She did her best to concentrate through the sermon and after the children returned, but she found herself checking out the way Agnes seemed to glance over at Clay a few too many times, and how the other woman—and her daughter—seemed to watch him as he and the others slid past when it was their turn at the communion rail.
Annie Mac pulled her wandering attention back and tried to refocus. Communion wasn’t something she should take lightly. It certainly wasn’t the time to harbor ugly thoughts.
She tossed up a prayer and hoped it covered her.
At the end of service, Ty poked her and pointed out the huge tree at the right of the altar, brilliantly lit with white lights. “I helped the lieutenant and Mr. Bud bring it in. Isn’t it humongous? Miss Hannah and Mr. Matt brought the lights. They worked with Mr. Bud to have them ready for today.”
“The tree is magnificent.”
“I wish ours was big,” Ty said. “And real.”
She agreed on the real part. But she couldn’t afford more than the plastic model she’d set up last week.
When Tadie came out with Sammy on her hip and the others—minus Clay—right behind, Annie Mac said, “I’m going to take my guys for barbecue before bringing them back for practice. You want to join us?”
Tadie glanced around at Will and Agnes. Will said, “Our treat. For everyone.”
“Oh, you don’t need to do that,” Annie Mac said.
Tadie waved away her scruples. “Annie Mac, you’re doing the driving for all of us. Let us treat you, for heaven’s sake. And, Agnes, you’re our guest.”
After a quick and rather hectic lunch, the kids crowded into her car, belted in, and waved goodbye to their parents. Annie Mac had alterations to finish for some of the costumes. The other women would be working on props, such as wings and haloes. The kids would be practicing their songs, and sets would be moved to the sanctuary. They had a busy afternoon ahead.
Clay didn’t show up. Maybe he had bad guys to catch. Detecting to do.
Of course, when he wasn’t at the remaining practices or even the dress rehearsal, she bit her cheek, told herself it wasn’t her fault, and felt wretched
But wretched only extended to her non-existent love life. On other fronts, things started to look up.
With school out, she was busier than ever—or so it seemed, baking and cleaning, wrapping the small gifts she’d bought to go in the kids’ stockings, entertaining them, chauffeuring the crew to practice.
She’d been horrified when she’d shopped for baking supplies and the cashier had tallied her bill. The cost of apricots, raisins, and walnuts had her reeling. She could have bought everyone Christmas CDs for less.
But these would be from her own kitchen, made by her own hands. And so she baked, and wrapped, and labeled, and baked some more.
And then on Wednesday afternoon, two things happened that changed not only her attitude, but also her immediate future. The first came as a call from the principal of her school. He’d finally gotten the okay to hire her to a permanent position as a fourth-grade teacher. “Merry Christmas,” he’d said.
Merry Christmas indeed.
She’d barely had time to digest this good news when Rita called. “Honey, you’ll never guess. I just received an answer to the letter I wrote asking for an extension for you to move out. They’re not just giving you thirty days. You have until the end of January to vacate!”
Annie Mac fell back into the nearest chair. “All month?”
“Yes, ma’am. I laid it on about how long it took to get the furnace fixed, and they probably figured you’d sue.”
“Did you threaten them?”
“Of course not,” Rita said. “I just mentioned your two young children and their responsibility to provide a functioning furnace.”
It was all too much to take in, and Annie Mac had to bite the side of her cheek to keep her emotions in check. “This is so much more than I imagined. Especially because your news is not the only good thing I’ve heard today.”
“Tell me.”
“Oh, Rita, I’m now officially a full-time teacher.”
Rita’s shriek made Annie Mac laugh. “Girl! You rock!”
“I know. Think about it. Think how much more money I’ll be making.”
“Today is your day,” Rita said. “And that will open up so many more housing possibilities.”
“Hang on. I’m not going to be rich. Teachers are grossly underpaid.”
“Oh, I know that. But your salary will be a whole lot more than you’re making now for doing the same work. It’s about time they did this.”
“I’ve thought so since August.” Annie Mac sighed. “Anyway, you’re right. I can afford more and better, maybe even one with new appliances. I’d love not to have to scrub around nicks in the kitchen sink and stare at stained counters.”
“That’s it. This is why the house in Morehead didn’t work out. It may have been a cute place, but it wasn’t where you wanted to be.”
“It wasn’t, was it?”
“Right after the holidays,” Rita said, “you and I will go looking. And we’ll find the perfect place for you to rent.”
“Thank you. Thank you so much.”
“We’ll see you Christmas Eve. You tell your sweet ones we’ll be there cheering them on.”
“I’ll tell them.”
Annie Mac clasped her hands over her heart. Christmas had indeed come to the Rinehart home. She had choices now, didn’t she?
She was a fully employed woman who actually had choices.
18
Louis
Tomorrow was Christmas Day and Linney’s birthday. He needed a gift for her. No matter if they were here, in hiding. She wouldn’t understand if she didn’t get something.
Of course, all she said she wanted was a tree with lights. He’d made her a kind of funny pretend tree from a pine branch he’d dragged inside the barn. He’d stuck it in one of the empty cans and braced it against a barrel, only he didn’t have lights for it. Or any pretties, as Mama called them. So it was just a branch. It would never be a tree.
“Like ’at one,” she said, pointing to the brightly lit tree outside the church. She could only see it through the hole or by peeking around the corner of the barn once it was dark outside. She couldn’t touch it or get close enough to see it well. Especially without her glasses. She’d had some, a long time ago. But somebody’d stepped on them, and Mama hadn’t been able to take her for new ones.
Of course, Mama’d gotten him a pair, for school she’d said. He had glasses that worked. Linney squinted her already squinty eyes.
He worried about her ears, too. Sometimes he had to repeat things, and sometimes she cocked her head so her left ear was closer to him, like it worked better than the right. When he figured things out for them, when he found them a safe place and a way to get more money, first thing he’d do was get somebody to make Linney new glasses and to test her ears.
For now, he had to figure out a Christmas birthday present that would help her forget about having her own tree. Mama used to set up a fake silver tree with a few ornaments and a small string of different colored lights. It always sat behind the couch on a messy table—except the times Mama’d been okay enough to clean. After Bobby left, she’d pretty much quit trying, so Louis had put up the tree last year and had done his best to straighten up the trailer. Last year, Mama’d told him to get enough dollar bills from her jar to get himself a gift. Linney, too. He’d bought the baby doll.
“What’d you get yourself?” Mama’d asked, probably counting how many dollars he’d had to spend for the doll and how much she’d said he could take.
He’d told her he was fine, didn’t need anything. She’d lain in that bed, and tears had wet her hair and pillow. “I’m sorry. Just so sorry.”
He could remember standing there, hanging his head because he couldn’t fix her. “It’s okay” was all he’d been able to say.
This year, Mama was gone, and all Linney had was him. If he was goi
ng to get her a present for tomorrow, he had to go out today. Everything would be closed on Christmas Day.
But how could he leave her? If he did, and she got upset, would it be worth it? And really, would she even remember that tomorrow was Christmas and her birthday?
No, not unless he mentioned it again. So, he could just keep quiet and pretend it was any old day.
The image of the church and the people who’d been coming every night filled him with uncertainty. If she looked out or if they went to the bathroom, she’d see the tree and see the people, and she’d know. Christmas was special enough that a person couldn’t hide it.
And if she knew it was Christmas, she’d know it was gift time. She could hold onto ideas once she’d learned them, and she’d sure learned that one.
Keeping track of what she remembered and what she didn’t could make a guy crazy, but she’d figured out how to match up her birthday with Christmas and a gift. Maybe she didn’t know what a birthday was exactly, but she got the idea of one day, one gift. Mama used to say too much stuff would just confuse Linney, but with one thing to play with, she’d be happy for weeks. With her baby doll, she’d been happy for a year, until she’d lost it.
Louis whispered his thanks. “That new baby made her real glad, God. You know, your doll.”
And Linney’s happiness made the stealing of it not feel so awful, even if he did get in trouble for taking it. Getting in trouble and paying back were owed. But maybe when he told, the church people wouldn’t be too angry. Only, he couldn’t tell yet. Not before he figured things out.
Maybe, just maybe, he could sneak to the store while it was still light—if he could get Linney to sleep. He could run to the dollar store real quick and get back before she missed him. She’d be safe. Nobody knew they were here.
To start, he’d feed her. He opened a can of baked beans and a box of crackers. Cold beans were okay, and maybe a full stomach would make Linney sleepy.
He ate some of the beans and then passed the can to Linney so she could finish the rest and not have to worry about passing it back. “It’s all yours. You eat it all. And here are some crackers for you. Your pile. Right there.”
Then he poured water into her cup and some into his, and they munched on a few salted crackers that were kind of stale.
“You finished?” he asked when she handed him the empty can.
“Un-huh.”
“Then go get Baby. You both need a nap. Okay?”
“’kay.”
He helped her settle. Then he said, “I’m gonna go out for just a few minutes. You go to sleep, and when you wake up, I’ll be back, and we’ll go get washed up. How does that sound?”
“No. Stay.”
“I’ll stay while you go to sleep. I’m just telling you so you won’t worry if you wake up. I’ll be right back. You won’t even miss me.”
“Stay.” Her face started to scrunch up.
“Lie back down. Come on, be a good girl.”
With a sigh, he smoothed her hair away from her round face and tried to remember a song, any song, Mama used to sing. He settled on one he’d heard coming from that church the other evening. “Si-i-lent night, ho-o-ly night, all is . . .”
Soon, Linney slept, and he sent up a prayer for God to watch out for her while he was gone. He took some more bills out of his dwindling stash and then ducked out the broken board.
It started to snow as he made his way into the woods and out to the road that ran along the property line. Nobody was working the site today, on account of it being Christmas Eve, but he knew the store would be open.
He shivered and pulled his jacket collar up high as it would go, hunching into it.
He could only buy what he could carry in the plastic sacks they gave him, so he shopped carefully. It was a good thing the people behind the counter weren’t bright or aware of much and didn’t seem to think it strange that he bought odd stuff for a kid.
He collected what he and Linney needed and found a pretend baby bottle she might like, along with a bright book of colored animals for a dollar. Then he paid and headed back across the snowy highway, careful now so he wouldn’t slip.
By the time he was close enough to see the church, the parking lot had filled, and lights blazed from inside and out. A yearning hit him so hard that at first he didn’t know what to do with it, and all he could do was stare.
If only they could go into that place tonight. Feel the warmth, listen to the songs he knew they’d sing.
God?
Louis passed his bags inside first, trying to be quiet in case Linney was still asleep. He climbed inside, turned on the flashlight, and set it so he could see to put things away, cans with cans, diapers with diapers, new flashlight batteries in their own space. He tucked her gifts toward the back.
She still hadn’t awakened when he turned toward her, keeping the beam of light away from her eyes. Her blanket was empty. He shined the flashlight around the barn. She wasn’t here. He called her name. Nothing.
Panic hit, hard and fast. “Linney!” Had she wandered toward the road? Come looking for him? Fallen in the woods?
He carried his flashlight now, shining it on the ground outside. He prayed there’d been enough snow before she’d left for him to find tracks.
At first, all he saw were his own. And then he noticed something that made him cold all over. Really cold. Really sick and scared and ready to scream and hit almost anything, because there were two sets of footprints, one that had to be his sister’s and another belonging to what looked like a man. A big man.
Louis ducked back inside and found the long piece of iron he’d used to break into the office. He carried it in one hand and the flashlight in the other, and he crawled back out and began to go after them.
O, God. He’d heard what bad people could do to girls. It wasn’t a secret where he came from.
Please help her. Please send angels to save Linney.
He begged and he pleaded and before long his tears were probably freezing on his cheeks, but they wouldn’t stop, and he couldn’t stop, and his glasses kept fogging. The footprints went into the woods and kept disappearing where trees had kept snow from sticking to the ground. He’d find the tracks again and press forward, and then they’d be gone again. His heart slammed against his ribs, almost breaking them, almost making him topple over.
Once, he did fall to his knees. So he stopped there, in spite of getting wet, and he listened. But he heard only his own breaths coming hard and fast.
At least he hadn’t heard a scream.
19
Linney
The bad man hurts Linney, pulls hard. Linney wants him to stop. The dark woods scare her.
Luce. Linney needs Luce.
The bad man says bad words. Linney knows those words. He’d said them. Then he had gone.
Mama cold. Mama gone. Only Luce for Linney.
Linney’s foot hits tree. She starts to fall. Bad man pulls. Says more bad things. Pulls more. Hurts Linney. Keeps making her go away from Luce.
Feet go fast. Too fast. Man looks back. Pulls. Hurts. Falls. Man stays on ground.
But Linney has her hands. She waits.
Not long. Not here.
And then Linney runs from the dark.
From man. From bad.
To lights. To tree. To Luce.
20
Annie Mac
Snow brought magic to Christmas Eve in Eastern North Carolina. It had started falling even before they arrived at the church. Now, as they walked from the parking lot to the parish hall, Ty tried catching snowflakes in his mouth, and Katie giggled and wiped flakes from her eyes.
The pageant seemed to have brought out everyone, filling the building with friends and family of those participating, along with those who didn’t want to wait for the midnight service. There was magic, too, in the tree and the lights, the candles everywhere, the greenery. And, oh, the new sets were perfect.
Everything was perfect.
Annie Mac helped the chi
ldren dress in their costumes and line up with their teachers, and then she found a place to sit next to Rita and her husband Martin in waving distance of Hannah and Matt. Agnes sat with Tadie again. And there was Clay a couple rows up from where Annie Mac sat, some new man on his right side. A handsome man, maybe in his thirties. She wondered who he was, of course. Who wouldn’t?
The sanctuary was filled with excitement as people waited for the musicians to begin the service. They’d lead the young voices as the pageant unfolded.
She looked again at the tree with its hundreds of tiny white lights winking brightly. Hannah and Matt never did anything halfway. She glanced over at them. Hannah laid her head on Matt’s shoulder for a moment, and he leaned toward her.
And then the music began with “Angels We Have Heard on High,” during which the sweet young angels moved in to stand on a platform, the youngest and smallest below the taller ones. Her baby stood proudly among them, singing along as best she could. Between songs, congregants would read from the Book of Luke. After the first passage came “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel.” The beauty of the carols always made Annie Mac want to weep.
She wasn’t sure what made her turn toward the window. Snow fell on the girl’s nose, on her hair, on her cheeks as she pressed close to the glass with such a look of longing. Someone had to bring that child in from the cold.
Annie Mac nudged Rita, pointed, and whispered, “I’ll go get her.”
She glanced once more at the front, where the shepherds, including Ty, were entering to “Away in a Manger.” As she pushed through into the narthex, Clay just behind her, she prayed Ty hadn’t seen them leave. But surely he’d understand when he knew the reason.
They approached the girl cautiously, and Annie Mac spoke gently. “Honey, aren’t you cold out here?”
Twilight Christmas: A Carolina Coast Novella (Carolina Coast Novels Book 3) Page 9