The Christmas Children (2 page)

“This is Carissa Whitmore at Naomi's home. A man just broke in. I'm afraid…I've killed him.”

Dead silence greeted her remark for a few seconds, then Justin shouted, “Don't touch a thing! I'll be there in a few minutes.”

Carrying the poker with her, Carissa rushed to her bedroom and tied a long robe over her nightgown. The intruder was stirring by the time she returned downstairs, and she breathed easier knowing he wasn't dead. Poker in hand, she waited by the door
and kept a wary eye on the trespasser until a police cruiser screeched to a halt in front of the house.

Carissa opened the door, and Justin pushed by her into the living room.

He knelt beside the fallen man and checked his pulse before he took a quick glance around the room. When his gaze encountered the furniture in front of the glass door, he looked up at Carissa.

“What's happened here?”

“I sensed that someone had been in the house when I got here. I couldn't lock that door, so I piled things around it before I went upstairs to bed. This man came in, stumbled over my booby trap and awakened me. I hit him with a poker. Is he going to die?”

His eyes twinkling, the police officer said, “Nope. It'd take more than a knock on his hard head to kill this man. Don't you know who he is?”

“How could I?”

“This is Paul Spencer, Naomi's brother.”

Carissa's breath rushed from her mouth, and she dropped like a deflated balloon into the closest chair she could find.

S
till staring at the stranger spread-eagled on the floor, Carissa wrung her tiny hands and struggled to comprehend what Justin had said.

“I thought Naomi lived alone! Why would she exchange houses with me if her brother lives here?”

“Paul doesn't live with Naomi. He works for a construction company that bids on jobs all over the world. He hasn't been home for two years, and when he is here, he lives in the garage apartment behind the house. Naomi probably didn't know he was coming home.”

Carissa stared at the tall, amazingly good-looking man, lying flat on his back. His dark skin had a weathered look, and his short brown hair, thinning a bit at the temples, had streaks of gray showing around his ears. A large blue knot had risen on his forehead.

“Oh, I'm so sorry!” Carissa said. “How can I face the man when he comes to?” Eager to justify her actions, she added, “But what would you have done if you'd thought he was a burglar?”

“Same thing you did, lady. Only I'd probably have shot him,” he added with a grin, patting the holster at his right hip.

Chief Townsend called for an ambulance and said, “I'll keep him from moving until the medics get here. Don't look so scared. You had no way of knowing who he was.”

When the prostrate man opened his eyes and started to sit up, Carissa dodged out of his range of vision. Townsend held him on the floor.

“Stay there, Paul. I don't want you to move until the ambulance gets here.”

“What happened?” Paul said, a glassy expression in his dark eyes.

“I'll explain later. You'll be all right.”

Paul closed his eyes again, and Carissa whispered, “I'll go upstairs and change. I'm going with you to the hospital.”

“There's no hospital closer than Saratoga Springs, but we've got a clinic here in town. It's small, but it's a good one. The doctor there will be able to tell if he needs to go to the hospital.”

The ambulance crew was working with Paul when Carissa finished dressing, and she waited until they pushed the stretcher toward the door. In her own car,
she followed the ambulance into town until it stopped at a small building adjacent to the police station.

The waiting room had several people in it, and Carissa and Chief Townsend weren't able to sit side by side, which was a relief to her. She didn't feel like talking. Townsend seemed to know everyone in the room, and he told them in detail what had happened to Paul. Carissa tried to block out their amused chatter at her expense.

What if she had seriously injured the man? She knew better than to strike anyone on the forehead. Her only excuse was that she was half dazed after being awakened from a deep sleep. Carissa picked up a magazine and turned the pages slowly. She had no idea what she was seeing, for her thoughts were on the strange chain of events that had brought her to Yuletide.

For twenty years Carissa had worked relentlessly building Cara's Fashions—a line of casual clothing for tall women—into a prosperous business. She'd had no intention of selling, until the building where her corporate offices were located had to be razed for a road project. While she was searching for a new location, she was approached about selling her business.

She enjoyed her work, but the purchase price was high enough that Carissa seriously considered the sale. Considering led to selling, and within a few weeks, she was carefree for the first time in years.

When she was moving out of the office building,
she uncovered an antique trunk that had been sent to her after her grandmother's death fifteen years earlier. When she'd received the trunk, Carissa had put it in storage and forgotten about it, because she didn't like to be reminded of her past. But when she saw the trunk again, curious about its contents, she opened the trunk and found keepsakes from the past—textbooks, school papers and items she'd collected in Sunday school. She'd dropped those in the trash can, but she'd looked long at a large, white, wooden key decorated with golden glitter.

She remembered when, at six years of age, she'd carried that key in a Christmas pageant. She'd worn a long white dress, and appearing on stage, she had addressed the audience: “I have the key to Christmas, and I'm looking for a lock it will fit.”

A first-century false-fronted village had been constructed on the stage with homes, a stable, an inn and several other businesses. She walked from door to door trying the key without luck, but when she found a lock that the key opened, a nativity scene was revealed. The Christ Child in the manger was Christmas personified, and Carissa had stood to one side while other church members presented the story of Jesus's birth.

To close the program, Carissa had turned to the audience, saying, “I've found Jesus, the reason we have Christmas. Won't you come to the manger and find Him, too?”

Carissa had known a close relationship with Jesus
as a child, and the observance of His birth had been a special time. Her grandmother couldn't afford to buy many gifts, and the church program had been the focal point of their Christmas. As the years passed, however, Christmas had gradually become commercialized for Carissa, a time when huge sales boosted her income, for Cara's Fashions were popular throughout the United States and overseas. Carissa hadn't been selfish with her income. In addition to contributing to many charities and churches, she'd provided freely for her grandmother until her death. Carissa had given generously of everything—except herself.

Her musings ended when the doctor entered the waiting room and asked for Chief Townsend. Carissa caught her breath, and cold sweat spread over her body. On trembling legs she moved down the hallway and peeped into a small room where Paul Spencer, eyes closed, lay on a hospital bed.

“He's all right,” the doctor said, “and I don't see any sign of concussion, but he'll have a headache for a while. Exhaustion, more than anything else, caused him to faint.” He turned to Carissa, saying with a grin, “You've got a pretty hefty swing, lady. You ever play baseball?”

Her face flushed, but Carissa tried to answer lightly. “Several years ago, I played on a women's softball team.” She turned to Justin. “I'm so embarrassed about this that I've half a notion to leave without unpacking my car.”

“Oh, Paul's a good sport and he won't blame you. He should have told someone he was coming.”

“He could be released,” the doctor said, “but he shouldn't go to sleep for a few hours. Paul hasn't slept since he left Europe, so somebody will have to keep him from dozing off. Since Naomi isn't home, he can stay in the clinic the rest of the night.”

“He can come back to the chalet,” Carissa said. “I'm responsible for his injury, so the least I can do is watch over him for a few hours.”

“I'll go in and explain the situation. He might not want to trust himself to you,” Justin said and guffawed. The doctor joined in the laughter, but Carissa failed to see any humor in the situation.

A few minutes later, she had to force herself to meet Paul Spencer's brown eyes when he walked into the hallway.

“Carissa Whitmore meet Paul Spencer,” Chief Townsend said, humor still evident in his voice. “Although it seems you've met before.”

“I'm so sorry, Mr. Spencer.”

He shook his head and winced. “My fault! I should have let my sister know I was coming home. Our construction job had to shut down for a few weeks and I decided to come back to the States for Christmas. I tried to call Naomi when I landed at Kennedy. When she didn't answer, I came on home. The keys to my apartment are in her house, and I intended to knock on the door to get her attention. But when I discovered the door wasn't locked, I
thought I could slip in without disturbing her and sleep on the couch until morning.”

“I'll drive you back to her house now,” Carissa said. “The doctor thinks you need monitoring for a few hours. Since I knocked you out, I'll feel better if I keep an eye on you.”

Paul agreed, and the chief of police accompanied them to the parking lot. An uncomfortable silence prevailed in the SUV as they drove through the business section of town. Carissa wasn't used to driving on snow-covered roads, so she drove as slowly and as carefully as she could. Her silent passenger gave her the fidgets.

“I'm so embarrassed I could scream,” she said finally.

“I'm not embarrassed, but I am bewildered,” Paul said, “and it isn't all because of the crack on my head. I've got some questions. What prompted Naomi to leave her home and business and take off for Florida, and how do you come into the picture? When I talked to my sister six weeks ago, she didn't mention anything about leaving. Justin may have explained it to me, but my head was woozy, and I don't remember what he said.”

“We're almost to the house, and I'll explain when we get there, if that's okay. I'm not used to hazardous roads so I need to concentrate on driving.”

“I understand that. Take your time. I haven't driven on snowy highways for years. I drove cau
tiously from Kennedy, and that's the reason I was so late getting into Yuletide.”

When they entered the house, Carissa surveyed the disheveled living area with distaste. She'd replace the furniture and kitchen utensils later.

“Do you feel like a sandwich and maybe a cup of tea?” she offered.

“That might be a good idea. It's been a long time since I've had any food, well, except for the pretzels and soda they served on the plane.”

“I'll see what I can find. I've only been here a few hours, and I haven't found my way around the kitchen yet.”

Paul followed her into the kitchen and leaned against a massive wooden post supporting the upstairs balcony that overlooked the living area. The kitchen was as inviting as the great room. Light oak cabinets blended with the pine-paneled ceiling. A food-preparation island filled the center of the kitchen. A round table was arranged in a window nook and four cushioned armchairs were placed around it. Several large, curtained windows blended in with the cabinets, to make the room light and airy in warm weather.

Carissa and Naomi had agreed that they'd put enough food in their refrigerators to last for a few days, but she saw now that the shelves were practically empty. That seemed strange, for in their business association, Carissa had found Naomi to be a woman of her word. There was a carton of orange
juice and a gallon of milk in the refrigerator, both of which had been opened.

“We can have juice or milk. I don't see any sandwich fixin's, but what about a sweet roll? There are two left in the package. I can warm them in the microwave.”

“I'll take coffee with the roll,” Paul said, yawning and lounging wearily in one of the chairs at the table. “I haven't been to bed for about thirty hours. I may have to take a cold shower, too.”

“It's cold enough outside to wake you up. Maybe you can take a run around the house.”

“Not unless I have to,” Paul said, shivering slightly. “It'll take a while for me to get used to Adirondack weather again.”

Carissa heated water for coffee before she sat beside him. She said, “You already know my name, but I'll fill in some more facts. My home is in Tampa, where I've run a fashion design business for several years. I've never met your sister, but Townsend Textile Mill has manufactured many of my designs. Naomi and I have been in touch by phone and e-mail since she took over running the mill.”

“That was when her husband died.”

Carissa nodded. “I sold my business last month, and, being at loose ends, I decided I wanted to spend Christmas in the north. I was born in Minnesota, and I kept remembering the Christmases we had when I was a kid. By coincidence, Naomi's doctor suggested that she needed a vacation. He thought relaxation for
a while in a warmer climate would ease the pain of her arthritis. A mutual friend arranged for us to exchange houses.”

“I'm happy that Naomi's taking some time off,” Paul said. “The pain has gotten steadily worse, and the stress of taking over management of the textile mill seemed to aggravate it.”

“That's what she said. We decided on short notice to make this exchange, and she probably didn't have time to let you know.”

“We don't stay in contact very well. Right now, my company's working on a project in an isolated part of Eastern Europe, and I call her when I get to a city. My cell phone doesn't work at our present location.”

Paul's eyes were glazed from lack of sleep, and when his head drooped, Carissa knew she had to keep him talking. “What kind of work do you do?”

“I've been with the same construction company for eighteen years. I worked for them part-time in the States while I finished college, but since then I've been working overseas. Right now, we're building an electric power plant in the Czech Republic.”

“How often do you come home?”

“This is the fourth or fifth time I've been home since I left Yuletide about twenty years ago. I had an unpleasant experience here, and coming home reminds me of it, so I don't visit very often.”

He stifled a yawn. Carissa stirred a heaping tablespoon of coffee crystals into a mug of boiled water
and handed it to him. He took several sips of the coffee before he continued.

“Last week, we had some equipment failure that will take a month to fix, so the boss told most of us to take a vacation. I usually spend my free time sightseeing in Europe and western Asia, but since it was Christmas, I had a hankering to be with family. Naomi is the only family I have. I'll have to go to Florida to see her, I reckon—I'll be returning to Europe sometime between Christmas and the new year.”

“I have a two-bedroom condo, so there's plenty of room for you. I'm sure she'll be happy to see you.”

“And I want to see her,” Paul agreed. “I had looked forward to spending my vacation in snow country, but I've never been to Florida, so this sounds like a great opportunity.”