breath through his lungs. He had people who’d help him through this. That was a good thing. But the question remained—whom should he call first? No matter how he tried to reason around it, he couldn’t get over the fact that whatever motivations had compelled the woman to commit such an act, the distressed mother had chosen to leave her precious baby here, in this church, and not at the police station or firehouse as she might have done.
A myriad of emotions pressed upon him and he struggled to work them out, to untie the knots in his chest. There had to be a reason the baby was here. God didn’t make mistakes, and though it seemed incomprehensible to Shawn, it was abundantly clear to him that he was meant to find this child.
But why?
Threading his fingers through his hair, he murmured a frantic prayer for guidance under his breath. What would the Lord have him do?
Jo Spencer. Owner of Cup O’ Jo Café and second mother to half the town, she had a word of advice to give for any situation under the sun. She’d been a good listening ear and friendly adviser to him in the past.
It was a decision, at least, and a good one, at that. He sighed in relief.
Jo would know what to do in his hour of need. She was the resident expert on everything—and everyone. Shawn was reluctant to wake her at this time of night, but he knew she would want to be part of this. At the very least, she’d help him think through his options, and she’d definitely know who else to call in as reinforcements. She quite literally knew everyone in town. She might even have an idea who the mother was. If there were any women outside the church’s parish who might be pregnant and close to delivery, Jo would know about them.
Shawn’s heart ached for the woman who was desperate enough to leave her infant at a church on Christmas Eve. She must be feeling such a deep sense of anguish. No doubt her circumstances, whatever they were, had been dire.
He shifted and wrinkled his nose as an odd, pungent odor assaulted him.
“Yes, little person,” he said, addressing the baby. “We need to call in the cavalry.”
Along with everything else, Jo Spencer would know how to change a diaper.
He curled the infant into one arm and fished for his cell phone in the pocket of his black slacks. Fortunately, Jo was an active member of the faith community, and her number was on speed dial.
After several rings, a gravelly, sleep-muted male voice answered.
“This’d better be good.” Jo’s husband, Frank, was gruff on the best of occasions, and Shawn highly doubted that being dragged from a dead sleep even remotely qualified for that category.
“So sorry to wake you, Frank, but I’ve got a bit of an emergency here. This is Pastor Shawn, by the way.”
“Yeah, I figured. When Jo’s new-fangled cell phone rang, your picture came up on the screen.”
One corner of Shawn’s mouth rose. He heard a crackle and a thump on the other end of the line.
“Emergency, you said?” Jo didn’t even sound sleepy, though he knew he’d wakened her from the same state that had Frank so grumpy. “What can I do for you, Pastor?”
Shawn released the breath he’d been holding, relief rippling through his muscles as he continued to jiggle his arm to keep the gurgling infant happy.
“I have a baby,” he blurted.
“Oh. I...” It was unusual for Jo to stammer. He’d clearly caught her off guard, and no wonder. “Are congratulations in order?”
“What?” Of all the things he expected Jo to say, that wasn’t it. “No. I mean—It’s not my baby.”
Jo let out a big guffaw. Shawn wondered how anyone could sound so gleeful in the middle of the night.
“Well, young man, you’ll pardon me for sayin’ I’m relieved to hear it. Not that you wouldn’t make a wonderful father, mind.”
“Thank you for that,” he responded, chuckling under his breath. “But I do have a problem. That baby I mentioned—I have it right here. At the church. I think someone abandoned it.” He hated calling the baby an it, but he thought calling Jo was more expedient than taking the time to check to see if it was a boy or a girl.
“Oh, my stars,” Jo exclaimed. “An abandoned baby? Well, why didn’t you say so to begin with?”
Shawn grimaced and the baby startled, wagging his or her little arms in the air and breaking into a weak wail.
“I hear the dear little sweetheart. Is it a boy or a girl?”
Shawn shifted the wiggling bundle to his shoulder and bounced softly on his toes. “I don’t know. I haven’t checked yet. I called you first.”
“And that was exactly the right thing for you to do, my dear. I’ll be over faster than you can say Jack Washington. We’ll figure it out together, you and I. I do believe I’ll also get on the horn with Heather Lewis and see if she can come out and help us.”
“Heather Lewis?”
“She’s a local foster parent. I imagine she’ll be able to give us some perspective on the situation.”
With an inaudible sigh, Shawn crooked the phone against his shoulder so he could pat the infant on the back. Jo had no idea how very much he needed to hear that help was on its way. What he knew about babies was quite literally limited to the christenings he performed. He didn’t have any children of his own, nor did he have nieces or nephews. He’d never actually had to care for a baby before, especially not in the plethora of ways he imagined this little one would need.
Apprehension shot through him like a bolt of electricity, crackling and exploding along every one of his nerve endings. He wasn’t qualified to be in charge of a child. He hadn’t even been successful watching an older kid, much less a newborn. He closed his eyes and saw his younger brother David’s face, red and sweating, his palms pressed against the glass of the car door and his mouth open in a silent scream.
No. Not now.
Pain stabbed through his gut, and he opened his eyes wide, gasping for air.
Please, Lord, let Jo come quickly.
“I can’t tell you what this means to me. Thank you. From the bottom of my heart.” And then some.
“No need to thank me, son. That’s what I’m here for—helpin’ people as the Lord sees fit to use me.” He knew she told the truth. It didn’t matter that it was the middle of the night or Christmas Eve. Jo was happy to be everyone’s go-to woman.
“Hey, Jo?” he asked when the infant’s face once again scrunched, turning from peach to red to an alarming shade of purple.
“Yes, dear?”
“You think you could possibly rustle up a clean diaper while you’re at it?”
Jo chuckled. “Don’t worry, dear. I’ll bring supplies. We’re going to manage just fine. Mark my words—everything is going to work out. For all of us.”
What Shawn wouldn’t give to have Jo’s faith right now. He wasn’t quite so certain about how things were going to work out, particularly for this precious child. All he knew for sure was that this long night was about to get longer.
Persistent pounding drew Heather Lewis from sleep so deep that she thought she was dreaming the noise—or that perhaps the pounding was just the headache that had set in earlier. She groaned and rolled over, covering her head with her feather pillow. With all the excitement of Christmas Eve, she hadn’t managed to get her little brood to bed until late. Exhaustion weighed down every bone and muscle in her body.
Though muted by her pillow, the hammering continued. Rap, rap, rap. Pause. Rap, rap, rap.
Suddenly she sat bolt upright, adrenaline pumping through her veins and bringing her to instant alertness as she thrashed around, trying to release her legs from the blanket she was caught up in.
She wasn’t dreaming about those sharp knocks. They were real. Her mind shrieked in terror.
Run. Hide.
She clutched the neck of her flannel pajamas as her pulse raged through her, her nerve endings screaming and shattering.
Adrian.
No. She shook her sleep-muddled head. Not Adrian.
Adrian was in prison in Colorado, and he had been for years. She had recently returned to her hometown in Serendipity, Texas—far, far away from the nightmare she’d once lived. She was safe.
She tucked her forehead against her knees and gulped for air, a sob of relief escaping her lips.
She was okay. She was okay.
She repeated the mantra even as the pounding on the door resumed.
“Heather?” The voice coming from the other side of the door was a woman’s, and though she sounded urgent, there wasn’t an ounce of threat in her tone.
Heather rolled to her feet and padded to the front door, taking a quick glance through the peephole for final reassurance before opening up.
“Jo?” she asked, surprised to see the boisterous owner of the local café on her doorstep in the middle of the night. “What’s wrong?”
“I tried calling but you didn’t pick up.”
“I’m sorry. I mute my phone at night so it won’t wake up the little ones.” She pressed Jo’s wringing hands. Something had to be seriously wrong for Jo to be here this late, and on Christmas Eve, to boot. “Do you want to come in?”
“Thank you, dear.” Jo followed Heather inside. “I hate to impose on you, especially at this hour, but I’m in desperate need of your assistance.”
“Sure. Anything. Whatever you need.” Heather didn’t hesitate. Growing up in Serendipity, she’d spent many happy hours at Cup O’ Jo Café, leaning on the advice of the ever-wise Jo Spencer. Heather couldn’t imagine why Jo needed her help, but it was a given that she’d do anything she could.
“A baby has been abandoned at the church. Pastor Shawn is quite flabbergasted by the event, as well you can imagine. Seeing as we don’t have a social worker here in town, I figured you were the next best thing, being a foster mother and all. You’ll come with me to see to the little one, won’t you? I already phoned your next-door neighbor, and she’ll be here shortly to make sure your kiddos are looked after while you’re gone.”
“We’re going to the chapel?” Heather was truly ready to do anything—except that. The shiver that overtook her rocked her to the very core. She hadn’t stepped through the door of a church in years, and she never wanted to do so again. Not for as long as she lived. Her stomach lurched with the thought, and the fear was paralyzing.
She opened her mouth to decline, but closed it without speaking, rubbing her lips together as she considered her options. There was a sweet, innocent baby to think about. She’d made a promise to herself that if she was presented with the opportunity, she’d be there for any and all children in need.
But this? She squeezed her eyes closed and swallowed her trepidation, searching for her resolve.
“Give me a minute to get dressed,” she said to Jo before walking back to the bedroom. She needed the time, not just to change clothes, but to decide if she was really up to this.
She slipped into jeans and a blue cotton pullover and stooped to lace her sneakers, her mind still in turmoil.
Could she do it? Would she be able to overcome years of terror and defensiveness to help the little one?
For the baby’s sake, she had to try.
Once her next-door neighbor had arrived to watch the children, Heather and Jo set off. The drive from Heather’s house to the chapel was only a few short minutes, but to Heather the distance seemed agonizingly long. Jo bustled out of her old truck the moment she parked it. Heather held back, clutching her hands together in her lap as she gathered her courage. After what felt like an hour but was probably no more than a few seconds, she forced herself to exit the vehicle. A wave of dizziness immediately overtook her and she grasped at the rim of the truck to keep her balance.
Air in. Air out, she coaxed herself. When these panic attacks hit, her breath came in shallow gasps and she hyperventilated, resulting in the light-headedness she was now experiencing. She was so...angry that she couldn’t control her reactions. It was embarrassing. Humiliating.
“Heather, are you coming?” Jo had made it up to the chapel’s red double doors before she glanced back and realized Heather wasn’t following her. The old red-headed woman’s face instantly crumpled with concern. “What is it, dear?”
Suppressing a shiver, Heather straightened her shoulders and picked up the box of baby paraphernalia from the back of Jo’s truck.
She forced a smile. “I’m sorry I’m being so slow. Don’t worry. I’ll be in right behind you.”
While in essence, that was true, emotionally, Heather was lagging, and she was painfully aware of why.
The chapel is just a building, she scolded herself sternly. If anything, this particular chapel was a place of happy childhood memories. But she couldn’t seem to separate the structure from the experiences in her past. The thought of church—any church—was tainted by the thought of Adrian, who had been a beloved and highly respected deacon. No one had realized that it had all been one big lie.
This guy isn’t Adrian.
Truthfully, she didn’t know anything about the pastor she was here to assist. There was no reason for her to believe Shawn O’Riley would be in any way similar to Adrian, other than being a part of the active leadership of a church. It was wrong to judge all men on a single man’s faults, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. In her experience, men said one thing and did another. And what they did was bad. It was bad. All of her self-preserving instincts were screaming at her to run fast and far away from this situation.
She knew it wasn’t logical. This place, Serendipity’s little white chapel, was the church she’d grown up in, a place of warm memories and happy times. It was where she’d first learned to sing “Jesus Loves Me,” where she’d been told she was His little lamb and that if she became lost, He would cheerfully leave all of His other sheep to come and find her.
Only, when she’d become lost, no one had come to find her, not even the Lord.
And that was just one more grudge to hold against Adrian—one more way in which he’d hurt her. This place, that used to stand for security and love, now just made her anxious and uncomfortable. There was no safety to be found here. Not for her. Nor was there a chance of trust on her part to be given to any man who had a hand in running it. Just the thought of meeting the pastor made her stomach twist.
If she had a lick of sense she’d turn right around and go home. This wasn’t her battle.
If it weren’t for this baby...
But there was a baby. That infant made it her battle. She’d promised Jo she would help, and that alone would have been enough to keep her walking forward. But more than that, she’d made a personal vow that she would help children in need wherever and whenever she found them. She couldn’t make up for what Adrian had done—and she could never fully forgive herself for what she had stepped aside and allowed him to do—but maybe, just maybe, she could help someone else’s child, like this tiny gift of humanity who had apparently been horribly abandoned by the very people who should have loved him or her the most.
She’d help the baby, she’d do whatever Jo needed her to do—and then she’d leave the chapel, and the pastor she had no interest in knowing, behind.
As she entered the church and was greeted by Pastor Shawn, it was all she could do not to recoil from his handshake. Oh, he appeared pleasant enough with his Irish good looks—reddish-blond hair, a kind expression on his face and laugh lines fanning from his light blue eyes. Both his gaze and his smile were welcoming. He was obviously relieved that support had arrived. But Heather knew how easy it was for a man to put on a mask for the world and hide his true nature. A charming smile no longer had the capacity to fool her. Especially not on a preacher.
“Jo. Ma’am.” He tipped his head toward Heather. “Thank you both for coming in the middle of the night.”
“This is Heather Lewis,” Jo said by way of introduction. “She’s our resident expert, seeing as she has a house full of foster children. She also has a professional background in child care, which I suspect will be invaluable to us.”
As small as Serendipity was, Pastor Shawn had probably heard her name, just as she knew his, but up until now they’d had no reason to cross paths. He wasn’t a native of Serendipity and had become the pastor of the small congregation a couple years after Heather had left town for college, where she’d met and eventually married Adrian. And she’d certainly never even remotely considered darkening the door of his church upon her return.
“Thank you, thank you. I’m happy for any help I can get. I couldn’t believe it when I found—Well, here. Come with me and I’ll show you.”
Shawn’s stride was long and confident as he led them up the sanctuary aisle to where a life-size crèche beckoned. Heather’s heart leaped when she saw the tiny infant lying in the manger, swaddled in what looked to be a tattered football blanket. She wondered if the baby had been left that way by the mother, or if the blanket was Shawn’s touch.
“Oh, the poor little dear,” Jo exclaimed, wasting no time in scooping the baby into her arms.
“He fell asleep, so I placed him back in the manger. Or her—I don’t really know yet. It seemed like a safe spot, as close to a crib as I have available. As you can see, I’m way out of my league here.”
“I can’t even begin to imagine how you felt when you discovered the babe,” Jo agreed, kissing the now-squirming infant’s forehead. “And this is how you found him? Er—her? All wrapped up in this blanket?” Jo turned and thrust the baby toward Heather. “Heather, dear, can you help me get this poor little thing’s diaper changed and get the boy/girl thing settled for us? I am already weary of referring to him/her in a double-gender fashion.”
Heather accepted the infant and sat down on the front pew to change the child. It wasn’t the most ideal of conditions, but at this point the baby’s needs and comfort were more important than the propriety of the church setting.
“It’s a girl,” she informed them as she reswaddled the infant, this time in a soft, clean pink receiving blanket she’d brought along in her stash of baby things, leftovers from her previous career as a day-care provider.
“A girl,” Shawn repeated, his gaze tender and his voice full of wonder. “How about that?” From the bemused expression on his face and the way his warm voice dipped in awe, she might have thought he’d never seen a newborn baby before. Maybe it was just the shock of the situation that had thrown him.
“The poor mother,” Jo breathed, placing an empathetic hand over her heart. “I can’t imagine what she must be feeling right now, to have abandoned her own flesh and blood on Christmas Eve, of all times. What kind of circumstances must she be under to prompt her to such an action?”
Heather bit the inside of her lip until she tasted copper. She could easily imagine such a situation—any number of them, actually.
“I agree,” Shawn said in a low whisper so as not to startle the baby. “I was thinking the same thing. It’s awful even to consider.”
“It’s the infant we need to worry about right now,” Heather stated, her tone threaded with pain. “That’s what the mother would have wanted.” She believed the baby’s mother had taken this drastic step for the sake of her child, and her heart flooded with compassion for both. She could do no less for the unknown woman than to make sure her baby was safe and well cared for.
Shawn’s eyes slid to her, then shifted back to the infant. His gaze softened as he stared down at the tiny bundle. “Yes, of course.”
Heather rummaged through the box of supplies and produced a bottle of formula she’d mixed together before leaving the house. While she didn’t have any infants in her care currently, she’d never managed to get off the formula-makers’ sample lists, and she was now glad of it, for the expiration date had not yet passed. “Getting her changed and fed is a good first step, but it’s not going to solve the real problem.”
Shawn brushed his palm over his jaw, which was taut with strain. “Right. We need to call in the appropriate authorities and decide what needs to happen next. I’ll phone the police station first, and then we’d probably better get Delia Bowden on the line to make sure the poor little thing doesn’t have any pressing medical problems.”
He scoffed and shook his head. “What a mess. I really hate having to disturb everyone in the middle of the night, especially on Christmas Eve.”
“It can’t be helped, dear,” Jo reminded him. “I don’t think it’s anything we can wait on. The police will probably want to start looking for the baby’s mother sooner rather than later. She hasn’t had that long to have gotten out of town. We don’t know anything about her circumstances—she might be injured. And while she looks fine to me, we can’t assume sweet Baby Girl here is healthy until Dr. Delia has had the opportunity to look her over.”
Shawn’s gaze narrowed and his lips tightened into a straight line. “If you ladies will stay with the baby, I’ll make the calls.”
He stepped out of the sanctuary, and Jo slid into the pew next to Heather, holding her arms out for the baby. Heather gently transferred the fragile bundle into the older woman’s arms.
“What’s your take on all this?” Jo murmured.
Heather shivered, masking it as a shrug. “I can’t begin to guess. I feel in my gut that something truly terrible must have happened. It’s got to be just horrible for the mother, whoever she is. Wherever she is.”
“When Shawn returns we should all say a prayer for her,” Jo stated with a firm nod that sent her red curls bouncing.
“Mmm.” Heather acknowledged Jo’s suggestion without agreeing to it. Jo Spencer was a woman of faith, and they were in a church, after all, so Heather supposed it only made sense that prayer would be part of the equation. It wasn’t that she had anything against prayer, per se, but it seemed to her like an exercise in futility. Her prayers—not that she’d said many of them lately—seemed as if they bounced off the ceiling and came right back at her. They were certainly never answered.
“I know the police will want to look for her, but I have a feeling she’s not of a mind to be found. Chances are she’s out of Serendipity by now, though she couldn’t have gotten far. Or possibly she’s in hiding.”
Shawn approached, sliding his cell phone into the chest pocket of his shirt. Heather didn’t know how long he’d been listening, but he’d clearly caught Jo’s last statement, at the very least. “Can either of you hazard a guess as to who the mother might be? I’m fairly certain it’s no one here at the parish.”
Heather shook her head. She’d only been back in Serendipity for a few months, and the truth was, she hadn’t been overly social during that time. She preferred to spend all her time taking care of her three foster children, attending the older boy’s sports games, mentoring her little girl’s second-grade class in reading and volunteering for the preschool library day with little Henry. She’d crossed paths with some old friends at the grocery store or the gas station, but she made sure the chats were brief, and any plans to “get together and catch up” were kept deliberately vague. Frankly, she didn’t have much time or use for adult company.
She glanced at Jo for the answer to Shawn’s question, expecting that she would know something, but to her surprise, the older woman was likewise shaking her head.
“It’s the strangest thing,” Jo conceded. “I’m not aware of any women in the area who are bursting at the seams to be delivering a precious little bundle of joy—inside or outside the parish.”
“So probably not a local, then.” Shawn crouched before Jo and wiggled his fingers in front of the baby. The infant grasped his forefinger and pulled it toward her mouth. “She’s a strong little thing. A real fighter.”
“From the looks of things, she’s going to have to be,” Jo responded soberly. Both Shawn and Heather agreed with a nod.
Heather’s heart physically ached for the baby girl. So sweet. So helpless. The world was harsh even to the tiniest and most innocent of God’s creatures.
It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right.
“So what’s next?” Heather asked, clasping her hands in her lap. She wanted to scream and rail at the air with her fists, but she knew that wouldn’t serve any purpose. It wouldn’t make her feel better in the long run, and it certainly wouldn’t help the baby.
“I just got off the phone with Captain James. He’s sending Slade and Brody over to meet with us and give us their take on the situation. They should be here any minute now. Oh, and Delia is on her way, as well. She’ll be able to give us a better idea if Baby Girl here needs special medical attention.”
They didn’t have long to wait—one of the blessings of living in a small town. Less than five minutes later, police officers Brody Beckett and Slade McKenna arrived in rumpled uniforms and with sleep-tousled hair. Though they were similar in build, both with the muscular stature of weekend bull riders, Brody was as blond as Slade was dark. Yet their half-asleep expressions matched perfectly. The police station in Serendipity on Christmas Eve was minimally staffed, and Heather guessed the two men were on-call rather than on duty and had been wakened to take this request.
Delia arrived immediately on their heels and went right to work on the baby, fussing over the infant while she checked her with her stethoscope, took her temperature, got her weight with the infant scale she’d brought and looked at her eyes and ears.
“My guess is that she’s about three days old,” Delia said, looping her stethoscope around her neck. “Eighteen inches and six and a half pounds. Someone’s taken adequate care of her and she’s not malnourished, although we’ll need to keep a close eye on her weight to make sure she doesn’t lose any more.”
“Did the mother leave anything else behind?” Slade asked, directing his question to Shawn. “A note, maybe? Something that might clue us in as to why she left her baby in a church?”
Shawn frowned. “I don’t think so, other than that tattered Cowboys blanket I found her wrapped in.” He gestured toward the altar. “She was in the manger, all alone. It completely freaked me out. I’m sorry. It didn’t even occur to me to look around. All I could think about was what I was going to do with the baby.”
“That’s understandable, and probably just as well,” Brody assured him as he and Slade moved toward the crèche. “It may be better that the area was untouched until we got here to investigate.”
“Are you considering this to be a crime scene?” Heather asked, shock skittering through her. How could they even think such a thing? Anger welled in her chest. The mother of this baby, whoever she was, needed someone’s compassion and assistance, not condemnation and a jail sentence.
Slade glanced her direction. “No. Not yet, anyway, though it’s always a possibility. Abandoning a child is a felony in the state of Texas. But we’re reserving judgment until we can piece together what really happened here.”
“What about safe-haven laws?” Jo asked. “Isn’t there anything in the law to protect the mother if it turns out that she can’t keep her child?”
“Technically, Serendipity doesn’t have an official drop site for a safe haven,” Brody explained, his jaw tightening. “We’re just too small. We don’t have a hospital. An argument could be made that the fire station might be considered an alternative, but even that’s kind of iffy.”
“Add to that the fact that the mother might not have known what the laws were, or she may not have been in a reasonable state of mind to be able to sort all that out,” Heather pointed out, feeling a need to champion the unknown woman. Delia had been holding the infant, but now Heather reached for her, coveting the comforting feeling of the baby in her arms. “She could have been thinking only of the baby’s safety. We don’t know what circumstances she’s facing. Maybe she’s poor and can’t feed the little darling. Maybe she was being chased by someone. Or she could be in an abusive relationship.”
Heather’s throat tightened around the words and her stomach lurched at the thought. She struggled for a breath as drops of cold sweat broke out on her forehead.
“Any of that could be true,” Slade agreed. “Then again, she could be a hopped-up crackhead who doesn’t even care that she’s dumped her baby into a stranger’s hands.”
“At a church,” Shawn reminded him gravely. “The mother left her child at a church. Surely that tells us something—it suggests the woman was cognizant of her baby’s needs, that she wanted the best for her. She could have abandoned the baby anywhere. I’ve heard horrible stories of babies left in Dumpsters or parking lots. That’s not what happened in this case. The fact that the mother chose to leave the child here—on Christmas Eve, no less—must mean that she was appealing to our Christian duty to step in and help. Right?”
Heather was surprised to receive help from that quarter. Pastor Shawn was sticking up for the absent mother?
“We shouldn’t speculate until we’ve gathered the facts,” Slade conceded. “We don’t know what we’re dealing with.”
“I think I’ve found something.” All eyes turned to Brody, who was crouched next to the manger, sifting through the straw. He withdrew his gloved hand to present a small bundle tied with a dirty red strip of cloth, a seam that looked as if it had been ripped from the bottom of a cotton shirt.
“What is it?” Jo asked as they gathered around.
Brody shifted from a crouch to his knees and set the small bundle on the floor in front of him. Gingerly, he worked the knot in the cloth until it loosened.
“There’s a bit of cash here,” Slade said, sifting the contents. “And a crumpled piece of paper. Maybe it’s a note?” He dropped it into an evidence bag.
“Can you use fingerprints from the letter to identify the woman?” Shawn asked, moving closer to Slade.
“It’s a possibility, but not a great one. If the mom has a criminal record—maybe.”
The men appeared to be more interested in the money as Brody rifled through the bills. Heather’s attention was on the scrap of paper within the clear plastic evidence bag Jo plucked away from Slade. Heather, Delia and Jo all hovered over the mysterious missive.
“What does it say?” Heather asked, scooting closer to Jo as the older woman carefully handled the evidence bag. Heather’s breath caught and held when she laid eyes on the delicate handwriting within the letter. The loops and curls were carefully formed and ornamented, so much so that Heather had the distinct, immediate impression of youth.
“I think we may be dealing with a teen mom,” she speculated aloud.
Jo met her gaze, her eyes warm with a mixture of compassion and sorrow. “Unfortunately, I think you might be right, dear. Though for the life of me I still can’t place any woman in Serendipity who looked to be in the family way, most especially a young lady. Teenage girls these days keep themselves so blooming skinny. I feel sure I would have noticed if one of them had been expecting.”
Heather laid a reassuring hand on Jo’s arm. From the tone of the older woman’s voice, Heather could tell Jo was taking a good deal of the responsibility for the abandoned baby upon herself. The townspeople often joked that Jo was the first to know everybody’s business. In this case, she was clearly calling herself to task for not knowing, likely believing that she could have helped the mother if she’d been attentive enough to spot the situation in time. Heather saw no reason for Jo to take any of the blame.
“It may very well be that you don’t know her at all. It seems to me that, given the circumstances, it’s far more likely that the mother wasn’t a local.”
“Serendipity is hardly the kind of place one just passes through, especially a teenage girl on her own. And on Christmas Eve, no less. This town is miles away from anywhere significant.”
“If she is a stranger, somebody here is bound to have seen her. Or maybe there’s a clue in the note.”
Jo nodded and held up the missive, adjusting the range to support the farsightedness that came with age. “Wish I had my reading glasses with me,” she mumbled, then cleared her throat and began reading aloud. “‘Please take care of my baby. She is not safe with me. Her father must never find out I had her. This money is all I have to give.’”
The note was not signed, but there was a hastily scribbled postscript at the bottom of the letter that caught Heather’s attention. “‘P.S. Her name is Noelle.’”
The men approached just in time to hear the baby’s name. Shawn smiled and reached out to brush the palm of his hand over the baby’s silky black hair. “It’s beautiful. A Christmas name for a Christmas baby.”
Heather stiffened. Shawn was close enough that she could smell his spicy aftershave, and though he didn’t actually touch her, she knew his palm fell just short of the small of her back as he leaned over to murmur nonsense syllables to Noelle.
“Any clues as to the mother’s identity or whereabouts in the note?” Brody asked, leaning forward to see for himself.
Jo shook her head and handed the evidence back to the officer. “Nothing definitive. Heather and I are guessing she’s a young mother and not local.”
“It sounds like she is running away from the baby’s father,” Heather added, then hesitated. That wasn’t quite right. She, of all people, knew how difficult it was to break free from an abuser’s hold on her life. “Or maybe she’s staying with him and she’s just trying to protect the baby from him,” she amended hastily.
“In any case, she’s made it perfectly clear that she’s not coming back for little Noelle, at least not at present. I think we can work off the assumption that she’s gone.” Slade frowned, his brow creasing.
Heather was glad that baby Noelle had so many people here concerned about her future, folks who Heather knew would help this child get a running start at life. That was more than many others had.
“There’s roughly thirty-five dollars here, mostly ones,” Slade informed them, holding out the crumpled wad of cash. “It’s not going to get the child very far.”
Heather sniffed as tears burned in her eyes. The sound evidently caught Shawn’s attention, for he laid a gentle hand on her shoulder and his compassionate blue eyes flashed to hers. Their gazes locked for a moment and he seemed to be probing her thoughts and measuring her feelings, all without speaking a word. She shuddered and physically jerked from him, refusing to be taken in by whatever kindness he was showing her.
This wasn’t the time to think of herself, or about Shawn. The baby needed all of their attention. “I believe that was all that the mother had to give.”
