The Doctor's Christmas (11 page)

The door creaked open a few inches, displaying a safety chain and beyond it, a small, wrinkled face topped by scanty white hair.

“What do you want? If you're collecting for something, I can't afford to give.”

“We're not collecting for anything, Mrs. Johnson.” She tried a reassuring smile. “We're looking for someone we thought you might know. Nella Johnson Bascom.”

“Don't know her.”

The door started to swing shut, but Maggie got her foot into the space, something in the woman's tone triggering a nerve.

“Think hard, Mrs. Johnson. Isn't Nella a relative of yours?”

Caution flickered in the woman's faded eyes. “Never heard of her.”

She knew something. Maggie wasn't sure how she knew, but she did. “Come on, now. I know she came to see you.”

“I don't know nothing, I tell you.” The querulous voice rose. “Now get away before I call the police.”

“Maggie—”

She could tell by Grant's tone that he was picturing them ending the day in jail. He took her arm.

“Just another minute.” She leaned close to the door. “Please, Mrs. Johnson. If you won't talk to us, talk to Nella. Tell her that Maggie was here. Tell her that her kids need her. Tell her to come home.”

The woman blinked slowly, as if taking it all in, and then shook her head. “I told you. I don't know her.”

“Come on.” Grant tugged at her arm. “You might want to get arrested, but I don't.”

Reluctantly she took her foot from the door. “Please. Tell her.”

The door slammed shut.

Maggie bit her lip. “She knew something. I could tell. Couldn't you?”

Grant shrugged as he piloted her off the porch. “Maybe. But you can't force her to talk.” He led her down the walk and opened the car door, frowned as if about to say something she wouldn't like, and then shrugged. “Let's go try some restaurants.”

Over the next few hours they worked their way up one side of the town's small business district and down the other. Maggie's optimism flagged along with her energy.
Nella, where are you?

Grant pulled into the parking lot of yet another restaurant.

“This looks like a decent place.” He held the door
for her. “Let's order dinner while we make inquiries. I think we need to regroup.”

The restaurant's interior was warm and candlelit after the chilly dampness outside. Maggie slipped her coat off as Grant consulted with the hostess and showed her the photo of Nella. The woman shook her head.

Grant hung her coat and his on the wall rack as the hostess picked up menus.

“Nothing?”

“She didn't recognize her.” Grant touched her arm, maybe in sympathy, as they followed the hostess to a table.

Maggie wilted into the padded chair. “I don't know what else to suggest. I've wasted our time.”

“Not necessarily. Maybe you were right about that Johnson woman. She might give Nella your message.”

“And I might have been totally off base.” She leaned her forehead on her hand.

“You'll feel better when you've had something to eat.” He handed her a menu. “Pick something, or I'll do it for you.”

“I thought you were only bossy in the clinic.” She scanned the menu.

“No, that's my natural state.” He smiled, as if he'd somehow gained the confidence she'd lost. “We're not licked yet.”

She started to say she wished she could be so sure, but the waitress came to take their order and the moment was gone.

Grant steered the conversation to non-Nella topics while they ate, as if determined to have their meal without arguing. It was only when they lingered over coffee that he gave her a long, serious look.

“You're losing hope, aren't you?”

A lump formed in her throat. “I don't want to. I still hope Nella will come back. She said so in her note. Doesn't that show that she intends to return?”

Maybe it was the flickering candlelight that softened his firm features. He almost looked sorry for her.

“I don't know. You forget, I don't know Nella.”

“You know her children. They're a reflection of her. Everything good in them came from Nella. It surely didn't come from that worthless husband of hers.”

“They're good kids.” He hesitated, making small circles on the white tablecloth with his coffee spoon. “But you have to remember that Nella spent a lot of years in a terrible situation. Maybe she just doesn't have it in her to keep on struggling.”

“I don't believe that. I can't.” She thought of her mother, and tension gripped her throat.

He dropped the spoon and put his hand over hers, warming her. “I know. Believe me, I hope you're right about Nella. But how much longer can we hope to hide those children from the authorities?”

“We can't give up yet.” She wasn't sure any more whether she was hanging on by conviction or plain stubbornness. “We can't.”

“A little while ago you looked ready to.”

“As you said, I needed to eat. And I guess, in the
back of my mind, I always felt sure I could find Nella if I had to. Not finding her today rocked me.”

She pulled out the picture of Nella with the children and put it on the table, as if it might speak to her.

“I can't give up,” she said firmly. “Those kids deserve someone who believes.”

The server came back with Grant's credit card receipt, and he absently put out his hand for it. “It was a good guess that Nella might be here. We just—”

The woman leaned over, staring at the photo. “Hey, that's Nella Bascom and her kids. Are you folks friends of hers?”

Maggie caught the woman's hand. “You know Nella?”

The server looked taken aback at the intensity in Maggie's voice. “Why? She in some kind of trouble?”

“No trouble,” Grant said quickly. “We're friends of hers. I asked the hostess about Nella, but she didn't recognize her.”

The waitress sniffed. “'Course not. Lisa, she only works a couple evenings a week. Nella's on days.”

“We've been trying to reach her, but I lost her phone number.” Maggie tried to keep the tension out of her tone. “Do you happen to know where she is?”

She held her breath while the woman looked her over, then Grant.

“Well, I'd like to help you,” she said finally. “Thing is, Nella's not here anymore.”

“Not here?” The words seemed to strangle her.

The waitress shook her head. “Manager said she called in yesterday. Said she wouldn't be able to work anymore. Said she was leaving town.”

Maggie sank back in the chair, vaguely hearing Grant ask another question or two. No, the woman didn't know where Nella had gone. She'd just left, that's all.

She'd left. Maggie tried to believe that meant Nella was on her way home, but somehow she couldn't. Nella had gone. There was no place else to look. She'd failed.

G
rant just sat for a moment, trying to decipher the expression on Maggie's face. In spite of her brave words, she looked nearer to defeat than he'd ever seen her.

He ought to be relieved, in a way. Their quest for Nella had failed, and Maggie would have to admit that there was nothing left to do but turn the whole situation over to the authorities and try to salvage what remained of the clinic's reputation.

He wasn't relieved. Frustrated, upset—but not relieved. How could he be, when the children's future hung in the balance along with that of the clinic?

He scribbled his name on the credit card receipt and vented his frustration by shoving his chair back. “Let's go. We can't do anything else here.”

Maggie didn't move. Maybe she was numb, but in an odd way it made him angry. He'd rather Maggie fought him than sit there looking lost.

She let him help her on with her coat, let him take her arm as they went to the car. She got in, and he slammed the door with a little unnecessary emphasis. He felt her gaze on him as he got behind the wheel and turned the key.

He didn't attempt to pull out. He frowned at the heater, which was making a brave effort to put forth something besides cold air, then transferred the frown to Maggie. She was huddled in her coat, hands tucked into her pockets.

“I don't suppose there's any chance Nella's on her way home.”

Maggie's shoulders moved slightly. “I'd like to think that. But if she left yesterday, where is she?”

He discovered he was looking for something hopeful to say, as if he and Maggie had traded places. “If she took the bus, she wouldn't make the time that we did driving.”

“Even so, she'd surely have gotten there by now.” Maggie massaged her temples. “And if she had, Aunt Elly would have called. She has my cell phone number.”

He bounced his fist against the steering wheel. It didn't help. “We've wasted the day, then.”

“You didn't have to come along.” A little of Maggie's spirit flamed up. “I didn't ask you to.”

“That's not the point.” He knew perfectly well he'd volunteered to come. He wasn't sure he wanted to admit his motives for that, even to himself. “The point is, we're both involved in breaking the rules now, and we haven't gained a thing.”

“Sometimes you have to break the rules.”

“It doesn't pay.” Didn't she see that? “You bent every rule there is, and we're no further ahead. You could lose your job. Don't you understand that?”

She looked at him then, her mouth twisting a little. “I understand. It's already happened to me.”

“What are you talking about?”

“My first job after I graduated.” Her eyes looked very dark. “A man brought his wife into the emergency room. He said she'd fallen down the stairs. She hadn't.”

“Did the woman tell you the truth?”

“At first she did. I reported it, of course. But before the cops arrived, the husband came back with flowers, told her how much he loved her, how sorry he was.”

It was a familiar story to anyone who'd worked in an E.R. He knew how it ended. “She backed down and refused to prosecute.”

Maggie's hands clenched together. “She was ready to go home with him. It would have been the same thing all over again, and next time she might die.”

“I know.” He put his hand over hers. They were cold, gripping each other. “But you did the right thing. If she wanted to leave—”

“I didn't let her.” She looked at him defiantly. “I said her X rays had shown a problem and talked an intern into ordering more tests. By the time it was caught, the police had arrived. Once we could tell her that he was locked up, they were able to get the truth.”

He looked at her steadily. “And what happened to you?” He knew the answer to that one, too.

“I lost my job.” Her lips trembled momentarily, and she pressed them together. “It was worth it.”

“Maggie—” What could he do with someone like her? “You know as well as I do that she probably turned around and went right back to him as soon as she was out of the hospital.”

“At least I gave her a chance.”

“You sacrificed your job. Now you're probably going to pay the same price again. Don't you see that—”

He stopped. She wasn't answering. She couldn't.

Maggie—determined, stubborn, always strong Maggie—was crying. Tears spilled down her cheeks without a sound, and she made no effort to wipe them away.

“Maggie.”

Softer this time. Then he put his arm around her and drew her against him so that her tears soaked into his shoulder.

“It's okay.” He patted her gently, as he'd seen her pat the kids. “You've done everything you could.”

She let out a shuddering breath that moved across his cheek. “I failed.”

“You didn't. You did your best.” He tried to think of something else encouraging to say, but he couldn't. Maggie was crying in his arms, and he couldn't find a way to comfort her.

Because the truth was that she probably had failed.
Nella probably wouldn't come back. The children would end up in foster care.

And Maggie? He stroked her back, feeling the sobs that shook her.

Maggie needed so much to be the rescuer instead of the victim that she could lose her way entirely if she didn't save Nella and the children. And there didn't seem to be one thing he could do about it.

 

Even if the organist hadn't been playing “Adeste Fideles,” Maggie would have known it was the Sunday before Christmas. It was in the air—the scent of the pine boughs on the chancel rail, the scarlet of poinsettias banked in front of the pulpit, the rustle of anticipation. She might be the only person in the sanctuary who wasn't consumed with excitement over the approach of Christmas.

All she could feel was dread as she glanced at the three children sitting in the pew with her. How long? How long until social services snatched them away?

She'd put Joey on her right, experience having taught her it was best to sit between him and Robby if she was to have a semblance of control during the service. Joey was on the end, taking advantage of this position to crane around and gape at each person who came into the sanctuary during the prelude.

She touched his shoulder, turning him toward the front, and he grinned at her, eyes sparkling. Her heart clenched.

Don't let me fail these children, Lord. Please, don't let me fail.

But how could she expect God to pull her out of this situation? She was the one who'd gotten into it, so sure she was right and that Nella would come back on her own. She'd betrayed the secret to Grant. And she'd been so weak as to break down in front of him.

She should never have let that happen. Excuses came readily to her mind—she'd been exhausted, stressed, worried about Nella. But she couldn't lie to herself, and certainly not in the Lord's house.

She'd grown to care too much for Grant. She'd never intended to, and she hadn't even seen it coming. She'd been blindsided by the emotion. When had her initial dislike changed to grudging respect, and respect to liking? And liking to love?

Love.
She forced herself to look unflinchingly at the word. She'd fallen in love with him.

Nothing could possibly come of it, even without the complication of the Bascom kids. They were far too different for that. But she loved him.

Worse, she'd shown him everything there was to know about her. He could use it against her.

But he hadn't.

All the way home from West Virginia on Friday night she'd waited for that, and it hadn't come. During office hours the day before, she'd been keyed up every moment for him to confront her about Nella and the children. He hadn't.

Instead, he'd been considerate. Kind. Almost as if he felt sorry for her.

Robby wiggled next to her, and she put her arm
around him. He snuggled close, resting his head against her side, and her heart hurt again.

Grant probably did feel sorry for her. He'd
be
sorry, too. But she suspected that wouldn't stop him from calling social services first thing Monday morning.

The prelude ended, and the organist played the first notes of “Joy to the World,” the opening hymn. As she opened the hymnal, Joey leaned perilously far out into the aisle.

She grabbed him, glancing back to see what so attracted him, and her breath caught.

Grant. Grant had come to church, for the first time since that night at the Christmas pageant rehearsal.

Before she could think what that might mean, he'd started down the aisle. As he passed them, Joey reached out to grab his arm.

“Sit with us, Doc.” What Joey thought of as a whisper was loud enough to be heard all the way across the sanctuary. “We have room.”

Grant sent her a questioning look, as if asking permission.

Everyone was watching them. She could hardly deny him a seat. She managed a smile and slid Tacey and Robby over to make room. He sat down, Joey between them on the worn wooden pew.

This shouldn't be worse than being alone with him at the clinic. After all, he could hardly bring up any painful subjects while they were worshiping.

Still, she fumbled for the hymnal page, her fingers suddenly clumsy. She was just thrown by the unex
pectedness of it, that was all. What had led him into the service this morning?

“Joy to the world, the Lord is come.”

Voices sang out. Grant grasped the edge of her hymnal, holding it between them, and her vision blurred. What was he doing here?

The hymn ended on its triumphant, ringing note, and a rustle went through the sanctuary as the congregation sat down. She fixed her gaze firmly on Pastor Jim.

She would not look at Grant. She would not wonder why he was here, or what he was thinking. But she couldn't help being aware of his every breath, no matter how she tried.

She managed to keep her eyes fixed to the front until the Old Testament reading. Pastor Jim had chosen the passage from Isaiah.

“For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given.”

Powerful emotion swept her at the words. That linking of the most intimate, personal love of a parent for a newborn child with the advent of the Lord of all creation—how could anyone not be moved by that?

Something, some infinitesimal tension emanating from Grant, pulled her attention irresistibly. She turned, just a little, so that she could see him.

He was struggling. Probably no one else in that sanctuary could guess at the emotions surging under his calm exterior, but she knew. It was as if they were connected at the most basic level.

Something was wrong between Grant and the Lord. She'd known that since the night of the pageant rehearsal. She didn't know what, and she didn't know how, but that inner warfare was coming to a head.

Please, Lord.
She didn't know how to pray for Grant, but she had to.
I hold Grant up to You, Father. You know the secrets of his soul. Touch him. Heal him.

Through a jumble of emotions she tried to listen to the rest of the sermon. Her mind seemed able to pay attention at one level while all the time, underneath, a constant stream of prayer went on.
Touch him, Lord. Please.

The service flowed on to its close. Pastor Jim raised his hands in the benediction, then paused, holding the congregation with his smile.

“And whatever you do, don't forget to be here tomorrow night for the pageant. It wouldn't be Christmas Eve without each and every one of you.”

She rose automatically, shepherding the children into the aisle. Grant let them pass and then moved close behind her. She felt his hand on her back, guiding her toward the door. His touch sent a tremor through her. Longing, need, apprehension, all jumbled up together, leaving her knees weak.

She managed to smile and speak as she walked up the aisle, hoping she looked normal enough to everyone else. Pastor Jim shook hands with each of the children. As they scrambled down the steps, he took Maggie's hand in both of his.

“Everything okay?”

Apparently she wasn't looking normal, at least not to someone as observant as Pastor Jim.

“I'm fine.”

He pressed her hand. “If you need me, you know I'm here for you.”

“I know,” she said softly.

She stepped through the doorway. A damp wind swept down the street, bringing a promise of snow. She shivered, pulling her coat around her.

Behind her, she heard the pastor greeting Grant, sounding as relaxed and friendly as if Grant attended every Sunday. If Grant felt embarrassed, his response didn't betray it.

“You're coming to the pageant tomorrow night, aren't you?” Pastor Jim was at his most persuasive. “Maggie and the children have worked so hard on it.”

“I'll try,” Grant answered evasively.

She started down the steps. Joey had found a patch of snow left on the church lawn and was busy packing a snowball.

“Joey.” Her voice contained a warning.

The boy looked at her, grinned and dropped the handful of snow.

“We'd better get on home and fix some lunch,” she began, then stopped when Grant touched her arm.

She glanced up and found her gaze trapped by his.

“Do you have a minute?” His voice was firm and determined, as if he'd made a decision and intended to carry it out, no matter what.

Something chilled inside her. “Not really. I was about to fix lunch for the children.”

He frowned. “Can't Aunt Elly watch them for a while?”

“I don't—”

“I'll be glad to take care of them.” Aunt Elly, unfortunately, had heard. “Joey, Robby, Tacey, come on with me. You can play outside after you have lunch and change your clothes.”

Before she could think of another excuse, Aunt Elly had tramped off, chasing the children in front of her.

She straightened her shoulders and managed to look Grant in the eyes. “What is it?”