Twelve Days (25 page)

"This."

She finally showed him what she'd been holding so closely to her, hidden in the folds of her coat. It was a snow globe. He took it in his hands. A cheap, plastic copy of Rachel's grandfather's work, the kind they mass-produced overseas, while the nicer, more expensive ones were made here at the factory in town.

"It's this house, isn't it?"

"Yes," he said.

"It's one of my most favorite things. Zach's and the baby's, too."

"Where did you get it?"

"I don't know. For Christmas, maybe. A couple of years ago. I've had it for a long time, and I love looking at it. It's so beautiful, and I thought it was a sign. That I had this, and I always thought nothing bad could ever happen in a place like this. And now I'm here. I'm living in this house..."

"So you thought everything was going to be okay?"

"I was sure of it. I came outside and checked the first night we were here, and even before the Christmas decorations were up, I could tell it really is the same house. That's why I knew it was okay that we were here."

"You checked? The first night you were here?"

She nodded.

Sam decided to let that one go. They had bigger things to worry about tonight. "So you thought everything was going to work out? But now it's almost Christmas and your mother's still not back. Now you're not sure."

Emma nodded.

Sam turned her fully into his arms, drawing her close and wrapping her up inside his coat with him. She acted so much like a grown-up at times, he often forgot how little she was. She felt so fragile now, seemed so young.

He thought about all the platitudes he could offer her, about things just magically working out and signs and hope, and he just didn't have it in him to say any of those things. Not now.

He had no idea if she'd ever see her mother again, and he'd love to promise her that he and Rachel were going to make it and that Emma and her brother and sister could stay. That they'd love them and keep them safe forever. But Sam knew there were damned few promises he could make with any certainty, damned few certainties at all. So he thought of what he could do.

"Sometimes, you just don't know what's going to happen, Emma. Sometimes you're going along and things are fine and someone comes along and yanks the rug out from under you. I know that's scary. But I'm afraid it's just the way things are sometimes. But it helps to have people around you that you can count on. I know it's been a lot easier for Zach and Grace because they've got you, and you're so good with them. It's been easier for me and Rachel because you're here, too."

"I'm glad we're here," she said. "If we can't be with Mom, I'm glad we're here."

"I'm glad, too," he said. "And you can count on us. Will you do that, Emma? Will you let us do what we can to help you? And when you're worried or scared, you should come to us, okay?"

She nodded. "I will."

"Good. I don't know where your mother is. I don't know what happened to her, but I was thinking that I could go look for her."

She brightened at that. "You would?"

"Yes. And I don't want you to be scared of that. I don't have to tell anybody why I'm looking for her or where you and Zach and Grace are. I'll just go see if I can find her."

"My dad..." she began. "He gets really mad sometimes."

"I'm not going to let him find you."

"But, he might... hurt you."

Sam would like to see him try. "I think I can take care of myself, Emma. It's different when a man's trying something like that with another man. It's not as easy to push a man around as it is a child or a woman. "

"Okay."

"So tomorrow, I'll go see what I can find out about your mother."

"Do you want me to tell you her name? It's not the same as my dad's. Not anymore," she said. "We changed it. We changed 'em all. So if anybody asked, you still wouldn't know my dad's name. You still couldn't tell. Nobody could send us back to him."

Sam hesitated. They were splitting hairs here. He didn't want to know her father's name before because he didn't intend to ever say anything about her father to anyone. But if that's where Emma's mother went and something happened to her... The situation had changed. He wasn't sure he could explain that to Emma without scaring her. Shepherdsville was a fairly small town. He didn't think it would be that hard to find out about her mother.

"You don't have to tell me her name," he said. "But she was going to Shepherdsville, in Indiana, wasn't she?"

"You know?" she asked breathlessly.

"I just figured it out. But I haven't told anyone."

"Okay."

"Okay. Let me see what I can find out. If I need her name, I'll call from there. We'll let this be our secret, okay? I don't think we should tell anyone about it until we know something, okay?"

"I can keep a secret," she said.

"I know. I'm going to do my best to bring her back to you, Emma."

"She's going to be in trouble, isn't she? For leaving us like that. I heard that lady—Miriam—talking about it. Mothers get in trouble for things like this."

"They can. It depends on why she left you, why she didn't come back."

"Something must have happened to her," Emma cried. "She's a good mother. Something must have happened."

"I'll find out," he promised. "Do you trust me to do that, Emma?"

"Yes," she cried.

"Okay."

He looked down at the snow globe, still clutched in her hand like a talisman to ward off evil, and thought about the chances of Emma having this with her when she ended up here. He thought about signs and faith and hope and what little he had left that he truly believed in, that he'd ever believed in in his entire life.

Of course, Emma was here, and she was safe. She and her brother and sister had arrived here just in time to save his wife from what he feared now would have been a serious depression and they'd gotten him and Rachel to talk about things they hadn't dared mention in years. What were the chances of that? Of anything saving them at this late date?

"You don't believe, do you?" Emma asked solemnly, holding her prize possession out to him.

Sam took it and gave it a little shake. The snow started tumbling down on the little house, and it did indeed look like something out of a fairy tale. He'd thought that the first Christmas after he and Rachel had finished restoring the house and then spent money they didn't have to deck it out for Christmas. It had looked like a fairy-tale place.

Of course, they'd already lost their baby by then and Rachel's grandfather had been sinking fast. Her mother was soon to follow. A pretty place didn't make a pretty life for the people inside of it.

"Rachel said she used to believe this was a magical house," Emma said.

He wondered if that was before or after they'd come to live here and thought it must have been before. And there was no sense thinking of things like that. They couldn't go back, and he wasn't sure if they could go forward. He wasn't sure of anything anymore except that he was going to do all he could to help these lost, scared kids.

"I don't know what I believe in anymore, Emma. But I'll go tomorrow to look for your mother," he said gently. "Can we go inside now?"

"I guess so."

He left his arm around her shoulders and kept her close. "You have to promise me something else."

"What?"

"You will never sneak out of this house again."

"Okay. I'm sorry."

"It's all right. I just worry about you. I don't want anything to happen to you."

"Okay."

He walked inside and up the stairs with her, waited out in the hall while she changed into a dry nightgown, and then tucked her into bed and kissed her cheek.

"Sam?" she whispered when he was nearly out the bedroom door.

He turned back around. "Yes."

"You're really a nice man. I wasn't sure when we first came here. I was—"

"Scared of me, Emma?" he suggested.

"A little."

"I'm sorry. Rachel and I were going through some rough times."

"Because of the baby?"

"That was part of it. That's always been part of it. But other things, too. We haven't had a lot of reasons to be happy lately. But it's better now. Having you and Zach and Grace here has helped a lot."

"You're going to be sad again if we go?"

"I don't know what's going to happen here if you go," he told her quite honestly.

"We could come back and visit," Emma suggested.

Sam nodded, touched. "That might help."

"I'd miss you both if we left."

"We'd miss you, too," he said. So much so that they wouldn't survive it? Sam just didn't know. He turned out the light and said, "Go to sleep, Emma. Try not to worry so much."

And then he walked downstairs, feeling about a thousand years old and every bit as lost as he'd ever been in his life.

He walked into the front room and found his wife there, her arms wrapped around her midsection as she stared down into the fire. Sam was so shocked he nearly stumbled over a toy Zach had left on the floor. He swore, barely managed to catch himself. Rachel jumped and whirled around herself.

He checked his first impulse, which was to grab her and demand to know where she'd been and what she had been thinking worrying him so. But there was something in the way she stood there, the way she held her body. He was suddenly afraid of what she might tell him and what had sent her rushing off into the night away from him.

It had torn him up to see her walking away from him. He wanted her so badly he ached, wanted her in every way a man could want a woman.

There wasn't as much standing between them as there used to be. It didn't seem as insurmountable as before. But he was going to Shepherdsville tomorrow. He might well find the children's mother, and then where would he and Rachel be?

"Hi," she whispered.

"Where have you been?" he practically growled, as he had at the kids that first night. When he was worried or scared, he sounded way too much like his grandfather.

"I just had to get away for a few minutes."

"Rachel, it's been nearly two hours."

"Oh." She looked surprised. "I'm sorry. You were worried?"

He wanted to scream. "Yes, I was worried."

"I'm sorry."

She looked a bit dazed, and she'd definitely been crying. "Where did you go?"

"Walking."

"In this? It's twenty-eight degrees out there." He knew because he'd checked. It was probably colder than that by now.

"I ended up at church. The kids are practicing for the Christmas program, and Father Tim was there. We talked. About a lot of things."

Sam waited, wondering what took her there. Rachel hadn't had much use for church in years. She'd dragged him there with her when they'd been younger, and he'd gone to please her. And maybe he'd found some comfort there, too, before. Before they'd both gotten so angry at the world and felt so betrayed by everything, so lost.

"We talked about the baby," she said.

Always the baby, he thought. They couldn't seem to get past the loss.

"It helped," she said. "And talking to you helped. Or maybe I'm just ready, finally, to deal with it. We never really dealt with it, Sam, and it's been like a poison to us."

He knew that. He'd just never known how to change that.

"Do you ever think about where she is now?"

"No." He wouldn't let himself.

"I used to try not to. I used to have nightmares where I'd hear her crying and I couldn't find her, but I thought about it tonight. Father Tim made me, and she's okay, Sam. I know she's okay."

"How do you know?" How could anyone?

"I just do. I believe it. And I'm not worried about her anymore. I may always be sad that we had so little time with her, but even that doesn't seem to have the sting it used to. I think she's out there waiting for us somewhere. I think we'll have her again someday."

Sam would like to believe that. As skeptical as he'd always been about anything to do with heaven and anyone's ideas of what it would be like, he would love to believe that their daughter was somewhere safe and happy and waiting for them, that they'd see her again someday. He'd never seen Rachel so calm when she talked about their daughter.

He frowned at her, looking at her more closely now. Yes, there was evidence of tears in her eyes and on her cheeks, but she was different, too.

"I'm going to put this behind me," she said. "For the first time, I believe I can. When I was on my way back here, I ended up walking past the Parker mansion. I don't think I ever saw it at night, not once all the work was done. And I stood there staring up at the windows I did, and they're beautiful, Sam."

"They are," he said.

"And I thought, I did that. They were such a mess when they came down one by one. There were all those little bits of glass, some of them dirty, some of them broken and chipped, some of them worn down over time, the colors all fading away. I remember how overwhelming the whole project seemed at first. I didn't think I'd ever manage it or why they would have put such faith in me. But you told me how to do it, and before you, my grandfather had. You said to take it one step at a time, one piece, that it was like a puzzle and if I stood there just staring at how big it was and how much had to be done, I'd never finish it. I'd likely never start it. I'd give up without really trying.

"It took the better part of a year, and there were lots of times when I thought I'd never be able to put all the pieces back together in the right way, never make anything of it. But looking at it tonight, I can see that I did. There was a place for everything. I put it all back together and it's beautiful now," she said. "Do you know what I'm getting at?"

"I'm not sure."

"This is my place. It's a mess right now, and I've been standing back staring at it and thinking it was just too much, too overwhelming, that I'd never get it all back together. I think that paralyzed me for a while, but I'm done letting it. I'm ready to go to work now, no matter what it takes, no matter how much time, and you and I both know how to do that, Sam. We both put things back together. I'm going to stop being so sad and so angry all the time. I'm going to believe that you married me because you loved me—"