by Mary Daheim
The young mother removed the heavy diaper bag from her shoulder. “I'm Amber Ramsey,” she said. “Does that mean anything to you?”
* * *
At first, it didn't. Then I thought of Dean Ramsey and Crystal and the daughter who had run away. “Good Lord,” I whispered.
“I thought my dad would be here,” she said, ignoring my shocked expression. “I mean, here in Alpine. But they told me at the sheriff's office that he'd gone back to Oregon to spend Christmas with his new family. I'd tried to get hold of him before, a week or so ago, after I heard my mom had been killed. Dad was out on a job, so I didn't see or talk to him, but I found out that my mom had lived in a cabin down the road. I went there and I saw my stepdad through the window. I didn't want anything to do with him. He's a creep.”
So that was who had been at Crystal's cabin the morning that Aaron had called the sheriff. “Is it because of Aaron that you ran away?” I asked, still shaken by Amber's arrival.
She nodded. “He kept coming on to me. I couldn't tell my mother. They were having problems even then. I was ashamed to go to my dad. He was doing real good with his new wife and kids. So I just kept going. That was six years ago.” Her shoulders sagged under the worn car coat, and her weary expression seemed to hold every mile and every day that she had been on the run.
“Are you married?” I asked as Rheims and Rouen padded into the living room and began sniffing Amber's boots.
Amber shook her head. “I got raped.” Her eyes avoided mine. “In Vegas.”
“I'm so sorry.” I put out a hand to touch her sleeve. “How old is the baby?”
“Danny?” She brightened, and I could see that she was probably pretty when she wasn't half-frozen and near exhaustion. “Five weeks. Isn't he precious?”
He was. Now that the hood of his bunting had slipped off, I could see blond hair, soft as duck down. He yawned and made tiny fists.
“How come you came to see me?” I asked, discouraging Rheims and Rouen from jumping onto the sofa.
Again, Amber avoided my gaze. “My car broke down. Nobody can fix it until after Christmas. When I went to ask the sheriff's office about who had killed my mom and where my dad was, they told me to talk to you. I walked up here. I didn't realize these hills are so steep.”
“Let me get you something to eat,” I said. “Do you have formula for the baby, or are you nursing?”
“I'm nursing,” she responded. “It's cheaper.” Now she did look at me, and there was a faint spark of irony in her blue eyes.
I smiled. “What would you like? I have ham, cheese, cookies—tons of stuff.”
“Um…” She unzipped her car coat and started unbuttoning her flannel shirt. “Anything, I guess. I don't suppose I could stay here tonight? The motels are all full with visitors and skiers, and anyway, I'm kind of running out of money….”
My face fell. “Oh, Amber, I'm so sorry. My brother and my son are due any minute. I only have two bedrooms. I'm afraid we're full up, too.”
“Oh.” She turned away, then put the baby to her breast. “That's okay. We can sleep in the car.”
“But the car's all the way down Alpine Way, isn't it?” I'd stood up, on my way to the kitchen.
“It's at that Texaco station,” she said, her face fixed on little Danny.
I shifted from one foot to the other. Then my eyes drifted to the mantel. I made a face. In the rush to get the presents wrapped and the cookies baked and the house decorated, I'd neglected to add the last two figures to the Nativity scene. Mary and Baby Jesus.
I took a step toward Amber. “You can stay here,” I said, and was surprised to find that my voice was trembling with emotion. “Take my room. Please.”
Amber looked up. “Oh, no. I couldn't do that.”
“Yes, you could.” I glanced at the mantel again. “You have to. For me.”
“What?”
“Come on, say you'll stay. Please.”
Amber looked faintly bewildered, but she finally nodded. “Okay. But I hate to be a bother.”
I shook my head. “You're no bother. In fact,” I added with a wry little smile, “you might say you're my salvation.”
I gave the mantel a final look before heading for the kitchen.
My Nativity set was complete.
A Ballantine Book
Published by The Random House Ballantine Publishing Group
Copyright © 1999 by Mary Daheim
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. Published in the United States by The Random House Ballantine Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
Ballantine and colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.
www.ballantinebooks.com
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 99-90323
eISBN: 978-0-307-55429-1
v3.0
Table of Contents
Cover
Other Books By This Author
Title Page
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Copyright