You have to believe that won't happen." You're right. I do." He laughed, but the sound was bitter. "I'm the minister. My faith's strong, steady, one-hundred percent reliable. 'Whatever my lot...it is well with my soul,'" he said, quoting an old hymn. Then he muttered a rude word, one Cait had never heard him use.
"Cait? Who's here?" Anna came into the living room.
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"Oh, David—what are you doing home in the middle of the morning?" She looked a little more rested, but no less pale.
David cast a warning glance at Cait and got to his feet. "I needed a book I'd left at home to work on Sunday's sermon." He crossed to his wife and brushed a kiss over her forehead. "See you for lunch." Before Anna could say anything else, he left the room, and then the house.
Anna sank onto the couch across from Cait. "What were you two talking about?"
"You, of course. You're everybody's favorite topic of conversation." But Anna shouldn't have to worry about David's doubts, so Cait decided to gloss over those details. "I must get asked five times a day how you're doing, and how much longer it will be and is there something somebody can help you with. You've got a lot of friends in this town."
"They're good people." She lay back against the cushions. "That's why I hate to disappoint them with the Christmas pageant. Maybe I can do it," Anna said, sitting up again. "I don't really have to stand up to direct or to plan. I can sit and think—"
No, you don't." Cait put a hand on her sister's knee. You do not need the stress of trying to plan and worry. You have to stay calm and relaxed. I'll find somebody to handle the program for you. I swear. I can't do it myself, but I won't leave you in the lurch."
For the first time that day, Anna actually smiled.
Cait only hoped she could deliver on her promise.
Maddie and Shep were much better on Friday, though they still didn't go back to school. Ben was on his feet again, although not feeling a hundred percent, and he spent hours clearing away three-days' worth of mess.
When Peggy called to ask about the kids coming for dinner, he was sorely tempted, just so he could flake out for a solid night's sleep.
But he owed his kids more than that. "I planned to call you and suggest we skip this week. The kids have had the flu—"
"What? Why didn't you call me? Are they getting better? Have you taken them to see Dr. Hall?"
He smiled a little at her fierce concern. "I didn't want you and Harry getting sick. And yes, they're much better—enough that they spent the day running around the house whenever I had my back turned. I'll probably let them outside tomorrow, or maybe Sunday."
"Ben, I wish you wouldn't be quite so independent. They're our grandkids. We want to help."
"I know. And when I really need help, you'll be the first people I ask. But this was just the flu. No big deal." Discounting his sleepless nights, his foggy, bumbling days. "Anyway, I don't think we'll go out tonight. But Sunday everything should be back to normal." He hoped.
"Well, then, y'all will come to lunch on Sunday so I can fatten you up again."
"That sounds great. How's your week been? This cold weather must've killed off the last of your garden."
"It did. We need to clean up all the dead stuff. And I guess there's going to be plenty of time for that now." Peggy hesitated. "Harry's been asked to take early retirement."
'Just out of the blue?'' Pretty much. Today is his last day." Jeez...Harry loved his work. Is he okay?" He says so. He's been doing financial calculations every night this week, budgeting, projecting, showing me
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how our money will work and what we'll be living on. It's all very well set up."
"It would be. Harry's great with numbers—the IRS should keep records as good as his. So you think he'll make the transition without too much trouble?"
"I think he has projects lined up to keep him busy for a couple of years. He wants to enlarge the vegetable garden, spruce up the bathrooms—I've already bought the paint and paper—and at least a dozen other jobs."
"That sounds promising."
"I suppose." She sighed. "I would have thought he would be more upset—he's worked at that plant since he was sixteen, full-time since he left the army. But I won't borrow trouble. You take care of yourself, now. And please call if you need anything."
"I will. I promise."
Ben punched off the phone, wishing his mood could be improved with a few kind words. Unfortunately, the one person he'd like to hear those words from was a lady who wasn't going to be around for long. So it wouldn't do anyone any good for them to get too close.
Still, when she showed up at his door Saturday morning, he couldn't deny he was glad to see her.
"Chicken soup," Cait said, holding up a jar. "It's store-bought, but it ought to be good for something. Books," she gestured to her other arm, filled with a stack of colorful paperbacks. "Guaranteed to occupy ten- and six-year olds for at least a couple of hours while their dad grabs a nap."
"Cait." He shook his head, laughing. "You didn't have to do this. What about Anna?"
1 'David is with Anna. And your poor children need to see someone besides their haggard dad this week. Now, do I get to come in?" She wore a sweater the color of
emeralds over black jeans, both snug enough to jump-start a man's fantasies.
Fortunately for Ben's imagination, Maddie dashed into the living room, followed by Shep. "Miss Caidyn!" Ben caught her shoulders just before she grabbed Cait around the legs. "I'm so glad to see you!"
"I'm glad to see you so bright-eyed. And Shep's looking pretty tough for a guy who's had the flu. Didn't let it get you down, did you?"
To Ben's surprise, Shep shook his head. He rarely responded to direct questions from anyone other than his dad and, sometimes, Peggy.
"Is that soup?" Maddie stared at the jar.
"Chicken soup. Why don't we go into the kitchen and warm it up?"
The three of them swept through the house, leaving Ben to close the front door. Somehow the presence of another adult in the house made him realize suddenly how ill he really felt. Even though the other person was Cait, and there were at least five good reasons he shouldn't depend on her, he had an overwhelming desire to go to bed. Alone.
"Are you still down here?" Cait stood in the doorway to the kitchen. "Do I have to carry you up to bed myself?"
He managed a grin. "Do you think you could?"
She looked him up and down, and his pulse jumped. "No. I'd have to drag you. You'd be better off walking on your own two legs." Turning on her heel, she went away again.
Although the stairs seemed incredibly steep, Ben climbed to the second floor and even changed into clean sweatpants and a T-shirt before crawling into his bed. A few minutes—or it might have been a few hours—later,
he felt a cool palm on his forehead. "Medicine, SuperDad."
He gobbled the pills and slurped the water she brought.
"Now go to sleep." That same hand stroked his hair back from his face, and he smiled at the gentleness of her touch. Then the door to his room closed, leaving him to blessed, irresponsible darkness and sleep.
"This is nice," Maddie said late in the afternoon, when the four of them were sitting around the kitchen table finishing their soup. "You should come over more often, Miss Caitlyn."
"I've enjoyed myself," Cait said, ignoring Ben as he choked on a spoonful of chicken and noodles. "I don't get to read many kids' stories these days. But we read a bunch of good books together, didn't we?"
"My favorite was the fairy-tale book. I 'specially liked the story about the swan princess."
Cait noticed that Shep stared at his sister and shook his head. Obviously he didn't agree with her choice, but he wasn't going to share his opinion.
When the children wandered off to play video games, she made Ben stay seated while she cleared the table. "You can go back to the macho act
in an hour or so. For now, just put up with being taken care of."
"Thank you. I'm grateful. Really."
Cait met his serious gaze. "I know." Tension stretched between them, a tightness she could feel pulling deep inside her. Looking away, she broke the contact. "I'm probably being nosy, so you can tell me to shut up if you want to. Have you tried any kind of therapy for Shep?''
He shook his head. "I'm not sure there's one we haven't tried. The therapists all say the same thing. Elective mutism—that means he can talk, and will when he
wants to. Until then, forcing him would be tantamount to torture."
"I don't know how you'd compel him to speak, anyway. It's pretty easy to understand what he wants and pretty hard not simply to give it to him."
"Yeah." Ben rubbed his face with his hands. "So we stumble along the way things are. He goes to choir to be with the other kids, even though he doesn't sing. He can do all the paperwork he's assigned in school and his teacher doesn't mark him down because he doesn't talk. But I'd really like to hear him say 'Daddy' again."
The longing in Ben's eyes hurt her heart. She wanted to put her arms around his shoulders, give him her comfort. But Cait didn't have a single doubt about where such an embrace would lead. And neither of them wanted or needed any more complications.
She finished wiping the counter, folded the dishcloth, and then turned back to the table. "I guess I'd better get out of your way."
The phone rang. Ben picked up the receiver, but didn't say anything beyond "Hello" for quite a while. "You're sure?" he said at last. "Right. Let me know if there's anything at all I can do."
Cait thought he would hang up. Instead, he extended the phone to her. "It's Dave. Anna's in the hospital."
"Oh, my God." She took the handset with a shaking hand. "David? What's happened?"
"She started bleeding. Not really bad, but—" he sounded totally exhausted "—we called the doctor, and he met us at the emergency room."
Is Anna okay? Is...is the baby all right?" So far." He sighed. "But she's confined to complete bed rest from this point on. No going anywhere, no sitting up. She's to lie on her left side for six weeks, at least.
Longer, if possible." His voice wobbled, and he cleared his throat. "I knew it, Cait. I knew we shouldn't get our hopes up."
"Oh, David." She didn't have the words to console him. "Are you with Anna? Is she—can I talk to her?"
He didn't answer. "Cait?" Anna's voice was thick with tears. "Oh, Cait, what are we going to do?"
1 'You are going to do just what they said—stay in bed. I'm going to take care of absolutely everything else."
"What about Christmas? What about the pageant? I can't possibly do anything to help. If we have to cancel—"
"You don't have to cancel." None of the people Cait had talked to in the past couple of days had agreed to direct the Christmas program. Almost all of them would help, but no one wanted to accept responsibility for the ultimate outcome. "Don't worry, Anna. There will be a Christmas pageant. Count on it."
She got her sister to stop crying before she said goodbye. Then she put the phone back in its cradle.
"I'm sorry," Ben said. "This is a really hard time for your family."
"It could be worse." She saw his eyes darken, knew he understood that her comment referred to his own hard times. "But now I'm really trapped. No way out of the Christmas pageant anymore."
"What about the Christmas pageant?" Maddie padded into the kitchen. "Are we ready to start practicing? Remember—" she held out her arms in an imitation of wings. "—I get to be the announcing angel."
Cait chuckled. "No, we're not quite ready to start practicing yet. But at least we know for sure there will be a pageant, and who will be directing it."
"Who? Who's the director?" Maddie asked.
SHENANDOAH CHRISTMAS
Reaching out, Cait ruffled Maddie's curls. "You're looking at her," she said.
"Oh boy!"
"You can say that again." An idea struck so fast, came through so strongly, she had no choice but to announce it right away. "I am going to pull this pageant together."
She looked across at Ben, met his suddenly wary eyes with a serious stare of her own.
"And your dad, Maddie, is going to help me."
Ben braced his arms on the kitchen table and let his head hang loose from his shoulders. This was not fair. He had enough trouble making Christmas for his own kids. Why should he have to make Christmas for everybody in the whole damn town?
But there was nothing fair about life. He'd known that to be true even before he'd lost Valerie. Now David and Anna stood the risk of losing their baby, and that wasn't fair, either.
In the face of life's devastating tricks, friends and family were the anchor, the link to solid ground. How could he refuse to return in kind what the Remingtons had already done for him?
If Cait had continued to argue with him, he might have been able to talk himself out of the situation. But she stood quietly across the room, letting him reach the only possible conclusion all by himself.
"Okay, damn you." He straightened and turned to face her. "I'll do what I can. I'll get my revenge, though. Someday, somehow."
"Such a gracious concession." Her grin took the sting out of the words. "I know it'll be terrible, Ben. But Christmas comes and goes. We won't have to suffer long."
He laughed in spite of himself. "I don't think they'll be using us for any Christmas card slogans this year."
"No, they can just take pictures of the pageant and leave the inside of the cards blank. Do you have a pen and paper?"
When he brought her a notepad and pencil, she sat down at the table, staring at him expectantly until he took his own seat.
"If we organize this now, we won't have to think so much later,' she said. "Let's divide the show into com-
mittees. There's the music and script committee—that would be me. Costumes. Staging and props—that's you."
Ben put his head down in his arms and groaned.
She flicked his ear with the tip of the pencil. "Sit up and concentrate. Somebody said something about a reception at the minister's house?"
He sat up. "There's a procession from the church to the house, and everybody goes in for carols and desserts."
"Mmm. So we need a refreshment committee. And a decorations committee—Anna won't be able to do her own this year."
"Who gets to run all these committees?" He had to admire her organized approach.
"That's where you come in. I need suggestions, and you know the people here."
"You want me to volunteer other people to do all this work?"
Cait smiled sweetly. "Do you want to do everything yourself?"
"Good point."
For the next two hours they plotted and planned—filling in names of volunteers as they occurred to Ben, discussing and making notes on the stage setup and materials.
"Animals," Cait said suddenly. "We need an animal department. People want live ones this year."
"Why not just use drawings?"
Her stare was contemptuous. "We're setting a standard here. No skimping."
"Yes, ma'am. So you need a cleanup crew, too."
She reconsidered. "Maybe we'll cover the floor with a tarp."
He grinned. "Quick thinking."
"Well." Paging through their lists, she nodded her
head. "I think we've made a good start. I'll call people tomorrow and tell them their assignments." She pushed back the chair and got to her feet.
Ben stood, too. "Not ask them?"
"Nope. They had their chance to volunteer. Now it's time for the draft."
"You're a hard woman, Cait Gregory." He followed her toward the front of the house.
"I know." She turned back before she reached the door and before he'd quite stopped, which brought them close together. He could see the flecks of gold in her green eyes, the freckles across her nose and cheeks. Just below his line of vision, her breasts rose and fell on a deep breath.
His own breathing seemed to stop altogether. He was touching her, Ben realized with surprise, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder, his thumb rubbing over the curve of her collarbone underneath the emerald sweater. Cait's lips were slightly parted, her eyes dark. The next moment would, obviously, bring a kiss. And they both knew it.
She put her hand on his chest. "Ben. Not a good idea."
"You're right." He forced air into his lungs and stepped back, putting a decent distance between them. "Sorry. Um...I'U start sketching out some of the stage plans we talked about. And I'll call some of the volunteers."
Her smile was quiet, grateful. Intimate, instead of the high-watt expression he'd seen her use in the past. Did she know how dangerous she was with that smile?
He opened the door, let the north wind in to cool him off. "'Night, Cait. I'll be in touch."
"Good night. And thanks."
"Sure." He stood on the porch and watched until she got to her car, kept his eyes on it until her taillights disappeared around the corner. Only then did he feel the cold
porch stones under his feet, the headache pulsing behind his eyes.
Inside and upstairs, he checked on the kids and, with relief, found them both asleep. He really didn't think he could handle any more chat about Christmas tonight. With the house locked up, he went to his own room and took some medicine for the headache, popped a couple of cough drops into his mouth. He couldn't afford to use the stuff that knocked him out all night—if Maddie or Shep woke up, he might not hear them.
Once asleep, he dreamed, as he'd known he would. Dreamed that Cait hadn't stopped him, that he'd kissed her the way he wanted to. And then she was pulling out of his arms, walking away without looking back, and he just stood there and let her go.
He woke up, turned-on and furious and spent the rest of the night dozing in front of the television in the den downstairs. It wasn't restful. But at least he didn't dream.
Harry dragged himself out of bed on Sunday morning about nine o'clock. He found Peggy in the kitchen, cooking. Not breakfast, though.
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