A Season of Angels (22 page)

Glancing around, she wanted to point out this miracle to whomever she could find.

“Look,” she cried out, spying an older woman walking along the sidewalk. Her head was bent against the wind. “It's an angel,” Leah cried, attracting the other woman's attention.

The woman stopped and looked toward the nativity scene where Leah was standing.

“That angel's been there for years. Hospital ought to do something about replacing that old set. It's about to fall over.”

“This is a real angel,” Leah insisted, looking back, but when she did she realized God's messenger had vanished. Leah stared good and hard, wondering if God was attempting to tell her something. If so, the meaning was directed at her alone.

“If she's real, then heaven's in sorrier shape than I realized,” the woman said with a deep-throated chuckle.

Leah's heart felt as light as an angel's feather as she walked into the hospital. Since she was a few minutes early, she stopped in the nursery to take a look at the baby girl Michelle had delivered the day before.

The infant, wrapped in a soft pink blanket, was sound asleep. A small red Christmas bow was taped to the side of her crib. Leah rarely visited the nursery. It had been a painful experience in the past, longing for a child so hopelessly herself, but she experienced none of the sharp edges of regret this time. It was as if the burden on her soul had been lifted.

“So here you are,” Bonnie said when Leah stepped out of the nursery. “Your husband phoned, looking for you. He sounded anxious.”

“Andrew?” He rarely contacted her at the hospital.

“I assumed you only had one husband,” Bonnie teased. “You might want to call him yourself. From the sounds of it he's pacing the floor, waiting to hear from you.”

Leah headed for the phone, but after four rings the answering machine kicked in. If it was that important, Andrew would call again soon.

He didn't. No more than ten minutes later, Leah was reading over the nurse's report at their station when Andrew came rushing down the corridor.

“Leah,” he called breathlessly. He wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her off the ground. His eyes were bright and his voice sounded as if he were about to burst into peals of laughter.

“What is it?” she pleaded.

He released her and his hands framed her face. “I love you, Leah, never more than I do this moment.”

She stared up at him, wondering at his craziness.

“You were right about us having a child. That feeling you claimed you had. It's happening, sweetheart, just the way you said it would.”

“But Dr. Benoit said—”

“Mrs. Burchell phoned not more than two minutes after you left the house.”

The name was vaguely familiar to Leah, but she couldn't remember from where.

“The lady from New Life Adoption Agency,” he filled in. “They have a child for us. She'll be ready to leave the hospital first thing tomorrow morning. The mother's already signed the adoption papers.”

“But we withdrew our names,” Leah cried, covering her mouth, unwilling to believe it was true.

“I asked that she reactivate our file weeks ago. We have a baby, Leah. A precious baby girl.”

M
onica was right, Chet realized. She'd announced her decision to torment him and by heaven she'd done it. He'd close his eyes and he'd be damned if she wasn't there like some ghost, pestering him until he ended up spending half the night dulling his mind with late-night television rather than attempt sleeping. The minute he tried, Monica was there, all sweet and soft, wrapping the tendrils of her love around his heart, reminding him of all he'd rejected.

He'd been trying to get hold of a moving company for the better part of the afternoon. Every one he called insisted on knowing his destination. That was the problem. They didn't have rates for “any place that wasn't Seattle.”

The bartender ambled over to where Chet was sitting. He was new, Chet noted, young and wet behind the ears. He'd introduced himself as Billy. Appropriate enough since he looked more like a kid than an adult. If Chet were the one serving up the liquor he'd have carded the youth.

“You want another cup of coffee?” Billy asked.

“Please.” Chet had given up on booze. The desired effect caused too many problems. True, he could drown his sorrows, as the saying went, but there was a heavy price to pay. Hangovers had never appealed to him.

“What do you think of the new big-screen television?” Billy asked. “The boss had it brought in this morning.”

“Nice,” Chet said, without looking. He wasn't interested in making conversation. He wasn't entirely sure why he'd stopped in at the Blue Goose. It was a damn sight better than hanging around his place, he decided. Everything he'd managed to accumulate in the last thirty-odd years was packed and ready to go. He just didn't know where he was headed yet.

The bar was deserted, Chet noticed, which was unusual this time of night. A couple was off in a dark corner and the two only had eyes for each other. Hands too, apparently. Other than the lovebirds and Billy, Chet was the only other customer. “Where is everyone?” he asked.

“Home, I guess. It's Christmas Eve.”

“It is?” He'd lost track of the days. In the back of his mind he knew Christmas was close, but it was a day like any other as far as he was concerned.

“I don't expect we'll get much of a crowd this evening. Places like this generally don't over the Christmas holidays,” Billy commented as if this were something he'd garnered in his vast experience tending bar.

“Guess not,” Chet mumbled, unwilling to be drawn into a conversation, but he could tell from the way the kid was hanging around that he wasn't going to have much of a choice.

“You'd think Lou would close up shop,” Billy said next.

Chet sipped from his coffee. It was dark, thick, and potent enough to satisfy a Cajun.

“Apparently you don't know Lou,” Chet commented.

“Not very well,” Billy agreed.

Thinking he might divert the kid's attention, Chet swiveled around in his chair and concentrated on the television. The national evening news was on, forecasting gloom and doom. Chet had heard enough of that.

“Mind if I change the channel?” he asked.

“Be my guest,” Billy said, handing him the controller.

Chet worked his way through the stations. Nothing appealed to him, not even a rerun of a play-off football game telecast earlier that week.

“Hey, go back, would you?” Billy asked. “I have a friend who was picked up by the pros. He's a defensive lineman for the Redskins.”

Disgusted, Chet handed the remote control back to the bartender. So much for that idea. Oblivious to Chet's ugly mood, Billy punched the controller until he found the play-off game.

The kid focused his attention on the screen, which suited Chet just fine as long as he left him alone.

Before he realized it, Chet had turned around on his bar stool and was watching the game himself. So this was what his life had boiled down to—sitting in some bar on Christmas Eve, talking to a kid he didn't know and didn't want to know and watching reruns of old football games on television.

At halftime Billy disappeared into the back storeroom. Chet cradled the coffee mug in his hands and studied the television screen. The commentator was the well-known former coach of the Los Angeles Raiders, John Madden.

“You should be ashamed of yourself, Chet Costello,” the TV commentator said.

Chet's head snapped up. He was losing it. The television was actually talking to him.

“Yes, I'm talking to you,” John Madden said again. “You're the biggest fool I've ever seen.”

By that time Chet was on his feet. He stared down at his drink, thinking the kid had played a cruel joke on him and laced it with some mind-bending drug.

“Quit looking at your drink,” the former coach told him. “It's only coffee.”

Other men claimed to see pink elephants, but not Chet. Oh, no, that would have been too easy. He had to have some voice come out of a television to chastise him.

“You're in love with Monica Fischer, and she's in love with you. So what's the problem? You think you're being noble, don't you? Wrong. You're a fool.”

Chet had had enough. He didn't need this. Slamming his cup down on the bar, he started out the door.

“Go ahead and run,” the voice said, sounding so close he swore he could feel the breath against the back of his neck. “It's what you've been doing for most of your life.”

“Shut up,” Chet shouted.

The couple in the back of the room glared over at him, and Billy, who was hauling a box of pretzels to the front, stopped in his tracks.

“Something wrong?” the kid asked.

Chet shook his head and slammed out of the bar. “Damn,” he muttered, running his hand down his face. It was worse than he imagined. Monica had decided ruining his sleep wasn't bad enough, now she'd taken on his waking hours as well.

He was putting an end to that right now. With purpose directing his steps, he walked to the parking garage and drove to her house.

The streets were full of parked cars. The Blue Goose might be less than busy, but Lloyd Fischer's church was doing a bumper business. Light spilled out of the church, and the parsonage was dark, all but one small light in the front of the house. Music filled the night, traditional Christmas carols played on an old-time pipe organ.

Chet found a place to park on the street, half a block down from the church. Several people were walking toward the building. There was a family with two small children in tow, and an older couple, holding hands, smiling up at each other.

Chet stayed where he was, hidden in the shadows. One thing he knew, he wasn't walking into that church. He was deciding what he was going to do when he spied Monica coming out of the parsonage. The porch light went on as the light in the living room was extinguished. Her silhouette was framed in the warm glow of the single bulb on the porch.

She seemed to be in something of a hurry, Chet noted. Rushing across the street, he met up with her on the sidewalk.

She stopped when she saw him. Surprise worked its way across her features, starting with her eyes and then her mouth. She opened it as if to say something, then closed it again. She hugged sheet music against her breast and seemed to be waiting.

Chet didn't know what he intended to say. It was too damn hard not to bring her directly into his arms, hold her against him, and breathe in her softness.

“Whatever you've done has got to stop,” he said between clenched teeth.

“Done?” she echoed, and blinked as if she didn't understand what he was saying.

“Leave me alone,” he ordered.

She nodded once and waited, apparently for an explanation.

“I can't eat or sleep, and now I'm hearing voices as well.”

“Voices?” The edges of her mouth quivered with amusement. “And what did these voices say?”

“That I was a fool for walking away from you.” Chet rammed his fingers into his hair.

Monica smiled boldly at that and Chet swore he'd never seen a woman more beautiful. He shouldn't have come, and now that he was here, God help him, he didn't know how he was ever going to leave.

“I wish I could claim credit for that, but I can't,” she said softly. “Dad told me he suspected you were drinking heavily. My guess is that it was the liquor talking.”

“Not this time,” he argued. “I haven't had a drop all day.”

“I can't help you, Chet,” she said sadly and raised her fingers as if to touch his face. He meant to jerk away, but found he couldn't. As it never failed to do, her touch rippled through him like an electrical current. Her softness had branded his life and his heart. There was no escape. He could run to the far ends of the world and every breath he drew, every beat of his heart would be for her.

Capturing her wrist, he roughly drew her palm to his mouth where he planted a series of tender kisses.

“Dear God, Monica,” he said, hauling her into his arms. He buried his face in the delicate curve of her neck and drew in several deep, uneven breaths. “I can't make myself leave you. I tried. God knows I tried.”

The sheet music she'd been holding fell to the sidewalk as she clung to him. He felt her trembling, her tears moistening his face and her breath coming in soft gasps that fanned his throat.

He held her against him, his chin resting on the crown of her head. His eyes were tightly closed. “We'll get married, just the way you want, although I can't help but feel you're getting the bum end of this deal.”

Chapter 19

“Y
ou're my real-life dad?” Timmy asked, staring up at Jeff with wide, disbelieving eyes.

“Yes, son, I'm your father.” Although Jeff answered Timmy, his gaze was leveled on Jody, his look expectant and filled with nervous anticipation.

Her pulse had yet to right itself, and the dizziness from the frantic beat of her heart continued. He was terribly thin, she noticed. His cheeks were hollow and his eyes seemed to sink back into his head. This was a man she didn't know and barely recognized as the one she'd loved.

Jeff seemed greedy for the sight of Timmy and her, staring at the two of them as if he couldn't quite believe this moment was real.

Timmy opened the screen door and Jeff walked inside the house, pausing in front of Jody.

Her eyes begged him to convince her this was happening and that he was as real as he seemed. She'd been under a good deal of stress and she feared that this was all a figment of her imagination. Some dream she'd wake from with a start. When Jeff had first disappeared she'd repeatedly dreamed of a moment like this when they'd be reunited. Then she'd wake with a heavy heart and the loneliness would close in and swallow her.

Her hand trembled as she worked up the necessary courage to touch him. She laid her fingers against his forearm. He felt solid and real. Warm and alive.

Alive. Jeff was alive.

“Where were you?” she asked in a sobbing breath, pressing her hands to her throat. “Why did you leave us? Why?” The questions crowded on top of each other, damming her mind and her tongue. The only one to escape was the least important.

“Do you mind if I sit down?” he asked, and Jody realized how terribly shaky he was. “I'm a bit weak yet,” Jeff explained.

It was all Jody could do to nod.

Timmy took Jeff by the hand and led him to the sofa. “You don't look like my dad,” he commented, carefully studying his father. “You're too old.”

“I feel like I'm about a hundred,” Jeff said, examining his son. He cupped Timmy's face and his eyes filled with tears. “Not a day passed that I didn't think about and pray for you. I carried the picture of you with me through the months. I swear it was what kept me alive. I could endure anything as long as I remembered my wife and my son.”

“Where were you?” Timmy asked, sinking onto the cushion next to his father.

Trembling almost uncontrollably, Jody sat in the chair across from them both, her legs too numb to continue to support her.

“I was in a Russian prison,” Jeff explained. “It's a miracle I was released.”

“You were in Russia?” Jody repeated in a breathless whisper.

“I'd gone to Germany on business and on a fluke decided to visit East Berlin. I was curious about the other side of the wall, but doubted that I'd be able to make it through the border with an American passport. It was surprisingly easy to obtain fake identification.”

“You went through all that trouble because you were curious about East Berlin?” Jody found the entire story unbelievable and a fermenting kind of anger took hold of her. He'd risked everything for some crazy need to look at life on the other side of the wall?

“I was young and stupid, so incredibly stupid,” Jeff said, the regret weighing down his voice. “My German was passable, and all I intended to do was wander into a few shops and get a look around. I was heading back to the border when I stumbled upon two soldiers beating a teenager. They would have killed him. I couldn't stand by and do nothing and so I intervened. That proved to be a costly mistake.”

Jody's anger dissipated. He'd paid a terrible price for his curiosity, and consequently so had she and Timmy.

“I was taken in for questioning and soon arrested,” Jeff continued.

“Why didn't you contact the embassy?” Jody demanded. He could have saved them both this agony.

“I wasn't allowed. And when they discovered I was an American with a false passport my fate was sealed. I was a spy, and tried as one. I wasn't able to talk to an attorney, and the trial, such as it was, lasted all of two minutes. Before I fully understood what was happening to me, I was shipped off to a prison camp in Russia.”

Jody covered her mouth with both hands.

“I've been held there ever since.”

“But how did you escape?”

“I didn't,” Jeff explained. “I was freed. They dropped me off on a German street as if nothing had happened. The last two weeks I've been hospitalized and debriefed. From what I've been able to grasp this all has something to do with the breakup of the Soviet Union. There was a British man with an experience similar to mine who was released about the same time.”

“Why wasn't I contacted right away?” Jody demanded.

“In the beginning I was too ill. Apparently the authorities communicated with my mother first. I learned that you'd divorced me.”

“I had to do that for financial reasons,” Jody told him. “It wasn't what I wanted.”

A weak smile lit up his face.

“If you were well enough to travel, surely you could have made a phone call?” Jody wasn't satisfied, not yet.

“All I knew was that the woman I'd loved had divorced me. I talked to my mother only once and she insisted I get home right away because you were about to marry another man.”

“Not anymore,” Timmy told him. “They're only friends.”

Once again, Jeff looked greatly relieved. “The doctors wanted to keep me longer, but I couldn't wait another minute. I had to reach you and talk to you face to face before it was too late.

“If getting out of Russia was miraculous, then finding an empty seat on a transatlantic flight was an even greater phenomenon. I was flying standby when some lady came running off the plane, claiming she was hearing voices over the headset that told her she shouldn't be on this flight. The funny thing was, she insisted it was Jay Leno, speaking directly to her. Whatever her reason, I got her seat.”

“But you were dead. My father took your dental records with him to Germany and your remains were positively identified. We buried you. This isn't possible, it just isn't possible.”

“It wasn't me, Jody. I don't know why your father would do such a thing.”

“Oh, Daddy,” Jody whispered and briefly closed her eyes. “It was three years after you'd disappeared and I refused to give up hope. My life was in limbo. For financial reasons I'd had to divorce you. Your mother didn't understand and I felt so incredibly guilty. Dad must have assumed that if we buried a body, I'd be able to put the past behind me and get on with my life.”

“Your father has a lot of explaining to do,” Jeff said without rancor.

“He died a little more than a year ago. Unexpectedly. I'd like to believe that if he'd known he only had a short time to live, he'd have told me the truth.”

“I believe he would.”

Jeff was more generous than he need be.

“Your mother was telling me the truth,” Jody whispered, remembering the calls she'd received from Gloria Potter.

“I don't blame you for not believing her. I was terribly ill and hadn't spoken to her myself. I want you to know that I love you, Jody. I've always loved you and Timmy. It was the memory of the two of you that got me through this hellish nightmare. I also realize a lot of things can change in eight years, and I won't stand in the way of your happiness. All I ask is that you allow me to have contact with my son.”

“Oh, Jeff.”

“Mom and Glen aren't engaged anymore,” Timmy explained excitedly. “He was in love with someone else and Mom's still in love with you.”

Jeff's eyes slowly sought out hers as if he were afraid to trust what he was hearing. “Is that true?”

She nodded. “I never stopped, not for an instant. I couldn't breathe and not love you.”

Jeff held out his arms to her, Jody flew off the chair and inside a heartbeat was at his side. Jeff wrapped both Timmy and her in his embrace.

Tears rained down Jody's cheeks as she spread soft kisses over Jeff's face. The three of them were laughing and crying all at once.

“God answered my letter,” Timmy said excitedly. “He gave me back my very own dad.”

“A
baby girl,” Leah repeated, afraid there'd been some misunderstanding. “We should have been contacted by the adoption agency before now.”

“Apparently the mother only made her decision yesterday afternoon. The crazy part is our daughter's right here in this very hospital. She's here, Leah. Here. Mrs. Burchell said she was born yesterday afternoon at Providence Hospital.”

According to the records Leah had been reading when Andrew arrived, there'd only been one girl delivered on December twenty-third and that had been the birth she'd assisted. Michelle Madison's baby.

“Michelle,” she whispered, closing her eyes. The frightened young woman who was so alone and had clung to Leah. The one Leah had spent her entire shift coaching through labor and birth.

“Andrew,” she said, laughing and crying both at the same time. She took her husband by the hand. “Come, I'd like to introduce you to our daughter.” Trembling, she led her husband toward the nursery. She had him remove his jacket and put on a sterile blue gown and set him in the rocking chair. Then with her heart so full it felt as though it would burst wide open, she gently lifted the sleeping infant from her crib and tenderly placed her in Andrew's arms.

“She's so tiny,” her husband whispered, looking down on the plump pink face of their daughter.

“At eight pounds six ounces, her birth mother didn't think so,” Leah said, smiling through her tears. “You two get acquainted and I'll be right back.”

A look of panic came over Andrew. “Where are you going?”

“To talk to someone very special.”

“What if she cries?”

“One of the nurses will help you, but don't look so worried. Everything will be all right.” Including the rest of Leah's life.

Michelle was sitting up in bed when Leah came into the room. When she saw it was Leah, the young woman smiled and held out her hand, which Leah gripped. “Have you heard from the adoption agency yet?” Michelle asked.

Leah nodded. “My husband just told me.” Now that she was here, Leah's heart was so full that she didn't know if it was possible to find the words to thank Michelle.

“When I decided against the abortion, I didn't know what I was going to do,” Michelle started. “A friend suggested adoption and so I contacted New Life Adoption Agency. Their counselors were great, they didn't pressure me one way or the other. I met with them several times and they listened. You see, I assumed that in order to give up my baby, I had to keep myself from loving her, and I couldn't seem to make myself do that. In the beginning when Lonny left me, all the baby represented to me was heartache, and later as she started to grow and move, I discovered how very attached I was getting. I couldn't help being curious about adoptive parents, though, and for the first time, just a few weeks ago, I read over several profiles. Your letter stood out in my mind.”

“Why?” Leah wanted to know. The letter had been written years earlier, and she couldn't remember any of what she'd said.

“You wrote about being a delivery-room nurse and how you felt about helping young women through labor and birth. It seemed to me you must be someone very special. Then by some kind of fluke the birthing class I was attending toured Providence Hospital and we met you. Naturally I didn't know your last name, but I remembered what you'd written. When I asked Jo Ann about you she told me you didn't have any children yourself, I figured you must be the Leah whose letter I'd read.”

“That was why you chose to have your baby here at Providence Hospital?” Leah asked.

Michelle nodded. “It was pure chance that you could be with me. I still hadn't decided if I could give my baby up for adoption. Then yesterday after she was born, you said something that helped me make up my mind.”

“I said something to help you decide?” Leah was incredulous.

Michelle nodded. “You told me I would be a good mother to my baby. I'm not giving her up because I don't love her. It's because I love her so very much that I can.

“Mrs. Burchell explained that you'd had one birth mother change her mind at the last minute. You needn't worry, that won't happen this time. I feel very strongly that God led me to you and your husband and you're exactly the right couple for my baby.”

“How can I thank you?” Leah whispered through her tears.

“By loving her, guiding her through the years for me. When she's older and has questions about me, tell her how God brought the two of us together, tell her that He handpicked her family for me.”

“I will,” Leah promised, rubbing the moisture from her cheek.

The two women hugged and after she'd dried her eyes Leah returned to the nursery. Andrew was gently rocking back and forth staring down at the face of his newborn daughter. One tiny fist was clenched around his index finger. The newborn was holding onto her daddy's hand.

“It looks like the two of you are getting along nicely,” Leah commented.

“I still can't believe she's really our daughter,” Andrew said.

“I don't have a single doubt she belongs to us,” Leah assured him.

“Have you decided on a name?”

“Yes,” Leah said, her response automatic. “Angel.” Some day she'd tell her husband and her daughter about seeing the special Christmas angel, but not now. The angel had been His sign to her, His confirmation. She would carry that very special gift with her through the years.

“Angel?” Andrew repeated slowly, glancing up. “But I thought you had three names already chosen and I don't recall any of them being Angel.”

“It seems fitting to me. Do you object?”