Finding Christmas Page 10

  She slipped into her car and started the motor, her mind flying in crazy directions. She had to prove to Joanne Fuller that her child was alive. But how? A recent photograph came to mind. Any mother should recognize her child even three years later. But how could she give Mrs. Fuller the photograph? She’d thought about writing to the mother, but tracing a letter seemed too easy. She couldn’t use the mail.

  When she had learned where Joanne worked, she’d thought about contacting her there. One day she’d stood outside her office building after dropping Connie at school, thinking she’d say something and then make her escape, but that had been the dumbest idea she’d ever had. She’d seen those police artists, the ones who sketched faces so close to the real features that anyone could identify the criminal. She couldn’t take a chance.

  But she’d find a way.

  Donna headed home on Telegraph Road through the heavy Dearborn traffic, then turned onto Cherryhill. She made a left, pulled up in front of the neighbor’s house and gave a toot. The woman opened the door, and in minutes, Connie dashed toward the car, a sweet smile on her face.

  A blast of cold rushed into the car when Connie opened the door. She slammed it shut and gave Donna a hug.

  “Did you have fun?”

  “Yep. We played with games and colored. I colored you a picture.” She giggled and reached into her coat pocket, pulling out a ragged sheet torn from the coloring book.

  Donna took the paper in her hand and her tension faded. A colorful butterfly sat on top of a flower. Connie had used every crayon imaginable to create the bright kaleidoscope of the bloom. “It’s beautiful.”

  “It’s for you.”

  “Thank you,” she said, bending down to kiss the girl’s cheek. The touch of her soft, icy skin against Donna’s lips brought home a truth. She’d just talked with Connie’s real mother—asking for money. She felt sick over her actions, but things could be no other way. She couldn’t walk away from Connie, and for all the child knew, Donna was the best and only mother she had. Her stepdaughter loved her, and she loved the girl more than life itself.

  Donna tucked the torn sheet onto the dashboard and pulled away from the neighbor’s house, but as she neared her own, icy fear gripped her. Carl’s car stood in the driveway. He’d come home early.

  Where had she gone? She needed an excuse, some logical reason. She grasped at possibilities. It was too late to turn back and pick up groceries from the store. He’d probably been watching her from the window. He had become suspicious, and his unexpected appearances sent her bones rattling in her body.

  “Daddy’s home,” Connie said, but her voice had lost its lilt.

  “I see,” Donna said, trying to sound noncommittal. “You run right upstairs and change your clothes, okay?”

  “Okay,” she said, concern in her soft voice.

  Donna eased her car around Carl’s in the driveway and pulled to the back. He’d parked closer to the road, and Donna wondered if he planned to leave again. Maybe he’d dropped home to pick up something he’d forgot.

  As soon as the door opened, Donna knew she’d been wrong. Carl glowered at her from the kitchen table, his hand clenching a beer bottle. She pushed Connie behind her.

  “Where have you been?” he growled.

  “I ran an errand.”

  “You’ve got your nose stuck into things that don’t involve you, don’t you.” He jumped up, flipping the table on its side, and shot toward her with such speed that she couldn’t duck.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” she said, pushing Connie toward the hallway door.

  “Where are you going?” he bellowed at the child as she tried to escape his wrath. He caught Connie’s arm and pulled her around to face him. “What are you two up to?”

  Connie’s face twisted as sobs ripped from her throat. “Nothing,” she said. “I was coloring.”

  The child was innocent and Donna had dragged her into her scheme without realizing the consequences. “She’s done nothing, Carl. Let her alone.”

  “Tell me what you’re up to, and I’ll let her go.”

  Donna reeled. What could she say that would stop him from hurting her or Connie? “It’s someone’s birthday coming up, Carl.” She motioned with her head toward Connie.

  His face twitched as he thought, then he released Connie’s arm and gave her a shove. The child fell to the floor, tears rolling down her face. When he turned back to Donna, Connie bounded up and scampered out of the room.

  “I’m not sure about you,” Carl said. “You’re sneaky.” He circled the table and came toward her. “You’ve been snooping and sneaking around here. I don’t trust you anymore. You’re a stupid woman. That’s why I married you. Don’t try to get smart on me, Dumb Donna.”

  “I’m not smart, Carl. I’m dumb, and I know it, but it’s Connie’s birthday in a few days, and I wanted to price some toys and then talk with you.”

  Her legs trembled as she stood near him with nothing to cling to but her determination to get free of his bondage. Carl was cruel, and as far as she could figure, a murderer. He could as easily kill her as Connie.

  “Get out of my sight,” he said, giving Donna a shove.

  She hurried from the room and into their bedroom, closing the door and sinking onto the bed. She tried to control the spasms of fear that gripped her.

  Donna knew she could call the police, but she had no idea whether Carl had them on the take or if they’d laugh at her. Domestic violence—so common, so ignored. He’d be released in an hour, and she would pay for it. Donna knew she’d be left in a worse situation than now.

  Her best plan was to escape. All she needed was the money from the Fuller woman, then she’d take Connie to Canada or Mexico. Maybe California. Someplace he’d never find them.

  But she needed to prove to Joanne Fuller that Connie—Mandy—was alive. She sensed that the mother’s love would come through, and then Donna would make her escape with Connie.

  Chapter Ten

  Joanne’s fingers hovered over the telephone buttons. Then she let her hand drop to her side and hung up the receiver. If she called the police, she could scare the woman away. She’d already heard fear in the caller’s voice, and any other action might mean she’d lose Mandy.

  And Benjamin? He rose in her thoughts like a beacon, but the light dimmed. She couldn’t tell Benjamin, either. He’d stop her from being extorted. He loved Mandy, but he didn’t understand the desperation she felt, the longing, the feeling that God had opened a door to help her find her daughter.

  She sank into a kitchen chair and bowed her head. If she were to succeed, it would only happen with God’s help and blessing. Her prayer flowed heavenward as fervently as tears that rolled down her cheeks. The emotion had become overwhelming. She couldn’t bear the anxiety, the fear, the doubt, the hope that roiled through her body and heart. She’d thought herself a strong woman. Now the chaos had about undone her.

  She took a calming breath. What would the caller do now?

  The doorbell chimed, and Joanne pulled herself together, grabbed a napkin and wiped her eyes. She knew she looked a mess. The bell rang again. She drew back her shoulders as she walked through the kitchen doorway into the hall.

  At the front door, she glanced through the security peephole. When she saw Benjamin on the other side, guilt skipped through her. She needed strength to keep the truth from him.

  “Hi,” she said, opening the door. “I wasn’t expecting you.” When his eyes met hers, she saw concern.

  “I usually call, but I was on my way home and had the urge to drop by.”

  “I’m glad you did,” she said, more anxious than glad.

  “Something’s wrong,” he said, pushing the door closed before he turned to face her. He touched her cheek. “You’ve been crying. She called again.”

  Joanne’s mind searched for a response. “I’ve been looking at the ornaments,” she said. Not a lie, she’d been doing that. The Christmas balls had brought back memories.

 
“Oh, Joanne,” he said, drawing her into his arms. “I’m sorry. You shouldn’t do that alone. I’d like to help.”

  “You always help me, Benjamin. I suppose I should learn how to deal with things by myself one of these days.” She drew in the winter scent of his jacket mixed with the familiar aroma of his aftershave.

  “You’ve done it alone all this time,” he said.

  His voice whispered against her hair and sent a chill down her back. The sensation stirred her emotions, and she longed to feel his mouth on hers. The recollection of his tender kiss filtered from her mind to her limbs, and she felt weak with the memory. Fighting the feelings, Joanne drew back and invited him into the living room.

  Benjamin slipped off his jacket and hung it on the closet doorknob, then followed her. He wandered to the tree and touched a limb, then drew his hand away to smell the fragrance on his fingers. “We need to keep this watered. Do you have a watering can?”

  Joanne backed away, smiling at the word we. She headed for the kitchen and lifted a plastic container from beneath the sink. After filling it with water she carried it back.

  Benjamin had just loaded a disk into the CD player. The Christmas music wrapped around her as she crossed the room. She felt her courage fade, knowing she was keeping something so important from him, but she believed she had no choice.

  Benjamin took the container from her hand and knelt beside the tree, filling the stand with water. “There,” he said, rising. He set the can near the archxway, then returned to her side. “How can I help?”

  She shrugged. “How are you at cookie baking?”

  He sent her that crooked smile that brightened her spirit. “What about hanging the ornaments?”

  “That can wait another week. I’m enjoying the lights, but I need the cookies for the church’s Advent midweek service.”

  “Then we’ll make cookies.” His voice was matter-of-fact as his hand slipped behind her back. They stood listening to the instrumental melody of “What Child Is This?”

  Joanne felt him inhale, then exhale, his feet shifting as they stood. His hand stirred on her arm, sending her pulse skittering. And as the scent of pine and Benjamin wrapped around her, she wished she could define their relationship. What was he now? Friend or more than friend?

  “I’m concerned about you,” he murmured.

  “I’m okay, Benjamin. Really. It’s the season, I think.”

  “Christmas.”

  “And all this confusion. The phone calls. The e-mails. The hopes that may never come to fruition.”

  “I know,” he said, his look so tender it made her weak.

  She gave his shoulder a squeeze and eased away. He didn’t release her immediately, and she loved the feeling of being held by someone unwilling to let her go.

  Melancholy overtook her mood. The woman caller had opened doors—doors of hope. Joanne had no idea if the woman had been telling the truth or lying, but her heart said it was true.

  Now what? She’d demanded proof. What would the woman do to prove Mandy was alive? Could Joanne trust her to follow through, or had she destroyed her only chance of finding her daughter?

  Joanne gestured toward the archway as she turned to the kitchen, hoping the cookies would distract her from the phone call and the emotion that gnawed at her.

  “Do you have any apple juice? I make a mean mulled cider.” Benjamin’s voice shot into her thoughts.

  Joanne glanced at him. His smile warmed her heart and melted the icy feelings she’d had. “I might just have some.”

  She entered the kitchen with Benjamin on her heels. Inside her pantry cabinet she found the juice, and while he warmed it along with some orange slices and a tea ball with cinnamon and cloves, she began gathering the ingredients for her cookie recipe.

  “This has to simmer,” he said, moving to her side. “What can I do?”

  She slid him a large bowl and measuring cups. “I’ll get the sugar and shortening ready while you handle the dry ingredients.”

  He studied the recipe and went to work like a man who knew what he was doing. Joanne grinned at the precision with which he measured the floor and baking soda. Seeing him in the kitchen lightened her mood and she realized her disturbing thoughts had drifted away for a moment. When he moved back to her side with the flour mixture, her heart sped up at his nearness.

  “If that’s finished,” she said, “you can grind the pecans for me. It’s part of the filling.”

  She formed the dough, then rolled it out, cut it in squares and sprinkled in the nut and sugar-cinnamon mixture, then formed it into crescents. Benjamin shifted them to a cookie sheet and soon she slid the first batch into the oven.

  “While you’re finishing,” he said, tilting his head toward the next tin, “I’ll make a fire.”

  “Good idea,” she said, happy to be alone for a moment. Joanne realized she needed to get her thoughts in order. She had so many things to say and ask, but the phone call had filled her mind. Pushing it aside, she focused on the night before, and their kiss.

  While she cleaned the kitchen, she pulled out the first batch of cookies and slid them onto a cooling rack. The cider’s spicy fragrance rose from the pan and mixed with the nutty cinnamon aroma. By the time the next batch came out, she had slid a few that had cooled onto a plate. She carried them into the living room.

  Benjamin had tossed a couple of logs on the fire and was watching the glow of the kindling beneath. He turned when she entered the room, and pointed to the sofa. “I’ll get the cider.” Benjamin stood back a moment, then set down the matches and headed for the room.

  Joanne settled onto the cushion, propping a pillow behind her back so she could face him, then lifted her legs and curled them beneath her. Having a man in the house had become a treat. She never used the fireplace anymore. Once she had loved sitting on the carpet in front of the logs, listening to the crackle of the flames and watching the sparks spiral up the flu.

  She watched now as the fire left the kindling and licked up the bark, gaining speed as the red glow turned yellow with flickers of blue. Her feelings for Benjamin had grown in the same way.

  Benjamin followed the scent of the cinnamon and cloves as he made his way into the kitchen. He pulled two mugs from the cabinet and turned off the burner. His mind felt weighed down with Joanne’s problems.

  She’d said her tears had been because of the ornaments, and perhaps that had been it, but his gut told him they had been motivated by something else. Why wouldn’t she admit that the woman had called again if that was the case? He couldn’t believe Joanne would keep things from him or do something foolish.

  Why not? He’d been foolish the night before when he kissed her. Tonight his concern revolved around that incident, as well. Had he upset her? Did she feel betrayed or disappointed? He’d come to her as a friend and now he’d let his emotions loose.

  Benjamin longed to tell her how he felt, longed to tell her that the kiss hadn’t just happened, but that he’d cared about her for years when he had no right. He could only thank God that he’d been a gentleman and had never deceived or misbehaved in any way when it came to Joanne.

  So what would happen now?

  He ladled the spicy mixture into the mugs and carried them back into the living room. When he saw Joanne nestled on the sofa, his stomach coiled. He was about to have another fight with his heart.

  After he handed her the mug, he sat beside her, gazing at the flickering flames and longing to talk about the things that burned inside him. Nothing was more important than knowing what was on Joanne’s mind.

  “You’re quiet,” she said.

  “Thinking,” he said.

  “About the kiss?” she asked.

  Her question startled him, and he gave her question thought before answering yes.

  “Me, too,” she said.

  Seeing her frown, he said, “I hope you’re not upset. I never meant—”

  “Upset? No.”

  “Disappointed?”

  “No.�
�� She gave her head a strong shake.

  He searched her face for the answer. “Then what?”

  “Wondering what it meant. I was surprised.”

  So had he been, not only at his action, but at her eager response. Yet she’d dismissed it, when it had meant so much to him.

  “What did it mean to you, Joanne?”

  She looked away and gazed at the sparking flames, then at the Christmas tree. “I’m not sure. I—I know what it did.”

  “What it did?”

  “It made me feel alive. It’s the first time I’ve kissed a man since Greg.”

  “I didn’t mean to offend you. It seemed right. It seemed natural.”

  “We’ve been friends a long time,” she said swiveling to face him. “It did seem natural…and right.”

  “But strange?”

  She gave him a faint smile. “Yes, strange, but nicely so.”

  That broke the tension and he chuckled. “So where are we now?”

  She lifted her shoulders. “Together in the living room. Alive. Feeling.”

  “And thinking.”

  “And thinking,” she agreed. “Right now, I’m caught up in these telephone calls and in praying Mandy’s out there somewhere. I don’t have a lot of room to think about—”

  She faltered, and he watched an uneasy look spread across her face. “About the future?” he asked.

  “The future. But I want to, Benjamin. I truly want to live again, and you’re one of the finest men I know. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

  He let the words settle over him, trying to decide if her comment should give him hope or remind him that he’d always been just a friend. For now, he could live with the latter, but for how long, he didn’t know.

  Donna stared into the dress-shop window, watching Joanne Fuller’s movements. She’d never followed anyone before, but today she’d become an expert. The idea had come to her out of desperation. Joanne Fuller wanted proof of Connie’s existence, and Donna had tossed out the idea of sending a traceable letter or sliding something inside her storm door. Those methods were all too dangerous.