“Such a horrid story, abandoning a child that way. I don’t know what society is coming to.”
“Now, now, Lillian. Foundlings are hardly a modern invention,” Dr. Elliot reminded her.
“It’s unheard of in this town, Ezra. I assure you that there’s never been such a disgraceful incident in Cape Light. And I can tell you exactly where that child came from. I don’t see what all the mystery is about.”
“Where do you think the baby came from, Lillian?” Dan asked evenly.
“Why, from that trashy little pocket down near the lake, Wood’s Hollow. Where else?” Lillian said definitively. “It’s not really even part of our village. Just over the borderline toward Rawly, I believe.”
“It’s definitely within our town limits,” Emily corrected her.
Lillian’s head popped up again. “It wasn’t always. The town line must have been moved recently.”
Of course the town line hadn’t been moved. Neither had the equator. But Emily didn’t argue with her. Few in the village wanted to acknowledge the neighborhood—or trashy little pocket, as her mother called it—of Wood’s Hollow.
Set off from the main road, the area consisted mainly of two or three ancient hulking structures standing beside a small lake. They had been hotels and boardinghouses in a bygone era and not even the best accommoations the town had to offer back then. In the 1960s, the buildings had been turned into small apartments and furnished rooms. Since then the residents had all been low income, many of them transients. There were also two or three stores there, a laundromat, and grocery, Emily recalled, and a small storefront community center that mostly stood empty and inactive for lack of funds and volunteers willing to work there.
Investors would periodically come to Cape Light and stir up talk of developing Wood’s Hollow, inspiring debates at town-council meetings about knocking down the buildings considered a blight on the community, perhaps by changing the zoning laws. But no one was ever sure how it would be done.
As if on cue, her mother now expressed the popular sentiment. “The place should be cleaned out. Those old buildings should be knocked down before they fall down. You’ll get rid of that unsavory element living there. You won’t have any abandoned babies around here then. I guarantee it.”
“Most of those families are just poor people who work hard but can’t afford anything better. Where would they go, Lillian?” Dan asked.
“Who cares where they go? They would leave our town; that’s all I’m concerned about. They would go away, back where they came from; that’s where they’d go. And they would take their babies with them, one would hope.”
Emily stopped pouring the coffee and stared down at her mother. “It’s not a crime to be poor, Mother. At least, not yet, thank goodness. I have to think that the child’s mother, wherever she came from, had to be absolutely desperate. Even respectable people fall on hard times.”
Her mother looked as if she was about to deliver some scathing reply, and then her mouth puckered. She drew in a long breath and sat back in her chair.
Bull’s-eye, Emily thought. I finally hit her “off” button.
Her reply had been a not-so-subtle reminder of the time during Emily’s adolescence when their own family faced financial hardship due to her father’s imprudence and misjudgment. Her mother had bravely faced the situation and taken control, selling off just about everything at a humiliating public auction, including the mansion and estate that had been in the Warwick family for generations. Though Lillian’s present home on Providence Street was one of the finest Victorians in town, it was more than a step down from the family’s former glory.
Emily hadn’t meant to hurt her mother’s feelings, but she could only tolerate so much of Lillian’s closed-minded braying.
Her mother glared at her with narrowed eyes. “Just don’t get so involved all the time, Emily. You can’t save the world.”
“Involved with the baby, you mean? I’m just going to follow up with a phone call. I don’t consider that overly involved.”
Emily sensed Dan watching her. She knew he shared her mother’s opinion and concerns about the baby—one of the few times they had ever agreed. She was grateful that he didn’t chime in.
“You know very well what I mean,” her mother insisted. “I know that look in your eye better than anyone,” she added in a cutting tone. “It’s best to let the social workers take care of it now. That’s their job. That’s what they get paid for.”
Before Emily could reply, a loud crash sounded from the living room. Everyone turned and stared at the doorway as Tyler’s piercing wail broke the silence.
Jessica jumped up and ran toward the noise. “Sam, is everything all right in there?”
Lillian got to her feet and grabbed for her cane. “Let’s survey the damage. I feel like the Red Cross walking through a disaster area,” she said dramatically.
In a strange way, she sounded almost pleased, Emily thought. Pleased to be proven right about the children being destructive?
Ezra rose and slowly followed. “Don’t worry, Lillian. You can cover your losses on eBay, even the discontinued china patterns.”
Emily watched as the others left the room. She stood at the table, her mother’s pronouncements echoing in her mind. Did the baby come from Wood’s Hollow? She had thought of that herself, then dismissed it. Now she couldn’t seem to get the thought out of her mind. Was the baby’s mother that close—only a few miles away? If she were to go down there, could she possibly find her? Did she even want the child’s mother to be found?
Don’t get so involved, she heard her mother’s words again. You can’t save the world. Leave it to the social worker.
Emily sat down slowly, feeling suddenly tired. The trouble was, every time she thought of the baby now, she didn’t know what she wanted, or what she should do. Or even if she should do anything at all.
CHAPTER THREE
EMILY WAS IN MEETINGS ALL MONDAY MORNING, BUT THAT didn’t prevent her from calling Nadine Preston. Eager to hear about Jane’s test results, she called twice before noon, reaching the voice mail both times and leaving a message.
She was wrapping up a weekly briefing with the town’s attorney, Warren Oakes, when her intercom buzzed. “It’s someone named Nadine Preston, returning your call,” her secretary said.
“I’m sorry, I need to take this, Warren,” Emily apologized.
Warren picked up his folders and waved a quick good-bye. Even before he’d left the room, Emily grabbed the phone and quickly said hello.
“Sorry it took so long to get back to you, Mayor Warwick. I was making some home visits this morning.”
“That’s quite all right. Please call me Emily. I didn’t mean to bother you. I just wanted to check on Jane. How did her medical tests turn out?”
“No serious conditions like HIV or hepatitis.”
“That’s good news,” Emily said, feeling relieved.
“Yes, of course,” the social worker agreed. “But she will need to stay in the hospital a bit longer.”
Emily sat up sharply. “Oh? Why is that?”
“She seems to have a respiratory infection. Her doctor is treating it with some strong antibiotics. She should show improvement in a day or two, but she can’t be released until it’s completely cleared up.”
“That’s too bad. Is she in any discomfort? Any fever?”
“She has trouble getting a full breath at times, and they’re giving her oxygen. The fever is very mild though, so that’s not a grave problem.”
Taking oxygen? The poor little thing. Emily’s heart went out to her. She felt suddenly sad and helpless, wanting to do something for the baby but having no idea of what that something might be.
“How do you think she got the infection?” Emily asked, unwilling to let the conversation end.
“It’s hard to say. Most likely she had a cold that wasn’t treated properly, so it developed into something more serious. We did catch it before it turned into pneumonia, tho
ugh.”
“Yes, that’s one good thing,” Emily said. “Can I come and see her?”
The question just popped out. Emily surprised herself, and she could tell by the stunned silence on the other end of the line that Mrs. Preston was surprised as well.
“Visit her at the hospital, you mean? I’m not sure we can do that . . .”
“I read somewhere that it’s good for babies that age to be held a lot, especially if they’re in a hospital environment. I read that there are even people who come into hospitals to do that—volunteer baby holders. It helps the babies’ brain development or something like that.”
Though she’d never raised a child, Emily knew a lot about child development. Long after she had given Sara up, Emily had read countless books on the subject in a subtle form of self-torture, while she wondered what stage her daughter had reached. Could she roll over yet? Sit up? Grab a block? Call out for her mommy in the middle of the night? Was she getting enough care, enough nurturing and stimulation?
Of course, once she met Sara, she realized those worries had been needless. Sara’s adoptive mother and father had been the most caring of parents.
“It helps in any number of ways,” the social worker finally answered.
“It might be good for her, don’t you agree? I mean, all things considered, I suspect that her mother’s care was lacking, and now, being in the hospital all alone . . . I’m sure the nurses are attentive, but nurses are so overworked these days . . .”
“I understand what you’re saying, Ms. Warwick,” Nadine Preston interrupted her. “I suppose if you really want to visit, you may. I’ll let the hospital know you have my permission.”
“Thank you. Thank you very much,” Emily said quickly.
“But you really ought to . . . to be careful.”
“About the baby? Is she contagious?”
“I don’t mean that way.” Nadine Preston paused. “Never mind. Perhaps I’ll see you at the hospital. I have to run. I’m late for a meeting.”
“Of course. Thanks again.” Emily said good-bye and quickly hung up the phone.
As she anticipated seeing the baby that night, she felt a wave of happiness well up inside. Then she thought about calling Dan to let him know she would be home late. She knew she could call his cell and speak to him directly, but instead she decided to call the house and leave a message there. She suspected he wouldn’t be happy to hear she was driving to Southport tonight to visit Jane. He would probably try to talk her out of it, so better to avoid the confrontation.
Her mind was made up. She was going.
WHEN BEN PULLED INTO THE DRIVEWAY ON MONDAY NIGHT, THE house was ablaze with lights. The seasons had once again brought the shortest days of the year, and at six o’clock inky blue night had fallen. The rectory, a cozy retreat flanked by evergreens, looked warm and welcoming. Hanging from the front door was a large pine wreath decorated with dried flowers and a satin bow. That hadn’t been there this morning, he mused. It was getting to look more like Christmas around here by the hour.
“Hello? Anybody home?” he called from the foyer.
“Back here,” Carolyn called from the kitchen. Ben hung up his coat and scarf and followed the enticing smells to the heart of the house. There he saw pots and pans covering the stove and his wife peering at something in the oven. It looked like a holiday dinner was in the making.
Then he remembered: the children were coming. Rachel and her husband, Jack, and little William. Between his job at the bookstore and his social life, Mark was rarely around, but was making a point of coming home tonight to visit with his sister and her family.
Normally, Ben loved seeing his children and grandson. He loved having the house full of activity and watching the way Carolyn became so animated and joyful. But for some reason he wasn’t in the mood tonight. He was more inclined toward a quiet dinner followed by a good book. But there was no help for it.
“Hi, dear. You’re late. I thought you’d be home in time to set the table,” Carolyn called out to him.
“Oh, sorry. I can help now if you need me,” he offered as he walked into the kitchen. “Let me wash the pots,” he said.
He slipped off his sports jacket and rolled up his sleeves, then stepped up to the sink. “What time will they be here?”
“Any minute.” She glanced up at the kitchen clock, her chin-length blond hair flopping across her eyes. She checked another pot, then finally sat down in a kitchen chair. “I was out all day, shopping for Mark.”
“Christmas shopping?”
“Not really. For school. He needs so much. It’s hard to know where to start.”
Ben laughed. “Mark needs just about what he can fit in that backpack of his, dear. He’s a grown man who lived on his own for years before coming back home to us. I don’t think you have to exhaust yourself shopping for him.”
“Well, I suppose you’re right. I’m just anxious for him. I hope he enjoys school this time. I hope he sticks with it.”
Ben paused in his scrubbing and glanced at her. “I think he will. In fact, I’m sure of it.”
Carolyn sighed. “I wish he didn’t need to go so far away. Portland, Oregon, for goodness sakes. It will be like before. We’ll hardly see him anymore.”
“Not exactly. It won’t be like that,” Ben said gruffly.
For several years after Mark quit Brown University in Rhode Island, he wandered around the country taking odd jobs and remaining completely out of touch with his family. All attempts to make contact with him, by Ben or Carolyn or even his sister, Rachel, were rebuffed. But when Carolyn fell critically ill with a stroke two years ago, Mark was summoned home and finally made amends with his family.
“No, of course not,” Carolyn agreed. “I liked having him home though,” she admitted.
Ben felt wistful. He knew Mark couldn’t stay with them forever, even if he wasn’t starting school again. Though he was thankful to have finally made peace with his prodigal son, thankful to see him back on track, he still felt an edge of envy for his son’s youth and flexibility. So many choices ahead, so many possibilities. Mark could pick up and go wherever he pleased, without any responsibilities or commitments tying him down. Ben wondered if he had ever felt that footloose and free. Yes, of course he had. He just couldn’t remember quite when, though.
Ben rinsed off a large pot cover and set it on the drain board, then picked up a fry pan and scrubbed away.
Mark had already lived and worked in more places in his short life than Ben had in his sixty-odd years. With the exception of going to school in the South, where he’d met Carolyn, Ben had barely made it from his hometown of Gloucester up the coast to Cape Light.
But it’s the depth of experience that counts most, isn’t it? He didn’t need a big city to dazzle him. He believed in microcosms: all levels of life and complex society could be found in a tidepool. Even the tidepool community of Cape Light bore infinite variety if you looked long and closely enough.
Why was he feeling this twinge of envy over his son’s departure? Why did he feel lately as if his ministry in this congregation was draining him? Dear Lord, please help me understand and overcome this . . . negativity.
“Ben, are you all right, dear?” Carolyn’s voice broke through his silent prayer.
“Yes, of course. I’m fine.” He scrubbed down the sink with a sponge and sprayed off the soap.
“Is there anything going on at church?” she persisted.
“The usual.” Which was the trouble. “I’m just tired.”
“Maybe I shouldn’t have asked the kids on a Monday night. Mondays are hard for you. You’re still tired from Sunday.”
“No, it’s all right. I’m looking forward to seeing them.”
He was, too. Once they all arrived and filled the house with their talk and laughter, he’d be distracted from his murky thoughts.
“I had a frustrating morning” he admitted. He told Carolyn how both Grace and Vera had canceled at the last minute on the meeting to st
art the coat drive and how he had then gone to Wood’s Hollow on his own. “There was a volunteer from the neighborhood association at the community center, and we talked a bit. They really need so much help—more than just a coat drive. I wish the congregation would take a stronger interest. I can’t do it all myself. That’s not what it’s about.”
Carolyn nodded. “I’m sure it’s just timing, Ben. Everyone’s distracted now with Christmas and getting ready for the fair.”
“That’s just the problem. It’s easy to work on the fair. That’s fun. This is harder work but more important. Why can’t they see that? Why can’t I make them see?”
Carolyn’s gaze was sympathetic. “Don’t blame yourself, Ben. You’ve been trying. It might take more time than you think to get the message across. As you would say, let God into it. Ask Him for tolerance and patience.”
It was hard to hear his own tried-and-true spiritual counsel coming back at him. Ben nodded, placing the last pot on the drain board. “Yes, I have prayed about it. I’ll continue to, of course.”
He sat in a chair across from Carolyn at the kitchen table. “Maybe these are challenges I’m meant to face for some reason I don’t understand right now. But I’m starting to wonder if God is trying to tell me something through all this, trying to send me a message. I mean, I wonder sometimes if the congregation can even hear me anymore. Maybe I’m just too familiar. Maybe God is trying to tell me that it’s time to move on.”
“Oh . . . well, I didn’t mean that,” Carolyn said.
“Have you ever thought about moving away from here, to someplace new?” he asked.
Now his wife looked positively shocked. “Move away? What are you talking about, Ben? Why would we want to move?”
He shrugged. “I was just thinking out loud. That’s all.”
“I guess I’d like to see more of the world on vacations . . . but you said, move away.”
“Yes, well, I didn’t mean a vacation. I meant a real move. But maybe not forever. Just temporarily, see how it is to live someplace new and give service in some different way.”
The Christmas Angel Page 5