The Christmas Child (14 page)

“How did I guess? Miss Suzy Snowflake, Miss Christmas Eve loves snow. Imagine.” But she could tell he liked it, too.

They turned the last corner and headed down the street toward her house. She wished the time would stand still, that this night would never end, that she could spend forever with Kade, snuggled close in this carriage with the snow falling around them.

The carriage rattled into her driveway. A layer of snow, like powdered sugar on cake, sprinkled the dry grass of her front lawn. The rare sprinkling wouldn't last, would
likely be gone by morning, but for tonight nothing could be more perfect.

“Home,” Kade said.

She drew in a long satisfied breath. “I don't want to get out.”

His gaze caught hers and he nodded. “I know.”

They remained there for long seconds inside the warm carriage that smelled of leather and Kade's cologne.

She memorized him, the firm plane of his face, the tiny scar on his chin.

She wondered if he knew she loved him. And she was sorely tempted to blurt the words here and now.

Didn't Dad say loving was always a good thing? Didn't a person as wonderful as Kade deserve to know he was loved?

The driver opened the carriage door. Frosty wind blew snowflakes inside. “Step easy, Sophie. The concrete is a little icy.”

“I've got her,” Kade said.

The driver, a man she'd known since childhood, nodded and stepped aside. “I'll wait here for you, sir.”

Kade alighted first and reached back for Sophie. She was tempted to leap into his arms the way the woman had done earlier, but considering the damp concrete and the risk of a fall, she refrained. Instead, she leaned forward and was thrilled when Kade grasped her waist and swept her out into his arms and against his chest.

“I saw that in a movie once,” he said, grinning down into her face. “Always wanted to try it.”

She giggled, hesitant to turn loose of his strong shoulders. “What did you think?”

“I think the old days had something on us modern folks. All these opportunities to hold a pretty girl. Who knew?”

He set her on her feet but didn't turn her loose. Instead
he slid an arm around her waist and led her to the front door. Snow swirled around them like wet feathers.

“This is beautiful,” she said, turning toward him and the falling snow. “Such a perfect ending to a special night.”

“The best I can remember.” His answer made her heart sing.

“Ever?” she asked.

“Ever.” Then he softly kissed her, the cold snow melting on their warm lips.

When the kiss ended, he cupped her cheek and smiled into her eyes. The urge to declare her love rose like a helium balloon, warm and beautiful. When she opened her mouth to say the words, Kade kissed her again.

Bells jingled as the horse in the driveway moved restlessly. With an embarrassed start, Sophie remembered the driver looking on.

“Your carriage awaits,” she said with a soft, breathless laugh.

Kade made a growling sound, but when she shivered, he took her key and unlocked the door. “Good night, Sophie.”

“Good night.” She started inside but stopped and turned. “Kade?”

He was still standing on the porch waiting until she was safely inside. A surge of love and hope welled up inside her.

“Christmas Eve is candlelight service at church. Will you and Davey go with me? It's such a beautiful, reverent time.”

He blinked as though the question caught him off guard. Slowly, heartbreakingly, he shook his head. “Better not.”

She studied the troubled expression, the struggle going
on behind his eyes, and wanted to argue, but a quiet voice inside held her protest in check.

Lips pressed together, the memory of his kiss still lingering, Sophie went inside and closed the door.

K
ade didn't sleep much that night. Not for the usual reasons, but because of Sophie. Tonight the truth had hit him in the face like a sucker punch. He loved her. He wanted to give her everything a good life had to offer.

The problem was he had nothing good to give.

All she'd asked of him was a church service and he couldn't even give her that. He was a lot of things but he refused to be a hypocrite. He wouldn't go inside a church and pretend to pay homage to a God who let bad things happen to little kids.

Flopping over to his side, he jabbed the pillow with his fist. Ida June's fluffy old couch groaned but didn't give. The monstrosity was ugly but comfortable enough to sleep on—if a man could sleep. And when he couldn't, he could slip out the door without disturbing the household.

Tonight he wouldn't ramble. He'd done enough of that and the bitter weather served as impediment.

Tonight he'd lie here and torture himself with thoughts. He'd hope the ulcer didn't act up, and if worse came to worse, he'd get up and open the laptop. Criminals didn't sleep. Why should cops?

He heard the tip-tap of Sheba's paws and caught the
light reflected in her amber eyes as she left Davey's side to come to the couch. Her wet nose nudged the back of his hand.

Kade flopped again, this time to his back. “Need out, girl?”

The dog dropped to a sit and put her muzzle on his chest. Kade echoed her sigh. She didn't need outside. She'd come, as she'd done in those awful first weeks after the end of the undercover sting, because she felt her master's troubled spirit.

Kade rubbed her ears, grateful for the company of a silent friend. Sheba was like Davey in that respect. Gentle and silent.

He groaned again and Sheba shifted anxiously.

Monday, perhaps Davey would get good news from the specialist. Sophie was praying and Kade had his fingers crossed that something could be done for Davey's voice.

Tuesday, a small boy would bury his mother. Supported by Kade, Sophie, Ida June and a handful of new friends, he'd lay his mother to rest.

The implication twisted Kade in two. No one could ever replace his mother, but Davey needed a family. He shouldn't be resigned to his mother's lonely, tragic fate.

The thought of Sophie intruded. Again. She'd been in his mind since the day they'd met, but tonight the romantic carriage ride had gotten to him.
She
had gotten to him. After he'd watched her enter the snug little house and heard the lock click into place, he'd walked through snowflakes to the carriage and thought how much like the snow she was. Soft and pretty, rare and pure.

When he reached the carriage, the driver said it all. “It's a lucky man that's loved by Sophie B.”

Did she love him? He thought she might. With all his being he wanted to be Sophie's “lucky man,” but how
could he be? He was big-city. She was small-town. He was dark to her light and rain to her sunshine. Sophie had faith while he'd abandoned his during a year of asking where God was when kids were being sold to predators, and facing the ugly truth that he was as much to blame as God. He'd been there and done nothing. Maybe the fault was all his, not God's.

But still, a Christmas Eve service with all the trappings and Sophie yearning for something from him he couldn't give.

He just wasn't ready.

 

He was ready, however, bright and early Monday morning for the trip to Oklahoma City. He and Davey, spit-shined, combed and overfed on Ida June's pancakes, left the house in plenty of time to test conditions of the roads. Along the way, they picked up Sophie, who insisted on going along. Not that he minded one bit, and her presence soothed Davey, who'd expressed some doubt about being poked and prodded by a doctor.

According to the local doc, Davey was headed for something called a laryngoscope to look at his vocal cords. They'd tried to explain to Davey in simple terms, but all they'd managed to do was make him anxious.

Sophie was in her usual merry Christmas mood, not a trace of the disappointment he'd seen on her face Saturday night. With Davey buckled in the backseat, Kade was tempted to reach across the console and hold Sophie's hand. He didn't, though. Until he knew where he was headed, he couldn't involve Sophie in his life any deeper than she already was.

They made small talk about the Victorian Walk and how she wished the snow had stayed, about the cookie project and the upcoming Christmas break from school.
They both carefully avoided the subject of Davey's mother and tomorrow's funeral, but the event played heavily on Kade's mind. After the funeral, what happened to Davey then?

By the time they entered the tall, many-storied outpatient clinic, Davey's quietness had turned to fidgets.

“You'll be okay, buddy,” Kade said as he took Davey's hand and led him into the waiting area. “Look, there are other kids here and toys to play with. Look at the size of that truck!”

Davey was having none of it. He clung to Kade's side and Sophie's hand, refusing to let go of either. As Davey's temporary guardian, Kade filled out the appropriate paperwork with the boy clinging to him like a dog tick.

What would the little guy do if Kade didn't file for guardianship? Who would be there to hold Davey when he was scared?

Over Davey's head, he questioned Sophie with worried eyes.

“Everything will work out,” she said softly and patted Davey's back. Kade wished he believed her. Experience had taught him exactly the opposite.

When a scrub-clad nurse called Davey's name, the trio followed her down an immaculate, antiseptic-scented hallway where Davey was readied for the procedure.

He looked small and scared in the hospital gown. When a nurse came at him with an IV, he screamed, but only breath emerged, a pitifully inadequate sound that left his body rigid and damp with perspiration.

Sophie soothed him as best she could, but in the end, the adults betrayed the child by holding him down. Davey fought, his chest heaving until he realized his struggles were in vain. Then he went limp and lay still and helpless. Kade's stomach hurt to look at him.

“You're okay, buddy,” he kept murmuring against Davey's ear. “This is the worst of it.” He hoped he wasn't lying.

A tear trickled from Davey to Kade, hot and condemning.

Kade squeezed his eyes tight and tried not to remember other children being hurt by adults. This was for Davey's good, not for bad.

But the parallels haunted him just the same.

“Almost done, Davey,” Sophie said. She stood on the other side of Davey's head, smoothing the fine, pale hair from his brow. “You're such a brave boy. I'm proud of you.”

When the trauma and tears passed and Davey was being wheeled away, Sophie accompanied the gurney down the hallway, murmuring her motherly endearments while holding Davey's pale hand until the very last moment. The sight chipped a piece off Kade's composure.

“We're doing the right thing,” he told her when she returned, her smoky eyes glistening with tears.

“I know,” she said. “But he doesn't.”

Kade pulled her against his chest to both give and take comfort. After a bit, regrettably, she drew back and sniffled.

“Where's your Suzy Snowflake smile?” he teased gently.

Her lips wobbled upward in effort. He was tempted to kiss her then and there.

“Come on, I'll buy you some coffee,” he said. “If you promise not to do the yogurt trick.”

That was enough to bring a real smile. “If you're trying to make me feel better, you're succeeding.”

Funny how happy that made him.

One cup turned to two and, just when he was ready to
beg a nurse for a glass of milk or a spoon of antacid to toss on the volcano, a door swung open and the doctor appeared.

Sophie grabbed for Kade's hand. Like any parents of a sick child—even though they weren't—they eagerly awaited the verdict.

After a quick introduction, Dr. Swimmer said, “Well, folks, I have good news. Great news, actually. Davey's muteness is caused by a posterior glottic web.”

“I've never heard of that,” Sophie said.

“It's very rare, rarer still not to be diagnosed before this age, though I've read his records and understand the unusual circumstances.”

“What is it? Can you repair it? Will he ever speak?”

The doctor smiled at Sophie's gush of questions. “A glottic web, in his case, is congenital. He was born with a webbing of fibrous tissue in his larynx, or voice box. His is so severe that the vocal cords are impeded. So he can't speak. Usually a child with this condition has breathing difficulties, too.”

“He snores like a hog,” Kade said.

The doctor inclined his head, smiling slightly. “I'm not surprised. His snoring is probably a stridor coming through the constricted tissues.”

Medical jargon was lost on Kade. All he wanted to know was “Can you fix him?”

“We can.”

A delighted gasp escaped Sophie. “That's wonderful news.”

“I agree.” The doctor fiddled with the flat surgical mask still tied around his neck. “But there's one problem. This isn't usually something I discuss with patients, but it's Christmas and Davey is a special case.”

“Yes, he is,” Sophie said. “Very special.”

“Davey is not in any distress, so the surgery to repair his glottis web is elective. I'm willing to reduce my fee, but there are still hospital costs to consider, and according to his records Davey has no insurance and no family.”

Kade got the message. “How expensive is this procedure?”

The surgeon gave them an estimate that sent Mt. Vesuvius into eruption stage.

Kade tightened his hands into fists.

Money stood between Davey and his voice.

 

Sophie was never short on hope. Kade may act as if the end had come, but she refused to believe it.

“We will not give up,” she told him later that evening when they were alone at her house, Davey safely sleeping off his trying day under the careful watch of Ida June. “We can't.”

They were seated in her living room, a domino game spread on the coffee table. The smell of hot buttered popcorn filled the house and warmed them.

Kade clicked a blank-four onto the board. No points. “Got a wad of money in your Christmas stocking?”

“Maybe.” When he lifted one eyebrow, she played a two-six. “Ten points.” She marked a giant X on the score sheet under her name. “My class will donate our cookie money.”

Kade studied the board and his dominoes, finger and thumb stroking his bottom lip. “Noble, but nowhere near enough.”

She knew he'd say that. She'd thought the same at first mention of the expense involved. But if she lived her faith, and she certainly tried to, she had to believe that nothing was impossible with God. “We'll make more. I also plan to hassle social services.”

“Christmas is nearly over.” With a sly grin, he plopped down a domino and cried, “Give me fifteen, Miss B.”

“Cops are so sneaky,” she said mildly, marking his score. “You distracted me.”

“Narc's are the worst.” He leaned across the table and kissed her. “Now we're even. I'm distracted, too.”

Sophie's lips tingled. She touched them. “Double distracted.”

“What say we go for triple?” He leaned forward as if to kiss her again. She poked a piece of popcorn into his mouth.

“Foiled.” He leaned back, smiling broadly, something he did more and more. When they'd first met, she'd wondered about his dark, broody personality, his lack of joy. Now she saw beneath, through the darkness to the incredible, sensitive man. The cynicism was a protective shell covering a tender heart. Sophie still wondered what he needed protecting from. Certainly not from her, and he'd opened his heart to Davey.

The thought of Davey brought her back to the problem of money. “People eat cookies year-round. If we have to we can bake and sell until the money is raised for Davey's surgery, no matter how long it takes.” She slapped down a domino, her mind far from the game. “I believe in miracles, Kade, and Davey needs one. He deserves to have a voice like anyone else, the sooner the better. Why not wish for a Christmas miracle?”

“You're something, Sophie,” Kade said, thrilling her to the bones. “I almost believe you'll make it happen.”

And then he slapped down a domino, chuckled madly and said, “Twenty points.”

 

The conversation with Kade played in Sophie's head days later when a sad Davey sat at the round table in the
back of her classroom listlessly drawing red circles on green construction paper.

He had these moments often since the funeral, a sad, cold, painfully short event. Howard Prichard had enlisted the services of a grief counselor but without a voice, Davey could only express his hurt with gestures and pictures.

The other students rallied around, trying to cheer the usually happy boy. Bless his precious soul, he tried, but his heart wasn't in playing. He was sad and hurt and orphaned. More than ever, Sophie prayed for God to give him a miracle. She prayed about a family, too, wondering as she had a dozen times if she should adopt him. She was thinking about it, long and hard.

Yesterday, she'd discussed the possibility with Dad. True to form, he'd supported her all the way. Still, parenting required more than giving a child clothes, food and a house to live in. A boy needed a father, too, especially a boy like Davey who'd never had one.

She typed in the final edit of a note to parents. The back of her shoulders ached with unusual tension. As much as she loved Christmas, the last days of school before Christmas break were one of a teacher's greatest challenges. Kids, wired up with too much candy and the excitement of presents, vibrated the building with their energy. Add the concerns over Davey and she was tense.

She was glad when her charges headed to the gym for P.E. During this, her prep hour, she printed the note. In it, she'd explained Davey's situation and hoped to gain support for an ongoing cookie project.