A Warmth in Winter (28 page)

Bobby tried to explain. “I know Daddy,” he said simply, searching Brittany's eyes. “I don't know the grandfather, and he's . . . well, he's not like Daddy. But he was mean to Miss Birdie back there—”

Britt's eyes widened. “How was he mean?”

“I don't know how to 'splain it. I heard it, that's all. Miss Birdie was mad when she left, and I don't know if she'll come back.”

Brittany rubbed her nose. “She said she'd come back. She said she'd bring us more cookies.”

“Grownups don't always mean what they say. And they don't keep their promises.”

Britt didn't answer but turned toward the sea, where the waves crashed against the shore in a steady rhythm. “Okay,” she said finally, her voice flat. “If we find a way, let's go home. I don't want to be kidnapped.”

Chapter Twenty

A
re you lucky or what!”

In Portland, Melanie poked her head around the doorframe of Annie's office and grinned.

Annie looked up from her work. “Why am I lucky?”

“There's another storm coming in!” Melanie danced into the room and dropped into the guest chair. “Last weekend you spent a couple of days holed up in a bed-and-breakfast, right? But the ferry couldn't run in the storm.”

Annie thought about the cranberries shriveling in the trunk of her car. “Right. So?”

“Chances are that the ferry won't run at Christmas, either. I mean, that storm's not likely to turn tail and head for Europe in the next four days, is it?”

“That'd be a neat trick.”

“You see? Through no fault of your own, you won't be able to get to your aunt's house for Christmas.” A dimple winked in Melanie's cheek. “But flights will still be operating out of Logan.”

Slowly Melanie's point registered with Annie. “Flights will operate . . . but the ferry won't.” Her eyes met Melanie's.

Melanie grinned. “I always knew you were a bright girl.”

“I don't know.” Annie bit her lip. Did she dare make other plans? She could always leave tonight or early tomorrow for Heavenly Daze, and she could probably beat the storm. But she'd planned on doing her Christmas shopping this weekend in Portland and leaving for the island on Monday.

If, however, a storm was coming . . . the ferry might not be running on Monday. And if she couldn't get to the island, why should she sit around all week and do nothing?

“How can you not know what to do?” Melanie asked. “The choice is clear—you can either stay in your lonely apartment and mope through the holiday, or you can go on the cruise with me and have a bodaciously good time.” Melanie sprang from the chair and leaned on Annie's desk. “It's a miracle, Annie. A gift! Your aunt can't blame you for not being home if you can't get there. Come on, wake up and boogie!” With one hand on her hip and the other in the air, Melanie began to shimmy from side to side. “Learn to do the cha-cha, or maybe the rumba. It'll be a blast.”

She snatched a silk rose from a vase on the desk, then clamped the stem between her teeth and began to snap her fingers.

Leaning back in her chair, Annie pressed her fingertips together and smiled. Melanie was right. Aunt Olympia couldn't complain about Annie neglecting her if weather kept her from the island.

She tucked her finger beneath the desk drawer pull and gave a little tug. The tickets lay inside, unopened and as yet unrefunded. Maybe she'd kept them because she'd been hoping that something would come up and she'd be able to go. And now—bless Mother Nature's heart! With Christmas right around the corner, another storm had whipped up the northeast Atlantic and would keep her away from Heavenly Daze.

The choice was simple. Christmas, the departure date, was still four days away. She'd have to do her Christmas shopping, pack, and buy a few cruise clothes, but she could do it! By this time next week she would be lathered in Coppertone and basking by Caribbean waters. She'd be inhaling the sights and scents and sounds of sun, surf, and fine cuisine—a far cry from the dry turkey and fat-free pumpkin pie she'd find at Frenchman's Fairest.

“So.” Melanie's theatrics slowed. “You'll go?”

Annie nodded. “I'll call Aunt Olympia. If she agrees I can't get there, then yeah.” Her grin widened. “Yes. I'm going!”

Melanie squealed, running around the desk and throwing her arms around Annie's neck. “Perfect! We'll have a super good time!”

Annie patted Melanie's arm. They would have great fun, and she wouldn't have to feel one bit guilty. If the Lord hadn't wanted her to go on this cruise, he would have made it possible for her to reach the island.

Still, guilt niggled at her. But it always raised its head when she thought of Olympia, and persistent habits were hard to squash.

When Melanie pulled away, Annie caught her gaze. “What about Mr. Right? Are you okay about leaving him behind?”

With a toss of her hand, Melanie gave Annie the best gift yet. “Mr. Right hasn't called since the office party. I think he's moved to greener pastures.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Aw, don't be. It was only one date, and I think I read too much into it. As always.”

“Any girl would have been tempted to do what you did. He was an awfully sharp guy.” Annie felt another nip of guilt, but this time it had nothing to do with Olympia.

When Melanie left, she reached for the phone and dialed Frenchman's Fairest. The old butler answered.

“Caleb? Is Aunt Olympia there?”

A moment later her aunt came on the line. “Oh, Annie, so good to hear from you. I was just telling Caleb that I was glad for your sake that Vernie's order finally arrived. I was sick about you being stranded in Ogunquit with all that stuff.”

“It was no big deal—and I had time to catch up on my reading.” Annie cleared her throat, then took a deep breath. “Aunt Olympia, it's like this—I have some things I have to do in Portland this weekend, so I won't be able to leave for Heavenly Daze until Monday at the earliest. And I've just heard there's another storm brewing. If that's true, well . . . I may not be able to get to Frenchman's Fairest for Christmas.”

Her news resulted in a lengthy silence on the other end of the line.

“You know I would come if I could.”

Olympia drew an audible breath. “I know you would, Annie.”

“Caleb will be with you—and Birdie and Bea and Cleta and Vernie and the Wickams.” Olympia's neighbors were like family, and yet Annie knew their company couldn't make up for her absence, especially this year. Her blood thickened with guilt.

“Annie, I've been thinking.”

“Yes?”

“If the storm moves in, why don't you go on that cruise? I know you want to. There's no reason for you to stay in Portland if you can't come home.”

Annie felt her pulse quicken. “You wouldn't mind?”

“I would rather have you here with Caleb and me, but some things can't be helped. I only hope there's still room on the boat.”

Catching her breath, Annie blinked back tears of gratitude. “I'm pretty sure there is.”

“Then go on the cruise, dear. And have a wonderful time.”

“Well,” Annie stammered, unable to believe her ears. “We still have four days till Christmas. If the storm doesn't hit, I'll try to come home, of course.”

“That's not likely, Annie. But thank you.”

They chatted for a few more minutes, then Annie realized the shadows in her office were lengthening. Time to go home and start planning.

“I need to go, Aunt Olympia. If I don't see you on Christmas, I'll call you from the airport, okay?”

“That's fine, Annie. Have a merry Christmas, and try not to miss us too much.”

As if she'd be thinking of snow-swept Heavenly Daze when she was on a Caribbean cruise! Annie hung up, then stood and lifted her hands in delight. The Lord was good! Life was good! Christmas was good! She was going on the cruise with Aunt Olympia's blessing!

Again, the gremlin of guilt niggled at Annie's heart, but she ignored it. She'd be a fool to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Safe and warm in her bed, Birdie slapped her feather pillow and tried to get comfortable. She'd put in a full day, working in the bakery and making that trip out to the lighthouse. She ought to be bone tired, but the thought of Salt Gribbon chafed against her heart like a new shoe against a blister.

She rolled onto her side and flipped her pillow, then buried her head in the softness. “Sleep, Birdie,” she mumbled into the pillowcase. “Just close your eyes and forget about that ornery old rascal. He's more stubborn than a child, but he's a good man at heart. The kids will be okay with him. He loves them, doesn't he?”

She flipped again and lay flat on her back, staring at the swirls in the ceiling plaster. Shoot, she didn't know a thing about young ones, but she knew they needed more than Salt was willing to give. Why not let them play with Georgie? Why not let Babette and Dana and the Wickams in on the secret? Heaven knew the town could use a few more sprinkles of children's laughter, and if Pastor Wickam asked the townsfolk to keep Salt's secret, they would. Not one of them would spill the beans, not even Olympia. And now, in winter, there were very few visitors to the island, so it wasn't like anyone would see the kids and recognize their faces on a milk carton.

She turned onto her other side and slid her hands beneath her pillow. Salt was going to defeat those kids by keeping them cooped up all winter. They'd found a little joy in playing with Georgie; Babette's paintings had proven that. And though Birdie'd never had a kid, she'd been a kid, and she knew kids needed to play. They needed structure and discipline, but they also needed fun and hugs and daily doses of laughter.

Opening her eyes, she stared at the slit of light beneath the door. Bea must still be awake. She'd left her sister in the keeping room, where Bea was working on yet another stack of angel letters. They'd hoped the mail would eventually taper off, but that silly urban legend about angels on Heavenly Daze was apparently as hard to kill as a computer virus.

She propped herself up, then swung her legs out of the covers and stood. Pulling her robe from the foot of the bed, she padded to the door, grateful for the thick woolen socks covering her cold feet.

A moment later she stood shivering by the fire, her arms crossed. Bea sat in the ladder back chair by the desk, one hand in her lap, the other on the desktop. Braced by the chair, her head was tilted back and her mouth open as she snored softly.

Birdie reached out and tapped her sister's shoulder.

“Bea—you're snoring.”

Bea's eyes opened and her mouth closed simultaneously, as if they were operating on the same switch. She blinked, then lowered her chin and gave Birdie a cool stare. “I don't snore.”

“You do, too. I could hear you from my bedroom.”

Birdie sank into her easy chair, suddenly grateful for her sister's company. She nodded toward the letter on the desk. “That one must have stumped you.”

Bea looked down at the page. “It did. I don't know what to say.”

“Another sick child?” Since the e-mail about angels working miracles on Heavenly Daze had begun circulating on the Internet, the townspeople had been inundated with letters asking for money, toys, and impossible things like cures for paralysis and leukemia. Bea had taken it as a personal challenge to answer as many letters as she could, and the townspeople helped whenever possible. But for the difficult letters, they could only promise to pray.

“Not a sick child.” Bea picked up the letter. “A sick father.”

“Cancer?”

Bea shook her head. “Alcoholism. He's lost his two kids, he says, and he can't seem to get his life straightened out. He's afraid he's lost them forever.”

Birdie tucked her legs beneath her. “Lost his children? To social services?”

“He doesn't say.” Bea shook her head. “So tragic, and so close to home. The return address is Wells. Imagine such a tragedy happening just over the water.”

Birdie felt a sudden electric tingle in the pit of her stomach. “Does he give a name?”

Dropping the page back to her desk, Bea sighed. “Not a last name—ashamed of himself, I reckon. He just signed the letter ‘Patrick.'”

Patrick—in Wells. A man who'd lost two children. And Salt having a son named Patrick in Wells and two children hidden up at the lighthouse.

“I don't quite know what to say,” Bea went on, picking up her pen. “I can promise to put his name on the prayer list at church, but I don't have the authority to speak to the folks at social services. If they took his kids, I'm sure it was for their own protection.”

“I know what to do.” Birdie caught her sister's gaze and held it. “Invite him to Heavenly Daze . . . for the Christmas Eve service.”

Bea's forehead knit in bewilderment. “Invite him to what?”

“To church. To Heavenly Daze.”

Bea laughed. “You think an alcoholic in Wells is going to come all the way out here for our tiny Christmas Eve service? That's crazy.”

“Maybe.” Birdie felt a smile lift the corners of her mouth. “But an invitation couldn't hurt, could it?”

“I reckon not.” Bea shook her head a moment, then uncapped her pen and began to write. “Um—how's he supposed to get here? The ferry won't be running that late at night if it's running at all. Storm coming, remember. And if by some miracle the guy takes us up on this invitation, he'll be stuck on the island for Christmas.”

Birdie shrugged. “Maybe Floyd and Cleta will take him in at the B&B.”

Bea frowned. “And maybe pigs can fly. You think the Lansdowns are going to take in a stranger on Christmas Eve? They'll want to spend that night with Barbara and Russell, with family.”

“If a body can't find hospitality on this island on Christmas Eve,” Birdie said, standing, “then we've forgotten what that first Christmas was all about.”