'Tis the Season: A Collection of Mimi's Christmas Books (40 page)

“Before you leave, Mr. Chapman, might I have a word with you?” Sister Agnes bustled toward him, her voice registering close to a yell, and there was no escape.

He closed the partially opened door and turned in her direction. “Of course, Sister. What can I do for you?” Marcus quite liked the nun, even if her booming voice belied her small stature.

“Would you have the time for a cuppa in my office? There is something I feel we must discuss.” She thought for a minute. “Or rather, I need your opinion.”

“A cup of tea would be splendid. I feel quite parched after my…ahhh, restful afternoon.” He grinned self-consciously. “By the way, I left Nicholas sleeping like a baby…” They both chuckled at his pun, and he added, “And he wasn’t the only one napping this afternoon. Seems I dropped off for a wee snooze, also.”

“I suspect you needed the rest, sir. And holding a warm, sleeping baby in one’s arms can be as good a sedative as anything.”

“Can’t argue with the obvious, Sister, now can I?” He followed her to her office as they chatted.

Discussing their recent strange weather filled the time until they’d both settled comfortably with their tea.

Once he’d taken a sip and then bitten into the offered biscuit, he looked up and saw the uneasiness on the woman’s face. What could have her looking so serious and, frankly, so sad? Disquiet seized him, and he placed the cup back on the saucer and both cup and saucer back on her desk.

“What has you so frazzled, Sister? Is one of the children ill? Can I do anything to help?”

“It isn’t anything like that, Mr. Chapman. In fact it’s quite good news. Or I suppose it is, if one looked at it in the proper way.”

“Then you’re either not doing so, or there’s a quandary. What is it?”

“Well it’s rather a sticky situation. A couple from London, a prominent young couple, visited the orphanage a while back and have shown a not-too-surprising interest in Nicholas. Unarguably, the boy is beautiful, even if his disposition at the moment is slightly, shall we say, unmanageable. I’ve just been informed they’ve made up their minds to adopt him.”

Unprepared for such news, he shot to his feet. Rage erupted. “Then they can bloody well unmake them. My good Lord, woman. He’s not for—for sale. He belongs here.”

“Mr. Chapman, please, do stop yelling. And maybe it would help calm you if you sat in your chair. It’s rather unnerving, having you so close to my face.” Sister ducked her head and tried to hide her satisfaction behind the wimple that covered the side of her head. But he saw it. And for some strange reason, it soothed him somewhat.

Her tone softened. “I have no recourse but to accept their application and give it my utmost consideration. After all, Nicholas would benefit greatly, and it’s the dream of every child here to end up being adopted. To have a home and a family of his own.”

What the hell!?
The truth of her words hit him right in the solar plexus and knocked the meanness right out of him. His anger shifted and faded to pain. On the other hand, how could he stand by and watch them break Abbie’s heart, not to mention his. “Look, Sister, for all intents and purposes, Abbie has adopted him. You said yourself how attached he is to her, and she feels the same way.” He saw her startled look and continued, “It stands to reason, if the child loves her above all others, she must reciprocate the feeling.” He chided himself.
Watch what you say. The woman is no fool.

Sister Agnes nodded. “That is true. But there is a major problem with Abbie. She’s unmarried. No court would place a baby with a single woman over and above a couple such as the Brownings. They’re wealthy, have a lovely home…” At his questioning look, she added, “I’ve seen the photos. Both are career people, and both come from well-known families with good backgrounds. He is a school principal, and she’s a surgical nurse—”

“There you go. The woman’s a ghoul—cutting open bodies all day…” He stopped when he saw her smile, then tried another tack. “Why do they want Nicholas?” Grasping at straws, he added. “Didn’t the young devil stage his usual hysterics when they were here?”

“He was asleep. And didn’t wake up at all. They’d come after he’d had a terrible night, and, exhausted, he’d finally given up the battle. I believe it was the first night Abbie lay in hospital. The little chap slept like an angel through their initial appointment. They’ve booked another visit for tomorrow.”

Marcus stared at the fidgety woman and wondered what she was up to. He wanted to hurl himself across the desk, grab her by the two stiff edges of her headpiece, and tell her exactly what she should do with the Brownings and their claims.

With innocence shining from her eyes, the nun went on. “Now if another young couple came forward who loved the boy and were also interested in giving Nicholas a home, we’d certainly be happy to take their request into consideration, also. And I’d deem it beneficial if they lived in this community.” After saying her piece, she let the silence work.

Awareness of what the woman was getting at didn’t help, because he was also aware of the hopelessness of her unspoken suggestion. He knew the town had noticed his interest in Abbie. Furthermore, he supposed it was natural for them to consider romance, since he’d been to see her every day and had taken such an interest in her recovery.

Oh, God, it hurt. This crushing powerlessness. Could he stand by and watch someone else take his child away, the boy who’d laid claim to him, and who, he now realized, he loved as much as any father could possibly love his son?

If only he and Abbie were free to marry and make a home for the baby. To be parents to the child—loving parents. After all, the boy had already chosen them in his own way, hadn’t he? Truly, with his impeccable background, and Abbie’s “in” with the nuns, he knew they’d give the others a run for their money. In fact, he had no doubt they’d win. Then the damn Brownings could take a flying leap.

Stop dreaming, my lad!
His head finally grabbed hold and silenced his heart.
Think what can be and not what you want
. “Sister? What if I applied? I have a good home with my mother, who I have no doubt would be willing to step in as Nicholas’ surrogate mum. I have enough money to provide the boy with anything he’d need, including the best of schools. I would love…”

“You’re not married, sir. You have no wife.”

“Not every child is raised by two parents. Many children lose one or the other and grow up to be strong, happy individuals. And Nicholas would have a woman’s influence in his grandmother, who, by the way, is very young at heart. Believe me, she’d love the boy in the same unstinting way she loves me.”

As soon as the words sprang from his lips, he knew them to be the truth. She did love him, and without her influence he’d never have become the man he was today. He must forgive her.

“If the Brownings weren’t in the picture, the board might have considered your request, Mr. Chapman. But I’m afraid they’d still trump you by the very fact that they’re a couple.”

“What if I were to find a wife?”
Where the hell had that come from?

“Then I’d say you’d better get on it as soon as you can.”

Chapter Nineteen

He’d lost his mind. There was no other excuse for the way he’d behaved in Sister Agnes’ office. Driving home through blizzard conditions, snowflakes as big as shillings, with the winds driving them against windshield wipers that couldn’t keep up, he chided himself over and over. Why, in the mercy of all that’s holy, did life have to be so complicated?

“Get married! You’re bonkers, you are. And snookered when you can’t come up with the wife you’ve just told Sister you’d find.” Between swear words and loud sighs, he alternately mumbled and yelled. “This flaming snow! When the hell will enough be enough? A person can’t even see in this rubbish.”

Dangerously high snowbanks, where a plough had deposited most of the earlier downfall, made driving terribly difficult. Garlands of lights, strung up from one side of the narrow downtown street to the other to celebrate the season, glowed as they swayed dangerously in the rising winds. Store windows also shared the spirit of Christmas as he glimpsed building after building festooned with dazzling coloured trees, holiday posters, or some other symbol indicating that December twenty-fifth would be upon them in only two more days.

He swerved around the final corner, caught himself before he stepped on the brakes, and steered the car up the lane to his house. Through the trees, he could see the lit windows of the hospital and wished he had the right to go and sit with Abbie. Just to ask her advice.

In the short time they’d been together, he’d come to rely on her clear-sighted way of cutting through difficulties. And, he decided, if he were completely truthful, he also wanted to be with her because seeing her made him happy—not a condition he’d been used to in the last number of years. In fact, as a grown man, he’d never known these exhilarating sentiments before. Or cared enough about any woman to want to make any changes in his life. Good grief! For some strange reason, just being near her had made him feel—well, content.

Thinking these thoughts had him wishing she were still nestled safely inside him. Maybe she’d have sorted him out for swearing and for driving dangerously, but he wouldn’t have cared. To feel her close once again, to experience her warmth and affection one more time, he’d have given every penny he owned. He rested his forehead against hands that clutched at the steering wheel of the stopped vehicle.

Bleedin’ hell!
The house was dark. His mother mustn’t have returned yet. The one night he needed her, and where the hell was she? Off gallivanting somewhere, without a care in the world. What about the miserable son she professed to love? He hadn’t even forgiven her yet for ruining his life. How the blasted hell could he do so, if the confounded woman never stayed at home?

His fist appeared to rise of its own accord to pound the steering wheel a few times before he took back control, groaned, and pushed at his door. Which, when opened halfway, got lodged in the snow. With an almighty shove, anger and frustration helping, he finally flung it out wide enough for him to exit. Carelessly he stepped out, only to end up on his backside.

“Bugger!” Would his life ever get back to normal? While struggling to his feet, he made up his mind. He intended to drink a bottle of Drambuie and get shit-faced. Life had become far too complicated and, at least for a few hours tonight, he wanted out.

Chapter Twenty

Abbie knew the nurses would try to stop her from leaving the hospital alone. She supposed she couldn’t blame them. After all, there was a snowstorm raging outside, and she didn’t even have transportation. But the distance to Marcus’ house couldn’t be more than a few hundred feet, if she cut through the back street, and, anyway, she’d made up her mind. It had to be tonight—but later, once the ward had slowed down, and the evening rounds were over. Then she would go to him and lay her heart at his feet. Ease the pain she’d spied on his features earlier, when she rebuffed his advances and refused to acknowledge their connection.

Of course, knowing his mother wouldn’t be home helped her come to the decision, but more importantly, he needed to hear from her that they weren’t related. She had to tell him the truth, that she did remember every minute they’d been together, and then share the wonderful news with him that her real parents had come to claim her. And they were everything a girl could hope for in a family.