Breath of Dawn, The (35 page)

She planted her hands on her hips. “You have some ’
splainin
’ to do.”

He crooked an eyebrow.

“The matter of a talent show?”

He tipped his head in mock compassion. “No talent?”

“Maybe not.” She narrowed her eyes. “But I have a secret plan.”

He laughed. “Of course you do.”

Markham sat up on the kitchen floor with a slight itching pain from the cut on his arm. He looked up at the broken pane on the cabinet door, remembered reaching in. Beside him, a tiny glass vial had rolled up against the foot of the cabinet. He remembered breaking it open. He’d intended it for Hannah, but the liquid spilled on his hand, down his wrist, and into the cut.

Dizzy and restless, he’d staggered around the kitchen, Hannah wailing in the other room. Or maybe it hadn’t been Hannah. It had seemed like a multitude.

He remembered sinking to the floor in a wonderful intoxication, his stimulated mind bursting with fantastic shapes and kaleidoscopic colors. But then everything he saw began to waver and stretch, distorting in horrifying parodies of themselves, Hannah’s face twisting and morphing monstrously.

He couldn’t move. He’d felt paralyzed, glued to the floor, while the cabinet loomed and threatened to fall on his head. Screaming
beside it, Hannah became a witch with green brushy hair and a mouth as wide as a door.

He’d shut his eyes and kept them shut, losing all sense of time, unable to tell how long the horror lasted before the colors returned, alternating, spiraling in and out, exploding fireworks of color. Every sound transformed the vision, creating a new and wondrous landscape, until at last exhaustion brought sleep.

Now, when it seemed he should have felt a dreadful aftermath, he woke refreshed, clearheaded, as he hadn’t been for days. A euphoric sense of renewal and well-being brought him to his feet.

Seeing Hannah asleep on the couch, her face puffy and streaked red from distress, he rushed in and dropped to his knees beside her. “Hannah.”

Her eyes flew open. “You’re awake!”

“Of course I am.”

“I tried and tried to wake you.”

“It’s all right. Everything’s all right. It’s wonderful.”

“It is?”

“Yes, don’t you see? It’s all going to work. I saw it.”

“In a vision?”

“Oh, Hannah. Such a vision.”

Her eyes pooled. “Then we can go home? For Christmas, Markham?”

For a moment the exhilaration dimmed. “You know what I have to do, Hannah. It hasn’t changed.”

Her face fell. “Isn’t it enough to forgive her in your heart? You don’t have to tell her face-to-face. God knows.”

“Of course God knows.” His mind still seemed accelerated and fresh—brilliant even. “But Quinn will have no peace. Quinn can’t go home until I have forgiven her. She’ll keep running and running. Only I can stop her. Only I can give her peace.” And deep eternal rest.

Hannah sank into the couch and said in a tiny voice, “It’s always about Quinn.”

“Hannah.” He clasped her hand between his. “How can we begin anew with this Sword of Damocles over my head?”

“Sword of—”

“Never mind.” He stared into her bloodshot eyes, her red swollen nose, her splotchy cheeks. Unable to hate her, he wondered if what she wanted might be good. Quinn had changed her number, and no one Hannah asked admitted having the new one, but might she not call at Christmas? If they were there together, if he announced his desire to marry their daughter, their simple daughter . . .

“All right, Hannah. For you, we’ll go home for Christmas.”

Her whole body shook. “Do you mean it?”

“I do. We’ll go right now.”

She jumped to her feet, hands clutched beneath her chin. “Oh, Markham!”

As she ran to gather her things, he imagined finding Quinn and all the money she’d stolen and all the money he might add to it from Morgan Spencer and the life it would buy him. No more cons, no more being what someone else wanted, only what he wanted. Enough money to be nothing at all, or even . . . himself.

He had to make that happen. But how? And then he saw the door behind the hutch.

O
ne of these days they would need to move the baby grand to the family room for the holiday talent show, but so far they fit. Barely. Morgan looked around the music room. Stephen had been through the drill several times, but it was new for Luke and Danny. And for Erin.

His parents started with a duet to break the ice, then Noelle played something exquisite from memory that made Tara groan with envy. So, of course, she brought the house down with her “Santa Baby” on Hank’s knee. The world had better prepare itself for his baby sister, Tara.

Morgan motioned her to the piano to accompany him singing “I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas” to Livie. And for Erin it had to be “All I Want for Christmas is You.”

It was embarrassing to see the tears in his family’s eyes, but he didn’t care. He’d fallen in love with a woman like no one else—except maybe Livie. Bright spirits, both of them.

Dabbing her eyes, Erin scooped Livie up and took his place on the tall stool. She detached the microphone—feeding their talent to the computer for posterity—from the stand and said, “This isn’t
a Christmas tune, but I don’t think anyone will mind.” She held the mic to Livie’s mouth and whispered something.

His heart swelled when his little girl, with gentle promptings from Erin, sang the song he’d sung to her since the day she was born. “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.”

When the last sweet “please don’t take my sunshine away” faded, applause filled the room. Erin hung the mic, lifted Livie, and moved back toward her place. Unfortunately for his wife, everyone started chanting, “Erin, Erin, Erin.” So much for her secret plan.

She shot him an ocular plea. Laughing, he drew her back to the mic, whispered in her ear, and when she nodded, told their choice to Steph, who’d taken Tara’s place at the piano. Together he and Erin sang “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus.” At the end, he gave a thorough demonstration, to laughter, boos, and hisses.

Coming back up, he saw Noelle crying. She had doubted, but she must realize now that the radical proposal she so opposed had saved his life.

After a midnight celebration of the Savior’s birth and a few hours’ sleep, they all packed into the family room around the tree. Caught in the crush, he cocked his head at Erin. “What?”

“Are you kidding? This has to break every fire code known to man.”

The rooms of his parents’ old-style farmhouse were boxy and small, but the tree had always occupied the family room corner, and what did it matter if some of the young guys had to stand and most of the girls were on the floor? Pressed into the lower branches with Livie between his knees, he had Erin almost in his lap as well. Sure, it was snug, but who cared?

Although it seemed chaos reigned, in fact the activity had time-honored order, alternating youngest to oldest or oldest to youngest, with time to see each gift opened before the next. Purchasing small, as opposed to ungainly, gifts had entered the tradition as the family grew and space diminished. Hank’s present to Celia this year broke that rule—as would what Erin received. While not overly large, ungainly certainly applied.

They’d made the rotation several times when the doorbell rang. People looked around until Morgan nodded at Danny. “Can you get that?” No way was he getting through to answer it himself.

A couple minutes later, Danny returned with a very round woman holding a half-grown Australian shepherd with worried eyes staring and shaggy legs dangling. Erin’s jaw fell slack as Morgan slid her a glance. “You said you were thinking of getting a dog.”

“Morgan,” she breathed.

“That blue merle on her coat was as close as I could get to bluetick, but the breed’s instincts are good for herding and guarding, both of which you seem to need.”

“That doggie mine, Daddy?”

“That doggie is Mommy’s, Livie.”
Mommy’s
. He’d said it without thought.

“Well, clear a way,” Cleo from the shelter told them and proceeded through to settle the animal in Erin’s lap. “She had a good home until her companion changed jobs and moved to a city apartment. Broke her heart to let Bella go, but that’s no way for this active breed to live.” Cleo looked into Erin’s eyes. “You’ll love her, won’t you, dear?”

Erin stroked the soft fur as Bella licked her hand. “I already do.”

As the crowd was a little intense for the animal, Erin carried her out to the kitchen. He followed with Livie, who was expressing in her charming way how the doggy was hers
and
Mommy’s. She’d seemingly transitioned into the term as automatically as he.

Erin set Bella on the floor and filled a bowl with water. He’d contacted Cleo a week ago, describing what he wanted. They’d agreed on Bella since she hadn’t been mistreated, and with Livie that was essential. An animal that knew pain and cruelty could misinterpret a child’s innocent mistakes.

Now when Erin and his little girl went down to the beach or off on walks, there’d be someone keeping watch all the times he couldn’t be there. At five months, according to Cleo, Bella already showed the instincts of her breed. When Livie could stand it no longer, she buried her face in Bella’s side. Bella turned and licked Livie’s cheeks with a dripping muzzle fresh from the water bowl. Yeah. Morgan laughed. This would work.

“I can’t believe you did this.” Erin looked into the sweet, sweet face of the worried young dog, trying to give what comfort she could. “How did you know I thought about getting one?”

“Noelle mentioned you might bring a dog on Thanksgiving.” He shrugged. “Then you didn’t.”

“I checked the shelter, but it was especially for damaged animals, and my situation had the potential for unrest.” As, she had to remind herself, it still did.

He crouched down. “Hey, Bella. Don’t look so worried. You’re going to be just fine with us.” He scrubbed his fingers through the fur behind her ears. Bella grinned.

Watching them, Erin screwed up her courage. “I haven’t given you my gift.”

He looked over his shoulder toward the family room. “We’ll never get our places back.”

“It isn’t under the tree.” She ducked into the music room, where they were staying, took the small package she had just wrapped, and brought it to him. “It’s hard to know what to give the man who can get everything.”

He sat back on his heels. “Somehow I think you’ve managed.”

She chewed her lip as he stood up, untied the ribbon, and untaped the paper. From it, he withdrew the plastic stick with the blue plus sign. She watched the realization dawn. His eyes found hers.

She shrugged a shoulder. “Paris has that effect.”

Letting out a whoop that sent Bella to the corner of the kitchen, he grabbed her so hard she didn’t try to breathe until her feet came back down to the floor.

“Daddy, why you crying?”

“It’s okay, Livie. It’s okay, Bella.” His assurance came hoarsely. “Erin, Erin . . .” He pressed his face to her neck, squeezing her again.

She held him just as hard, only now absorbing her own reality. He kept breathing “I love you” into her hair. She held him laughing and crying until she realized his holler had brought the others. She bent and scooped Livie up as they pressed in, Tara leading the charge.

“What? Tell us.”

Again Morgan held her eyes. “There are no secrets.” He held up the wand.

“You’re pregnant?” Noelle blurted.

Rick laughed. “Nothing like jumping in with both feet.”

Erin turned, worried until she saw Steph had knelt beside the dog, gently stroking and reassuring her. Then she gave herself up to the congratulations.

When they’d all cleared out again, taking Livie and even Bella, Morgan threaded her fingers with his. “How are you?”

“Fine. So far.”

“What made you take the test?”

“After we talked I realized I was late. I only took it this morning so we’d know at almost the same time.” She’d never have hidden it otherwise. “There are sunglasses under the tree, in case it was negative. Livie pulled the earpiece off your Oakley’s.”

Grinning, he rubbed his hand up and down her arm. “Both thoughtful gifts. Thank you.” His eyes creased deeply. “It’s great we were here to share the news. They’ve gone through a lot with me. This . . . this is extraordinary.”

That seemed too little a word for it.

“You know, Erin.” His voice softened. “Something like this, your family should know.”

Tears burned. He had to know how much she wanted to share it, to tell her mother, Pops, her father, even Hannah. She was having a baby. And they didn’t even know about Morgan.

“How can I? They’ll get my number, and if it gets to Hannah it will get to Markham and we’ll start all over again.”

“In a couple days I’ll be taking what you know to William. Once he works the deal, the FBI will step it up on Markham. He’ll have more to worry about than getting back at you.”

She considered that. The phone wasn’t in her name, or even Morgan’s, only his company. And if Markham got it, she could change the number. “If I tell them I’m pregnant, I have to tell them about you.”

“Fine. Just no names.”

She pressed a hand to her heart, fear warring with longing. She couldn’t bring herself to dial her parents. No, if she could tell one person in the world, it had to be Pops. It was Christmas, and hearing his voice would be such a gift. She looked into Morgan’s
eyes and said, “Pops can’t stand Markham. He’d never help him find me.”

“Tell him Merry Christmas from me.” He bent and kissed her.

Trembling as much with concern as excitement, she keyed the number. When her grandpa’s voice came on, her chest swelled with tears. “Pops? It’s . . . Quinn.”

“Quinn, darlin’. It’s been so long.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” Sorry for time she’d never get back—time that, at ninety-one, her grandfather might have little of. She caught a tear in the corner of her eye. “Pops? I have some news.”

Hannah looked almost pretty. No, Hannah did look pretty in her Christmas dress, with her hair done up and her face aglow.

Standing in the family room of her father’s house, Markham watched her, amazed, as she shared the wonderful news in a buoyant voice with none of the tremulous hesitation. For the first time in her life, she had something worth sharing and shared it proudly. “Markham and I are going to be married.”

“With your permission, sir. I apologize for not asking first, but . . .” He waved a hand at Hannah as though she were explanation enough. He cleared his throat. “Hannah’s faith and devotion humble me.”

With a strange feeling in his stomach, he recognized in Hannah a belief no one else had ever placed in him. Hundreds had been swayed to belief by his act, by his lies, by his cons, but no one had believed
in him.
Crazily, he imagined himself married to her. Did he have something with her he would never find again?

The minister looked at him with mingled sorrow and joy, probably thinking of how his people had suffered from the loss of their retirement funds, the loss of their great hypothetical riches, the loss of hope. Did he believe, as he’d testified, that Markham Wilder acted in good faith, believing a miracle of abundance would come to those who gave generously from the heart? Or would he condemn him now?

Markham bowed his head. “I pray you’ll consider my request. I’ve been tempered by trials in the furnace of tribulation and emerged
chastened and stripped of all worldly hopes but one. This one I set before you—more, I know, than I deserve.” His gaze slid briefly to Hannah’s tearful face, still amazingly lovely. Why had she never adorned it with joy before?

Thomas Reilly turned to Hannah, his face concerned and tender. “Hannah?”

“Oh yes. I want this.” The tremulous tone returned, but for once it touched him.

Thomas held her aching eyes with wells of kindness in his own as he told her, “Markham may not be embraced by the others, by those who struggle now or are financially ruined. You could be shut out.”

“It was Quinn who did that, Daddy. By her unbelief. Quinn not Markham who brought ruin. Markham paid the price, and he only wants to forgive her, Daddy.”

The minister’s wife came and stood in the doorway between the family room and kitchen. Four years had aged her, and he wondered briefly if it was true, as Hannah said, that Quinn had not been home and had spoken to them only a handful of times in those years. He forced all rage and animosity from himself as he thought of her. Nothing must mar this moment.