“I’m sorry I made you remember.”

“Maybe it’s just as well for me to remember. As long as the past festers in my heart, I’m not the kind of person God wants me to be. And the longer we work toward bringing Christmas to Yuletide, the more it makes me realize that I’ve not honored God by the way I’ve lived. My only concern has been Paul Spencer and no one else.”

“I understand what you mean. Helping with the celebration and looking after the children has caused me to look at my own spiritual needs,” said Carissa.

“We’ve been getting along pretty well the past three weeks, so let’s forget our past problems and concentrate on finding Christmas—the way we’d planned. I believe we’ll find it by caring for the children and bring Christmas to Yuletide.”

Paul reached ut a hand to her, and with only slight hesitation, Carissa took it.

IRENE BRAND

Writing has been a lifelong interest of this author, who says that she started her first novel when she was eleven years old and hasn’t finished it yet. However, since 1984, she’s published twenty-four contemporary and historical novels and three nonfiction titles. She started writing professionally in 1977, after she completed her master’s degree in history at Marshall University. Irene taught in secondary public schools for twenty-three years, but retired in 1989 to devote herself to writing.

Consistent involvement in the activities of her local church has been a source of inspiration for Irene’s work. Traveling with her husband, Rod, to all fifty states of the United States, and to thirty-two foreign countries has also inspired her writing. Irene is grateful to the many readers who have written to say that her inspiring stories and compelling portrayals of characters with strong faith have made a positive impression on their lives. You can write to her at P.O. Box 2770, Southside, WV 25187 or visit her Web site at www.irenebrand.com.

The Christmas Children
Irene Brand

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For God so loved the world, that He gave His only

begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him

should not perish, but have everlasting life.

—John 3:16

To our friends, Rodney and Karen Dill,

who by example have given a new meaning

to the term “adoptive parents.”

Dear Reader,

I’m writing this letter in mid-December, and the hustle and bustle of the holiday season. Since this book has a Christmas theme, and since my hero and heroine take on the role of caring for three orphaned children, it seems fitting to consider the role of Joseph and Mary in the incarnation of Jesus.

Mary willingly submitted when God chose her to be the instrument to fulfill His promise to Israel and to the rest of the world. She set aside her own plans and rejoiced, even though this acceptance might have led to alienation and shame. Joseph also responded with faith and understanding to God’s plan. It must have been disturbing news to him that Mary was going to bear a child, and Joseph also ran the risk of being ridiculed by his peers, but he nevertheless accepted the message from the angel as God’s will.

Like Mary and Joseph, the main characters in The Christmas Children, Carissa and Paul, had to make drastic changes in their lives to provide for the children who came to them during the Christmas season. It took faith and dedication, for as with Mary and Joseph, the “when and how” was not laid out for them. When they accepted God’s will, they stepped out on faith that what God had initiated, He would bring to completion.

Often God calls us to a particular commitment. Our response to that message may bring with it joy or sorrow, but how blessed we are when we accept that plan that God has for our lives, not just at Christmas, but throughout each day of the year.

May God bless you.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Epilogue

Chapter One

Darkness had fallen when Carissa Whitmore drove into Yuletide, New York, and parked her SUV in front of a fast-food restaurant. At first, she couldn’t understand why she felt so let down, until she recalled her reason for being there. She’d come to this lakeside village to find the kind of holiday spirit she’d enjoyed as a child, but she couldn’t see any indication of Christmas.

Carissa had anticipated a village ablaze with Christmas lights, nativity scenes and decorated trees, but except for the streetlights sparkling on the gentle snowfall as it filtered among the evergreen trees, the town was dark and uninviting. Stifling her disappointment, she entered the restaurant, sat at the counter to order a sandwich and a cup of tea. When she finished the meal, Carissa asked the waitress for directions to the police station.

The woman answered Carissa’s question, then asked, “Are you the one who’s moving into Naomi Townsend’s house for the winter?”

Carissa smothered a laugh, but her blue eyes sparkled with mirth. She’d lived in a metropolitan area since leaving Minnesota twenty-five years ago. Carissa had forgotten how little privacy a person had in a small town.

“Yes, I am,” she said. “I’m supposed to pick up the key from the chief of police.”

The woman peered over the counter and nodded approvingly when she saw that Carissa wore boots. “I see you know how to dress for winter. It’s only two blocks to the police station, but the streets are kinda slippery. It’ll be safer if you leave your car parked here and walk, ’specially since you’re from down South and maybe don’t know how to drive on snow.”

Carissa laughingly admitted that she had no experience with treacherous roads. When she lived in Minnesota, she couldn’t afford a car.

She zipped up her heavy coat and stepped out into the chill air. The business section of Yuletide was located on the southern tip of Lake Mohawk—a small lake that measured four miles from north to south. Many vacation and permanent residences dotted the lakefront and extended into the wooded highlands.

Although Yuletide lacked Christmas ornamentation, it was a picturesque alpine village of small shops and businesses. Carissa looked forward to exploring the stores at her leisure, but she didn’t dawdle tonight; the wind from the lake was penetrating her heavy parka. She gave herself a mental pat on the back for being wise enough to shop at a mall in Pennsylvania on her way north. Her Florida clothing wouldn’t have been warm enough for Adirondack weather.

Warmth from a wood-burning stove welcomed Carissa when she entered the police station. The chief of police, a short sturdy man, sat behind a massive oak desk that dwarfed him.

“Hiya!” the chief greeted her. “I’m Justin Townsend. Mary, at the restaurant, called and said you’d arrived. We’ve been expecting you, but figured the snow had delayed you.”

Carissa unzipped the front of her parka and shrugged out of the hood, revealing a head of short, curly blond hair.

“The highways were clear until a few miles south of Saratoga Springs. After that, I had to maneuver my way out of a dozen or more snowdrifts. I’d have stopped, but I didn’t see any motels after the snow got so heavy.”

Chief Townsend stood and reached across the desk to shake hands. “Welcome to Yuletide.”

He took a ring of keys out of a desk drawer and handed them to Carissa. “Naomi’s my sister-in-law. Sorry you missed her, but she left for Florida three days ago. She’d intended to show you around before she had to leave.”

“I was delayed at the last minute, and Naomi already had prepaid airline reservations, so I insisted that she go ahead. I called her on my cell phone this morning. She’s already in Tampa enjoying the view of Tampa Bay from my eighth-floor condo. When I called, she was sitting on the balcony drinking a cup of coffee.”

A grin spread across the chief’s broad face. “Well, you won’t be drinking coffee on her balcony in the morning.”

Justin gave Carissa directions to his sister-in-law’s home. “If you want to wait a while, I can drive out with you. My deputy will be back in a half hour.”

“Oh, you don’t need to do that, unless the house is hard to find.”

“It’s along the main road, but it’s getting dark. I thought you might be a little skittish about going into a strange house and all.”

Carissa’s even teeth gleamed in a wide smile. “I’ve lived alone for more than twenty years, so I’m not afraid of an empty house.”

“No need to be,” he assured her. “Yuletide is noted for its low crime rate.” He beamed expansively. “I keep it that way. Remember, Naomi’s house is the first two-story log house on your left, a mile north of town. There’s a security light in the yard. We have someone in the station ’round the clock, so call if you need help finding the place. Drive carefully.”

Before Carissa reached the sidewalk, Chief Townsend stuck his head out the door. “Naomi turned the temperature down. The house might be a little cool, but it’ll warm up in a hurry when you raise the thermostat.”

Carissa waved her hand to indicate she’d heard him and hustled to her vehicle.

The drive along a narrow road, bordered by snow-covered evergreen trees, reminded Carissa of her childhood in Minnesota. And a wide smile spread across her face as she pulled up to the chalet she was to occupy for the next few months. The storybook setting was exactly what she’d been expecting.

Carissa had never met Naomi Townsend, but Betty Potter, a saleswoman for Cara’s Fashions—Carissa’s designing business—had called upon Naomi often. One weekend when Betty had been stranded in New York, Naomi had invited Betty to stay with her in this lakeside home. It was Betty who’d brought Naomi and Carissa together, when she’d learned that both of them wanted to spend the winter away from home.

The dusk-to-dawn pole light illuminated the two-story chalet with a soft glow. A porch, with waist-high banisters, hugged the house protectively, and a set of snow-covered steps led to the front door. Drifts blanketed the roof, and the evergreens in the yard bowed low under their accumulation of snow.

A sliver of moon hovered over the Townsend house, and Carissa remembered a portion of one of Whittier’s poems: “The moon above the eastern wood shone at its full; the hill-range stood transfigured in the silver flood, its blown snows flashing cold and keen.”

When she’d unwillingly memorized those words in an elementary school in Minnesota, Carissa hadn’t suspected that she would ever find her way out of her dismal circumstances. But by sheer determination she had, and now stood in a setting that the poet could have been describing.

A cold wind discouraged Carissa from unpacking the car. She took the small bag containing her overnight essentials, walked up the steps and fitted the key in the lock. Expecting the house to be cold, Carissa was pleasantly surprised when a draft of warm air greeted her entrance. She could even smell food! Had she come to the wrong house? But the key had worked, so this had to be the Townsend home.

Carissa respected Betty’s judgment, but still, she’d had some reservations about agreeing to occupy a home she hadn’t seen. Her hesitation had been unfounded. The house could be a fitting subject for a magazine article.

She stood in the great room facing a fireplace encased in native stone. The room’s furnishings were a combination of antique tables and chests with modern cozy chairs and upholstered couches. The vaulted ceiling was supported by rectangular logs, and a grandfather clock beside the stairway chimed the hour of nine o’clock as Carissa admired the setting. A teddy bear on the fireplace ledge gave the room a homey atmosphere.

Walking toward the kitchen, Carissa stopped suddenly. The television was on, although the sound was muted. Naomi had been gone for three days, and Carissa had understood that no one had been in the house since then. She looked at the thermostat, which was set at seventy degrees. Justin had distinctly said that Naomi had lowered the temperature. Had someone been in the house since then? Was someone there now? What other explanation could there be?

Suddenly, Carissa’s lodging didn’t seem so enticing. Should she telephone the police chief and ask him to check out the house? But if she’d misunderstood him about the thermostat, the man would think she was foolish. And she knew several people who never turned off their televisions. She reasoned that it had been a harrying day, and she was worn down, or she wouldn’t be so skittish. Carissa’s body ached for a hot bath and a comfortable bed, and she got ready to settle for the night.

She locked the front door and checked the windows, finding everything secure until she reached the sliding door that accessed a deck on the rear of the house. That lock had been jimmied. She turned on an outside light. The snow on the deck and steps was undisturbed, so apparently no one had entered the house through that door, but Carissa was uneasy knowing that someone could come in. Maybe people in Yuletide weren’t as particular about locking their doors as she’d learned to be in a city.

Still, she knew she would rest easier if she had some kind of protection against unwanted guests. Barely over five feet tall, and weighing a little less than a hundred pounds, Carissa knew her appearance wouldn’t intimidate a burglar. She didn’t see a gun in the house, and she didn’t know anything about firearms, anyway.

After years of experience in the business world, Carissa had learned to be resourceful. She brought several pans from the kitchen and stacked them in front of the door, moved two heavy chairs to provide a barrier, and put a set of fireplace implements in front of the chairs. Spying a decorative set of sleigh bells on the wall, she hung those across the entrance. It would be impossible for anyone to enter the room without waking her. But for added security, she took a poker from the hearth and carried it upstairs to use as a weapon if she should need it.

The master suite on the second floor had been prepared for Carissa—a large, comfortable bedroom with a connecting bathroom. A glass door, covered with heavy draperies, led to a balcony, and Carissa parted the curtains and peered through the door’s frosty glass. Several inches of snow covered the balcony. Justin was right—she wouldn’t be drinking her morning coffee outside.

Naomi had left a note on the pillow, and the words “Welcome to my home” gave Carissa the feeling of a warm, gracious hug.

The room was cool and Carissa turned the switch on the electric blanket. While the bed warmed, she bathed. A few minutes later, bundled into a warm, ankle-length nightgown, Carissa laid the poker nearby and, sighing deeply, she stretched out in the warmth of the king-size bed. A Bible lay on the bedside table and Carissa reached for it. It had been a long time since she’d looked inside a Bible, but if she was going to be successful in her search for Christmas, she knew she’d have to start with God’s word. She turned to Matthew’s account of Jesus’ birth and read a familiar passage aloud.

“‘Now when Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judæa in the days of Herod the king, behold, there came wise men from the east to Jerusalem, saying, “Where is He that is born King of the Jews? For we have seen His star in the East and are come to worship Him.””’

Carissa remembered enough from her childhood teachings to know that a person found Jesus through the eyes of faith. How strong was her faith? She believed that God had been her lodestar as she’d built a successful business. And she’d tried to repay Him by contributing a great deal of money to charitable organizations. To find the Christ Child, however, she’d have to go further than that. A Scripture verse she hadn’t thought of for years flashed into her mind: “You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart.”

Carissa had been hesitant about opening her heart to anyone, but she knew it was the only route to the peace found in the Savior who’d been born in Bethlehem years ago. She longed to experience the close fellowship she’d once known with God—the only thing that had sustained her through a difficult childhood. Would she find it in Yuletide?

The warm bed brought comfort to her tired body, and she thought she’d fall asleep immediately, but an hour later, she was still awake. She didn’t consider herself an imaginative woman, but intermittent with the wind gusts that blew tree branches against the house, she thought she heard whisperings and muffled footsteps. Finally, she went to sleep—only to awaken suddenly.

Terror as strong as a bolt of electricity flooded her body as she struggled to a sitting position. She glanced at the illuminated dial of the clock on the bedside table. Three o’clock in the morning! What had awakened her?

Her pulse fluttered when she heard a muffled exclamation downstairs, a clatter of pans and the ringing of sleigh bells. Someone was in the house, and she knew it wasn’t Santa Claus.

An intruder had stumbled over the barrier she’d placed in front of the glass door. Without waiting to put on a robe, Carissa jumped out of bed and grabbed the poker. Heart in her mouth and hands shaking, she was halfway down the stairs when the pale glow of the security light revealed a tall figure disentangling himself from her self-made booby trap. He groaned softly, and Carissa assumed he was injured.

She had left her cell phone in the car. If she went upstairs to use the phone on the bedside table, the man might follow her, and she’d be trapped. The man was between her and the kitchen phone. Her car keys were in the pocket of her coat, which she’d hung in the entryway closet. Realizing she was on her own, Carissa slipped down another few steps, just as the intruder stopped in front of her and looked upward. She swung the poker and hit him on the forehead. Carissa screamed as the man folded up like an accordion and fell backward on the floor. She’d only meant to stun him.

Jumping over his body, she sprinted to the kitchen and grabbed the wall phone. She dialed 911, and recognized Justin Townsend’s voice when he answered.

“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.

Chapter Two

Still 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 cautiously 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.”

“There’s a good view of Tampa Bay from my balcony, and the beach isn’t far away.”

“You’ve convinced me,” he said, laughing. “But I’ll rest up a few days before I make any plans.”

It was daylight by the time they finished eating, and Carissa exclaimed in delight as she viewed the frozen lake from the kitchen window.

“I was disappointed last night when I arrived in Yuletide,” she said, “because it didn’t have the Christmas atmosphere I had expected, but this area looks like the winters I used to know. There are lots of lakes in Minnesota, although we don’t have mountains.”

While Paul showered and shaved, Carissa moved the furniture back into place and put the pots and pans she’d scattered on the floor in the dishwasher. She surveyed the room to be sure it looked as it had when she’d arrived. Something seemed to be missing, but she didn’t know what until she realized that the stuffed bear she’d seen on the fireplace ledge wasn’t there. She knew she hadn’t moved it.

Paul returned at that time looking refreshed and more handsome than ever, in spite of his black eye and the bruise on his forehead.

“Did you move a teddy bear off the fireplace ledge?” Carissa asked.

“No,” he said, adding with a mischievous smile, “I stopped playing with toys a long time ago.”

“Surely at forty-five, I’m not having a “senior” moment—as some of my friends say. But I know when I arrived last night there was a stuffed bear lying on the hearth. It isn’t there now.”

“Maybe Justin or the medics moved it out of the way when they came for me.”

“Maybe. But I had the strangest feeling that someone had been in the house before I arrived. That’s why I barricaded the door last night. The house was warm, although Justin told me that Naomi had lowered the thermostat before she left.”

“Maybe Naomi was having a senior moment, too, and forgot to lower the temperature.” He looked out the back door. “I’m going over to check my apartment and put my rental truck in the garage.”

Still brooding over possible intruders, Carissa walked to the wide glass door and stood beside Paul. Behind the house was a three-car garage with an apartment on the floor above it.

“We inherited this property from our parents,” Paul explained. “When Naomi and her husband decided to build the chalet, I built the garage and apartment. I’m never in the States more than two months at a time, but when I’m here, I want my own place to stay in.”

“It’s a nice place.”

“Good enough for what I need,” he agreed. “Want to go with me and check it out?”

“Sure. I’m still your overseer for a few hours.”

She grinned pertly at him, and Paul thought how fetching she looked. Carissa had intense blue eyes fringed by dark lashes, and a spray of freckles across her nose, which only added to the beauty of her delicate oval face. Carissa seemed young and untouched. Paul found it hard to believe that she was forty-five.

“I’ll put on my boots and coat,” Carissa said, wondering at the speculative gleam in her companion’s eyes.

His apartment consisted of a large living room and kitchen combination with a spacious bathroom and bedroom in the rear. The absence of nonessential decorations proclaimed the apartment a man’s. Carissa wondered at his age, judging that he was several years younger than she was. He’d said Naomi was his only family—but had trouble with a woman been the unpleasant experience that had caused him to leave Yuletide?

The apartment was chilly, and Carissa insisted that Paul go back to the house with her. “It’ll be several hours before the apartment gets comfortable. By that time, you’ll be ready to take a long nap.”

“Thanks, I’ll do that. But I wanted to point out the intercom system between my apartment and the house.” He pointed to a speaker on the living room wall. “Just flip the switch and call if you need me. The one in the house is on the wall between the kitchen and the living room.”

He yawned, and Carissa said, “Let’s take a walk before we go back to the house. If you sit down, you’re going to sleep.”

“A good idea, but I’ll need some warmer clothes, and I hardly remember what I have. I haven’t been home during the winter for a long time.” Paul shoved clothing back and forth in the bedroom closet until he found a heavy coat with a hood that still fit him. He changed his light boots for insulated ones.

Sunshine glistened on the newly-fallen snow as Paul and Carissa crossed the road and took the path around the lake. White-throated sparrows and Acadian chickadees darted into the trees, dislodging tufts of snow that settled on Paul’s and Carissa’s shoulders. They observed the ungainly flight of a pileated woodpecker, its red crest conspicuous in the sunlight. Small huts dotted the surface of the frozen lake, now covered with several inches of fresh snow.

“There’s a lot of ice fishing on this lake,” Paul commented. “The huts are rented to fishermen for protection from the wind while they wait for a bite.”

“There’s ice fishing on the lakes in Minnesota, too.”

“I wonder if the lake is frozen enough for skating,” he said. “I learned to skate on Lake Mohawk. We used to have skating parties almost every night. I’ve kept up with skating as much as possible. Many Christmas holidays I’ve spent time in Germany, Austria or Switzerland so I could skate.” He stepped out on the surface of the lake. “Seems pretty solid. Do you skate?”

“Not since I was a child. Skating isn’t a Florida pastime.”

Their footsteps crunched rhythmically on the frozen snow as they walked. “Why did you leave Minnesota and move to Florida? Did your family transfer?” he asked.

A somber expression quickly erased Carissa’s happy mood, but she answered readily enough. “I moved there by myself, soon after I graduated from high school. I never returned to Minnesota.”

Believing he’d touched on a sensitive subject, Paul didn’t question her further.

Carissa’s animation returned moments later when she said, “This is the first time I’ve seen snow for years. It’s glorious.” She picked up a handful and ate it. “Grandma used to make ice cream out of snow. I’ll make some if I can remember how.”

“Most of my visits back home have been in the summer,” he said, “and I’ve missed New York’s winters while I’ve been away. There were fabulous Christmas celebrations in Yuletide when we were children—lights all over the business section and most of the houses were decorated. Prizes were given for the most original ideas. We sometimes built snow palaces on the frozen lake and had them floodlighted. We had programs at the church—just a wonderful time.”

“Why did they stop? I came to Yuletide thinking I’d find Christmas the way it was when I was a child. I was really disappointed when I drove in last night and didn’t see any sign of Christmas.”

Paul yawned. “Carissa, surely I’ve stayed awake long enough. I’ll tell you about the tragedy that took Christmas out of Yuletide, but not until after I sleep.”

Carissa was a bit surprised that they’d slipped so easily to a first-name basis, but that pleased her. Mischievously, she picked up a handful of snow and, standing on tiptoes, she rubbed it in his face.

“That oughta keep you awake ’til we get back to the house.”

“Hey!” he spluttered, wiping the snow from his face with his mittened hand. “I’m an invalid and you’re supposed to be kind to me.” He scooped up some snow and threw it at Carissa, but she sidestepped the attack and started toward the house on a run. Paul’s long-legged stride soon caught up with her.

“I’ll get even with you,” he warned, a gleam in his brown eyes that belied his words. “I expected to be welcomed home as an honored guest, and what happens? I’m assaulted the minute I step into the house, and then I get my face washed with snow.”

Laughing, Carissa said, “I’ll make it up to you. While you take a nap, I’ll fix a meal for you.”

“Sounds good to me, just as long as I find a bed before I fall asleep on my feet.”

While Paul slept in the downstairs bedroom adjacent to the great room, as silently as she could, Carissa unloaded the SUV and carried her luggage upstairs. Periodically, she’d crack open the bedroom door, and each time, Paul’s even breathing assured her that he was resting comfortably.

She would have to wake Paul before too long because the doctor wanted to look him over again. She organized her belongings in the master bedroom, then sat on a padded window seat looking over the frozen landscape. Her thoughts were on Paul Spencer.

He seemed like a friendly, easygoing guy, possessing a spontaneous cheerfulness that answered a need in Carissa’s heart. She’d never considered herself a joyful person, but when Paul’s mouth spread into a toothy smile that lightened the darkness of his face, Carissa felt lighthearted, and laughter bubbled from her lips.

Having a man in the house was a strange experience for Carissa. She’d never known who her father was, and her grandmother had been widowed before Carissa was born. She’d lived alone for more than twenty years, and it seemed odd to have a man sleeping in her house. She had grown accustomed to solitude, but already she knew she’d miss Paul a little when he moved into his apartment.

Carissa had come to Yuletide to discover the faith she’d known as a child, and she was determined to achieve that goal. It had taken a long time, but Carissa finally believed that she could do whatever she set out to do.

Yet she’d never reacted to anyone as she was reacting to Paul Spencer. Her attraction to him confused her.

She found his nearness disturbing and at the same time exciting.

Chapter Three

Carissa retrieved the Christmas pageant key from her luggage and carried it downstairs. She placed it on the coffee table. Confronted by Paul’s presence, she needed a constant reminder of why she was in Yuletide.

Paul was still sleeping at one o’clock, so Carissa tapped on the bedroom door. He didn’t respond, so she knocked more loudly.

“Uh-uh,” he said sleepily. “What is it?”

“You have to see the doctor at three o’clock. It’s time to get up.”

Silence greeted her. Had he gone back to sleep? She knocked once more.

“I’m sorry,” Paul said. “It’s taken me a few minutes to realize where I am. You’re the lady who’s taken over sis’s home, huh?”

“Yes, the one who attacked you with a poker last night.”

“Do you have the poker now?”

She imagined his white teeth showing in a slight smile. With laughter in her voice, she said, “Not yet, but I may have to get it if you don’t hurry.”

He yawned noisily, and she heard his feet land on the floor.

“Be out in a minute.”

Carissa was standing at the back door appreciating the landscape, when the bedroom door opened behind her.

She turned, stifled a gasp and experienced a giddy sensation as if her heart had flipped over. Paul had the broad-shouldered body of an athlete, but his waist and hips were narrow. Wearing a T-shirt and jeans, he leaned against the door, looking as vulnerable as a child. His eyes were still heavy with sleep and his hair was tousled. He yawned again.

Had she been wrong when she’d made up her mind that she could live a happy, fulfilled life without a husband? Was she old enough now that the pitfalls she’d avoided in her youth would no longer tempt her? Was it possible to disprove the opinions of her childhood neighbors, who’d often said “Like mother, like daughter”?

Deep in her own thoughts and conflicting emotions, Carissa started when Paul said, “It won’t take me long to get ready. I’ll bring in some fresh clothes from the car.”

She winced when she noticed that the bruise had spread until both eyes and part of his cheek were black.

Intercepting her glance, he said, “I could pass for a raccoon this morning, don’t you think?”

Blood rushed to her cheeks, and she covered her face with her hands. “Don’t remind me. Does your head hurt?”

He lifted his hand to his forehead. “No, but it’s sure sore to the touch. I don’t dare turn my head quickly.”

Dropping her hands, Carissa said, “I’ll get your luggage.”

He started to shake his head, thought better of it and said, “Thanks, but I need a jolt of Adirondack air to help me wake up.”

“I made some lunch so we can eat before we go. There isn’t much food in the refrigerator, but I’ll stop at a grocery store after we’ve been to the clinic.”

“I’ll need to buy a few groceries, too, though, I’ll probably eat out most of the time. When I’m home for such a short time, I don’t want to store up any food.”

Carissa was tempted to suggest that they could share their meals, but she hesitated. At her age, this was no time to become involved with a man. After all, she didn’t know anything about Paul Spencer. She wouldn’t become chummy with this stranger.

Why, then, did her heart insist that Paul wasn’t a stranger?

Carissa sat in the waiting room, and when Paul came from the doctor’s office with a smile on his face, she felt a great wave of relief.

“There’s no damage except a sore head for a few days. I can live with that,” he said.

“I don’t know that I can,” Carissa said. “I’ll probably have nightmares for years about you collapsing at my feet. I thought I’d killed you.”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” he said. He laid his hand on her shoulder.

Carissa flinched and moved away, and his hand dropped limply to his side. Paul stared at her, slightly embarrassed, a confused expression on his face. He must be wondering why she would be offended at such an innocent gesture.

Carissa knew that Paul only meant to be friendly, but she wasn’t used to casual touching. She’d denied any natural tendencies toward overtures of friendship for so long that she had a complex about being touched. Several years into her career, she’d finally conquered her phobia enough to shake hands with her customers, but she apparently hadn’t overcome all of her hang-ups.

Being friendly and outgoing had contributed to her mother’s undoing. She could do nothing about looking like her mother, but long ago Carissa had determined that she wouldn’t emulate her mother’s personality and lifestyle. Her mother’s vivacious personality had gotten her involved with the wrong people and sent her down the path to prostitution and, ultimately, premature death.

Embarrassed that she’d allowed a phobia from the past to make her reject Paul’s overture of friendship, Carissa lifted a flushed face to him. Her blue eyes mirrored her anxiety. Her voice was strained when she said, “I’m glad, too, that I didn’t injure you,” and she added in her thoughts, for several reasons.

Paul wondered at the anxiety revealed in Carissa’s eyes. She was a successful businesswoman…but had he detected a flaw underneath the facade that she presented to the world? At this moment, she seemed like a bewildered little girl unable to understand what had happened to her. For several years, Paul had made it a point to tend to his own business and keep aloof from the problems of others. Now, for some inexplicable reason, he longed to remove that confused, lonely expression from her face. Before the next few weeks passed, he would no doubt learn if it was in his power to do so.

As Paul moved his belongings into the apartment, he kept thinking of Carissa. When Jennifer had jilted him, he’d made up his mind he was through with women. He’d deliberately chosen a job that would keep him out of the United States. He hadn’t been tempted to seek the companionship of women in the countries where he’d worked, and, most of the time, he was content with his bachelorhood.

Occasionally, Paul wondered if he was missing anything by not having a family. If he didn’t have any children, who would carry on the Spencer name and family traditions? He often questioned what would become of the money he’d accumulated, if anything happened to him—for his sister didn’t have any children, either. And what could Naomi do with the fortune she’d inherited from her husband? It was only in the past year, since his fortieth birthday, that Paul had become concerned about this issue.

Carissa was an attractive woman, and he smiled when he thought of her embarrassment over hitting him on the head. But, personally, he thought it took a lot of courage to attack a man with no better weapon than a poker. Paul admired courage in anyone.

She was a little woman—her head didn’t even reach his shoulders—but at times she displayed a dignity that belied her short stature. And Paul had detected a lot of warmth and vitality waiting for release beneath that dignity.

He sensed that Carissa didn’t think she was beautiful, but beauty was in the eye of the beholder. After the way Jennifer, who was tall and shapely with black hair and vivid green eyes, had treated him, Paul had decided that he’d never choose another companion based on outward appearance.

From what he’d seen of Carissa, he believed her beauty was more than skin deep.

Paul saw his sister so rarely that he was disappointed to learn that Naomi had gone to Florida. He’d called from Kennedy Airport to have his home phone connected, so he asked Carissa for the telephone number of her condo so he could call his sister. He tried three times before he finally found her at home. She couldn’t believe he was actually in New York.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming home?” Naomi cried in dismay. “I would have stayed in New York. But you can come here,” she added. “The weather is wonderful. I go to the beach every day for several hours, and I’m feeling better already. I’ve even decreased my pain medicine.”

“I’m glad to hear that, sis. I’ll come down for a few days before I go back to my job.” The logical thing for him to do was to go to Tampa immediately, but as strange as it might seem to him, he wanted to see more of Carissa.

“I’d come home,” Naomi continued, “but I can’t because I’ve loaned the house to Carissa for two months. Have you met her?”

“Well, yes, we had an…unusual meeting.”

He explained how they’d met, and Naomi laughed merrily before she said, “I can’t imagine what happened to the door. I’m sure it was locked when I left home. Will you have it fixed?”

“Yes, I intend to.”

“How do you like Carissa?”

“She’s okay,” Paul said nonchalantly. Naomi’s ultimate goal was to see her brother married and settled down in the United States. He didn’t want his sister to read anything into his meeting with Carissa. “She was embarrassed at first about hitting me, but we laugh about it now.”

“Carissa is a very successful businesswoman. She sold her company for a bundle a few months ago. I’ve been told that the sale netted over a million dollars. And you should see this luxurious apartment!”

Paul thought he’d accumulated quite a lot of money, but he certainly wasn’t in Carissa’s league. His attraction to Carissa had reached its first barrier. He wouldn’t fix his interest on a woman who was worth more financially than he was. But in spite of his reservations, after he’d finished his dinner, Paul kept searching for an excuse to see Carissa again that evening.

As she often did at home, Carissa prepared a taco salad, sat in front of the television and watched the evening news while she ate. Before she’d sold her company, her days had been so busy with business matters that she didn’t have much of a social life. It was usually a relief to escape into her apartment at night and let the walls close around her. Her only relaxation was at the health club in the basement of the condo complex. She’d made some good friends there, and she missed them tonight.

She’d gotten a sack of Red Delicious apples at the grocery store, and while she munched on one for dessert, she reflected on her day with Paul. This time yesterday she’d never heard of the man, but they’d gotten acquainted in a hurry. Had the time come for her to seek the male companionship she’d previously avoided? Now that she’d reached the mellow years, the hang-ups she’d had about dating shouldn’t be a problem. It was rather astonishing that she was even thinking about the subject, and most surprising was that she hadn’t had such thoughts until she met Paul Spencer.

“Hey, neighbor!”

The loud voice startled Carissa so much that she dropped the apple core on the floor. It took a moment for her to realize that Paul was calling on the intercom.

“Hey, neighbor!” The call came again before she remembered where the speaker was.

Smiling, she picked up the apple core, hurried into the kitchen and answered Paul.

“Hey, yourself.”

“I wanted to see if this thing still works. What are you doing?”

“Finishing dinner.”

“I promised to tell you why Yuletide is no longer a Christmas town. If you have time, I’ll come over and fill you in.”

“Great! I’d like some company.”

Humming a Christmas song that she’d just heard on the television, Carissa rinsed the dishes she’d used for supper and put them in the dishwasher. She prepared a bowl of grapes, cheese cubes and crackers and placed the food on a table between two large lounge chairs in the living room. She poured a jar of fruit punch over ice and was placing it on the table when Paul knocked on the back door. She motioned him inside.

“Brr!” he said, taking off his coat and laying it on the back of the couch. “The temperature is dropping quickly. If it wasn’t already, the lake should be frozen enough that I can go ice fishing tomorrow. If I make a nice catch, I’ll invite you to have dinner with me in my apartment.”

“Can you cook?” Carissa asked as she motioned him to one of the chairs. It seemed rather odd to be acting as hostess to Paul in his sister’s house.

“I’m a fair cook,” he said. “I’ve prepared dinners many times for some of my co-workers. But I’m not such a good fisherman, though, so don’t whet your appetite for a fish fry until you see the fish.”

“Help yourself to the snacks,” Carissa invited. “I’ll take you up on the invitation. I’m not a good cook— I just make what satisfies my appetite, and that’s not always what others like to eat. I never cook a meal for anyone. If I have guests, I take them to a restaurant for dinner.”

“Since I kept you up most of last night, I hesitated to barge in on you—you’d probably like to go to bed early. I’m sleepy, too, but I want to adjust to Eastern Standard Time, so I’m forcing myself to stay up.”

“Good idea. I haven’t done much overseas travel, but it usually takes a week for me to get over jet lag.”

Paul poured a glass of fruit juice and sipped it as he talked. “As I told you earlier, when I was a kid, Yuletide was just like a fairyland during the Christmas season. But a tragedy one Christmas Eve changed all of that.”

He paused, stretched out his long legs and continued. “That night, a woman and her baby came to town asking for shelter. She went to several businesses and private homes, as well as the police station, but everybody was too busy to help. The people didn’t mean to be callous, but they just expected the next person to take care of her. No one did, and on Christmas morning the woman and child were found dead, huddled in the entrance to Bethel Church.”

“Oh, how terrible!” Carissa said feelingly, and memories of her own neglected childhood surfaced.

“The woman had fled from an abusive husband, and she died from complications of an unattended childbirth. The temperature went to zero that night and the baby died from exposure.”

What a tragedy! Carissa could understand the reason the citizens of Yuletide hesitated to celebrate Christmas.

“The strange part of it was that the church was presenting a program that night based on an old legend of how Jesus had appeared disguised in a town one Christmas Eve. Disguised as a child, a poor woman and a beggar, He went from person to person asking for help, but everyone was busy preparing to celebrate the coming of the Christ Child, and they turned these people away.”

“I’m familiar with the story. The townspeople eventually learned that if they’d helped those who came to them, they would have received Jesus, too. So the citizens of Yuletide felt that in refusing to help the mother and child, it was as if they’d refused, like those people or the biblical innkeeper, to shelter the baby Jesus?”

Paul nodded and lifted a hand to rub his forehead. Although he hid his discomfort well, obviously he was in pain.

“No one could generate any enthusiasm for a big celebration after that. Although I consider it superstition, the general feeling seems to be that when God has forgiven the people of Yuletide for neglecting those two people, He’ll give them an opportunity to redeem themselves.”

“Wouldn’t it be wonderful if this is the year?” Carissa said. “I came to Yuletide looking for the Christmas spirit I had as a child.”

“What made you start looking at this time?”

“I sold my clothing design business a few months ago, and when I was cleaning out the office and storage room, I found a trunk that my grandmother had left to me. My uncle had shipped it to me after her death. There wasn’t anything valuable in it—mostly memorabilia that I’d kept since my school years. I trashed most of the things, but I kept this—”

She picked up the white key, and Paul thought Carissa had forgotten his presence as her mind took her quickly down memory lane.

“When I was about six, I participated in a program at our church, and I carried this Key to Christmas. I went from place to place trying to fit the key into a lock, and when I finally found a door the key would open, a nativity scene was revealed. When I came across this key a month ago, I realized how far I’d strayed from the teachings I’d learned as a child. I knew then that I had to find a wintery place to relive the Christmases of my childhood. I didn’t want to return to Minnesota because it doesn’t hold pleasant memories for me. Besides, all of my close relatives have died. It seemed like a coincidence that Naomi wanted to change locations at the same time I did.”

“As far as that’s concerned, I need to be reminded of what Christmas really means, too. Carissa, I hope you can revive the meaning of Christmas that you once knew. Maybe we can find it together.”

Their eyes met and held for a minute before Carissa looked away, too confused to even answer. She swirled the liquid in her glass, thinking that she was acting like a child.

“I guess it’s time for me to go,” Paul said. “I’m getting sleepy now. And you must be tired, too, unless you slept while I was napping earlier.”

She shook her head. “No, I didn’t sleep. I unloaded the car and settled in. Thanks for coming over tonight.”

She held out her hand to him, and, unsuccessfully stifling his amazement, he tenderly clasped her hand in his.

Without meeting his gaze, she said, “Your gesture in the doctor’s office took me by surprise, or I wouldn’t have reacted so foolishly.”

“It was just a friendly gesture,” he assured her.

“I know. A foolish quirk of mine caused my reaction. I’ll tell you about it someday. And I hope we can become friends.” With a warm grin, she added, “It’s always a good idea to make friends with your next-door neighbor.”

Carissa fell asleep easily, not even worrying about the unlocked back door; she felt protected with Paul nearby. But she woke up suddenly, about the same time she’d awakened when Paul had entered the house the night before.

She’d heard something. Carissa sat up in bed to listen. The sound seemed to come from the kitchen, and she eased out of bed, wishing she’d kept the poker upstairs. Vowing that she would secure the back door before another night, Carissa ran quickly and silently downstairs.

When she reached the last step, she said, “Who’s there?”

She heard a gasp and a scurry of feet.

Too frightened to be careful, Carissa snapped on the lights and rushed into the kitchen, just in time to see the pantry door close. She pushed a table in front of that door.

Standing beside the intercom, she shouted, “Paul! Paul! I need help.”

Although it seemed like hours, it probably wasn’t more than a minute before she heard Paul’s muffled tone. Poor man! She thought, somewhat humorously, that she’d ruined another night’s rest for him.

“What’s wrong?”

“Somebody is in the house. Come help me.”

“I’ll come right away. Be careful!”

She took a knife from a cabinet drawer for protection if the intruder should break out of the pantry.

Paul rushed in the door, dressed only in pajamas and slippers, rumpled hair hanging over his agitated brown eyes.

“In the pantry,” Carissa stammered.

Without asking questions, Paul motioned. “Get behind me.”

He pushed the table away and swung open the door, his body hunched forward, ready to attack if necessary.

“Come out!” Paul commanded.

Nothing could be heard for moments except Paul’s heavy breathing. Then there was a scuffling of feet, and Carissa stared, slack-jawed, disbelief in her eyes. Beyond words, she lowered the knife.

A teenage boy sauntered out of the pantry, followed by a little girl who held one of the red apples that Carissa had stored in the pantry. Another girl, probably eight or ten years old, peered around them, holding in her arms the teddy bear that Carissa had seen beside the fireplace the night she’d arrived.

The knife slipped from Carissa’s hand and clattered to the floor. She pulled out a chair from the table and slowly lowered herself into it to support her shaking legs.

“Any more where you came from?” Paul asked, peering into the pantry.

The boy shook his head. The smallest girl handed the apple to Paul; the other child started crying.

Carissa’s body trembled and a wave of nausea seized her. She dropped her head into her hands. She’d come to Yuletide looking for solitude so that she could experience a renewal of mind and spirit. She hadn’t had a minute of peace since she arrived. Within twenty-four hours, four people had invaded her house.

What had given her the foolish idea to look for Christmas in Yuletide?

Chapter Four

The children bore a marked resemblance to each other, so they were obviously siblings. Of slight stature and build, the children had light brown hair and dark brown eyes. The oldest girl wore glasses, and the boy had a blue cap on his head. The smallest child sidled close to the teenage boy, and he put his arm around her.

Speechless, Carissa stared at the three children.

Paul recovered his composure more quickly than she did, and he asked, “What are you kids doing here?”

The smallest child looked at Paul fearlessly, but the boy dropped his head.

“Tell me,” Paul insisted. “Who are you and what are you doing here?”

Carissa noticed that the children were shaking, and she doubted it was all from fear.

The older girl’s sobs sounded as loud as thunder, and they reached a soft spot in Carissa’s heart. “Just a minute, Paul,” she said.

The children seemed malnourished, and the sorrow in their eyes was unmistakable. Their clothes were worn out, and not very clean. She moved to the sobbing girl and knelt beside her.

“Are you hungry?”

Without looking up, the girl nodded. Paul and Carissa exchanged looks of compassion. Suddenly, Carissa realized why there had been so little food in the refrigerator when she arrived. These kids had broken into the house and had been living off the food Naomi had left. Carissa’s arrival had probably kept them from getting any food for the past two days.

She knew that the sensible thing to do was to call the police, but Carissa suddenly remembered her own impoverished childhood. She couldn’t turn these children away until she learned what circumstances had brought them here.

“Then you sit at the table, and we’ll fix something for you to eat. Paul, if you’ll warm milk for hot chocolate, I’ll make sandwiches.”

The children scuttled toward the table.

“That’s my chair, Lauren,” the smallest child said, and preempted the chair the older girl had started to take.

Paul and Carissa exchanged amused glances. As he opened the refrigerator door, Paul said in an undertone, “Apparently, they’ve eaten here before.”

“Seems like it,” Carissa agreed. She lifted a package of lunch meat, mayonnaise and a loaf of bread from one of the shelves. “What are we going to do with them?” she whispered.

Paul shrugged his broad shoulders. “Feed ’em.”

While the milk heated, Paul set out three mugs. Carissa made several sandwiches, cut them into quarters, and arranged them on a plate that she set before the children.

“Go ahead and eat,” she said. “The hot chocolate will be ready in a minute.”

She looked for a package of cookies she’d bought earlier in the day. If the children hadn’t eaten much, she didn’t want them to founder, so she put six cookies on a tray and took the package back to the pantry.

Paul noticed the moisture that glistened in Carissa’s eyes while she watched the hungry children gobble their food. The children were still shaking, and Paul, thinking it might be from cold as well as hunger, said, “I’ll raise the temperature on the furnace.”

Carissa turned to put the sandwich fixings back in the refrigerator. As she worked with her back toward the children, she prayed silently. God, here’s a problem I don’t know to handle. Who are these children? What should I do with them?

Remembering the legend she and Paul had discussed a few hours earlier, she continued talking to God. Is this situation like the one that confronted the people of Yuletide several years ago? Has your Son come tonight personified in these children? Should I treat them the same way I’d treat Jesus if He came to my house?

Recalling her early biblical training, Carissa thought of the verse “I was hungry and you gave me something to eat…whatever you did for one of the least of these…you did for me.”

Was this a spiritual test? She’d come to Yuletide to find Christmas. Would she relive the birth of Jesus through these children?

Aware that Paul was motioning her toward the living room, Carissa went to him, and he said quietly, “What do you want to do?”

“There may be a search going on for these kids. We should call the police, but…” Carissa hesitated. “I think I’d rather hear their story first.”

“That’s my gut feeling, too. They’ve apparently been living in this house for several days. Another hour won’t hurt anything.”

Paul had started the coffeemaker earlier, and when he and Carissa went back into the kitchen, he replenished the chocolate in the children’s cups and poured a cup of coffee for Carissa and himself. Paul pulled out the other chair for Carissa at the table, and brought another chair from the living room. He sat where he could face the children.

Watching Paul warily, the boy nibbled on a cookie.

“All right,” Paul said sternly. “Let’s have it. Who are you? What are you doing here? And why shouldn’t we turn you over to the police?”

The smallest girl started to speak, and the boy put his hand over her mouth.

“I’ll do the talking,” he said.

“My name’s Alex. These are my sisters, Lauren and Julie. Lauren’s eight, Julie’s six.”

“And your age?” Carissa asked.

“Fourteen.”

“That’s all right for a start,” Paul said. “What’s your last name?”

Alex shook his head.

“Does that mean you don’t have a last name or you won’t tell me?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Where’s your home?”

The boy shook his head again, a stubborn set to his features.

Paul laid his hand on Alex’s shoulder. “It’s obvious you kids are in trouble. You’d better tell me what’s going on. If possible, I’ll help you, but if you’ve run away from home, your parents must be notified.”

“We ain’t got no parents,” Julie said.

“No home, either,” her sister said, and started crying again.

Turning on his sisters, Alex said angrily, “I told you I’d do the talking.”

“You’re doing fine, girls. Go ahead and talk,” Carissa said.

“Our mommy died,” Julie said, and she slipped out of her chair and crawled up on Paul’s lap.

With a helpless look at Carissa, he put his arm around the girl when she cuddled against him.

“You’ve got a half hour, Alex, before I call the police,” Paul said.

“I ain’t tellin’ you our name or where we lived. Nobody wants to find us, anyway.”

He looked belligerently at Paul, who stared at him until Alex dropped his head. After a slight hesitation, the boy continued. “Our mother has been real sick for two years. Something was wrong with her heart. We took care of her the best we could, and the neighbors helped, too. But she died, anyway, about two months ago.”

“Where’s your father?” Carissa asked.

Alex shook his head.

“Is he living?” she persisted.

“We don’t know. He left when Julie was just a baby. We ain’t seen him since. I don’t think he’s dead, though. Every so often, we’d get some money that we figgered he’d sent. No word from him since Mom got sick, so he might be dead, for all we know.”

Paul’s arm tightened around Julie, and he looked at Carissa, whose face was white and drawn. Lauren was still crying, her head on the table. Carissa moved closer and put her hand on the girl’s trembling shoulder. She looked as if she was ready to start crying, too.

The misfortune of these children had reminded Carissa of how bereft she had been when her own mother died. If her grandmother hadn’t taken her in, where would she be today?

“Surely you have some other relatives who will take care of you until your father can be found,” she said around the knot in her throat.

“Just aunts and uncles. None of them wanted to take three kids, so they planned that we’d all go to separate homes in different states,” Alex said. “We’d never have been together again. Mom wouldn’t have wanted that. Nobody could agree on who was gonna take us, so we stayed in our home until the rent was due. The preacher and his wife kinda looked after us.”

Lauren lifted her head. “We didn’t want to be parted. So we run away.”

Julie had relaxed in his arms, and Paul realized that she’d gone to sleep. “We’d better have the whole story before we decide what to do with you,” he said. “Alex, you can’t go on like this.”

“We’ve been traveling from place to place on buses for two weeks, sleeping in bus stations, but when we got to Yuletide, we didn’t have much money left. I was in the grocery store in Yuletide and heard your sister say she was leaving for Florida for two months. I found out where she lived, and thought we could stay here for a little while. I didn’t know anyone was going to be living here.”

“Obviously you’ve been eating food from the kitchen, but where have you been staying?” Carissa asked. “Last night I was sure there was someone in the house, but where have you been in the daytime?”

“In the furnace room. We took some blankets from the bedroom and fixed our beds. It was warm down there, and nobody could see the lights at night. We stayed on this floor during the daytime.”

“I can’t understand why you thought you could get away with this,” Paul said. “Where’d you get the money to ride on buses?”

“Our neighbors collected some money for us to use until we could find a home.”

“This is incredible!” Carissa said. “I’d think there would be a nationwide hunt for you.”

“Maybe nobody knows we’re gone,” Alex said, a crafty gleam in his brown eyes.

“What does that mean?” Paul said severely.

“Alex wrote notes to our aunts and uncles so each would think we were with another one. He left a note for the preacher that we’d gone to visit with our uncle in—” Lauren broke off the sentence when Alex shook his head at her.

“Alex, what kind of kid are you, anyway? You lied to your family, you jimmied the lock and came into my sister’s house, and you’ve been stealing food from her kitchen. I know you’re young, but can’t you comprehend how much trouble that’s going to cause you?”

Alex straightened in his chair, an indignant expression in his brown eyes. He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. “I didn’t steal nuthin’. I kept track of all the food we took,” he said, adding, “so I can pay it back someday.”

He handed the paper to Paul, whose throat constricted when he read the daily entries: “three glasses of milk, three sweet rolls, three sandwiches.”

Paul passed the paper to Carissa.

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