“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