by Jenny Hale
The others followed as she and Charlie moved toward two lone beams of light shining from somewhere down the mountain onto a tree at the edge of the bent and tangled guardrail, the crowd of people enveloping Scarlett. Charlie took her hand and started to pick up speed, headed toward the pitch-black edge of the mountain.
“From the look of that guardrail, we all need to be ready to help,” he said, not breaking his stride. Scarlett was losing her breath to keep up with his lengthy steps, panic bubbling up from the pit of her stomach.
When they got to the edge, Scarlett was able to assess the wreckage. A car sat on a small plateau on the side of the cliff, its nose pointed downward, the only thing stopping it from plummeting to the valley below the tree that its front end was wedged against. The radio inside the vehicle was still playing Christmas songs, and coupled with the sizzle of the engine, it gave her an unnerving feeling. Unable to see the driver at the angle she was standing, Scarlett’s gaze roamed the car while she struggled for something she could do to help. Then her words escaped her completely when she took in the view of the back window. She pulled on Charlie’s sleeve, her whole body beginning to shake.
“What?” he said, with an intensity that she’d not seen.
She pointed a trembling finger and heard his breath catch when he, too, saw the small boy with sandy blond hair and bright blue eyes, tears streaming down his face, looking directly at him from the backseat inside the vehicle. In an instant, Charlie was at the edge of the guardrail, one leg over it, all his focus on the little boy.
“There’s loose rock to your left! Be careful!” Uncle Joe’s unruffled voice sailed up to Charlie from below, and Scarlett realized then that her uncle had already made it down to the car, and was busy working in the shadows on the driver’s-side door to get whoever was stuck in the front seat out of the vehicle.
A few others from the party had gone back to the main house and returned with rope from the groundsmen’s shed. They lowered it down, the thick line dangling into the valley as they attempted to swing it into place near the small plateau.
Scarlett’s strength wasn’t sufficient to help in that way, but she had utmost faith in the two men who were there, and she knew that when they got the little boy to safety, he would need comforting. Her heart slamming around in her chest, she sprinted back up to the inn and threw open the front door.
“How many are hurt?” Gran said from the middle of the entryway, wringing her hands, worry like Scarlett had never seen before etched on her weathered face.
“We don’t know,” she said, her voice not sounding like her own due to the terror that was coursing through her veins. “It’s a single car. Went off the side of the mountain.” She struggled to get enough breath to speak full sentences. “There’s a child. A little boy…” Scarlett was momentarily frozen after she said those words, the sound of them hitting her like a shard of ice to the chest.
Gran covered her mouth as the two of them locked eyes for a second, in fear for the safety of the child and whoever was with him.
Scarlett was the first to break their stare, a deluge of urgency knocking its way through her once more. “Uncle Joe and Charlie are down at the site now.”
“My God,” Gran said with a gasp.
“I’m going to get some blankets,” Scarlett told her. “And the first aid kit. Anything else I should take?”
“Joe will make sure they’re safe,” Gran said, nodding as if to convince herself.
“Yes. He will.” She couldn’t bear to think of any other scenario.
“Charlie’s helping?” Gran asked, clearly taking in that fact.
“Yes.”
Gran offered her a look of solidarity, and Scarlett knew that Gran was learning to see a different side of Charlie. She definitely had her opinions of people, but she always admitted when she was wrong.
“At the very least, the boy will be scared,” Gran said. “I’ll wrap up some cookies. Put them in your pocket. If he’s well enough, you might need to distract him.”
“Okay,” Scarlett said as she dashed into the hallway, headed toward the linen closet while Gran got the cookies. She yanked two quilts from the pile and rolled them up, putting one under each arm. Then she ran to the cabinet in the kitchen where they kept the first aid box, grabbing it.
“Here,” Gran said, holding out the bag with a few cookies.
“Thank you.” Scarlett jammed them into the pocket of her coat and ran as fast as she could back to the wreckage.
When she returned, the crowd had formed a line, all of them anchoring the rope, walking backwards in slow, meticulous steps, working in tandem. Cappy nodded to her as she stopped beside him. “You’ll need those in just a second,” he said, his eyes on the quilts. “The boy is on his way up.”
Scarlett ran to the edge to find Charlie very close to the top with both feet on the dirt wall of the mountain, his hands gripping the rope to assist his climb up, the small boy wrapped around the front of him, sobbing, his tiny hands clasped tightly around Charlie’s neck and his legs squeezed against Charlie’s sides. “I’ve got you,” he assured the boy in the sweetest voice Scarlett had heard from him. Just the sound of it calmed her.
Down at the wreck, the back door was open and the child seat now empty. Uncle Joe had the driver’s-side door of the car open as well, his top half inside the car. Scarlett couldn’t hear him or see who he was working on, but she knew if anyone could save the driver, it was Uncle Joe. He’d give it everything he had.
Someone must have called a friend with a truck, because a man was busy hooking a cable to the back of the car to keep it from breaking free and plummeting down the mountain.
Cappy and the other men stayed with the rope to keep it anchored as Charlie got nearer the top. Scarlett was right at the edge, waiting. Carefully, she dropped the blankets onto the guardrail and let the kit she’d been holding fall to the ground. She leaned over to grab the child once Charlie got his footing, slipping his ankle through the guardrail to keep him in place. He pushed the child toward her, and she grasped the little boy, immediately stepping back away from the side with giant strides and picking up one of the blankets, while June and a few others helped Charlie over the edge to safety.
Scarlett wrapped the boy in the quilt. He was probably only four years old, curling around her as she held him firmly in her arms. She brushed his hair away from his forehead. He had a scrape near his eyebrow. “My name is Scarlett,” she said. “I’m here to help you.”
He didn’t lift his head from her shoulder, exhaustion clearly overwhelming him. “My mama.” His lip wobbled and tears welled up in his eyes as he tried to look over her shoulder at the car.
“My Uncle Joe is getting her right now,” she said, trudging through the snow up to the inn to get him out of the cold where she could evaluate any injuries. “We can wait for her inside, okay?”
“I’ll help you,” Charlie said, stepping up beside her, and immediately the boy reached out for him, nearly pulling Scarlett off balance as he leaned toward Charlie.
Charlie, surprised, took him, the boy wrapping himself so tightly around Charlie that his face was buried completely in Charlie’s chest. Charlie put a dirty hand on the quilt at the boy’s back while he held him and looked over at Scarlett for an explanation.
“You saved him,” she said, feeling an overwhelming sense of gratitude for Charlie’s quick work and selfless act. “He trusts you.”
They moved swiftly to the house and inside to the living room, where Gran had been pacing.
“Oh my,” she said on a gasp of air, her hand at her heart, the Christmas tree glimmering behind her, accentuating her frail silhouette. “Is he all right?” she asked, turning on a nearby lamp for more light.
“I think so.” Charlie put his face near the little boy’s ear and spoke in that sweet voice Scarlett had heard on the mountain. “I’m going to set you down on the floor so I can make sure you’re okay.”
The boy looked up at him with trusting eyes.
Gran sat on the edge of a nearby chair, clearly ready to help at a moment’s notice.
Charlie gently lowered him onto the rug with his scraped and dirt-caked hands, the quilt underneath the boy cushioning his body. “Can you turn your head toward the Christmas tree?”
The boy moved his head, his eyes red and drooping from fatigue.
“How about the other way? Can you look over at Scarlett?” The boy complied. “How about your belly? How does it feel?”
“Good,” the boy said, before he was overcome by a yawn, his eyes closing and then opening again.
Charlie inspected the back of the boy’s neck to be sure nothing seemed out of the ordinary. “I’m Charlie. What’s your name?” he asked, sitting back on his heels.
“Trevor.” He opened his eyes wider, battling sleep. “I’m hungry.”
“Do you think you can stand up?” Charlie asked gently.
Trevor wriggled to a standing position.
“Does anything hurt at all?”
“No.” Trevor looked around, just noticing Gran. “Does Santa live here?” he asked.
Gran smiled at him, obviously relieved. “No, dear. He doesn’t.”
Trevor yawned again, turning to the Christmas tree. “It looks like he does. And Mama said we would find Santa Claus this year. We were looking for him. He couldn’t find us last year so he didn’t come.”
Scarlett blinked away her surprise at Trevor’s admission. What had happened to him that Santa Claus hadn’t visited his house on Christmas Eve? She reached into her pocket and pulled from it the bag of cookies Gran had given her, handing them to him.
His eyes lit up as he opened the bag. “Thank you,” he said, eating one quickly and then going for the next.
“Have you had dinner?” Gran asked him.
“No.” He finished off the second cookie.
“Why don’t we walk together into the kitchen and I’ll make you something warm to eat?” Gran offered.
“I want Charlie to take me,” he said.
Charlie stood up. “Sure,” he said, holding out his hand to take Trevor’s. They walked together down the hallway, and Scarlett couldn’t help but feel a warm sense of affection for Charlie tonight. She hoped he’d changed Gran’s opinion of him as well.
Thirteen
“How is he?” Uncle Joe said, with no introductions as he entered the kitchen. He dropped a duffel bag onto the floor.
Her uncle’s clothes showed his struggle on the mountain; the knees of his trousers were wet and muddy, his pressed Oxford shirt disheveled and wrinkled, untucked from his belt. His nose and cheeks were crimson from the frigid conditions outside, but he was as alert and focused as if he were working in an operating room.
Trevor, now with a small bandage on the scratch on his forehead, was sitting on a pile of cushions at the kitchen table, with Charlie on one side of him and Scarlett on the other. Gran had heated up some of the party food and made him a little plate with a cup of milk.
“He seems to be completely fine,” Charlie said. “Just hungry.”
Uncle Joe squatted down beside him. “Your mama’s just fine too. She’s on her way inside.”
Trevor’s eyes lit up. “She is?”
“Yep. She asked for a minute to get herself together. She was still a little shaky from the big fall you all had, so I brought your bag in for her. I came in ahead of her to check on you. Can you wiggle your legs for me?”
Trevor kicked his legs back and forth, and only then did Scarlett notice the holes in the toes of his sneakers. One of them had a broken lace, the two ends knotted together. Unlike her uncle’s appearance, the wear on Trevor’s clothing had less to do with the events of tonight and more with the passage of time. His shoes also looked a bit tight on him, and Scarlett wondered when he’d last gotten a new pair. She considered how hungry he’d been when they’d come inside.
“Can you reach way up over your head like this?” Uncle Joe raised his hands into the air and Trevor mimicked him. “Good.” He looked carefully into Trevor’s eyes for any sign of injury. “Can you tell me your whole name?”
“Trevor Winston Farmer.”
“That’s a very nice name,” Uncle Joe said enthusiastically, scooting Trevor’s chair away from the table. “Can you hop down so we play a quick game, and then you can eat again?”
“I like games,” Trevor said, his bright white teeth fanning across his face with his grin as he climbed off his chair. A few partygoers filtered into the doorway. June put her hand to her chest, an adoring breath leaving her.
“Great. Let’s play Simon Says. Simon says, ‘Walk across the room to the door.’”
Trevor walked across the room, Uncle Joe checking his movements as more people entered the room, all peeking in to see the little boy.
“Simon says, ‘Wave.’ Simon says, ‘Stop waving.’ Get up in your chair.”
Trevor didn’t comply with the last request and everyone in the room smiled. He was focused, happy to be able to play.
“Simon says, ‘Stand on one leg.’”
Trevor balanced on one leg, wobbling slightly.
“Great,” Uncle Joe said. “Simon says, ‘You’re all done with this game.’ You can eat now.”
“That was fun!” Trevor said, crawling back up into his chair.
Scarlett’s eyes were still on Trevor, but when the small crowd that had gathered in the entry of the kitchen parted and a woman walked through, the quiet reaction from Charlie made her shift her attention away from the boy. By Charlie’s sharp breath, Scarlett had wondered what he’d seen—if the woman had noticeable injuries that caused him to gasp—but when she looked at the woman, everything seemed fine. Trevor began to cry, his arms stretched out for the woman, his brave facade finally crumbling. He’d been holding it together for all of them. Scarlett was captivated.
“Mama,” he sobbed, suddenly unable to catch his breath.
The woman—thin, her clothes hanging on her like they were a size too big, dirty-blonde hair, tired features, a weary smile—grabbed Trevor and held him tightly, her entire body trembling as she cried. She took out an inhaler for asthma and handed it to him. The sharp sound of air shot from it into his mouth, and his short breaths subsided. She wiped his tears, laughter surfacing through her sobs, as it was clear to her that he was okay.
“Thank you for taking care of my boy,” she said to Scarlett, her voice breaking. “I don’t know how to repay you.”
“Oh, it was nothing at all. I couldn’t imagine not helping.” Scarlett picked the cushions up from the chair Trevor had been using and offered the seat to the woman. “My name is Scarlett,” she said, introducing herself.
“Janie.” The woman sat down, Trevor still wrapped around her, his head on her shoulder. “Janie Farmer.” She stroked Trevor’s hair.
“Let me make you a cup of coffee,” Gran said, moving past the onlookers as they all began to disperse into the other rooms to give this woman some space to relax.
“I’m so sorry…” Janie began, shaking her head, clearly still in disbelief at what had happened. “I looked away for a second to change the radio station and we hit black ice.” Tears welled up in her eyes.
Gran set a mug in front of her, along with cream and sugar.
Trevor was already almost asleep in her arms.
“My mama always told me we have a guardian angel,” Janie said, her voice unsteady. “I never believed her because nothing has ever saved me from anything terrible.” She sniffled, using her free hand to pour cream into her cup. Gran stirred it for her and slid the spoon from the liquid, setting it onto the table. “But when the wheels of my car left the pavement, I cried out for my angel. That was when I felt the impact of the tree on the front of the car, saving us. The only tree in that spot.” She pulled her other hand free from under Trevor and lifted the coffee to her lips with shaking hands.
“You two were very lucky,” Gran agreed.
“Do you live nearby?” Scarlett asked. “Trevor said you w
ere looking for Santa Claus.”
The woman swallowed her emotion, her face looking more haggard all of a sudden. “We’re very far from home,” she said.
“Well, your angel is still working then,” Gran said. “You’ve just arrived at my inn. I have a room ready for you and Trevor if you need somewhere to stay tonight.”
Relief flooded Janie’s face and she looked up at the ceiling as if her angel would be there, her lip wobbling with emotion, but then her face dropped. “I can’t pay you,” she said, blinking away tears.
“Oh good Lord, no,” Gran said. “I would never expect payment after what you’ve been through. The room is yours as long as you need it.”
“Thank you,” she said.
“Scarlett, you can help Janie and Trevor to one of the open rooms—3A is probably good. It’s got an extra twin bed. I’ll go and get the key,” Gran said, turning to Janie, “and then we can bring some food down for you if you’re hungry. Will you need anything else?”
“No, you’ve done so much for us already,” she said, her hands a bit steadier now as she held her cup and took another sip. “I’m so grateful.”
Gran was totally in her element. Helping people was her specialty. “You’ve had a big night, but if you feel lonesome, we have a Christmas party going on in the main living room. We’d be happy to have you with us. Otherwise, there’s a big bathtub with an array of bath salts and lotions. Perhaps you can tuck Trevor into bed and unwind.”
Scarlett turned to introduce Charlie as the man who’d saved her son and ask him if he’d go with her to take Janie to her room, but he wasn’t there. She peered into the hallway where a few people had gathered, but he wasn’t there either. He must have gone back to the living room with the others. “Let’s get you to your room,” Scarlett said. She picked up the small duffel bag that Uncle Joe had brought in.