Erica sank her head into her hands and offered up wordless prayers. Finally, a little peace came to her as the truth she believed with all her heart sank in: Kimmie had gone home to a forgiving God, happy, all pain gone.
She paced over to the window and looked out. The snow had stopped, and as she watched, the moon came out from under a cloud, sending a cold, silvery light over the rolling farmland.
Off to the side, Jason shoveled a walkway, fast, furious, robotic.
Wanting air herself, wanting to see that moon better and remind herself that God had a plan, Erica found a heavy jacket in the hall closet and slipped outside.
Sharp cold took her breath away. A wide creek ran alongside the house, a little stone bridge arching over it. Snow blanketed hills and trees and barns.
And the moonlight! It reflected off snow and water, rendering the scene almost as bright as daytime, bright enough that a wooden fence and a line of tall pines cast shadows on the snow.
The only sound was the steady chink-chink-chink of Jason’s shovel.
The newness, the majesty, the fearfulness of the scene made her tremble. God’s creation, beautiful and dangerous. A Sunday school verse flashed through her mind: “In His hand is the life of every creature and the breath of all mankind.”
The shovel stopped. Heavy boot steps came toward her.
“You should have contacted me!” Jason’s voice was loud, angry. “How long were you with her? Didn’t you think her family might want to know?”
His accusatory tone stung. “She didn’t want me to contact you!”
“You listened to an addict?”
“She said you told her you were through helping her.”
“I didn’t know she had cancer!” He sank down on the front step and let his head fall into his hands. “I would have helped.” The last word came out choked.
Erica’s desire to fight left her. He was Kimmie’s brother, and he was hurting.
She sat down beside him. “She wasn’t alone, until just a short while ago. I was with her.”
He turned his head to face her. “I don’t get it. On top of everything else she had to deal with, she took in you and your kids?”
She saw how it looked to him. But what was she supposed to say? Kimmie hadn’t wanted her to tell Jason about the twins. She’d spoken of him bitterly. “I was a support to her, not a burden,” she said. “You can believe that or not.”
He leaned back on his elbows, staring out across the moon-bright countryside. “Tough love,” he muttered. “Everyone says to use tough love.”
Behind them, there was a scratching sound and then a mournful howl.
Jason stood and opened the door, and Mistletoe limped outside. He lifted his golden head and sniffed the air.
“Guess he got lonely.” Jason sat back down.
Mistletoe shoved in between them and rested his head on Jason’s lap.
They were silent for a few minutes. Erica was cold, especially where her thin jeans met the stone porch steps. But she felt lonely, too. She didn’t want to leave the dog. And strangely enough, she didn’t want to leave Jason. Although he was obviously angry, and even blaming her, he was the only person in the world right now, besides her, who was grieving Kimmie’s terribly early death.
“I just don’t get your story,” he burst out. “How’d you help her when you were trying to care for your babies, too? And why’d she send you and your kids here?”
Mistletoe nudged his head under Jason’s hand, demanding attention.
“I want some answers, Erica.”
Praying for the words to come to her, Erica spoke. “She said this was a good place, a safe place. She knew I...didn’t have much.”
He lifted a brow like he didn’t believe her.
“She’d loved my mom.” Which was true. “She was kind of like a big sister to me.”
“She was a real big sister to me.” Suddenly, Jason pounded a fist into his open hand. “I can’t believe this. Can’t believe she OD’d alone.” He paused and drew in a ragged breath, then looked at Erica. “I’m going to find out more about you and what went on out there. I’m going to get some answers.”
Erica looked away from his intensity. She didn’t want him to see the fear in her eyes.
And she especially didn’t want him to find one particular answer: that Kimmie was the biological mother of the twins sleeping upstairs.
Sunday morning, just after sunrise, Jason followed the smell of coffee into the farmhouse kitchen. He poured himself a cup and strolled around, looking for his grandfather and listening to the morning sounds of Erica and the twins upstairs.
Yesterday had been rough. He’d called their mother overseas—the easier telling, strangely—and then he’d let Papa know about Kimmie. Papa hadn’t cried; he’d just said, “I’m glad Mama wasn’t alive to hear of this.” Then he’d gone out to the barn all day, coming in only to eat a sandwich and go to bed.
Erica and the twins had stayed mostly in the guest room. Jason had made a trip to the vet to get Mistletoe looked over, and then rattled around the downstairs, alone and miserable, battling his own feelings of guilt and failure.
Tough love hadn’t worked. His sister had died alone.
It was sadness times two, especially for his grandfather. And though the old man was healthy, an active farmer at age seventy-eight, Jason still worried about him.
Where was his grandfather now, anyway? Jason looked out the windows and saw a trail broken through newly drifted snow. Papa had gone out to do morning chores without him.
A door opened upstairs, and he heard Erica talking to the twins. Maybe bringing them down for breakfast.
She was too pretty and he didn’t trust her. Coward that he was, he poured his coffee into a travel cup and headed out, only stopping to lace his boots and zip his jacket when he’d closed the door behind him.
Jason approached the big red barn and saw Papa moving around inside. After taking a moment to admire the rosy morning sky crisscrossed by tree limbs, he went inside.
Somehow, Papa had pulled the old red sleigh out into the center of the barn and was cleaning off the cobwebs. In the stalls, the two horses they still kept stomped and snorted.
Papa gave him a half smile and nodded toward the horses. “They know what day it is.”
“What day?”
“You’ve really been gone that long? It’s Sleigh Bell Sunday.”
“You don’t plan on...” He trailed off, because Papa obviously did intend to hitch up the horses and drive the sleigh to church. It was tradition. The first Sunday in December, all the farm families that still kept horses came in by sleigh, if there was anything resembling enough snow to do it. There was a makeshift stable at the church and volunteers to tend the horses, and after church, all the town kids got sleigh rides. The church ladies served hot cider and cocoa and homemade doughnuts, and the choir sang carols.
It was a great event, but Papa already looked tired. “We don’t have to do it this year. Everyone would understand.”
“It’s important to the people in this community.” Papa knelt to polish the sleigh’s runner, adding in a muffled voice,