It was unsettling to know that across the hall, Ross was listening.
“Sometimes I don’t sleep through the night,” she admitted. “Sometimes I have trouble concentrating. I sat down to watch a movie yesterday afternoon, and I couldn’t even follow the story. I can’t cook the way I used to either.”
“Is that good or bad?”
“I loved to cook. I was a great cook. Now the directions are too complicated to follow.”
“I would imagine that culinary skills get rusty just like any other unused skill. Give yourself a little time. Pick some simpler dishes. Get Ross to help.”
She shook her head. “I want to do it myself. When he’s gone, I’ll have to do it myself.”
“Unless he has some sort of ironclad prenuptial agreement, when he’s gone, you’ll be financially comfortable, at worst. You’ll be able to hire someone to do whatever you can’t.”
“No, there’s no prenup,” she admitted. Ross’s circle of acquaintances who came closest to achieving the status of friends had been appalled that he hadn’t thought to take such a precautionary measure. They were unwilling to share any credit for their success with their wives or any financial gain with their ex-wives. But Ross wasn’t like them. “I’ll have the money, but I don’t want to hire someone unless there’s absolutely no other option.”
“So, like I said, give yourself some time. You know, with most patients who suffer post-traumatic syndrome, the symptoms lessen, then disappear within the first year or shortly thereafter. In a few more months you could be perfectly fine.”
“Or some of what we’re attributing to post-traumatic syndrome could actually be brain damage,” she said with a sardonic smile. “I could be like this the rest of my life.”
“But you’re alive and otherwise healthy. You can lead a normal life—and hiring someone to cook for you would be normal in your life. Don’t tell me you didn’t have a full household staff in Buffalo.”
“We did. I hated it.”
Another brief silence settled between them as he watched her. Often in her sessions with Dr. Olivetti, the doctor hadn’t even looked at her—had instead made copious notes while listening intently. Maggie suspected that Dr. Grayson learned almost as much from watching his patients as he did from listening to them, and he hadn’t yet made a single note.
“So … what are your plans after Ross is gone?”
“I don’t know. When things started getting bad, I went back to school and finished my degree, so I’d like to work, I think. For years the only job I’ve held was being his wife. The pay and benefits were great, but the emotional satisfaction …” Flushing, she let her voice trail off, then murmured, “I’d like to do something with kids. My degree is in early childhood development. I’d like to use it.”
“That shouldn’t be too difficult. Bethlehem has kids coming out of the woodwork. When do you plan to start looking?”
“After Ross goes home.”
They talked a few minutes longer, then Dr. Grayson said, “That’s about it for today, Maggie. Before we call it quits, is there anything you want to ask?”
“Yes. What are they doing out there?” The scene out the window had caught her attention more than once while they talked, but she’d forced herself to ignore it, to concentrate on his questions and her answers. Now that their hour was almost up, though, she felt no such compunction.
Dr. Grayson turned in his chair to look. Across the lawn was a tall building of the sort used to house heavy equipment. In spite of the cold, the wide doors were open and a small group of adults and children were busy inside. Occasionally one child raced out into the snow, followed at top speed by another, then disappeared inside again.
“They’re working on the hospital’s float for the Christmas parade,” Dr. Grayson replied. “It’s this Thursday night. If you’d like to volunteer an extra set of hands, I’m sure they’d be happy to have you.”
She was tempted—very much so. But she had little artistic talent, knew nothing about building floats, and wasn’t quite up to inviting herself to join a group of strangers.
Reading at least part of her reluctance accurately, Dr. Grayson said, “You’ve already met some of them. The Winchester sisters are over there—they’re two of our most reliable volunteers—and they always bring the Dalton kids. Shelley Walker’s kids help out too, and some of the other folks who shared Thanksgiving dinner with us. All you have to do is twist paper and poke it through chicken wire.” Rising from his chair, he got both her coat and his own from the hook on the back of the door. “Come on. I’ll walk over with you.”
Even as she protested, she stood up and slid her arms into the coat. “I’m supposed to meet Ross in the lobby at four.”
“So we’ll just say hello, and you can talk to them about helping out later. It won’t take but a minute.” He ushered her from the office, out a back door, and across a walk that had been partially cleared of snow.
As they stopped in the open doorway, Josie Dalton, Emilie Bishop’s niece and Maggie’s neighbor, ran forward and leaped into Dr. Grayson’s arms. “Dr. J.D., look what I got at school today,” she said, then closed her eyes so he could better appreciate the bruising that encircled her right eye.
“Nice shiner, kiddo,” he said admiringly. “How’d it happen?”
Opening her eyes again—well, one eye, at least—she pouted, looking angelically pretty with her blond hair, blue eyes, and delicate features. “Kenny Howard did it. I’m gonna tell Uncle Nathan, and he’ll go arrest him and put him in jail, and Kenny’ll be sorry ’cause Santa Claus won’t bring him nothin’ for bein’ bad.” Switching her attention to Maggie, Josie turned off the pout and grinned. “I ’member you. You live in the brick house that had candles in paper sacks that didn’t burn up last Christmas. I’m gonna ask Aunt Emilie if we can’t have ’em too. I’m Josie Lee Dalton.”
“Hi, Josie. I’m Maggie.”
Josie’s elder sister, Alanna, joined them in time to hear the introduction. “That’s Miss Maggie to you, Josie,” she said. “Come on. Miss Agatha wants your help.”
“She’s a beautiful child,” Maggie murmured as the two girls walked away.
Dr. Grayson knew immediately which child she was referring to. Josie was a doll—a bright, funny, precocious doll—but Alanna was lovely. “She is,” he agreed. “Have you ever seen a ten-year-old girl who looks that incredibly serene?”
Serene. It was a perfect description—and the incredibly was pretty accurate too, based on what Maggie had learned on Thanksgiving about the Dalton children’s background. Their mother was a severely dependent personality who had abdicated her responsibilities to her children in favor of men, alcohol, and drugs. She had spent last Christmas in a court-ordered rehabilitation program and was back there again this Christmas. As for their fathers—each child had been born of a different relationship—they had never been a part of the children’s lives.
How fortunate for them that their aunt Emilie and uncle Nathan loved them as if they were their own, and how lucky the Bishops were to have them.
“Hello, Maggie girl,” Harry Winslow from the diner greeted her. “Have you come to work, J.D.?”
“Afraid not. I’ve got an appointment in a few minutes. But I brought you someone who thinks working on a parade float would be a wonderful way to while away a few frigid hours.” Ignoring her chastening look, Dr. Grayson pushed her farther into the cavernous space. “I’ll tell Ross where you are, and I’ll see you again soon.”
As he left, Harry offered her his arm. “We’re pretty proud of our handiwork here. Let me show you around, and then the sisters can put you to work. How does that sound?”
She looked at the float surrounded by its bundled-up creators, all talking and obviously having a good time, then offered the elderly man a smile. “That sounds wonderful.”
And it really did.
The hospital lobby was neither large nor imaginative. It was a square room with plate-glass windows decorated with fake snow, a
nativity scene on one side and equal time for the secular sector and Santa on the other. Rows of hard plastic chairs in garish orange lined two walls, and a vinyl couch faced one. The information desk was strictly that—a desk situated between the elevator and a corridor—and was manned now by a teenage candy striper who’d replaced the grandmotherly woman present when he’d arrived five minutes earlier.
Ross wondered how Maggie’s appointment with J. D. Grayson was going—wondered what they were talking about. He’d never asked her what she discussed in her sessions with her psychiatrist. If anything was sacred, surely that was.
But he wouldn’t be surprised if the impulse to ask this time was stronger than the need to resist. And he couldn’t deny that it had something to do with the fact that the doctor wasn’t a sixty-something, gray-haired, fatherly type. That he was their age, single, and, by Maggie’s own description, cute.
“Can I help— Why, Mr. McKinney. What are you doing here?”
He focused his gaze on the woman in front of him. He’d seen her before—at the Winchesters, perhaps, or— “You work at the nursery.”
She smiled brightly. “I was there the day Maggie got her bulbs. Did she get them planted all right?”
“Yes, she did. Do you work here too?”
With one slim hand she tugged the lapel of her lavender lab coat, drawing his attention to the name tag pinned to it. NOELLE, VOLUNTEER, it read. “I help out wherever I can. Maggie’s not sick, is she?”
“No. She’s with Dr. Grayson.”
“Wonderful doctor. Bethlehem’s lucky to have him.”
Just what he needed—another of the doctor’s fans, Ross thought sourly before she continued.
“Just as you’re lucky to have Maggie. It was a miracle that she survived such a nasty accident—a genuine Christmas miracle. I guess she hadn’t yet fulfilled God’s purpose for putting her here.” Once more she smiled that light, lovely smile. “I see the doubt in your eyes. Is it miracles you don’t believe in, Mr. McKinney? Or God’s purpose?”
He didn’t offer an answer. She didn’t require one.
“We all have a purpose here—a place to belong, a life we should be living. Sometimes, though, we get too caught up in the world to recognize our place when we find it. I think Maggie has found her place. Have you?”
Uncomfortable with the question, he opened his mouth to tell her politely that his place was none of her business, but whistling from the hallway distracted him. “There’s Dr. Grayson now,” he said, moving to meet the man halfway.
“Maggie and I are finished for the day,” Grayson said. “She’s out back now helping the Winchesters work on the hospital float. Come on, I’ll show you where they are.”
“Is everything all right?” Ross fell into step with him but took one quick look back before they turned the corner. Noelle, with her pesky questions, was already gone.
“Everything’s fine.” Grayson stopped at a short corridor. “Go out that door and follow the sidewalk. Tell Maggie to give me a call … oh, in three weeks or so. I don’t think we’ll need to meet more than another time or two. She’s remarkably well adjusted, considering.”
Considering what? Ross wanted to ask. All she’d gone through with the accident? Or all she’d gone through with him? Had Maggie confided the fact that the image they were presenting to the people of Bethlehem was misleading at best? He knew it bothered her. She was too honest by nature and wanted too much to make a lifelong place for herself among these people to want to deceive them in any way.
But he couldn’t ask, and even if he could, Grayson couldn’t answer. So Ross simply acknowledged that he would pass the message on, then went out into the cold.
The aluminum-sided garage was only a few degrees warmer inside than out, although Harry Winslow was in the process of correcting that. He was building a fire in the woodstove against the back wall with help from Brendan Dalton and Mitchell Walker, the police chief’s younger son. Once the logs caught, he called to several of the older kids to close the massive doors, and they did so a moment after Ross walked in.
At first he saw no sign of Maggie, but the float that dominated the space blocked much of his view. It was built on a flatbed, a wood-and-chicken-wire fabrication without enough substance to make sense of it.
“Doesn’t look like much now, does it?” Harry stood beside him, looking warmer in his insulated coveralls than Ross was in jeans and jacket. He really had to learn to dress warmer than he was accustomed to back home, or he wouldn’t survive the next few months to get back home.
“What is it supposed to be?”
“That shape there—it’s going to be a crib like in the hospital nursery. It’ll be too cold for a real baby, so we’ll use a doll instead. That’ll be a wheelchair for the mother, and the father will stand behind her. There’ll be three doctors over there—a family doc, an anesthesiologist, and a pediatrician—and a couple of nurses over here. These sides will be like nursery walls decorated for Christmas, and on the back, in red and green, it’ll say SEASON FOR HEALING.”
A newborn baby, mother, and father, three wise men, and the shepherds who tended to the needs of the flock. “It’s a hospital version of the Nativity.”
Harry beamed. “That’s right. And there’ll be a star mounted above the cab. You caught right on. Apply a little imagination, and it looks better now, doesn’t it?”
He went off to see to some task, and Ross wandered to the other side of the truck, where he found Maggie seated astride a wooden bench with a supply of brightly colored paper in front of her. Miss Agatha and Miss Corinna were there too, comfortable in folding lawn chairs with lap quilts tucked around them, along with several other women, dressed in nursing uniforms underneath their heavy coats.
The women were talking about some child who needed a good spanking or, at the very least, grounding for a month. “Kenny’s a little heathen,” one of the nurses declared. “You know that saying about how preachers’ kids are always the worst of the bunch? Well, this preacher’s kid sure proves it.”
A young girl appeared in front of him. “Hey, look at my eye. Nice shiner, isn’t it?”
Maggie noticed him then, looked up, and smiled. She had a dozen different smiles—cool, warm, disinterested, polite, distant. This one was gentle and soft, and for an instant it made him ache inside. I think Maggie has found her place, Noelle had said. Looking at her now—at the peace, the contentment—he would have to agree that she had.
But why, he wondered with a great sense of injustice, couldn’t her place have been with him?
With the tone of a child not used to being ignored, the girl again demanded his attention. “Well? What do you think?”
Slowly—reluctantly—he pulled his gaze from Maggie to agree with the kid. “It’s a great shiner. How does the other guy look?”
“Ugly. And mean. I didn’t get to hit him at all, not even once. He’s just a big bully, and I’m gonna have Uncle Nathan arrest him.”
Ross wasn’t at all sure how to respond to that. Fortunately, she required no response as she settled on the blanket spread across the floor near the sisters.
“Pull up a seat, Ross, and help us for a while,” Miss Agatha invited.
The only seat available was a few spare inches on the bench where Maggie sat. He opted to remain standing. “What are you doing?”
“Working on the float decorations,” the old lady replied. “We each have our own little job. Maggie cuts the colored paper and passes it to us, and we make the … what do you suppose these are called?” She held one up for inspection. It consisted of a square of red paper wrapped around a wad of crumpled newspaper, with the excess red twisted tightly and the ends poufed out.
“I’m sure they must have a name,” one nurse said, “but I don’t know what it is.”
“The technical term is ‘thingie,’ ” the other nurse announced.
“Whatever.” Miss Agatha dropped the paper into the box on the floor in front of her. It was about half filled with r
ed thingies. “We’re each doing a color, but you could help Corinna with the white ones, since we’ll need many more of those than the colors.”
“Actually, Agatha, he came to claim one of our workers, not volunteer his own help,” Miss Corinna chided. “We mustn’t be pushy. Maggie has already agreed to come back tomorrow and help us, haven’t you, dear?”
Without meeting Ross’s gaze, she nodded. “Just let me know when you’re coming, and I’ll be ready.”
The girl with the shiner said, “You have a car. I seen it at your house. Why don’t you just drive yourself?”
“I don’t drive, Josie,” Maggie said.
Josie stared incredulously at Maggie. “You’re all growed up and you don’t drive?”
“I used to, but I haven’t in a long time.”
“So what do you do when you want to go somewheres?”
“Ross takes me.”
“But what about when he’s not around?”
Good question, Ross thought. What would she do once he’d gone back to Buffalo?
Maggie’s smile was strained. “Well, I haven’t had that problem yet, Josie. I’ll have to think about it.”
What she would have to do was start driving again. Even if she never ventured out in bad weather, even if the car never budged from the driveway between November and March, she needed the security of knowing that if she must go somewhere, she could.
“You look tired, dear,” Miss Corinna said, leaning forward to take the supply of colored paper. “Why don’t you go on home? We’ll call you tomorrow afternoon.”
Ross thought Maggie might refuse, but she nodded. They said good-bye to everyone and left through a small side door. They were halfway to the car, when he broke the silence. “Nice people.” At the look she gave him, he scowled. “Yes, I recognize nice people.”
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