An Angel for Christmas (10 page)

The men rose. Gabe stared at Luke. “After you.”

“No, no. I wouldn't be so rude. After you,” DeFeo said.

“DeFeo, you first!” Morwenna said. “And I'll be behind you with a frying pan, and trust me, I actually know how to use one on someone's head!”

“Careful not to get in my line of fire,” Stacy said lightly.

DeFeo started out. For a moment, Morwenna thought he was going to make a lunge for the knives in the wooden holder on the counter; she quickly made good on her threat and reached for the copper-bottomed frying pan above her head, but it appeared he had just stumbled; he righted himself, balancing against the counter as he headed out.

In the parlor, Stacy handed the shotgun over to Mike. Shayne had brought the children down,
dressed in dry snowsuits for the walk down to the tavern. Genevieve was clinging to Connor; Connor had an arm around his sister. She was still white-faced and silent.

Morwenna knew that Shayne had to have done something to discipline her, no matter how grateful he was that she was alive. What she had done was against what she'd been told, and she had certainly been terrified by her misdeed.

Still, she offered her niece a smile. Genevieve looked up at her brother, and then ran to Morwenna, burying her face against Morwenna's thigh.

“Sweetie, we're all right,” Morwenna said gently. She lifted the little girl, and looked at Shayne. She didn't think that her brother had been too hard on his daughter.

“Head on out,” Mike said grimly.

Bobby led the way; Morwenna followed, Genevieve in her arms, Connor close behind. Ahead of the others a little, Morwenna asked Genevieve, “What made you run out like that? Daddy told you never to go near the path in winter.”

Genevieve didn't answer. She laid her head against Morwenna's neck.

“Sweetie?”

“I had to make sure you didn't hurt him.”

“Hurt—Gabe?”

Genevieve nodded.

“What made you think someone was hurting him?” Morwenna asked.

Genevieve looked up at her without speaking.

“She decided to look at the angel, and she dropped it, and she was all freaked out for some reason,” Connor said, shaking his head with the wisdom of his older-brother years.

“Honey, the angel on the tree is just an ornament,” Morwenna said. “And no ornament in the world is worth risking one pretty little hair on your head.”

“It didn't break,” Genevieve whispered.

“Well, that's good. But it doesn't matter.”

“It did matter. I almost broke it,” Genevieve said. “We should never hurt our angels. Angels are there to protect us.”

“She's just not going to make any sense,” Connor said sagely.

“I understand,” Morwenna said, smiling. “But the ornament didn't break, and it is an ornament, Genevieve, a pretty ornament that makes us think of angels. But it's all really all right.”

“Follow me—I know the road best,” Bobby said. He looked back at her and grinned. “I am the baby, you know. Adult baby now, of course, but I've spent the most time with the folks around here lately. I'll keep you from sinking into the snow.” He frowned, arching a brow to Morwenna. “How long do you think you can carry her?”

Morwenna wondered that herself. The snow was deep, at least two feet, and every step they took was something of an effort.

“I think the snow may be taller than she is,” Morwenna said.

“We can trade off,” Bobby assured her.

Morwenna turned back. Shayne had positioned himself between DeFeo and Morwenna and his children; Gabe followed DeFeo, and her mother walked by her father's side at the rear.

She shifted Genevieve's weight. It was true; Genevieve might be a little bit of a girl, but she got heavy quickly as they floundered in the snow. The path, even with Bobby leading, was rough; there were patches of ice, and he warned her about them as he slipped and slid his way in the lead. They were going downward, and though, beneath the snow, the road was decent, it was bound to be difficult going.

Her arms began to ache, but she was determined to make it another ten minutes; Bobby was the lead, testing the ground. She was afraid that Shayne would wind up with muscle spasms, after all that he'd been through, dragging everyone back up the slope. Her father had the shotgun, and she was afraid that her mother would snap somewhere along the line. Stacy could be so strong—but how strong?

“We are idiots, you know,” Bobby said.

She looked at him, smiling. “I'm certain we often are—on many levels. But why are you saying that?”

“We have little sleds! Why didn't we bring one of the sleds—we could have pulled the children.”

“Because we weren't thinking. Because we don't know who is a convict and who is a good guy.”

“All right…but we should have thought of the sled,” Bobby said.

Morwenna hugged Genevieve more tightly.

She winced, thinking of the horrible minutes she'd been caught on the ledge. First, trying to get Genevieve up. She'd never imagined what it could be like to be so terrified for her own life, and even more afraid for the life of the little girl. Terrified, and frozen.

Gabe can't be bad! s
he told herself.
She could recall his words; she could almost hear his voice aloud as she remembered the way he had assured her: “It's all right. I've got a hold here that's solid enough for a few minutes. I've got Genevieve. Just get the rope…there, you can do it. Have faith in yourself, Morwenna, you can do it.”

And still, when DeFeo spoke, warning them that people could appear to be so many things that they weren't, doubt crept in.

He could have let Genevieve go; he could have even reached for her, and killed her on the ledge.

Ah, but then what would he have done? As DeFeo said, he was securely “handcuffed” by the rope. He would have died himself on the ledge, with no one to haul him back up. He'd never
had
to go over the ledge; he'd risked his life to do it.

But if there was the possibility he was facing a death sentence…

Doubt!

Why was doubt so much easier than faith? Or, could doubt and care be associated with simple intelligence. And where the hell did instinct fit into it all? Her instinct was to trust Gabe, but could it be that people were too easily led?

“The cemetery is ahead on the left!” she heard her mother call out to Bobby.

“The cemetery?” she asked incredulously.

Bobby turned to her.

“Mom still intends to say her Christmas prayers at the family grave site and tomb, come heaven or hell!” Bobby told her.

“There's too much snow! We won't even see the graves,” Morwenna protested.

“You try to tell her that!”

The old stone wall of the little cemetery in the mountains was, at least, still above the snow. They reached it in about a minute, and Morwenna realized that Bobby had kept them on a straight-and-narrow path, following the line of the road. There was a curve in the wall ahead—the entry, which could be accessed by cars when cars could get on the road.

With any luck,
she thought,
the gate would be locked!

But the gate wasn't locked.

Bobby looked at her. “Not our lucky day,” he said lightly.

Despite the fact that the gray clouds that had hovered earlier had moved on, the cemetery seemed shadowed and eerie. It lay beneath the naked and fragmented branches of trees, with only an evergreen here and there to remind the living that spring would come again.

The snow lay heavy over many of the graves,
and they were clearly the first ones to brave the road into the graveyard that day. The tips of a few stones just peeked over the snow in some areas.

Bobby was careful to keep them on the roadway through the graveyard—that way, at least, no one would trip over any of the stones, markers or memorials that lay beneath the blanket of white.

“Just ahead,” Connor murmured.

Morwenna was glad; she was going to have to trade off with someone. The world was icy cold; she could see her breath coming from her in a fog, but her arm burned like a fiery rod, the muscles giving in after the long walk.

She paused for a minute, staring ahead. Her mother's maiden name was Byrne; the name, she had been told, meant raven, and a large raven stood guard on the wrought-iron fence that led to the little vault and the graves that surrounded it.

High atop the vault, there was a beautiful marble angel. The angel wasn't lowered upon one knee in sorrow, but rather seemed to stand tall against the wind, robes and wings flying behind it as it proudly faced the world. She'd always liked the
angel. She wished, in fact, that she'd at least draw something so beautiful at some time in her life.

Bobby pushed hard at the wrought-iron gate; it creaked and squealed, fighting against the snow as it scraped open. Morwenna entered the enclosed area, and set Genevieve up on one of the steps to the vault that was still higher than the snow.

She heard the others pile in behind her, and she thought of the incongruity of their group there; the kids, her mom, determined to say her Christmas prayers at the family grave site, and her father, ready to pray with her mother while still keeping a sharp eye on their prisoners, his shotgun at the ready.

“Mom?” Morwenna said.

Stacy moved forward to the steps, hugging Genevieve to her side, and looking out at them. “Christmas Day, again, and we're all together, and I'm so grateful. I want to thank God for the family that came before me. I want to tell my folks that I loved them very much. And I want, most of all, to say thank-you for the family that I have now. Guide us, be with us. Keep us safe.”

“You're definitely not safe yet,” DeFeo said quietly.

“Will you stop—this is a sacred time for my mother!” Shayne snapped angrily.

As he spoke, they were startled as a large black bird suddenly shot through the trees, letting out an eerie shriek. Morwenna ducked as it flew by them.

Stacy watched the bird without flinching. “It's a raven!” she said, and laughed. “Mike, I think that the family is grateful that we're here.”

“All right, all right, it's a great and wonderful family day,” Luke DeFeo said. “Let me help. Bow your heads in prayer!”

Startled, Morwenna watched him, but slowly, one by one, the other members of her family did so.

“Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ,” DeFeo said, his voice ringing clearly, “who has blessed us in the heavenly realms with every spiritual blessing in Christ. For he chose us in him before the creation of the world to be holy and blameless in his sight. In love he predestined
us to be adopted as his sons through Jesus Christ, in accordance with his pleasure and will to the praise of his glorious grace, which he has freely given us in the One he loves. In him we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of sins, in accordance with the riches of God's grace that he lavished on us with all wisdom and understanding. And he made known to us the mystery of his will according to his good pleasure, which he purposed in Christ, to be put into effect when the times will have reached their fulfillment to bring all things in heaven and on earth together under one head, even Christ.”

He finished speaking.

“Very nice,” Gabe said. “Ephesians, I: 3-10.”

DeFeo arched a brow to him, a look of satisfaction on his face.

Stacy didn't notice either of them. “Amen!” she said happily.

Morwenna found that she was studying the two men; Gabe didn't seem disturbed, but he was watching DeFeo curiously. DeFeo looked very proud of himself, as if he had proven a point.

“Thank you, Father,” Gabe said then, smiling as he looked up at the angel. “Thank you for this family, for the pride and courage and love to be found among them, even here, among those who have passed over to your realm. May you bless the lives of those who have proven to be so kind, and who value human life, even among those they know not as friends or enemies.”

“Amen,” Stacy said again, and this time, her family followed suit. “Anyone else?” she asked.

“Dear God and Jesus,” Genevieve said. “Happy birthday again. Also, could you please make it just a little bit warmer?”

“Amen!” Bobby said, laughing. And he added, “This was lovely, Mom. But maybe we should move on.”

Morwenna heard a slight rumbling. She looked up. It seemed that the clouds were coming back again. And again, strangely, light remained among them. The angel on the tomb stood proud in a fierce ray of light, the sun, somehow, shooting down upon it through all the turbulence in the atmosphere.

Shayne came to her side. “I'll take Gen,” he said quietly. “I can't believe you made it this far.”

She smiled at him, and touched his cheek. She found herself thinking of the way they had fought like cats and dogs as children, and she was suddenly aware that he would have killed himself, not just to get his daughter back, but her, too.

“She's not so heavy. Okay, I'm lying. My arms are killing me. But you must still be feeling some muscle pain of your own, huh?”

“Yeah, but it's all over,” he said, grinning. “My arms can take a little more.”

He bent down to pick up his daughter.

“It's cold, Daddy,” Genevieve said.

“Actually, sweetheart,” Stacy said, “I think you prayed it a tiny bit warmer.”

“We're almost down to the tavern, baby,” Shayne said. “We'll get some nice hot cocoa there—hey, and I'll bet they have turkey on the menu, too.”

“It won't be as good as Gram's turkey,” Genevieve said.

“No, it won't be, but it will be warm.”

“Move 'em out!” Bobby said, taking the lead again.

Morwenna paused, looking up at the angel that rode so beautifully over the tomb.

She smiled suddenly. She barely remembered her mother's parents now, but they had been good people. Hardy mountain stock, very independent—and very loving at the same time. They hadn't built the tomb, of course. The tomb dated back to the early eighteen hundreds.