The Herald Angels Sing

by Roxanne St Claire

  “’Twas my sister’s. I stitched it.”

  “Then I’ve touched you, once removed.” He held the kerchief out to her. “It brought me luck, it did.”

  Bought him luck and brought her…him. “’Tis fortunate, then.”

  “I took three bullets, fell out of a train, and damn near drowned savin’ a man’s life. Got home, and some folk hate me, but my father’s always sick, so it looks like my mam will let me back in the family glassblowin’ business. They say the Waterford company is getting back into it now, as well. Could be a good thing down here in the South.”

  She nodded slowly, taking in all this news about this new person who’d fallen from heaven and landed on her farm. “Are ye far?”

  “Not too. I can meet you here, Finola, once in a blue moon. Perhaps more.”

  “I’m fifteen,” she said, lifting her chin as if to defy her very age.

  “I’m eighteen,” he replied.

  “I’ve never even been kissed.”

  There was that smile again, making the sun shine and the birds sing and one poor lass melt into the green, green grass. “I aim to fix that, Finola Brennan.”

  “Do you now?”

  He tucked his finger under her chin and raised it so their gazes met. “I never forgot your kindness, lass. Never forgot your sweet blue eyes or your spirit when you gave me that pin.”

  She tried to swallow, but it was impossible. In one hand, her fingers closed over the pin. In the other, she crushed the kerchief.

  “And I swore if I ever got back in one piece, I’d find you and make you mine.”

  “I was a child.”

  He winked at her. “Not one now.”

  No, she’d be sixteen in a few months. What could Da say then? Girls her age got married all the time, or in a year.

  “Then I’ll see you tomorrow, Finola Brennan.”

  He leaned down, closed the space between them, and barely brushed her lips with his, but it was enough for her knees to weaken and toes to curl in her boots. Without another word, he stepped away and headed toward the next hill, surrounded by light and green and hope for a better, brighter life.

  It didn’t matter what her father threatened. Nothing mattered. She reached up and lightly pressed the kerchief he’d stroked a thousand times to her lips.

  Something deep inside told her that Seamus Kilcannon would kiss her lips a thousand times in this life, and every kiss would be better than the one before.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Aye. ’Tis better than the one before.”

  Pru had to shake her head to come back to the present moment, since Gramma Finnie’s story had taken her far away across the miles and the years. “What is?”

  “The puppies, lass. We’ve got three now.”

  And Pru had been so lost on the farm in County Wexford, she’d barely noticed Blue had given birth to two more pups. She forced herself to focus on the wet mess of newborns and afterbirth all over the back seat and not the green hills of Ireland and Gramma Finnie and Grandpa Seamus’s first kiss.

  But they weren’t in County Wexford under an alder tree. They were in a freezing car with a dog still in labor, the blanket between them covered in blood, mucus, and afterbirth, and three very tiny puppies crying and whining so much it was like a newborn symphony in that car. They had no cell phone service, no way to move the car, and no real chance of walking for help now.

  Pru had to let go of the past to take care of this messy present. “Are we sure there are more?” she asked.

  “Most certainly,” Gramma said, gently rubbing Blue’s belly. “At least one, maybe two. She’s gettin’ tired.”

  Pru studied the dog for a moment. She was still panting and whimpering, but didn’t seem as shocked by what was happening to her. The puppies hadn’t nursed yet, but they were snuggling close to her and getting ready.

  “I never watched a birth when we didn’t know exactly how many were in there,” Pru said, thinking of the many times her mother had been called for minor problems when Pru was little and couldn’t be left alone. She’d spent more than a few nights at the vet office in town, watching animals give birth.

  “Could it be breech?” she asked, knowing that was the most common problem.

  Gramma looked up with genuine concern. “I was thinkin’ that could be the issue now. Let’s look at her.”

  They carefully repositioned Blue on her back and spread her back legs, and Pru squinted at the poor pooch’s privates. “I think I see a paw pad.”

  “Oh, sweet St. Patrick. One of us has to go in there.” Gramma Finnie gave a sly smile and tapped her nose. “Nose goes.”

  Pru laughed softly. “Why do I teach you these things?”

  “So I can be young and carefree like you.” There was a bittersweet note in her voice, enough that Pru looked up again and studied her great-grandmother’s weathered features. “Does talking about Grandpa Seamus make you sad?”

  “Of course not, lass. It makes me feel old, though. Like I’m surely at the end.”

  No! That was the whole reason they’d come on this adventure. “Well, it gives me hope,” Pru said quickly. “And I want to hear every single detail.”

  Gramma’s eyes widened imperceptibly. “Not every one.” Then she leaned closer. “Gives you hope for what?”

  “That a boy will kiss me under a tree like that.”

  She gave a soft hoot. “Lass, your mother, your grandmother, and your great-grandmother did a whole lot more than kissin’, as you know. Truth of the matter is that you come from a long line of women who should not have worn white. Each one of us already in the family way when we said ‘I do.’”

  Pru chuckled. “I’m going to break that streak.”

  “Ye better. Just like you better haul out the rest of the hand sanitizer and get a couple of fingers up in Blue.”

  She grunted. “I’ve never turned a breech pup, but I’ve seen my mother do it, and I’ve heard her walk people through it on the phone.”

  “And you’re smart and capable.”

  Pru knew buttering up when she heard it. “But what an experience. Maybe you should do it, Gramma.”

  She thought for a moment, then shook her head. “I will if you want me to, child, but I feel your fingers are longer, stronger, and younger. She needs you.”

  Pru knew her great-grandmother well enough to realize that was no excuse. It was what was best for the dog, and that was how Kilcannons rolled.

  She nodded solemnly, reaching for the nearly empty purse-sized bottle of hand sani and dribbling some out, rubbing her hands while making the face of concentration she’d seen on her mother and grandfather, the two best vets in the world.

  “Did you see Grandpa Seamus the next day?” she asked softly.

  For a second, Gramma didn’t answer. Then she sighed. “Aye. And most days after that. Two fingers would be best, lass.”

  Pru nodded and slid them in, cringing at the slimy insides of the dog. Blue turned her head and looked up at Gramma Finnie as if she could help her out of this bind.

  “Hush, sweet one.” Gramma took the dog’s face in her two hands with comfort and enough strength to keep her from snapping at any discomfort.

  Pru couldn’t see a thing, so she just closed her eyes and imagined the outline of one of these tiny puppies. Was that the one foot she felt? Yes, it had to be a paw. “I have it. Just one, though.”

  “Get it out,” Gramma encouraged her. “Just slide it out real slow and simple, and then you’ll have to reposition the pup.”

  Pru blew out a breath. “If I can’t do that, she’ll need a C-section.”

  “And that is beyond our ken, lass.”

  “No kidding.” Pru managed to get another finger in and use it to slide from one side to the other, searching for the dog’s hock to straighten the tiny leg. “Come on, kiddo. Help me out here.”

  “’Tis so wee,” Gramma said, eyeing the pups. “And they’re getting cold.”

  This was definitely going from an adventur
e to big fat trouble in a hurry. But she couldn’t find that tiny joint, and if she didn’t and this pup pushed through, it could be born with a broken leg.

  “Wait, wait, I think I—”

  “What do you think you’re doing?” The shout was accompanied by a loud bang and a bump so hard it shook the car.

  Gramma and Pru both gasped, but Blue started flailing—enough that the pup went right back up the canal.

  “Get your hands off Queenie!” A man stood outside the car, wiping snow off Pru’s window with one hand and giving another good smack with the front end of a rifle.

  “I think Bill Cutter found us,” Pru muttered, withdrawing her hand.

  Gramma let go of the dog, who managed to right herself and look up at her master, letting out one bark before resuming her birth position. But that pup was not going to come out without some help. At least, it would not come out safely.

  “Open the door!” he insisted with a gravelly voice, then bent down to reveal an old and weathered face, bloodshot eyes, and wild gray hair and a beard.

  “Think he’ll shoot us?” Pru asked, staring at him. Sadly, the question wasn’t a joke, and from the look on Gramma’s face, she knew that. Her expression turned stern and serious and, yes, a little angry.

  She leaned down to deliver that anger to the new arrival. “There are puppies in here, and the cold air could kill ’em,” she hollered. “And the next one’s breech, which could kill the dog. Can you push the car out, please?”

  For a long time, the man was silent. Freakishly, dead silent. Then he walked to the back of the car.

  “Should I go up and turn on the ignition?” Pru asked.

  The only answer was a whimper and moan from Blue. Gramma held her closer. “We got to birth this pup, and that man can help us, go straight to hell, or shoot us both.”

  “I’ll take door number one.”

  Just then, the window behind Gramma Finnie darkened with the figure of the man again. This time, when he cleared the snow, they saw his face first and not the gun.

  “I can’t push you out.”

  “Then get help,” Pru yelled. “Now!”

  Without a word, he disappeared, and Gramma notched her chin toward the dog. “Turn the pup, lass, or I will.”

  With a slow inhale, Pru inserted three fingers into Blue and tried again, but she just couldn’t get hold of the pup. Sweat dribbled down her back, and her whole body trembled with how much she wanted to save this puppy and Blue.

  Mom could do this. Mom could do this in her sleep. “What was I thinking?” Pru murmured.

  “Hush.” Gramma pressed her palm against Pru’s cheek, but the powder-soft parchment of her skin was ice cold. Instead of feeling the comfort she was trying to offer, Pru was reminded that this car was stuck, they were freezing, the pups could all die, and there was a guy with a rifle out there. And Gramma was darn near ninety.

  “I should never have left,” Pru whispered, letting the guilt rise up and strangle her. “Never should have gone against what I always do.”

  “And you did it for me.” Gramma’s voice cracked. “I’m sorry.”

  Pru shook her head, partially in frustration as the pup eluded her and Blue whimpered in agony. But also because this wasn’t Gramma Finnie’s fault.

  “I…can’t…do…it.” She closed her eyes and grunted in frustration. “I just don’t have the strength. I don’t have it.”

  Gramma leaned closer to whisper, “Great work isn’t performed by strength, but by perseverance.”

  Count on Gramma for a motivational quote. But it worked. She took another breath and tried again.

  But nothing changed. The pup was stuck, bass-ackward, as Uncle Shane would say, and too big to come through. Still, nature didn’t care what position the pup was in. Contractions pushed it down, and with each centimeter, Blue tore and bled.

  Pru closed her eyes against tears, and while she did, she heard Gramma whisper a prayer for help. When she opened her eyes, she saw a dark shadow of a man coming toward the car once again, barely visible through the snow on the windshield.

  “Grizzly Adams is back,” Pru groaned.

  “He better have help.”

  Letting go of the dog, Pru put her leg through the space between the seats to get in the driver’s seat. She flipped on the ignition and used the wipers to clear the windshield. “No backup, but he’s got an armful of blankets, which beat the heck out of a rifle. I’m going to put the window down.”

  “All right.”

  “What should I tell him?”

  “The truth. These puppies are freezing. The last one is coming out wrong. And Blue is going to die if we don’t do something.”

  Very slowly, Pru pressed the button to lower the window. She’d honestly never been so scared in her whole life.

  * * *

  Molly might as well have taken a roller coaster to Holly Hills instead of the Waterford Jeep, that’s how many ups and downs her heart experienced on the seemingly endless ride into the foothills and deeper into the mountains. When they arrived, the Kilcannon clan hit the small town like a rock in a pond, their ripples spreading from Main Street to the outskirts.

  Garrett and Liam took the east side of town, while Jessie and Andi took Christian and the baby to see some decorations and scope the place for any sign of Gramma and Pru. Darcy and Josh headed west, and Chloe, Shane, and Dad walked up and down the pedestrian-only streets, checking out restaurants and shops. Molly and Trace took the lead clue and beelined to Emerald Isle Jewelers, just in time to meet face-to-face with an older man on the other side of the glass, locking the front door.

  “We’re closed,” he called out, running a hand over his bald head as if he was a little sorry to turn away the business.

  “We just need to ask you a quick question,” Molly shouted through the glass. “I’m looking for my daughter. Did she come in here?”

  He lifted his shoulder to shrug, then looked from Trace to Molly and back. “With a broken pin?”

  Molly had no idea what they’d come in with. “Maybe. She has long dark hair, kind of green-brown eyes. A little shorter than me?”

  “The shamrock pin?”

  Something clicked in Molly’s memory, long ago and far away. Yes, Gramma had a broken pin with a shamrock. Her mother had told her a story once, about how it helped Gramma meet Grandpa Seamus.

  “That has to be it,” she said, looking anxiously at Trace.

  The man shook his head. “I tried calling her. I can’t fix that pin, not without ordering a new shamrock. Tell her to come and pick it up, or she’ll have to wait until January.”

  Trace stepped closer to the door. “Sir, our daughter is missing. Do you have any idea where she went after she left here?”

  His eyes flashed with instant sympathy, maybe a father or grandfather himself. Without answering, he unlocked the dead bolt and inched the glass door open. “Missing?” He frowned at the word. “I tried to call the number she left, and so did Angela, who works here. We wondered why she didn’t come back for the pin.”

  And that roller coaster dropped again, taking Molly’s heart for another ride.

  As if he sensed that, Trace put his arm around her. “She was with an older woman,” he said. “Her great-grandmother.”

  “And a dog,” Molly added. “She told me they found a stray and then she found the owner and was going to return it. That’s when we lost track of her.”

  “No dogs in here. Our policy is not to let them in.”

  “But she came in here and showed someone the pin?” Molly urged.

  “I spoke with her myself and told her I’d try and find a shamrock that would work, but I couldn’t. I can get the pin for you. It’s in the case.” He invited them in with a quick gesture, opening the door wider.

  Frustration seized her. She didn’t want the pin. She wanted Pru. “That’s okay, we’ll—”

  “We’ll take the pin,” Trace added. At Molly’s look, he said, “It’s obviously important to her and Gramma
Finnie. We should get it for them.”

  Her heart softened at how thoughtful he was, even when they were upset with Pru.

  “Hang on one second.” The jeweler hustled around the glass counter filled with necklaces and rings. “It’s an unusual piece,” he said as Molly and Trace went closer. “Not easily fixed, either. Let’s see now. Here it is. Prudence Kilcannon?”

  “Yes, that’s her. Thank you.” Trace took the envelope and handed it to Molly, who clutched it to her chest, wishing it were Pru.

  “I’m sure you’ll find her soon,” the man said. “Holly Hills isn’t a big town. Lots of tourists, yes, but no crime. So much to see. Have you checked Santa’s Workshop? They might be right down on North Pole Lane this very minute.”

  Molly shook her head, knowing Pru would never linger over a Christmas display when her parents were this upset. It just went against everything she knew about her daughter—and Gramma Finnie.

  She just knew in her heart and soul that something was very, very wrong. And she had no idea where to go next.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Bill Cutter was definitely a man of few words.

  From the moment he returned to the car with armloads of blankets and towels and silently wrapped every puppy in one, he didn’t offer a single word of explanation to Gramma Finnie or Pru. With a remarkable combination of efficiency and tenderness—and dead silence—he placed the bundles in their arms, giving the two “older” pups to Gramma and the last one to Pru. Finally, he wrapped Blue and scooped the whimpering dog into his arms with the quiet strength she’d seen Liam use when lifting a ninety-pound German shepherd.

  Even with the blanket, blood dripped from Blue, terrifying Pru that maybe the last puppy, and even sweet Blue, might not make it.

  Finally, he bent over to look inside the car at them. “Angels. Come.”

  Did he call them angels? Gramma’s look echoed the question—and managed to ask a few more. He thinks we’re angels? Or is he just crazy?