An Orphan's Holiday Home
Auteur·e
April Arrington
Lectures
19,0K
Chapitres
11
Chapter One
Brent Carson preferred the dark. At midnight, the silence engulfing his log cabin seemed normal—after all, the sun was down, the moon was up and most people had slowed their busy steps, washed off the frustrations of the day and settled beneath the warm blankets on their beds.
Sitting in the dark, at a live-edge black-walnut desk in front of the picture window in his living room, Brent stared out at the winter stars shining brightly above Georgia’s Blue Ridge Mountains and smiled as he pictured his wife, Kayla, sleeping peacefully upstairs in their bed, her long hair—as dark and sleek as a raven’s wing—spread across his pillow, her pale hand resting against the warm mattress where his chest had been before he’d slipped out of bed and ventured downstairs. He pictured her stirring at his absence, her long lashes lifting, her bare feet touching the hardwood floor. He heard the stairs creaking softly beneath her quiet steps, smelled her light floral scent surrounding him, felt the press of her swollen belly against his back and her soft lips brush his cheek as she whispered, We’re cold. Come back to bed.
Brent’s smile died, the stars gradually disappeared and the sun rose.
This December morning, like every December morning for the past six years, began the same. When tendrils of sunlight reached the porch of the cabin, cascaded through the picture window and brightened the surface of the black-walnut desk, Brent retrieved a piece of blank stationery paper from a drawer and picked up his pen.
My dearest Kayla,
Today is December 1st...your favorite day of the year.
His smile returned.
Did you think I had forgotten? That I wouldn’t remember your excitement each year? The way you’d grab my shoulders in bed and shake me hard until my eyes opened? The way you’d smile down at me, eager to start the day, and demand I get out of bed, put on my warmest coat and haul the axe out of the shed? The way you’d insist I follow you into the woods behind our home, saying that you knew where the perfect tree would be?
He closed his eyes and pictured their last December morning together, six years ago, when she’d led him out the back door of the log cabin and down the long dirt path that wound through the thick forest behind their home. She’d walked slower along the trail than she had in years prior, one warm hand curved protectively over her big, beautiful belly and the other clutching his, tugging him close as they’d ducked beneath low evergreen branches and woven their way deeper into the trees.
Our last Christmas tree was as perfect as you promised it would be. Seven feet tall, full branches and the greenest of greens...it filled the corner of our living room perfectly—almost as though it’d grown in place right through the hardwood floor.
A deep chuckle moved through his chest and escaped his lips as he recalled her standing in the living room beside it, smiling wide, rubbing her expectant belly with sparkling eyes as she’d said—
You said you didn’t need any gifts under that tree. That I should save my money because you already had all you wanted: Us, together...and our baby girl—the best parts of us both—sleeping peacefully in your belly. A baby girl we would hold in our arms by Christmas Eve.
A chill swept over him, raising goose bumps on his neck and arms, and the odor of smoke drifted near as the warm fire he’d built in the fireplace hours earlier burned down to ash.
You promised it would be the best Christmas we’d ever had. You always kept your promises, and I know you would’ve kept this one, too, if God had allowed. And even then, when you stood beside that tree, if you’d known He would take you and our daughter from me, you wouldn’t be angry—at least, not as angry as I still am—because you always believed God had a reason for everything.
I used to believe that, too.
His throat closed and he struggled to swallow, the words blurring before him on the page. His losses piled up, choking him, scorching his eyes and chest but leaving the rest of him frozen and numb.
People say I should’ve moved on by now, but I still miss you, Kayla. I wish—
He threw down the pen and rubbed his eyes, then, vision clear, folded the stationery paper into thirds and slid it into an envelope. Then he stood, carried it across the room and slid it inside a lone red stocking that hung from the fireplace mantel. He frowned at the German shepherd curled on the thick wool rug at his feet.
“Gettin’ cold, Prince?”
The dog lifted his head and yawned, baring sharp white teeth, but his tongue lolled out of his mouth endearingly.
Brent removed his sherpa-lined denim jacket from the hook by the front door and shrugged it on. “Prince.” He whistled, lifting his collar higher against his neck, then opened the front door. Cold winter air burst in, shooting another shiver through him. “Come on, boy. Take care of business while I grab some wood, all right?”
Prince blinked up at him lazily, then stood and headed toward the front door, pausing on the threshold to stretch, leaning in different directions to work each of his four legs individually and with great care.
Brent shivered again, his lips curving despite the chill. “Please, by all means, take your time. It’s not like it’s twenty degrees out there.”
Prince lifted his nose at Brent and sniffed, then padded onto the front porch, paused for a neck stretch, then moseyed his way down the front steps, his long bushy tail swinging slowly behind him.
Brent managed a small smile. Prince had just turned three last month and had already surpassed seventy pounds and reached twenty-five inches in height. Strong and healthy, Prince was an intimidating specimen to some, but Brent had learned early on that the German shepherd had a soft heart, and ever since the stray pup had shown up in his front yard on Christmas morning three years ago, Prince had been a consoling presence for Brent during his darkest days. Still was, if Brent were to be wholly honest with himself.
He followed Prince down the front steps then walked across the front lawn to the firewood shed and plundered through the stack for dry, seasoned logs. Prince sniffed the frost coating the latent brown grass, his nose seemingly catching an interesting scent, his long legs following the trail’s direction.
“Take care of business, Prince.” Brent stacked three logs in his arms, then grabbed another. “We’re going back in soon.”
Satisfied with the firewood he’d collected, Brent tipped his head back and surveyed the mountain range in the distance. Blues and pinks of different shades and intensities colored the mountaintops that formed his skyline as the rays of the sun glowed through, the low-hanging mist above the mountain peaks thin and fine, as though frozen in place. It was early season yet—the first dusting of snow wouldn’t hit till mid-December, if then—but winter winds had already settled in, tugging the temperature down and casting an uncomfortable chill over the rugged landscape.
Prince barked, thrust his nose closer to the frosted ground and scoured the cold earth for the scent’s source. He circled twice around the path leading to the dirt driveway, then back up to the cabin, halting at the foot of the steps, tail pointed and nose high in the air.
Brent frowned. “What is it, Prince?”
A raccoon, maybe? Opossum? Squirrel? With cooler temperatures and food growing scarce, it could be just about anything seeking warmth and com—
A sharp cry broke the still air.
Brent tilted his head. A rabbit? He’d heard one make that sound before. Could be a fox had gotten ahold of one? But wait...it wasn’t exactly—
Another high-pitched wail. Prince barked, then sprang into action, bounding up the front steps, running across the porch and leaping up onto the wide, wooden porch swing with his two front paws. The wails continued, growing louder as Prince’s barks joined them.
Cringing at the racket, Brent strode across the front lawn and ascended the porch, his steps slowing as he approached the wooden swing where Prince stood, his weight propped on his front paws. Beside his paws, a white basket shook, its walls shivering under the weight of movements from within.
“Prince.” Heart pounding, Brent clutched the firewood he’d collected against his chest with one arm and grabbed the dog’s collar with his free hand, tugging him back. “Get down.”
Once Prince had backed away to a safe distance, Brent leaned in for a closer look. A pair of startled blue eyes stared back at him from above a soft pink blanket. Another sharp cry pierced the air as the small figure wiggled and a tiny, balled fist emerged, nudging the blanket aside, revealing the red, scrunched-up face of an infant in mid-cry.
“Oh no,” Brent whispered. He stumbled backward, the logs falling from his arms and slamming onto the porch floor, then visually scoured the expansive grounds of his property. There was a flash of movement through the evergreens. “Hey! You got the wrong house!”
A slight female figure with long red hair, clad in a white coat, disappeared into the thick tree line.
“Hey! Come back!” His voice turned hoarse, cold wind rattling his body. “The shelter’s further down the mountain! I’m not who you’re looking for!”
But he knew who the stranger expected would find the abandoned infant. Jessie Alden owned Hummingbird Haven, a shelter for abused women and abandoned children, just down the mountain. Only when he thought of who he could turn to for help with this situation, it wasn’t Jessie’s face that came to his mind.
Instead, Brent stood there, trembling in the winter wind, staring at the vulnerable, crying baby that had been abandoned on his porch, and thought of a woman with blond hair, green eyes and the brightest smile he’d ever seen. A woman who cared for others more than she did herself, who went out of her way to help and who had shown up at his door unannounced—and uninvited—more and more often over the past four years.
Zoe. She’d know exactly what to do.
Zoe Price loved lights. Every kind of light. Red, green, white, silver, gold, blue, lavender, orange, purple, hot pink...
Well, even she had to admit the hot pink might be a touch too much at Christmas. Or was it?
“How do you feel about the pink?” Zoe, standing in the living room of her small cabin at Hummingbird Haven, tilted her head and eyed the string of decorative lights draped across the fireplace mantel. She’d chosen the same shade for all of her Christmas décor this year. “Do you think it’s garish?”
Miles, Zoe’s five-year-old foster child, stilled in the act of unpacking a box of Christmas decorations and frowned. “What’s gar-ich mean?”
“Garish,” she corrected. “The pink lights might be garish. Repeat after me, please. G-a-r-i-s-h.”
Miles repeated the spelling as she’d taught him to do with all unfamiliar words. “G-a-r-i-s-h.”
“Garish means flashy,” she said., “Kinda showy.” She frowned, wrinkling her nose as she surveyed the lights again. “Too bright.”
Miles shook his head. “No, ma’am. If you like them, I like them.”
Zoe smiled, knelt beside him and tapped his nose. “I know what I like, but I’m asking what you like. Your opinion is important to me.”
He stared up at her as he contemplated that for a few moments, his wide gaze roving over her face, uncertain and a bit skittish. “Um...then I like the lights.” His teeth nibbled on his lower lip as he pointed over her shoulder, his expression hesitant. “But the socks are crooked.”
Her heart squeezed, a strong sense of gratitude weaving through her as he summoned the courage to voice his opinion.
Months ago, Miles’s mother—his only living relative—had packed her bags and left their apartment in the middle of the night, abandoning Miles and leaving him alone in an empty apartment. He’d waited two days for her return, and when she hadn’t shown up or contacted him, Miles had gone to a neighbor for help. Soon after, he’d been placed at Hummingbird Haven. Jessie—Zoe’s business partner and friend as well as owner of Hummingbird Haven—had noticed how quickly Zoe had taken to the boy and immediately agreed with Zoe when she’d suggested being Miles’s foster parent.
Miles had barely spoken the first couple of weeks after he’d moved into Zoe’s cabin, but over the past few months, with hours upon hours of support, dedication and love, Zoe, Jessie and Jessie’s new husband, Holt, had managed to help him feel at ease enough to begin opening up to them all.
Still, sorrowful shadows haunted his dark eyes, and his mother’s abandonment had left a seemingly indelible impact, instilling within him fears of making a mistake that might drive away another adult in his life and leave him alone—and feeling unloved—again.
“The socks?” Zoe glanced over her shoulder at the mantel where Miles pointed and smiled gently. The two hot-pink Christmas stockings—which had taken her forever to find in stores that only stocked green and red—matched the pink lights perfectly but were slightly askew. “Oh, yeah. I see what you mean, and we certainly can’t have that. Christmas just wouldn’t be the same with crooked stockings.” She held out her arms. “Wanna give me a hand, mister?”
A hint of a grin lifted Miles’s lips. Nodding, he turned around and backed into her arms, giggling as she lifted him on a deep groan.
“Oh, gracious!” She lifted Miles to her chest, arms wrapped around his middle and waddled over to the mantel, positioning him in front of one of the stockings. “What’d you eat for breakfast today? Bricks? Concrete?”
Miles giggled louder, the joyful sound warming Zoe’s chest. “No! I didn’t eat bricks!” His dark hair tickled her nose as he shook his head. “You made me pancakes and bacon and—”
“Syrup, oh my!” Zoe laughed and lifted him closer to the mantel. “Please straighten our stockings, my dear gentleman, so that we may have a proper Christmas.”
Miles quaked in her arms with laughter as he straightened the pink Christmas stocking, tugging it to the left, right then center as she jiggled him around in her arms playfully. When he was satisfied with the position of the first stocking, she carried him, still waddling, along the mantel to the second stocking and laughed with him as he straightened that one, too.
Oh, it was so good to hear him giggle and see him smile!
“Is that good enough?” Miles asked, craning his neck to look back up at her, his smile widening.
Zoe nodded and lowered him gently to the floor. “You did perfect, sir.”
Miles’s brows rose. “You think Ms. Jessie and Mr. Holt will like it?”
“I think they’ll love it,” she said. “Especially the table decorations you put up in the community cabin. I can’t wait to show them all your hard work when they get back. And tomorrow, it’ll be time to put up the Santa mailbox.”
Zoe rubbed her hands together, giddy with excitement. For the first time since they’d opened Hummingbird Haven together, Jessie had taken a vacation with her husband, Holt, and their newly adopted children to visit Holt’s family for the Thanksgiving holidays. The new family had spent the past two weeks with Holt’s relatives on their family farm in South Georgia. In the interim, Zoe had been given the go-ahead to decorate Hummingbird Haven’s cabins. Tomorrow, she’d resume the annual tradition of putting up Santa’s mailbox in Hope Springs’s town square where Hope Springs residents, as well as those in neighboring mountain communities, could drop off a letter to Santa containing their wishes for this Christmas season.
The Santa mailbox was one of the festivities Zoe looked forward to the most each year. It was an incredible opportunity to share God’s love with others...especially with those who may not know Him. Members of the church she attended partnered with local community leaders and business owners to raise funds, then divvy up, read and respond to the Dear Santa letters of local citizens with either a gift, a good deed or a heartfelt message. The activity was an opportunity for Zoe and other members of the community to do God’s work and bring joy into the lives of others of all ages.
And most importantly this year, it would offer Zoe a chance to bring a hefty dose of cheer, goodwill and, hopefully, sense of love and belonging into Miles’s life. He’d had such a difficult year and what she’d prayed for most of all so far this year was that she’d be able to help Miles feel loved, admired and at home. Though providing all of that for Miles successfully would require careful planning, organization and attention to detail.
Oh, boy. The first of December—Miles’s first Christmas at Hummingbird Haven—and she was already behind schedule.
Zoe bit the nail on her pinky finger. “Actually, I was supposed to put up the mailbox yesterday, so it’d be good to go for receiving letters starting this morning, seeing as how today is the first day of December, but I underestimated how long it’d take us to decorate our cabin.”
And she still wasn’t done. Once she put up the Santa mailbox tomorrow, she’d need to rake up the last of the fall leaves from the front driveway, finish stringing lights along the pathways between Hummingbird Haven’s cabins, set up the nativity scene by the front entrance, cut down and put up a live tree in the community cabin. Then there was that beautiful outdoor scene of Santa kneeling in front of baby Jesus in a manger that she always placed by the Santa mailb—
Her cell phone vibrated in her jeans pocket. Still mentally listing the chores on her holiday to-do list, she tugged her cell phone out of her pocket and swiped the screen.
“Merry Christmas! You got Zoe.”
“Zoe.”
Brent. “Mercy.”
Silence crossed the line, then the deep—somewhat grumpy—voice on the other end rumbled again. “What’d you say?”
Zoe nibbled harder on the nail of her pinky finger. Oh, gosh. He’d called. Brent Carson—the man she’d admired afar for years—had finally called. Although she’d given him her number over four years ago—one week after she’d first met him, but who was counting? And there was nothing wrong with being assertive, right?—he’d had yet to call...or seek her out even once.
Until today.
Today she hadn’t had to go out of her way to casually bump into him in the hardware store and sneak a peek at those sad but gorgeous brown eyes or wander across the grocery store to the aisle where he was shopping to ask how he was doing and lean in to catch his soft voice, hoping he’d say more than two words to her. Today she hadn’t had to stop by his cabin to buy five bottles of his homemade maple syrup—even though she had a dozen still in storage—and crack a corny joke just to see the corner of his downturned mouth lift with amusement for one point two milliseconds. And today she hadn’t had to sneak a German shepherd pup onto his property as she had done one Christmas morning three years ago while she’d waited among frozen bushes, shivering in seventeen-degree weather, for him to find said pup and witness his one—and only!—full-blown, dazzling smile.
Today Brent Carson had finally called.
“Mercy,” she repeated softly, her heart humming with a delight that had absolutely nothing to do with the gorgeous hot-pink lights she and Miles had just strung along the mantel and everything to do with the cheek-warming masculine voice on the other end of the line. “I said, mercy.”
He fell silent again, then cleared his throat. “Zoe... I called because I need your help.”
“With what?” Putting up lights? A tree? Picking out presents? It was Christmas, so it could be anything. Maybe asking for help was just an excuse and what he really wanted was to spend time with her. Maybe after a bit of Christmas help, they could enjoy a hot cup of cocoa and friendly conversation by the fireplace inside that cozy log cabin of his?
“Are you at home?” he asked.
Oh, this was definitely a moment to celebrate! “Yep.”
“I have a problem,” he continued. “A woman came by here earlier. She must’ve been confused about the location of the shelter, and she left before I c—”
A baby’s loud wail in the background cut sharply over the line, engulfing Brent’s voice.
Oh, no. The warm feeling Miles’s laugh and Brent’s call had stirred in her chest froze to ice even as adrenaline pumped through her veins. “I’m on my way.”
Zoe ended the call, shoved the phone into her pocket and looked at Miles.
“Who was it?” he asked, blinking up at her.
She continued studying him—the tilt of his head, the concerned light in his eyes, the uncertain expression that appeared on his face. She tried to imagine how he’d felt the night his mother had left him. The confusion he must’ve felt, followed eventually by the realization, the fear...the pain. Then she tried to figure out how witnessing another child having been abandoned might potentially affect him now.
“It was Mr. Carson,” she said. “He needs my help.”
Zoe walked across the room to the window, staring out at the frost-tipped pines as their branches slowly thawed beneath the bright morning sun. Then she eyed the empty path leading from her cabin door through the trees toward Jessie’s cabin.
Jessie and Holt wouldn’t be home from Holt’s family farm for hours. She’d have to see if one of the women staying in the other cabins might be available to watch Miles for a while. But it was Saturday—one of the only two days the residents had free from their new jobs each week—and the women at Hummingbird Haven—all of them abused—needed as much rest and stability as the children Hummingbird Haven sheltered. Not to mention, even if she could find a babysitter, Miles had barely left her side since he’d moved into her cabin at Hummingbird Haven and, apart from school, was reluctant to part from her.
Well, that was it, then. She’d have to take Miles with her.
Zoe returned to Miles and knelt beside him. “Someone left a baby with Mr. Carson that needs my help.”
Miles examined her expression, then asked quietly, “Where’s the baby’s mom?”
She tucked one of his dark curls behind his ear gently, stalling. No matter how many children she’d rescued or taken in, witnessing the reality of child abandonment had never gotten easier. But it seemed all the more heartbreaking during the Christmas season. And one thing Miles, along with all the other children at Hummingbird Haven, needed was a sense of stability and security. Both of which required honesty.
“I think she’s the one who left the baby,” Zoe said.
Miles’s chin trembled. “Forever? Like my mom left me?”
“I don’t know.” She cupped his cheek. “But I hope to find out.”
“And you’ll make sure the baby is safe?” he asked. “Like you did for me. ’Cause that’s your job?”
She nodded. “Because I care. And because I believe it’s what God would want me to do.”
Miles stared up at her, then firmed his expression, the wobble in his chin subsiding. “Can I go, too?”
Zoe hesitated. “I’m afraid that may be the only choice we have, but when it comes to having guests at his home, Mr. Carson isn’t always...”
Oh, how to put it? He wasn’t always welcoming? Patient? Or...kind?
She’d hung up on Brent before she’d even thought to mention she may have to bring Miles with her. And Miles was still emotionally fragile and so eager for positive attention that one harsh or misguided word from Brent might—
“I care, too.” Miles lifted his chin, voicing his first outspoken request for anything. “I want to go with you and help do what God wants you to do. And I want to see the baby. Please?”
Zoe looked at Miles, then glanced over her shoulder at the bright December morning. Perhaps knowing he wasn’t alone in experiencing abandonment could be of help. Certainly any opportunity that might alleviate the misguided feelings of self-blame and guilt he still carried would be a blessing. And Zoe had learned years ago that helping others was always the best antidote to pain.
But no attempt she’d made over the years to help Brent overcome his great loss in life had worked. One thing she knew for certain was that Brent’s pain was deep. So deep that, at times, he didn’t stop to think of how capable he was of hurting others. And having a newborn abandoned at his home would have only added to his stress and grief.
Miles stared up at her, a pleading look in his wide eyes. “Please, Zoe?”
Zoe bit her thumbnail, trying to envision Brent’s reaction to the unexpected presence of a second child in his home...and wondered if the affection she harbored for Brent would be enough to tame her temper if he did anything to hurt sweet Miles.
