Angels in the Snow (6 page)

If Charles had felt the chill of his family situation before, the furious silence he received now was positively arctic. Like wooden puppets, Alex and Jennifer did as he had ordered, but resentment was clear in even the least of their movements. A cabinet was jerked open; a game box was snatched out, then slammed down on the table. Two chairs were yanked back. One teetered and nearly fell over, but Alex righted it with a kick, then flung himself down on the seat.

“C'mon, cheeseball. Let's start this stupid game.” His words were directed at his sister, but his sullen gaze was focused on his father.

“This is all your fault, butthead!” Jennifer's words were a low hiss, but her tone was no less vehement.

Charles whirled, ready to shout again. But the sight of his children—miserably hunched, flanking a worn gameboard and scattered plastic pieces—suddenly left him defeated. What was the point? They hadn't been here three hours, and already Judith was avoiding him and the children hated him. How had he screwed up so badly?

Disheartened, Charles made his way back to the kitchen. A shiver coursed through him and he decided to make a cup of hot chocolate. Then he spied the wall phone and changed direction.

A few quick jabs of his finger, four short rings, and a familiar voice answered the phone.

“Doug! It's Charles again. How did things go with Garrington?”

“Charles. I didn't expect to hear from you tonight. What number are you calling from?”

“The reception's rotten, so I'm using the landline. And it's pretty quiet around here. Makes me a little antsy.”

“You gotta learn to relax, guy.”

“Yeah, yeah. And I will. It'll just take a couple of days. So, did you get to Garrington?” Charles asked, settling himself on a chrome-and-leather kitchen stool.

“Actually, I found out he and his wife are going to the Odyssey Christmas Ball tonight. Cora had bought tickets, although we weren't going to attend. You're a lot better at that social stuff than I am. But we're going after all. Cora's friend Beverly—that's Richard Beasley's wife—she's going to introduce Cora to Garrington's wife while I hobnob with the man himself. So . . .”

“Sounds like you have it all under control.”

“I'll know in a couple of hours. Look, I gotta go finish getting dressed. How about I call you in the morning?”

“Sure, sounds fine. Good luck, guy.”

“Hey, like you always say, you make your own luck with guts and perseverance.”

“With balls and belligerence.” Charles laughed.

When he hung up the phone, he felt better. At least business was good. A muffled expletive brought him back to the moment.

“You're a dork!” Jennifer's shrill cry came. “I hate you!”

Before Alex's retort could come—before Charles could force himself to deal with his children again—the unexpected chime of the doorbell echoed through the house.

The doorbell?
Charles glanced out the kitchen window to the thick snow striking silently against the triple-insulated glass.
Who in their right mind would be out in such weather?

“Dad! Somebody's here!”

“Don't open the door!” Charles yelled as he hurried through the house. From the corner of his eye he saw Judith coming down the stairs, drawn by the still reverberating chime.

He flipped on the outside light, opened the sleek inlaid front door, and stopped before the double glass storm doors. Outside, huddled on the front landing with the wind and snow whipping at them, were a group of heavily bundled people. A family, Charles realized when he recognized a child in the tallest figure's arms. Two more children and a woman hugged one another for warmth behind the man.

“Oh, my goodness.” Judith hurried up behind him and tried to open the doors.

“Wait a minute, Jude.” Charles pulled her back.

“We can't leave them out there—”

“I know. I know. But you need a key for the storm doors. Here.” He fished around in his pocket for the key ring Rogers had given him. In a moment he had the doors opened and the pitiful group stumbled into the small foyer.

“Come in. Come in,” Judith said as Charles forced the doors closed against the bitter cold. It was a lot worse out there than he'd realized. And the wind! It was ferocious.

“Thank you,” the man mumbled past his frost-encrusted mustache. “Thank you.” He shuffled stiffly forward, out of the crowded entry alcove into the foyer. He still held the child tight, but one of his hands moved in a jerky fashion up the little one's back. The woman and the two older children seemed to be holding one another up; they were too frozen to do more than hobble forward.

For a moment there was complete silence. The newcomers huddled together, still coated with snow and edged with a hoary frost on their eyebrows and around their mufflers.

“We were in an accident . . . Our van . . .” The man trailed off, as if even talking took too much energy.

Charles was torn between natural feelings of caution, and irritation that a bunch of strangers had suddenly been forced upon them. What were they supposed to do with them?

Judith rose to the occasion. She closed the inner door. “Alex, get blankets and sweaters—any dry clothes, socks. Anything. Jenn, make hot chocolate. Lots of it. Go!” she ordered when they hesitated.

“You want us to bring our clothes down here for them to wear?
Our
clothes?” Jennifer asked. On her face was an expression of incredulity.

Charles couldn't help but silently agree with her.

“Yes, Jennifer.” Judith gave her a stern look. “You have enough for three people up there.”

“Don't worry, Jenn. I'll be real careful in what I select.” Alex smiled sarcastically.

“Don't you
dare
touch any of my clothes,” Jennifer snapped. She shot her mother a pained look. “
I'll
do it.”

“Please. You don't have to put yourselves out for us,” the man interjected through teeth chattering from the cold. “I know we're disturbing you. We . . . we just need to get warm and . . . and call someone.”

“You need to get out of those wet clothes,” Judith contradicted. “We can dry your own clothes quick enough and give them back to you. Now get going,” she ordered her two children. There was nothing to do but take these people in, Charles knew. They couldn't leave them outside in this weather with no other houses around for miles. But he didn't have to like it.

Under Judith's direction the family laid down their knapsacks and other clutched bundles. The man was fortyish, as was his wife. The three children—a boy around thirteen or fourteen, a girl a little younger than Jennifer, and another little girl, five or so—all appeared to be in a state of shock. They just stood there as Judith rushed around trying to make them more comfortable.

“Charles, come help me,” she ordered.

He did as she instructed, though he didn't really want to. They helped remove wet shoes and socks from the children's frozen feet. They replaced their icy pants with warm thermal underwear and layered on sweatshirts, sweaters, and blankets. The three children didn't say a word. They only did as directed: stuck out an arm or leg as necessary.

Jennifer and Alex stood to the side watching everything. For once they were both at a loss for words. But Jennifer frowned when the middle girl was folded into her pink-striped robe.

The man and the woman helped each other as best they could, but their movements were awkward and interrupted by violent shivers.

“We hit an ice patch,” the man said when he had caught his breath enough to speak. “About a mile up the road. I veered to avoid a rabbit. The van spun . . . We would have gone over the edge, but a big old oak caught us—”

“You're okay now,” Judith murmured as she pressed a mug of hot chocolate into his hands. “Can you hold this?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I think so. Thanks,” he added with a shaky smile.

Charles had the younger girl on his lap. He'd just pulled one of Jennifer's sweaters over her head when she started to struggle away from him.

“Mama!”

“Hold on,” he muttered. “Just wait while I get these socks on you. Jennifer, don't just stand there. Help me.”

“Me? What am I supposed to do?”

“Josie, hush, sweetie. I'm here.”

The woman fell stiffly to her knees and put her arms around the little girl, rocking her in the ageless way parents always have. With that movement, she seemed to release all the emotions the entire family had been holding back. The little girl, Josie, began to cry. Her mother began to cry. The two older children—now dressed in a motley collection of Alex's and Jennifer's clothes—burrowed weeping into their father's arms, and for a long moment there was no talking.

Charles looked helplessly up to Judith to see tears welling in her eyes. Alex and Jennifer had moved instinctively to her and she clasped them almost desperately.

At once Charles's frustration fled, to be replaced by far more complex emotions. Even though Jennifer matched her mother's height and Alex topped her by five inches, they were both her babies and always would be. They needed her as much as he did.

His heart seemed to catch in his chest. He wanted to go to them—to hold them so close they could never slip away from him. But young Josie still sat on his lap, and the woman crouched at his feet, holding her. He could only stare at his own little family, choked by the most powerful emotions he'd ever known.

God, he loved them!

Finally the woman lifted her face from her daughter's curly head. “Thank you for taking us in. We . . . we couldn't have gone on much further.”

Charles took the hand she offered. It was still icy cold, and he squeezed it tight, trying to impart some of his own warmth to her. How precious life was. How fragile. It could just as easily have been
his
family stranded in a blizzard this way. Once more emotions caught in his throat. “You're safe now,” he managed to say. “You're all safe.”

Their eyes met and held. Then she smiled and nodded. It took an effort for her to get to her feet. But she was able to lift little Josie in her arms and cross to stand beside her husband.

“You've saved us,” the man said in a low tone. He looked down at his two older children as he struggled to control his voice. “I'm sorry we've barged in like this, but we didn't know what else to do. We couldn't get the van back on the road . . .” He shook his head, but he went on. “I'm Joe Walker. This is my wife, Marilyn, and our children—Robbie, Lucy, and Josie. I—” He broke off and had to compose himself. “I don't know how we can ever thank you.”

Judith met Charles's eyes and for a moment they were connected, sharing the same feelings of thankfulness for their own safety and that of their children.

Then Judith cleared her throat. “Don't think anything of it. Anyone would do as much. I think, though, that we ought to get your children into bed. You, too,” she added, for their exhaustion was plain. “Drink your chocolate and then we'll get you all settled. There's an extra bedroom with a double bed. Robbie can sleep in Alex's room. Lucy can sleep with Jennifer.”

“Mother!” Jennifer objected in a low hiss. Alex, too, stared at his mother in disbelief. But Charles silenced them with a sharp look.

He stood up. “We didn't introduce ourselves. “I'm Charles Montgomery. My wife, Judith, and our children, Alex and Jennifer.” He shook hands with Joe while Judith refilled their mugs. “Tomorrow we'll see about your car. Is there anyone you want to call to tell them you're safe?”

While Judith and the children carried the Walkers' meager possessions upstairs and settled Marilyn and her children in their beds, Charles showed Joe to the phone. For some reason the man looked vaguely familiar, but Charles couldn't figure out why. When Joe turned to the phone, however, Charles remembered. There was a ponytail tucked down in the man's thermal shirt. He had been at that grocery store—he and his kids from the yellow van. A worried frown creased Charles's brow, then deepened when Joe turned to him.

“The phone lines must be down.”

Charles took the phone receiver from him. There was no dial tone. He pulled out his cell phone. “The cell reception's not too good, but give it a try.”

Sure enough, Joe couldn't get a signal. “Cell service is spotty in these mountains. And all it takes is one fallen tree to take out the phone lines.”

Charles sighed. If the phones were out and the roads impassable, then they were all trapped together. Suddenly the reality of having a strange family forced upon them caught up with him. A pair of strangers and their raggedy children interfering with their Christmas. Was there anything else that could go wrong with this trip?

He watched Joe Walker trudge up the stairs. When the man turned into the hall and disappeared from view, Charles sighed again, thrust his hand through his hair, then returned to the living room.

The silence in the spacious room seemed unnatural. Alex and Jennifer had settled down on either side of the game they'd abandoned earlier. Judith sat in a large chair she'd pulled nearer the fireplace. Her feet were tucked beneath her, and her hair was mussed. She was staring pensively, not at the dancing flames, but at their children. When he entered, however, everyone looked up.

“Well.” He sighed once more as he seated himself on the raised hearth and looked over at Judith. “Looks like our guests may be here for a while. Not only is the cell service pathetic; now the landline is down. And the way it's snowing, the roads may be closed until the snowplows can get out.”

“What would have happened to them if we hadn't been here?” Jennifer asked in a subdued voice. She didn't sound like herself, and Charles knew she must have had time now to consider the seriousness of the Walkers' mishap.