A Carol for Christmas (11 page)

Christmas Day, Two Years Later

Carol came awake slowly, reluctantly. She released a soft groan as she opened her eyes. Weak sunlight filtered through the blinds.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” Jonathan greeted her. “Merry Christmas.”

She turned her head on the pillow. Her husband sat in the chair beside the bed, grinning at her.

“How’re you feeling?”

She groaned again, but this time with a smile.

Jonathan leaned forward and kissed her. “You look beautiful. Absolutely radiant.”

He was being kind, bless him. She’d been in labor for almost twenty-four hours before giving birth to their daughter at 2:08 this morning. Beautiful was the last thing she must look.

“Good morning.” A nurse entered the hospital room, rolling the cart that held their daughter. “Are we ready to nurse the baby?”

“I’m ready.” She searched for the control to raise the head of the bed.

After checking to make certain the hospital bands on mother and daughter matched, the nurse brought the baby

to her. Little Elena Christine wore a small pink-knitted cap on her head, covering her dark hair, and she was wrapped tightly in a white receiving blanket with pink and blue stripes.

Overwhelming love welled in Carol’s heart as she wel- comed the infant into her arms. For a moment, her thoughts returned to Christmas two years before. She remembered the moment of revelation when she understood nothing she wanted could ever be as great as what God wanted to give her. He’d changed the desires of her heart, and look who it brought her.

She lifted her eyes from the baby to meet Jonathan’s gaze. “I love you, Johnny,” she whispered.

He kissed her again, slow and sweet, before kissing the baby’s cap-covered head. “And I love you. Both of you. You’ve made me the happiest guy in the world.”

“Isn’t she gorgeous?” “Just like her mother.” Carol smiled.

“You’ll have to write her a song.” “Mmm.”

Someday, perhaps she would be able to write a song for Elena. For now, the melody in her heart was one of inde- scribable joy.

Thank You
,
Father. Thank You for giving me the desires

of Your heart.

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Coming in July 2007, the continuation of the Burke family’s story

Chapter 1

T

here exists a strange moment between sleep and wakefulness when dreams cease and realism

remains at bay. That was when Roxy’s heart spoke to her most clearly.

It’s time to go home.

Roxanne Burke had given Nashville seven years to dis- cover her. She’d offered her voice, her face — and eventu- ally, her body — but despite her best efforts and dedication, despite her desperate grasps at the brass ring, country music and stardom didn’t want her. Roxy was worse than a has- been. She was a never-was.

I’ve gotta go home.

Fully awake now, she covered her face with her hands as a groan rumbled in her chest. Did she have a home to

return to? When she left Idaho, she’d burned her bridges with a blowtorch. She’d said hateful things to her fam- ily when they tried to convince her not to go. She’d been young and foolish and full of herself. So certain she could take on the world. So certain she was meant for greatness. So certain. . .

Roxy opened her eyes and looked around the studio apartment. The clock said it was almost 6:00 p.m. — depression and hunger had kept her in bed all day — but only anemic light filtered through the miniblinds, making the dismal room look worse than it was. Or maybe the lighting showed the place in stark reality. It was a dump, but it was the best she could afford.

Can almost afford.

She was unemployed and five days late with the rent. She hadn’t eaten since yesterday after she pocketed a stale doughnut from the break room at Matthews and Jeffries Talent Agency. Pete Jeffries hadn’t represented her in three years — she’d burned that bridge too — but she’d gone crawling to him, hoping for a gig of some kind. Some- thing. Anything. In the end, she hadn’t asked. When she saw the pity in his eyes, she couldn’t stay. She’d seen her- self as he saw her. Pathetic. Dark circles under her eyes. Waif-thin. Limp, lifeless hair. Thrift-store clothes in need of an iron.

Bile rose in her throat, and Roxy bolted from the bed, rushing to the bathroom. She heaved over the toilet, but there was nothing in her stomach to lose. Tears burned her eyes.

Go home.

Roxy’s shaky legs wouldn’t hold her upright any longer, and she crumpled onto the linoleum, weak and pitiful. Curl- ing into a fetal position on the cool floor, she remembered the words she hurled at her family the day she left Boise.

“Next time you hear from me, my name will be on a CD. You’ll see.”

Pride was a wretched thing. Pride had kept her from responding to the messages they left on her answering machine. Her boyfriend stopped calling before the first year was out, but not her father and Elena. They persisted. Of course, when she no longer could afford a telephone, she severed that thin lifeline too.

Was everyone healthy? Was her sister married, maybe even a mom by now? Roxy didn’t know. No CD, no contact.

Seven years. Seven years of silence. Would they even want to hear from her? Would they want to see her again?

Go home. Find out.

“Oh, God. How can I go back? Look at me.”

How had she sunk this low? When her family learned all that she’d done, they would despise her. The men. The booze. And worse. . .

Roxy had read a novel about ancient Rome a year or so ago. In it, Caesar invited a woman who displeased him to open a vein, meaning she could commit suicide rather than face a worse death. The woman climbed into a tub of hot water and cut her wrists with a sharp knife. The hot water caused her to bleed faster, and death came without pain.

Was that true? Was it painless to end one’s life that way? Perhaps Roxy should spare her father the shame of

seeing her. She no longer had promise or beauty. She was a washed-out, used-up, discarded nobody.

I’ d be better off dead.

Yet even in her miserable state, Roxy didn’t want to die. Which was why she would go home, tail tucked between her legs, a capital
L
for
Loser
stamped upon her forehead. She would beg her family’s forgiveness and eat whatever crow was required. Better eat crow than go hungry in this stinking hole.

She drew a deep breath, then slowly pushed up onto her hands and knees. Her head dropped forward between her arms. She gulped several times, begging the room not to spin. After it steadied, she sat on her heels. Peeking over the countertop, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror. Just the top half of her head, but that was more than enough. She groaned again.

Where was she going to get the money for bus fare? She’d lost her last job and no one would hire her looking like this. The friends she had when flush with her grand- mother’s inheritance had long since disappeared. So had the handsome, ambitious men who used to squire her to parties and premiers.

Pete Jeffries was her only hope. Pete, with the pity in his eyes. She would have to go back to see him. She would have to beg his help before she could beg her father’s forgiveness.

Maybe Caesar’s open-vein solution was the better option.

Q

This was the night. Elena Burke felt it in her bones.

This was the night Wyatt Baldini would propose.

She stared at her reflection in the floor-length mirror. A diamond-and-gold choker. Teardrop earrings. A simple but elegant black dress that ended an inch above her knees. Red toe nails and killer heels with slinky straps around her ankles.

When a woman gets engaged, she should look like a million. Elena was no great beauty, but she came close to it tonight.

Someone rapped on her outer office door, then she heard it open.

“Just a minute,” she called.

“It’s me, Elena. May I come in?”

She stepped out of the bathroom that adjoined her office. “Of course, Dad.”

Jonathan Burke let out a low whistle when he saw her. “Well, look at you.”

“Wyatt and I are going to dinner. He’s supposed to pick me up in about fifteen minutes.” She closed the dis- tance between them, leaning forward to kiss her father on the cheek. “What about you? What are you doing tonight?”

“A quiet evening at home for me.”

Elena’s father was a distinguished-looking man. In his late fifties, he still had a full head of hair, although it was now steel-gray instead of the dark brown it had been in his youth. His hazel eyes revealed intelligence and an enthusi- asm for life that many half his age didn’t enjoy.

Her father cocked an eyebrow. “Does Wyatt realize how lucky he is to have someone special like you?”

She felt herself flush.

“About time.” He touched her cheek with his finger- tips. “It’s good to see you happy, honey.”

Elena loved her father. There wasn’t much she wouldn’t do for him. Elena had enjoyed a special bond with her father and had wanted to grow up to be just like him. With that goal in mind, she attended college, got her degree, and immediately went to work in the corporate offices of Burke Department Stores. She supposed it was in her blood.

Her great-grandfather, Dillon Burke, had opened a small clothing store on Tenth Street back in the thirties, before the start of World War II. With hard work and smart decisions, Dillon and his son Arlen built that shop into an upscale department-store chain. Then her father had multiplied the successes of his grandfather and father. Now there were Burke Department Stores in twenty-five states, and Elena was a vice president in the family firm, her father’s right-hand gal.

“Wyatt’s a fine man,” Jonathan said, pulling her thoughts to the present. “I’ll be glad to call him my son-in-law.”

Her father had spoken similar words many years ago.

But not to Elena.

A shudder moved up her spine. “You okay, honey?”

She forced a smile. “I’m fine, Dad.” Glancing at her watch, she added, “But I’d better finish getting ready. Wyatt will be here soon.”

Q

Roxy crawled back into bed, shivering as she lay between the threadbare sheets that were rough and wrinkled against her skin.

“I’m hungry,” she whispered. But she might as well try to eat those words, because her wallet was as empty as her belly.

When was the last time she had a decent meal? Too long ago to remember.

She thought of the homeless people she’d seen going through garbage receptacles behind restaurants. Once she’d felt nothing for the homeless but disgust. Why didn’t they simply get jobs and stop being an eyesore to society? Now it frightened her to think of them, to think how close to being one of them she was. Perhaps what frightened her more was the temptation to go search behind restaurants for food.

I won’t be hungry when I get home.

She closed her eyes and imagined the house where she grew up. Five bedrooms. A large game room. Vaulted ceil- ings. Maids’ quarters. A spacious kitchen filled with all the modern conveniences. Family. A home filled with love.

It seemed long ago and far away. Had she ever lived in such a place? Had she ever been unconditionally loved? Was it all a dream?

Tears slipped from behind her eyelids and dampened the pillow under her head.

God
,
help me get home.

Q

The slender candle in the center of the table had burned low. The fine china and crystal had been cleared and the white tablecloth swept clean of crumbs. Music — a familiar love song — wafted toward them from the baby grand at the opposite side of the restaurant.

Wyatt leaned toward Elena. “You look beautiful tonight.”

She might have returned the compliment. Wyatt was the sort of man who caused women’s heads to turn no matter where he was. Whether clad in a suit, as he was tonight, or in jeans and a T-shirt, his Mediterranean good looks— black hair, deep blue eyes, dark complexion— made him stand out in a crowd.

“Did I already tell you that?” he asked.

“Yes.” She smiled. “But I don’t mind you saying it again.”

Of course she didn’t mind. While Elena loved Wyatt with all her heart and had for a long, long time, she wasn’t blind to his shortcomings, one of those being that he wasn’t generous with compliments. Perhaps that was because he didn’t require the praise and reassurances of others, so he didn’t think others needed them either.

“There’s something important I need to tell you,” Wyatt said after a brief silence.

They had spoken of many things during the course of the evening — his work, her work, his mother, her father, the Sunday school class he taught, the women’s Bible study she led — but there’d been no mention of a future together.

Elena fought hard to keep her disappointment in check. She’d been certain this was the night he would —

“I’m leaving my law practice, Elena.” Her eyes widened. “You’re what?”

“I’m leaving it. I’ve decided to enter seminary.” “Seminary?” So that was what had been on his mind in

recent weeks. It hadn’t been thoughts of her after all.

“I’ve felt God calling me into full-time ministry for some time now, but I wanted to wait for confirmation before I told you.”

Elena pasted on another smile. “You’ll make a won- derful pastor, Wyatt. I’m happy for you.” Truly, she was. Their shared faith in Christ was important to her. That God would call Wyatt into the ministry didn’t surprise her. Not really. It was just —

“There’s only one thing I’m not sure of.” He reached a hand across the table to take hold of hers, and she felt his gaze looking beyond her eyes and into her heart. “Would you ever consider becoming a pastor’s wife?”

Her breath caught in her throat. Strange, earlier this evening she’d expected his proposal, but now that it had come, it took her by surprise.

“I love you, Elena. Will you marry me?”

She blinked away tears of joy. “Yes, Wyatt. Yes, I’ll marry you.”

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