The Baby Tree (Christian Romance)

by Beverly Farr

  The Baby Tree

  By

  Beverly Farr

  Copyright 2013 Beverly Farr Giroux

  This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical without permission in writing from Beverly Farr Giroux.

  Cover design by www.alchemybookcovers.com

  Cover images by: 2xSamara.com and StockLite at Shutterstock.com

  Sudtipos is the trademark and copyright owner of Hipster Script Pro, the font used for the title on the cover.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  CHAPTER ONE

  MAY

  “Olivia, Olivia!”

  Olivia was surprised to see Mrs. Shuman running down her driveway. I hope she doesn't want me to be Block Coordinator for the Crime Watch this year, she thought as she lifted a bag of groceries out of her trunk.

  Mrs. Shuman breathed heavily from her exertion. She held a hand over her heart for a moment until she could speak. “You'll never believe it,” she said finally. “Guess how many children our new neighbors have!”

  “Thirteen.”

  “No. Five.”

  As the oldest of nine, five didn’t seem particularly noteworthy to Olivia. Her lack of enthusiasm must have communicated itself to Mrs. Shuman, for the older woman added, “Quintuplets. We have quintuplets on our very own street!”

  Mrs. Shuman had her full attention now. “Have you seen them?”

  “Not all at once, but Julie Peabody saw them when they arrived. She was getting her mail and saw their car drive up. She counted five babies being carried in.”

  “Maybe they run an infant day care.”

  “No,” Mrs. Shuman insisted. “Julie says they looked just alike, every one.”

  “That's very interesting,” Olivia said politely. She didn’t want to be rude, but she also knew how Mrs. Shuman tended to loop conversations, repeating the same information, if given the opportunity. And besides that, Darcy was waiting. She smiled. “I need to hurry to get the rest of my groceries inside, or I'm going to have a trunk full of melted ice-cream.”

  “Oh, of course,” Mrs. Shuman said quickly. “I just wanted to tell you the news.” She glanced up and down both sides of the street. “I wonder who else doesn't know.”

  I'm sure you'll find someone. Olivia watched Mrs. Shuman hustle back up to the sidewalk.

  As her screen door swung shut behind her, Olivia could hear Mrs. Shuman shouting, “Mr. Garza! Mr. Garza!” Mrs. Shuman could have her own news show, Olivia thought, as she put a carton of ice-cream in her freezer. Or a blog. What’s Happening in My Neighborhood. She smiled.

  Quintuplets. For the next few days, Olivia thought about them every time she backed her car out of her driveway. Five little babies. How could anyone take care of five babies? It would take a person all day just to change the diapers. She hoped someone was helping the mother during the day.

  It was none of her business, of course, but Olivia loved children, particularly babies with their big round heads and their toothless smiles. There was nothing like a big gummy grin to make you forget all your troubles.

  She thought about the quintuplets at work, doodling pictures of a stork carrying five babies in one bundle, when she was supposed to be designing a new logo for an IT company.

  Her friend Shannon glanced over her shoulder. “Is that another book idea?”

  Olivia quickly set her drawing aside. “No.” She’d published some children’s books a few years back, but for a long time now, the creative well had been dry. She had fleeting ideas, but nothing substantial. Nothing that lasted long enough to pursue.

  She thought about the quintuplets late at night, when she finally turned off the television and brushed her teeth. She glanced out her bathroom window, more from habit than curiosity.

  The neighbors had the light on their back patio. A ceiling fan was also running, making the light flicker. The husband sat in a rocking chair, cradling a baby with a bottle against his chest with one arm and holding an e-reader or tablet in the other hand. He was reading as he fed the baby.

  It made a sweet picture. Olivia instinctively filed the image away in her mind for future use. As she watched, he put the tablet down on a table beside him so he could scroll to another screen. He kissed the baby's head, then glanced back at his reading.

  What a nice Dad.

  Olivia closed the wooden shutters that served as curtains for her bathroom window. She really shouldn't spy on her neighbors. No matter how picturesque they were.

  #

  By the next Saturday, Olivia couldn't restrain herself any longer. She just had to see the quintuplets. She wrapped up two copies of her books and headed over to her next-door neighbors’ house.

  They lived in an older subdivision in Dallas, with modest brick homes that had been built in the late 1950’s.

  Olivia was pleased to see that her new neighbors had been busy. In addition to trimming the overgrown bushes, they had cleaned out the flower beds and neatly mowed the lawn. The front door, however, was still a sickly green, a leftover from the previous owner’s poor taste. But at least it wasn’t as bad as the bright blue house on the corner. That eyesore had been on the market for two years and had recently sold. She hadn’t taken the time to meet those owners yet, but as far as she knew, they didn’t have quintuplets.

  She knocked instead of ringing the doorbell -- she didn't want to wake the babies if they were sleeping. As she waited, she tugged nervously at the waistband of her black knit skirt. She didn’t often dress up on a Saturday, but she wanted to make a good first impression. Casual and friendly, yet neat.

  It looked as if no one was home, so she knocked on the door one more time, just to be sure, just as the dad pulled the door open. He was tall and slim, dark haired. Thirtyish. Hadn’t shaved.

  Darn. She'd expected to meet the mom. She smiled brightly. “Hello. I’m Olivia Hendricks. I live next door.” She pointed toward her house. “I'm in the red brick with the black shutters.”

  When she turned her head back to face him, she looked straight up into his eyes. His eyes were an intelligent, cool blue.

  “What do you want?” He didn't sound pleased to meet her, and he didn't volunteer his own name.

  Olivia swallowed. “I wanted to introduce myself and to give you this housewarming gift.” She held her books out in front of her. “Your children probably aren't old enough to enjoy these yet, but in a few months, they might like looking at the pictures. I don't think you can ever have too many children's books, do you?”

  His voice was grim. “Is there anything else?”

  “I was hoping to meet your wife --”

  “I don't have a wife.”

  By the time Olivia understood what he said, she had already rambled on with, “-- and the children, but if you're busy, I don't want to bother y--”

  “We're not a freak show!” he said fiercely, then slammed the door and shot the bolt.

  Olivia stood, stunned by his reaction. What a rude man. Granted, she had been nosey, wan
ting to see the children, but at least she had brought a gift.

  The books. They were still in her hands. Well, if Mr. Congeniality didn't want them, he could either return them or throw them out. She left her package inside the screen, resting it against the wooden front door.

  #

  Michael Claiborne walked back to the kitchen, which still needed to be wiped down after breakfast. Dried rice cereal and pureed pears were cemented to the high chairs and splattered across the tile floor. He heard Miss Kate in the back bedroom, trying to get the children to take their morning nap. During the week, her college-age granddaughter Alexis came to help, but on Saturdays, they each took half a day off, and on Sundays he was on his own. Sundays were definitely not a day of rest for him. By Monday morning, he was worn out and looking forward to his quiet office.

  From now on, he decided, he wasn't going to open the front door unless he recognized the person standing on the porch. Olivia What's-her-name was the sixth person that week to 'drop by' wanting to get acquainted. The neighbors were friendly enough, and he'd enjoyed the banana bread that one couple had brought, but he knew what they wanted. They wanted what everyone wanted: to see his children, to touch their fine hair, to marvel at the miracle of five children being born at the same time.

  As much as he understood his neighbors’ natural curiosity, Michael refused to parade his children in front of an audience like trained seals. Because of their birth, they would draw more than enough unwanted attention by themselves, and he had no intention of adding to that. He wanted their childhood to be as calm and uneventful as possible.

  Michael filled a bucket with warm soapy water at the kitchen sink and carried it over to the first high chair. As he cleaned, he heard Jeff crying. Jeff's crying woke Amelia and made her fuss, too. Was it Amelia? She sounded a lot like Grant sometimes. Michael wished he had been able to afford a larger house with separate bedrooms for each baby, but with the expenses of relocating and minor renovations, not to mention the high cost of quality child care, there wasn't much left over.

  It was all Mary Ellen's fault.

  Mary Ellen should be the one in the back bedroom rocking Jeff to sleep, not Miss Kate. Michael vigorously scrubbed one vinyl high chair seat. Not that they wouldn't have hired a nanny to help, he thought as he rinsed the scrub brush, and not that he wouldn't have carried his fair share, too, but those babies deserved a mother to kiss their sweet faces and to hold them close.

  He did what he could, getting by on four or five hours of sleep, and bringing work home so he wasn't gone all day, but he knew it wasn't enough. He was like the gerbils he'd owned as a child: forever running on the metal exercise wheel, going faster and faster, but getting nowhere.

  Michael finished cleaning the high chairs and started on the tile floor. At least it was a tile floor now instead of the ancient patterned carpet that had been there when he bought the house. Who in their right mind put carpet under a kitchen table?

  He scraped bits of dried food off the tile. He didn't mind the work. Manual labor in almost any form was satisfying: it had a beginning and an end, and performance could be easily measured. Either the floor was clean or it wasn't. End of discussion.

  Being a father wasn't so simple. When was a cough just a cough and when did he need to take the baby to the doctor? Should he let Linc grab at Jeff's face as long as Jeff wasn't complaining? How much individual time alone with Dad did each child need? And how often? In what seemed like a previous life, Michael had enjoyed reading murder mysteries and science fiction novels. Now he read blogs about child development and parenting multiples.

  Michael sat back on his heels to survey his progress. Maybe if he were a millionaire, it wouldn't be so difficult. Then he could hire people to do all the errands, and he could spend more time with the children.

  He'd been so busy and distracted the past few weeks, he hadn't noticed until yesterday when Amelia bit his finger that she had a tooth. He had immediately lined up all five of his children and discovered that three of them had at least one tooth, and the other two had little hard ridges under their gums. No wonder they were having a difficult time sleeping. Michael had thought it had been caused by all the changes they were experiencing with the move.

  But in a few weeks, everything would settle down into a routine. He would prove himself at his new job, and the children would get used to Miss Kate and her granddaughter. He would do his best, day by day, and before long, Jeff, Grant, Wash, Amelia and Linc would be graduating from high school.

  Cheer up, Michael told himself. In seventeen years, your job will be almost over. Then, he'd invite all the neighbors over to gawk. He'd throw the biggest celebration in town.

  But no, he'd forgotten college. How was he going to pay for all that?

  Maybe he should build a printing press and start cranking out his own money.

  If he'd done that, Mary Ellen might not have left him.

  I want to have fun. I want to live my own life. I don't want to be tied down with five screaming babies.

  Miss Kate came into the kitchen. “They're all asleep now. Do you want me to fix you some lunch before I go?”

  Michael looked at the gray haired woman blankly, then answered, “Yes, please.” If left to his own devices, he ate peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

  While Miss Kate worked in the kitchen, he walked down the hall and peeked at his sleeping children from the doorways: three cribs in one room, two in the next. Linc had kicked off his blanket. Wash sucked his thumb. Jeff, with a slight stuffy nose, snorted as he slept. Amelia opened her eyes, smiled and lifted her head as if to say, “Hi, Dad.”

  “Go back to sleep,” Michael whispered. He straightened Amelia's flannel blanket and rubbed the little girl's back until she closed her eyes once more.

  Grant slept like a little turtle with his hind end stuck up in the air.

  How beautiful they were.

  When Michael came back to the kitchen, there was a plate on the table with a tuna fish sandwich and a bowl of tomato soup. He sniffed with appreciation. Miss Kate was no gourmet, but she was a competent cook, and Michael was glad to have found her. A wrapped present lay on the table next to a big glass of milk. Miss Kate unloaded the dishwasher. She said, “When I went to get the mail, I found that package.”

  Michael remembered his next door neighbor. Young. Pretty with glasses and a braid. Olivia Something. She must have left it behind.

  “Aren't you going to open it?” Miss Kate asked.

  If he didn't open it, Miss Kate would. Michael ripped off the wrapping paper and looked at the hardback picture books inside. One of the books was called The Lion in My Bathtub and the other was entitled Put That Back. Miss Kate picked up The Lion in My Bathtub. “Isn't this cute?” she said as she turned the pages.

  Michael opened Put That Back. It was a wordless picture book depicting the adventures of a little girl going grocery shopping with her Dad. Every time the Dad wasn't looking, she put things in the grocery cart and then he would frown and point and she would have to put them back. As the story progressed, the items grew bigger and bigger, until she was putting a grand piano and a hippopotamus in the cart.

  The drawings were clever, and the expression on the hippopotamus’ face was hilarious. Michael laughed, and the sound surprised him. It had been a long time since he had laughed out loud.

  #

  The next Friday at work, Shannon asked Olivia if she had any plans for the weekend.

  “Nope, just the usual.” Olivia pressed the buttons on the microwave oven to warm up a frozen dinner for lunch.

  “No hot dates?”

  Olivia just shook her head and changed the subject. “What about you? Are you and Dan having fun this weekend?”

  “No, we’ve turned into old boring married people. The only hot dates we get are going to the grocery store without the kids.”

  Olivia smiled. Shannon had two teenage girls from a previous marriage, had married a man with an eight-year-old boy, and now she was pregnan
t with another. “Our big surprise,” as Shannon often called it. “And it's getting bigger all the time.”

  Shannon liked to joke, but Olivia could tell that she had a happy marriage, a good life. “You should make time for each other,” she said. “Go out to eat. Take a walk. Go on a real date.”

  “I will if you will,” Shannon said meaningfully.

  Olivia rubbed the long chain around her neck that still held her engagement ring, hidden underneath her blouse. “I’m not ready for that.”

  Shannon was quiet for a few seconds, then asked, “How long has it been?”

  “Three years in July.”

  Shannon nodded. “You’ve got to start living sometime.”

  Olivia smiled wryly, but didn’t say anything. Sometimes living was overrated. She said finally, “I’m okay. I’ve got a good job and cats to keep me company. I go to church and do some charity work. I’m okay.” Even to her ears, she was protesting too much. Her life sounded pathetic.

  Shannon sighed. “I just don’t want you to wake up fifteen years from now and wish you’d done more when --”

  “When I was still young and marketable?”

  “Precisely.”

  The microwave pinged, and Olivia carried the hot cardboard box over to the lunch table. She glanced at Shannon’s lunch that always looked better than hers. “What have you brought today?”

  “Spinach and feta salad and some roasted chicken.”

  Olivia was impressed. She knew she should cook more, but it seemed ridiculous to dirty a lot of dishes cooking for only one person.

  They ate in companionable silence for a few minutes, then Shannon said clearly, “I have a cousin who’s single.”

  “No.”

  “He’s a nice guy.”

  “I don’t want any set-ups. No.”

  “Think about it.”

  Olivia looked at her friend closely. Shannon meant well. “Okay,” she said slowly. “You go out on a real date with Dan, and I’ll think about dating again.”