Love Inspired December 2014 - Box Set 1 of 2: A Rancher for Christmas\Her Montana Christmas\An Amish Christmas Journey\Yuletide Baby (56 page)

“In any case, she's made it perfectly clear that she's not coming back for little Noelle, at least not at present. I think we can work off the assumption that she's gone.” Slade frowned, his brow creasing.

Heather was glad that baby Noelle had so many people here concerned about her future, folks who Heather knew would help this child get a running start at life. That was more than many others had.

“There's roughly thirty-five dollars here, mostly ones,” Slade informed them, holding out the crumpled wad of cash. “It's not going to get the child very far.”

Heather sniffed as tears burned in her eyes. The sound evidently caught Shawn's attention, for he laid a gentle hand on her shoulder and his compassionate blue eyes flashed to hers. Their gazes locked for a moment and he seemed to be probing her thoughts and measuring her feelings, all without speaking a word. She shuddered and physically jerked from him, refusing to be taken in by whatever kindness he was showing her.

This wasn't the time to think of herself, or about Shawn. The baby needed all of their attention. “I believe that was all that the mother had to give.”

Chapter Two

A
ll that the mother had to give.

Shawn acknowledged that Heather was probably correct, and his chest squeezed with sympathy. He anxiously wondered where the mysterious young mother was and what she must have been feeling to leave her precious baby in the care of strangers.

He would make this right. He had to. Although he couldn't fathom a reason for it, God must have His reasons for depositing the baby into Shawn's care. He could do no less than follow this thing through to the end. It didn't matter that he had no training in infant care or that he hardly even knew which end of a bottle was up. God willing, he'd figure it out.

He'd been having a running conversation with God ever since the moment he'd first seen the small movement in the hay, and he wasn't about to stop praying now, not when he was facing the possibility of walking a tightrope with no safety net underneath him.

“So the question remains,” he said, knowing even before he asked that he was committing himself to something far beyond his scope of expertise. “What are we going to do with an abandoned baby on Christmas Eve?”

“I suppose one of us could drive her into San Antonio, if we can rustle up an infant car seat somewhere,” suggested Brody, although with the catch in his voice, he didn't sound particularly warm to the idea.

“And do what with her once you get there?”

Shawn thought he detected an edge of panic in Heather's voice and discreetly narrowed his eyes on her.

Yes, there it was. The flare in the black irises of her eyes, which were surrounded by a beautiful hazel color. She was afraid for this baby. So was Shawn. They all were. Every person in the room knew what taking Noelle to San Antonio in the middle of the night on a holiday would mean—dropping her into the inhospitable hands of an aloof system where she would have no one to be her personal advocate.

But Noelle
had
an advocate. Shawn.

“Do we have a legal obligation to make a permanent decision about her situation tonight?” Shawn piped up. Maybe with a little time they could figure out a better plan.

Slade raised his dark eyebrows. “Well, eventually we'll have to report her to the proper authorities. Texas social services will want to know about her. But that does not necessarily have to happen tonight. If I'm not mistaken, we have somewhere around one business day to bring her to the attention of the state. The fact that it's Christmas Eve works in our favor, if you're wanting to hold off a bit.
Is
that what you want? And if you don't mind my asking, why? What do you have in mind?”

“Yes, dear,” Jo urged, patting Shawn's forearm. “Tell us—what's your plan?”

“I'm not— That is, I don't have a plan. I just can't help but feel this baby was sent to us, to our town, to this church.”

To me.
He wasn't about to say those words out loud, but he was certainly thinking about them.

“I agree,” said Jo. “We know our good Lord. He doesn't make mistakes. Somehow this baby is part of His good and perfect gift to us.”

“Amen to that,” Delia agreed, adjusting the stethoscope draped around her neck.

Shawn's heart welled even as his stomach tightened. Jo had the extraordinary ability to see the good in everything and everyone, along with the uncanny ability to be able to remind others of God's hand in their life circumstances.

But how could an abandoned baby be a gift from God?

Shawn acknowledged in his heart that the Lord could turn even the worst of circumstances into blessings, but he was struggling to wrap his mind around it. Whatever God had planned for them and for this child, it was beyond his ability to see.

“If we're not going to take Noelle to San Antonio tonight,” Slade said, his even tone indicating the statement was a fact and not so much a question, “then what are we going to do with her?”

Shawn took a deep breath and stepped out onto the wire, knowing there was no net below him. If he looked down he knew he would take a mental nosedive, so instead he stared into the stormy blue-eyed gaze of baby Noelle.

“I'll take care of her.”

* * *

Shawn taking baby Noelle overnight sounded like a reasonable enough plan, at least until four o'clock in the morning came and went and he hadn't gotten a single moment of sleep. The small gathering of neighbors had loaded him up with suggestions on baby care, wished him well and then gone home to catch a few hours of shut-eye before Christmas morning dawned, where they would celebrate with their own families.

Shawn had mistakenly thought he had everything under control. How hard could it be, really?

Ha! The joke was on him. The Lord certainly had a sense of humor.

He groaned and smothered a yawn. Instead of enjoying a happy snooze with sugarplums dancing in his head as he would have done if he'd gone home alone, he was pacing the hallway with an unappeasably fussy baby.

Holding her close to his heart, he gently patted her back in a slow, steady rhythm. The little
bundle of joy
wasn't the least bit happy, and he hadn't a clue what to do for her. He wished he knew what was wrong so he could fix the problem.

After a bottle of formula and a diaper change, Noelle had initially drifted off to sleep. Shawn had thrown together a makeshift bassinet from a shallow plastic bin and some blankets and placed it by the side of his own bed. All was calm—and bright.

For about five seconds.

No sooner had he laid his head on the pillow than Noelle started to wail. And wow, but the kid had a pair of lungs.

He shuffled through his mental list. Diaper changed. Warm bottle. Patting her back to help her remove any lingering bubbles in her tummy. Swaddled. Multiple attempts at a pacifier, although he'd qualified that as a fail, since he couldn't even get the baby girl to keep it in her mouth.

Nothing seemed to work. If anything, the more attention he paid to Noelle, the harder she cried, and now she was making little
hic
sounds when she breathed. He was afraid she was hyperventilating.

Could
babies hyperventilate? It frightened him that he didn't even know the answer to that question.

What if she passed out? What if something was seriously the matter with her? Had Dr. Delia missed something critical when she'd examined the baby?

Noelle scrunched up her tiny face and sneezed. Shawn reached for his cell phone, then stopped and shook his head, laughing at how easily flustered he was getting.

Who was he going to call? Emergency services? And say what?

Hello, can you help me? My baby just sneezed!

“I'm overreacting, aren't I, little darlin'?” he murmured to Noelle. Her face relaxed, and she quieted, appearing to respond to the sound of his voice. Well, that was good, right? He kept talking. “Let me tell you, sweetheart, I have a brand-new appreciation for the parents of infants. Is this what Eli and Mary are going through every night right now? Huh? You think?”

Noelle sneezed again.

“Uh-oh. I hope you're not getting sick. Dr. Delia was pretty thorough when she was examining you, and she pronounced you good to go, at least for the time being. But I suppose there's always the possibility that she missed something. Are you coming down with a cold, little darlin'? Or am I just being a worrywart?”

He chuckled softly when he realized Noelle had stopped crying. When he gazed down at her, he realized she was looking at him expectantly, sucking contentedly on her tiny fist.

“So that was all you needed? A little man-to-baby conversation? Well, I don't mind talking to you, sweetheart, but wouldn't it be great if we could table this discussion for now and pick it up in the morning?” From the expectant look on her face, it seemed the answer to that question was no.

Well, if all he had to do was talk, he supposed he could handle that. He was a preacher, after all. Words were his livelihood.

Just not in the middle of the night.

He took a seat on his plush easy chair and kicked back the footrest so he could settle Noelle on his shoulder. He'd heard young parents joking about how their babies had their days and nights mixed up, but he'd never quite understood what that meant.

Now he got it, and got it good.

If nothing else, taking care of Noelle over the Christmas holiday would be a tremendous learning experience for him. After what he'd experienced tonight, he had all kinds of ideas on how to be a better pastor to the parents of newborns in his congregation. Up until this point he realized he'd kind of missed the mark. For one thing, he'd be more sympathetic, and he'd be sure to look for ways to make the transition into parenthood easier. He'd never envisioned the type of sacrifice parents made on a daily—and nightly—basis, and he imagined a strong support system would make all the difference in the world for them.

Noelle gurgled, and Shawn rubbed his fingertips against her tiny back. “What are you here to teach me?” he murmured, offering his heart to God and to the child. “I'm your student now. You've got me in the palm of your sweet little hand. So why don't you tell me, young lady—what am I here to learn?”

* * *

In a more innocent time of her life, Heather's favorite time of the year had been Christmas. Peace on earth, goodwill to all. She recalled participating in joyful caroling parties with hot apple cider and eggnog afterward. Joining in the throng of busy shoppers as they scurried around trying to catch seasonal deals for their loved ones. The anticipation as she wrapped presents and created pretty, elaborate homemade bows to tie around them. And most of all, she remembered the joy of celebrating God made Man in the person of Jesus. The nativity.

All of that had been part of her best childhood memories.

But her parents had passed on, and all the goodness associated with the season had gone by the wayside during her years with Adrian. Oh, they'd attended their fair share of Christmas parties, but Adrian was in the habit of secretly imbibing on the side. Then afterward, he'd cross town to where no one knew him and hit the bars until he was stumbling drunk.

He despised Christmas, and he'd mocked her attempts to give their house a personal touch for the season. He'd insisted on professional decorators and expensive ornaments, and eventually she'd just stopped trying. She hadn't even bothered to give any input—it wasn't like anyone listened to her wishes, anyway. It was just more work for her to do and there was no one but her to enjoy it. There wasn't much joy in her life to celebrate. Adrian would complain about the twinkling lights and the space it took up and failed to appreciate the tree and Christmas decor for what they represented.

Church services became exercises in deception. So many people loved and respected Adrian, an active leader and deacon in the church. To members of the congregation, she strived to appear to be the happy, faithful wife of a charming man, with a seemingly perfect marriage and not a care in the world.

What a lie. A whole pack of them, as a matter of fact.

Well, no more.

But even though she no longer carried the weight of the lies on her shoulders, the damage they had done to her still remained. Some days it was all she could do to rise out of bed and go about her daily activities. Her foster children—nine-year-old Jacob, seven-year-old Missy and three-year-old Henry—gave her the strength to face life again. Their precious hugs and sweet laughter made even the worst of days bearable.

This year she'd purchased a freshly cut Virginia pine tree from a tree farm. No artificial trees in her house. If she was being honest, it was as much for her as for the children. It filled her heart with great joy to see the children's excitement as they spotted the perfect tree and hauled it inside. Little hands helped as much as the big ones did.

The tree filled her home with the crisp, refreshing scent of evergreen. She'd helped the kids decorate it with a string of lights and candy canes, and then they'd threaded popcorn and cranberries and draped them over the branches for the final touch. Every cent she made from the state for fostering went straight back into caring for the children, and on the tiny salary she made as a virtual assistant, she was barely making ends meet. It was unfortunate that her finances didn't stretch nearly as far as she would have liked, and this year, at least, she wasn't able to afford the shiny new glass ornaments displayed in the window of Emerson's Hardware, but if her years with Adrian had taught her anything, it was that fancy decorations didn't make for a better holiday.

Simple pleasures were worth treasuring. She was surviving and taking care of the children, and for now, that was enough. She'd budgeted every spare dime to purchase at least one gift for each of the kids from their wish lists, and it was important to her that she followed another old Lewis tradition, so their stockings were overflowing with tokens of her affection, small and inexpensive though they were.

The scene this Christmas morning was picture-perfect. All that was missing was the pitter-patter of feet and the happy squeal of children.

She didn't have to wait long before she heard stirring from down the hall. She promptly attuned her practiced ear to the sound. Muffled whispers emanated from the shadowed spot where the hall met the living room.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” she called, infusing gaiety into her voice. “Who wants to see what Santa brought this year?”

Heather closed her eyes for a moment and simply savored the lovely sounds of Christmas. Children. Laughing, happy, excited little voices. She allowed the cheerful clatter to penetrate and fill her empty heart and warm her icy spirit.

Her eyes snapped open and her pulse quickened at the sudden shrill buzz of her cell phone. She'd turned the sound back on as she did every morning, but she wasn't expecting a phone call, especially at this time of the morning and on Christmas Day.

She put a hand to her chest to still her galloping heart. She was sick and tired of her first reaction to the phone or doorbell being a spike of terror. It had been several years now since Adrian had been incarcerated, and still she dealt with this. She'd thought moving back home would help. How long would it take her to relearn the basics, replacing her automatic fear impulses with healthy responses?