by Lois Richer
“Oh, dear.” Connie’s heart flooded with sympathy for the poor woman, but what could she do now? “You should have said something earlier.”
“I would have, if you’d asked me.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. And she was. The last thing this family needed was more grief.
Wade studied her for a long moment.
“Is something wrong?” She shifted uncomfortably under his stare.
“Christmas is very important to you, isn’t it?” he said.
“Yes.”
“Care to tell me why?” He sat down in one of the leather tufted armchairs and waited.
What could she tell him? That at twenty-two she still dreamed of an answer to the same Christmas prayer she’d prayed for the past eleven years—that her father would appear and tell her he loved her, that leaving her had been a mistake? How silly.
“I’m sorry,” he said, moving as if to rise. “I’m prying.”
“No, you’re not. It’s a valid question.” She waved him back into his seat as she struggled to explain. “My birth mother was the one who started it. She loved Christmas, and she made it a joy for everyone around her. We lived in a little town, and I can still remember sitting on the toboggan on Christmas Eve while she pulled me across town. Packed all around me were gifts—pots of jam, tins of shortbread, boxes of fudge.”
“You’re making me hungry,” he said with a smile.
“My parents owned a hardware store. We lived above it. On Christmas Eve, when the last customer was gone, their gift perfectly wrapped, my parents would close up shop. Then Mom would serve us supper. After the dishes were done, Dad would disappear to wrap his gifts. He always had some prank planned.”
“Sounds like quite a character.”
“He was. Is,” she corrected herself. “Mom and I would load up the sleigh and deliver gifts she’d chosen, little things for folks she’d heard about who needed some Christmas cheer.”
“She walked?”
“It was a very small town. No need to drive.” Connie smiled. “She never seemed to feel the cold—nor did I. The nights were so frigid that the snow crackled under our feet. But the sky was always spectacular, stars glittering everywhere. It didn’t take much for me to imagine shepherds with their sheep in the fields or the angels appearing in that dark sky, a brilliant white heavenly host.”
“Bethlehem didn’t have snow, or cold,” Wade corrected, his voice amused.
“Didn’t matter to me. The air was so crisp and still, hushed and expectant. I always half wondered if we’d turn a corner and happen upon the manger and Mary with her baby.” Memories engulfed her and she had to stop and compose herself. “We’d stop at each house, and Mom would hand over whichever treat she’d prepared especially for them and wish them a Merry Christmas. Then we’d go on to the next place.”
“Didn’t they invite you in?” he asked.
“Oh, yes, but Mom never stopped. She had so many things to deliver. And probably gifts at home to finish. She always made Christmas gifts for Dad and me.” Connie laughed as past scenes cascaded through her mind. “One year I got a big green frog that was a pajama bag. It sat on my bed. I was Silver’s age, and I was so proud of it.”
“Your mother left quite a legacy.”
“Yes,” Connie agreed. “She died when I was eight.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Dad was never quite the same after that. But he always tried hard to make our Christmases special. That’s why I couldn’t understand why—”
“You don’t have to tell me,” Wade said softly.
“One day I was home and the next I was alone. Why? That’s what I don’t understand.” Connie gulped down the tears, refusing to cry in front of him. But one seeped out and dribbled down her chin anyway.
“Connie…” The empathy in his low voice was her un doing.
“I should be past this,” she said fiercely, angry that so many years had passed and yet those same old feelings of abandonment still clung to her inner child.
“I don’t suppose it’s all that easy to get over childhood trauma.” Wade’s quiet voice was etched in unspoken pain.
“For anyone.”
Sensitive to his anguish, Connie let a few moments pass before she rose and gathered the invitations.
“Anyway, I try to keep Christmas as my mother did, to honor her memory and to honor her faith in God’s love for us. That’s why it’s so important to me.” And because I’m still a stupid kid who daydreams that one day her dad will tell her he wants her, that he loves her.
Wade said nothing when she hurried away.
He was probably more embarrassed by her display of emotion than by the last nanny’s pleas for affection.
But at least he’d promised to help with Silver’s party.
Chapter Five
As Wade walked downstairs on Sunday night, the hall clock chimed seven o’clock.
“Going out?” Connie spared him a quick look as she buttoned her bright red sweater.
She wore red a lot, Wade had noticed. And no wonder—it did great things for her dark hair and that creamy porcelain skin.
“I have a date—with a book on South American architecture,” he said. “Where are you off to?” Wade didn’t want to sound too prying. After all, it was none of his business what the nanny did on her night off.
“I’m going to speak with the man who knew my father, the one who sent the email.”
“Oh, yes.” He frowned. The address of the drop-in center where Connie was meeting her informant was in an unsavory area of town. Though he didn’t like the thought of her traveling there alone after dark, and returning even later, especially after David had told him of two violent incidents mere days earlier, he could hardly forbid her.
As if on cue, Silver bounded down the stairs, blue eyes shining. Wade couldn’t suppress the rush of pride that flooded him, but he quickly called himself a fool. Why should he feel pride? Silver wasn’t really his daughter. He was only pretending she was.
“Daddy! Can we go?”
“Go where?” Wade asked as Connie checked her watch and favored him with a “nanny” look that said, ‘This child should soon be tucked into her bed.”
“To look at the Christmas lights,” Silver explained, bouncing from one foot to the other, the bells on her shoes jingling a merry tune. “Cora and I saw it on TV. There’s a whole bunch of houses with pretty lights. Can we go, Daddy? Please?”
What red-blooded man could resist those wide baby blue eyes and that beseeching tone? Not Wade. He stuffed aside thoughts of his book and pulled his jacket out of the closet.
“I guess so. But you need to bring a warm sweater.”
“Woo hoo,” Silver whooped as she raced back to her room.
Connie’s wide-eyed stare unnerved him.
“What? You can hardly object,” he muttered. “We both know you’ve been scheming nonstop to get me to spend more time with her.”
“Hardly scheming,” she protested. A faint pink tinge colored her flawless skin. “And I certainly am not objecting. I’m just—”
“What? Surprised?”
“Glad.” Her wide eyes and expressive face gave away her emotions. At the moment, Connie’s face blazed with joy. For him? “She’s going to love it. It will be a memory she’ll treasure.”
“Maybe.” He wondered how many of those they’d have before his guilt completely overwhelmed him and he was forced to find Silver’s real family.
“I’m ready, Daddy.”
Wade pushed away the ugly thoughts. Later, he promised himself. He’d think it through later. For now he was going to grab this smidgen of happiness which life had offered.
“Are you three all going out?” Amanda stood at the top of the stairs, frowning down at them.
“Daddy and I are going to see Christmas lights.” Silver clapped her hands. “Why don’t you come with us, Grandma? And Connie. Then you could see the lights, too.”
Wade had been struggling to come up wi
th a way to open a discussion with his stepmother. Was this it?
“Interested, Amanda? It might be fun.” He doubted she’d agree. For one thing, she was mad at him again because he’d circumvented another of her attempts to have the board rescind his decision to hire two new associates.
But Silver didn’t know that. She dashed up the stairs and grabbed Amanda’s hands, tugging on them.
“Come on, Grandma. It will be fun. They have rides, too—wagons with real horses!” Silver’s voice kept rising.
“You’re going to Winterhaven?” Amanda asked very quietly.
“Yes.” Wade lifted his chin. “Dad used to take me there. I thought I’d do the same for Silver.”
“He took D-Danny, too.”
“I remember. It was their tradition. Maybe you could tell Silver about them.” Wade held his breath and waited.
Amanda’s face crumpled. She opened her mouth to say something more, but after a quick glance at Silver, she gave her head a slight shake. “Don’t let her get hurt” was all she managed before she turned around and rushed away.
A truckload of guilt weighed heavily on his shoulders even though Wade knew he hadn’t been to blame in either Danny’s or his father’s deaths. It was done, over. Why couldn’t she let it go?
Silver walked slowly downstairs and stopped in front of him.
“Why is Grandma sad, Daddy?” she asked. “Did I do something bad?”
“No, Silver. You didn’t do anything wrong.” Guilt wasn’t going to become her constant companion, not if he could help it.
“Then why is she sad?”
Wade’s heart squeezed tight at the misery washing through the child’s previously sparkling blue eyes. He squatted down in front of her and cupped her face in his palms.
“Some very special people who meant a lot to Grandma died near Christmas. She gets sad remembering, that’s all. You didn’t do anything.”
“But maybe if she came with us she’d be happy for a while,” Silver said.
“Maybe she would. But Grandma isn’t ready to do that.” Silver looked confused, and Wade wasn’t sure how to explain. “She needs time,” he added, but that didn’t help so he looked to Connie for assistance.
True to form, Connie was ready for the challenge.
“Remember when you didn’t want to go near the puppets at storytime, Silver?” she asked, crouching down next to Wade.
The little girl nodded.
“I tried to tell you that they were fun and that you’d like listening to their stories, didn’t I?”
“Yes.” Silver frowned.
“But you wouldn’t go until you were ready, would you?” Connie looked at him as if asking permission to continue.
Wade nodded. She was so much better at this than he.
“But then I got ready,” Silver said proudly. “I like the puppets.”
“Now you do. But you found out you liked them when you were ready, not because I told you that you would.” Connie smoothed the static-laden hair that danced around Silver’s head like a halo. “That’s how it is with your grandmother, honey. When she’s ready, she’ll let God shine the light of Christmas into her heart, and it will push her sadness away.”
“It will?” Silver’s eyes widened.
“Yes. Because that’s what Christmas is all about,” Connie explained. “Christmas happened because God sent His love to heal us.”
“Oh.” Silver stood silent, thinking about it. “It’s kind of like my bells, isn’t it?”
“Is it?” Wade asked. “How?”
“When my bells ring, people always smile.”
She was so smart, this precious little girl.
“Yes, they sure do.” Wade grinned. He stretched to his full height. “So would you like to come with us?” he said, looking at Connie. “We could stop by where you’re going, wait for you, and then go on to Winterhaven, if you’d like to come.”
“I might be a while,” she said. She stood, but her gaze remained on Silver. “We could be late coming home.”
So she thought of his place as home. That should worry him. Wade had never wanted the other nanny to think like that. But Connie was different. She didn’t take liberties. She was focused on her job—Silver. Not him.
“Couldn’t Silver handle one late night?” Wade asked.
“I don’t want to wreck your schedule, but if I recall correctly, she has no pressing engagement for tomorrow morning.” He waited for Connie’s assent, knowing Silver was watching them with bated breath.
Apparently Connie also realized that little pitchers had big ears.
“Well,” she mused in a thoughtful tone, “I don’t know. Sometimes when Silver doesn’t get enough sleep, she gets, well—”
“I won’t be grumpy, Connie. I promise.” Her blue eyes darted from one to the other. “And I’ll go to bed early tomorrow night.”
“Wow, you must really want to go.” Connie chuckled.
“Okay, for one night I don’t think it will hurt. But since we have our Sunday school practice tomorrow afternoon, maybe you can have a nap before it.”
“Babies have naps,” Silver said, her voice oozing scorn. Then she looked at him.
Wade lifted one eyebrow but said nothing. Silver sighed.
“Okay,” she agreed at last. “A nap if I’m tired.”
“Then let’s go.” He told Cora they were leaving, and she handed him a bag to drop off at Winterhaven. “I’ll explain later,” he told Connie. When Wade had stored it in the trunk, he opened the door and waited for Connie and Silver to climb in. Suddenly, he was feeling a bit of Silver’s excitement.
The center was located in a part of town Wade hadn’t visited in years. It made him glad he’d driven Connie here and doubly glad he could ensure she’d leave safely. At least, it would be a good idea, if his car was still in one piece when they left.
Inside the hall, a number of people sat waiting for the Sunday evening service to begin while others finished dinner. Wade and Silver took a seat in the back of the room as Connie approached the director at the front. After a brief conversation, he led her to a grizzled, whiskered man seated in a wheelchair. Connie held out the note; the man nodded and began to speak.
Wade was too far away to hear the conversation. He grabbed a brochure off a nearby table and began to read about New Horizons, the center where Connie had come to find her father. He didn’t get far.
“Daddy?” Silver edged a little closer to him, her voice whisper soft. “What is this place?”
“Um.” How should he phrase this?
“Those people look sad. Did somebody hurt them, Daddy?”
“I don’t think so.” Wade scanned the information quickly.
“New Horizons is for people to come and get help. I guess some of them don’t have homes to go to.” He tried to put the health care crisis into terms she’d understand. “Maybe they spent all their money trying to get better. Anyway, they come here to eat, go on the computers to look for jobs,” he added, having just read that, “and to meet with people to talk about their feelings.”
“Oh.” Clearly mystified, Silver didn’t ask any more, and Wade didn’t volunteer. After a few moments, she climbed onto his knee and held his hand with both of hers.
But when a little boy arrived with a woman pushing his wheelchair, Silver perked up. She watched the mother serve her child some food. The boy managed, with the awkward grace of his unbandaged hand, to feed himself. When his mother finished her meal and began to speak to him, he listened intently then nodded his head and watched her walk across the room.
“Can I go talk to him, Daddy?”
Wade hesitated. What if Silver asked the wrong question and hurt the disabled boy’s feelings? But Silver was usually very careful of others’ feelings. He decided to take the risk.
“Be polite” was the best fatherly advice he could think of. What a failure he was at this parenting business. Far better to let Connie handle it.
“Okay.” Silver hopped off his k
nee and tinkled her way across the room to the boy.
Being careful not to look too curious and invade Silver’s line of sight, Wade shifted to a seat a few feet behind the pair, prepared to interrupt if the scowling boy hurt his baby.
How pathetic was he? Afraid to embrace fatherhood completely, yet acting like a besotted daddy ready to protect his kid from everything.
He glanced up and found Connie’s gaze on him. It slid to Silver and the boy and then back to him. She smiled, and Wade knew he’d been caught out in his pretend fatherly role. But he stayed where he was anyway. Just in case.
“Hi. My name is Silver.”
“So?” The boy continued eating as if she wasn’t there.
Wade told himself to ignore the rudeness and stay cool.
“So what’s your name?” Silver climbed into the chair beside his wheelchair and waited.
“Kris.” Other than the single word, the boy ignored her.
“Do you live here, Kris?”
Wade held his breath when the boy glared at her. “Nobody lives here, dummy.”
“Oh.” Unabashed, Silver swung her feet, bells faintly tinkling. “What do you want for Christmas?”
“A million bucks.”
The kid had a smart lip, and Wade was getting tired of it. But Silver hadn’t given up, and Wade was loathe to drag her away when Connie didn’t seem ready to leave.
“I want God to help my daddy love me,” Silver told him.
“And a dollhouse.”
Whatever they said next flew right over Wade’s head.
I want God to help my daddy love me.
His gut clenched as if he’d been sucker punched by one of the gangs he was quite sure ran this side of town. The words spun around his brain like a whirling dervish, deeper and deeper. Every syllable a condemnation.
Why couldn’t he say the words? He’d give up his life if it would keep this child safe. But he couldn’t force the words, “I love you, Silver,” through his lips. And that was hurting her—something he did not want to do.
What was wrong with him?
Lots. But in his deepest heart, Wade knew that it was better that he didn’t say those words. If he told her that, how could he ever bear to let her go?