by Teresa Hill
"Maybe. If we have time. My aunt Jo called. She said we can have the sleigh tomorrow night. You want to go with us to get the tree, don't you?"
"Yes." He grinned at her, the best grin she'd ever gotten out of him. "Sam said we can cut it down. With an ax!"
"You think you're big enough?"
"Uh huh. I'm strong."
He was excited, too. They stomped the snow off their boots and went inside. Rachel tugged off his boots and unbuttoned his coat. That's when she found the book tucked inside.
"What's this?"
"My Chris'mas book," he said.
"Can I see?"
He nodded. She took it, turned it over, and found an edition of The Night Before Christmas illustrated with her grandfather's work. Not her first edition, but an inexpensive one, with the same story and the same illustrations.
"It's magic," he whispered.
Delighted, Rachel asked, "Really?"
Zach nodded and pointed to the cover. "It's the Chris'mas house! We're in it now!"
"That's right. And you already had this? Before you came here?"
He nodded mischievously. "I di'n't reco'nize it at first. 'Cause the lights 'n' stuff weren't on it. But it's a sign. Emma said so."
"Oh?"
"Ever'thing's gonna be all right. Nothin' bad can happen in this house."
Rachel wished nothing bad had ever happened here, and she didn't know what to say to that statement. She had a little boy who desperately needed reassurance. She settled for telling him, "I used to come here when I was a little girl, as little as you. It was always a happy house."
"Magic," he insisted, satisfied and happy at the thought.
Rachel thought of letting herself believe just for a moment. It was seductive, the idea of Christmas magic, of any kind of magic at all. But once, she'd believed that there'd been magic in this house and in the season. Love and light and all that goodwill, all swirling together to make Christmas magic.
She took it inside of her, just for a moment.
Magic.
What would that be like?
Maybe like someone bringing her children after she'd wished and hoped and prayed for so long. Long after she'd despaired of it ever happening?
What if this was meant to be? That seductive thought crept into her head, swirling around like fake snow inside one of her grandfather's snow balls. Part of her wanted to believe these children were meant to be here. That someone or something had brought them to her because they all needed one another so desperately.
There'd been a time when she'd believed in so much goodness in the world and in God's guiding hand in it all. But she'd stopped asking God for anything years ago and had never felt the distance between her and whoever might be running the universe more than when she and Sam lost their baby, more recently when they'd lost Will. It had been the last blow. The one to end all blows. She'd given up then. No wonder she was such a mess.
"Miss Rachel?" Zach whispered again.
"Yes."
"Are you sad?"
"Sometimes," she admitted.
At the moment she felt utterly lost, found herself questioning all the anger she'd directed toward a God she thought had let her down and betrayed her in the worst way. Questioned the way she'd always found someone to blame for the bad things that happened to her. It was so much easier than blaming herself or accepting the terrifying notion that bad things simply happened in this world. Very bad things. That at times there seemed no rhyme or reason for it.
How could someone ever accept that? It was terrifying.
Zach tugged on her hand until she bent down, and then he wrapped his skinny arms around her and gave her a big squeeze. Rachel thought he might have ripped her heart in two at that moment. She slipped to her knees, kneeling in front of him, and found her arms full of little boy.
"Mmmmmm," he hummed, squeezing tighter. Finally, he stepped back and asked, "All better?"
There was an adorable grin on his face, a wealth of warmth in his deep brown eyes and that childish belief in magic, including the magic of hugs. She blinked back tears and smiled a genuine smile.
"My mommy says hugs make everythin' better," he confided.
"She does?"
He nodded vigorously.
"She's a good mommy?"
"The best."
He seemed to genuinely believe that, and Rachel wanted to believe it for his sake. All morning she'd been imagining what the couple in Virginia had gone through, all these years never knowing if their children were alive and where they were and how they were being treated.
It made her think of her baby. At first, she'd tried not to imagine exactly where her daughter might be, except maybe in nothingness. Not lonely. Not cold. Not hurting at all. Simply suspended in nothingness. Her grandfather, even as angry as he'd been, had never questioned the notion that her daughter was in heaven, even as she'd all but threatened God that if her daughter was there, he'd certainly better be taking good care of her.
When her grandfather had passed away soon after that, Rachel had been by his side in the end. He'd whispered with his last breath that he saw her baby. That she was beautiful, and that he planned to spend his days rocking her in heaven, and that was an image she found comforting, if fleeting. She wasn't at all sure what she believed. She'd come to a sort of armed truce with God after that, even if he did have her baby and her grandfather and her mother in all that nothingness. And as hard as Rachel had tried to get there herself—to a feeling of nothingness herself—she hadn't been able to. She'd been tugged back to life.
Maybe for a purpose? For this purpose? She had Zach, who was so terribly funny and so happy, and Emma and Grace. She wondered if someone up there was trying to fill up her empty arms, finally, wondered again if this was somehow meant to be.
It was a dangerous thought. She'd promised herself she wouldn't do this, and yet here she was. The little boy smiling brightly at her most certainly was a rare and precious gift, one that just might save her.
"I love you, Zach," she whispered as it welled up inside of her, warming her through and through.
He just grinned, as if people told him that every day and he was quite used to being loved. Which is exactly what she wanted for him.
"Come on," she said, rising to fight another day. "Let's see if Grace is awake yet. And tomorrow, we'll get our tree."
* * *
It snowed again on the fifth day of Christmas. Rachel didn't remember the last winter they had this much snow. And it was altogether lovely snow. The kind that floated gently from the sky in big, fluffy balls.
They arrived at her aunt's farm as it was getting dark, a sliver of a moon hanging low in the sky. Zach danced in the snow beneath it.
Aunt Jo, Rachel's mother's youngest sister and the kindest, the most fun one, was waiting for them. She fussed over the children, especially the baby, and then took Rachel aside and slipped an arm around her.
"They're wonderful," Aunt Jo said.
"Yes, they are."
"It's going to work. I know it is. This time, it's going to work."
"Oh, Jo," Rachel insisted.
"I know it in my heart, Rachel. This was meant to be. And I'm so happy for you. I know it's been a long road, filled with a lot of pain, but you have to believe in something again someday. Until then, I'll just believe for you."
"I'm trying," Rachel said. "Miriam told me not to even think this way, but—"
"Miriam has seen too many bad things happen to people and too few miracles," Jo insisted, then pointed toward Zach, practically beaming up at the sleigh and the horse pulling it. "It's almost Christmas. It's a beautiful night and you're going off into the snow in a sleigh to find a Christmas tree. Anything can happen tonight, Rachel."
And Rachel supposed it could.
She thanked her aunt and approached the sleigh.
The horse was pitch black and regal looking. His mane and tail had been braided with red ribbons and bells, which he seemed to bear with great dignity, and there
were ribbons and bells on the reins, as well. The sleigh was at least seventy-five years old and painted red. It might have come straight out of a 1940s movie.
Even Emma seemed enchanted with it. She ran a hand tentatively along the side and looked almost blissful.
"Do you still believe in magic, Emma?"
The girl frowned at first, then sighed. "I don't know."
"Zach showed me his Christmas book yesterday."
"He did?"
"Actually, he went to show it to Sam, but found me there. When I took him back inside, he showed it to me. It's really something that he had a book with a picture of this house on it, and now the three of you are living here."
"I guess," she admitted. "I've read him that book lots of times. It's one of his favorites."
"So you knew?" And Emma hadn't said anything about it?
"Yes. It's silly, but I used to think that nothing bad could happen in that house. I used to think nothing bad could happen to me, if I could find a way to live there," she confided. "It looked... magical. It's silly, I know, but—"
Rachel pulled the girl close. She wasn't one to lecture anyone about hope, but she thought it was what Emma needed to hear, and maybe Rachel did, too. It was leap-of-faith time. They were down to nothing but that. Did Rachel have any faith left?
"I don't think it's silly at all," she said. "And we all need reasons to hope."
"I want to. I want to believe," Emma confided.
"Then just do it, Emma. I'm not very good at it, either, but maybe if we both help each other we can manage. Let's believe something good is going to happen, rather than something bad. We'll make a pact. Okay?"
Sad eyes slowly came up to hers. "You get scared, too?"
"Of course." Emma leaned in closer. Rachel held on tight. "Did you think it was just you? That you were the only one who got scared?"
Emma nodded.
"Oh, baby." Rachel fought back tears. "You're so brave. I've been watching how you are with Zach and the baby through this whole thing, and you're so strong, Emma. You've inspired me and made me ashamed of myself. I've wished I were as strong and as brave as you."
"But you're a grown-up," Emma said.
"Supposed to be, anyway," Rachel said. "You know what? Why don't you let me work on being the strong one, the brave one. I need the practice. You let me do your worrying for you."
"I could try," she said.
"Good. Why don't you start by telling me what's been bothering you all day?"
Emma shrugged and looked over to Zach, who hovered in obvious fascination around the horse.
"Sam will stay close," Rachel said, knowing what the girl was thinking. "He'll make sure Zach doesn't get hurt. I know it can seem like Sam's kind of... mad at times. But it's not that. He's been through a lot. He's been hurt, too. He tries not to show it, and sometimes when he's hiding it..."
"You think he's mad?"
"Yes. It can look like he's mad. Or that he doesn't care. But he does. I think he cares a lot about you and Zach and the baby."
"He doesn't like holding her," Emma said.
"It's just hard. It reminds him of bad things that happened before. But it's not about Grace. Not at all."
"Okay," Emma said.
"You were upset when I walked into the kitchen yesterday morning. When you were talking to Sam. And at the doctor's. Can you tell me why?"
Emma's face fell. "What was the blood for?"
"It's a test." Rachel didn't suppose she could do anything but level with the little girl. "A test to see where you and Zach belong."
"We know where we belong," she insisted.
"And you won't tell us. So we're trying to find out. Emma, you can't expect us not to try to find out where you belong."
"But the blood? It's for that stuff, isn't it? That stuff in blood... With the letters?"
"DNA," Rachel said. "It can tell you who your parents are by matching your blood to theirs."
"I know who my parents are."
"Both of them?"
"Yes," Emma said.
"You could tell us where your father is?"
"No. But I know who he is."
"Then give us his name, Emma. We'll find him."
"No. We can't go there."
"Why not?"
"We just can't. And I can't talk about it. I'm not supposed to."
"Did your mother take you away from him? Is that why she's afraid of the police?"
"I can't talk about it. Rachel, please..."
"Grandparents?" she tried. "Aunts? Uncles?"
"I can't say."
"Okay." Rachel put her arm around the girl.
"You said we could stay here. You said it was all right."
"It is. I'm not trying to make you tell us about your parents to get rid of you, Emma. I'm just thinking that if I were your mother and I didn't know where you were, I'd be so worried. I'd want you back as soon as possible. And I know you and Zach and Grace would feel so much better to know where your mother is."
Which was something Rachel didn't understand about this at all. All the children had to do was give them a name and a town, and someone would go find her. And yet the children wouldn't. They claimed that the same woman who abandoned them at that motel made them promise not to tell anyone who they were or where they belonged, and they'd kept that promise they made to her, even though they had to be terrified. It didn't make sense—this faith they had in the woman who'd deserted them.
"Emma," she said. "Listen to me. I would do anything for you and Zach and Grace. Anything at all. And I'm going to be here for you, as long as you need me. Do you understand that?"
"You said it was just until Christmas."
"I know that's what we said at first." But Rachel couldn't turn her back on them now, and there was no reason to. As Miriam pointed out, she had the time, the energy. She had the love, too.
She'd probably had all of that from the first moment she'd seen Emma and Zach on her porch in their pitifully inadequate clothing, from the moment Miriam showed up like something out of Rachel's dream and put the baby in her arms. Certainly from the time Zach had wrapped his arms around her and asked solemnly if his hug made everything all better. She was in it for the long haul. She would not desert them now.
Emma stared up at her, so troubled, so hesitant, so much need and longing in her eyes.
"I'm not going to kick you out after Christmas," she said, trying to lighten the mood and keep herself from saying something so heartfelt she'd burst into tears right there. "You can stay as long as you need to. I promise."
And it wasn't until she looked up into her husband's grim features—he heard everything she'd said to Emma—that she realized she'd done it again. She'd made a monumental decision without ever considering his feelings in the matter, without ever talking to him about it.
Was she simply going to sit back and let him go without trying to salvage something of the last twelve years? Did she think to use these kids as a way to fill up her life when Sam was gone? She looked at them, Zach and Emma piling into the sleigh, down at the baby in her arms, and felt again that connection between herself and them. It was real, Rachel thought. It was powerful and filled her inside in all those empty places she'd lived with for so long.
But it was no substitute for what she felt for Sam. She still ached at the thought, was still panicked.
Then she thought of one more thing. Could she keep the children without Sam? They'd been approved as foster parents as a couple. She didn't even have a job. Maybe she had made rash promises she wouldn't be able to keep. She'd have to check with Miriam right away, hopefully without going into all the specifics of what was going on between her and Sam.
She looked up, finding he was closer than she realized, that closed-off look to his face replacing the anger and shock she'd seen moments ago when she'd made her promise to Emma. Did he really want the children to go? Or was he thinking like a man who was leaving his wife, a man who knew the promises she'd just made, she might not be able to
keep because he was leaving.
"Rachel?" he asked.
"Yes?" She was suddenly scared of what he was going to say. She still wasn't ready to talk about him leaving. God, she didn't think she ever would be.
"Get in," he said.
She looked at him once more, lost in her thoughts, only then realizing they were all waiting for her, staring at her.
"Sorry," she said, putting the baby in his arms.
He looked startled and uneasy at that, and his eyes seemed to accuse her of things she didn't quite understand. He might come off as gruff as a bear at times with the children, but she could swear it was pure defense mechanisms. He didn't want to get attached to them, didn't want to get hurt when they left. He was still trying to protect her from that, too. Didn't that mean something? That even as he was leaving her, he still cared enough to want to protect her.
For so long, they'd lived their lives trying not to get hurt, curling up inside themselves and being wary of where the next blow was coming from, but it had to stop. It was time to reach for something better, something wonderful, and she wanted to reach out to Sam, the man she used to know. The one she'd fallen in love with. Laughed with, cried with, and lived with for a dozen years.
Rachel held out her hands for the baby, and Sam climbed in, having no choice but to sit beside her, his body pressed close to hers. He pulled a big, green blanket around all five of them and picked up the reins and off they went.
* * *
Emma sat with Zach on her lap. He talked the whole time, so excited he couldn't even sit still. There was the big yellow moon and all the stars, the snow, the horse, the sleigh, all the trees. He couldn't imagine Christmas trees growing in a field and kept saying theirs had always come from a box and had to be put together, kind of like his Tinkertoys.
He squirmed and grinned and seemed totally happy, and Emma was glad for that. Grace, too, seemed perfectly content here with Sam and Rachel. But Emma was getting more worried every moment.
It had been eight days since she'd seen her mother, and she simply couldn't imagine what could have kept her away for so long. She knew her mother loved them. She knew it. But she was gone. She'd been gone for so long.
Emma was afraid something awful had happened to her.