The Baby Gift. Bethany Campbell
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loves his child, and I think he still loves Briana.”
“He’s not one of us,” Larry returned.
“That means he’s different. It doesn’t mean he’s bad.”
“She’s my sister. I’ll decide what I think is good or bad for her.”
Glenda crossed her arms more tightly. “Let them make their own decisions. In short, Larry, you should butt out.”
He blinked. This was unlike Glenda, who was usually so adoring, so compliant. “Hey,” he said. “Whose side are you on, anyhow?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “But I’m starting to think it isn’t yours.”
She turned her back and walked away.
“Hey!” he said again. “What is this? And where’s breakfast? Haven’t you even got coffee made?”
“Make it yourself,” she said and walked out of the room.
He stared at her, his mouth open in stupefaction.
NEALIE FINISHED her breakfast because her daddy told her to. Briana sat at the table across from Josh, her chin resting in her hand. He was good with the child, so good.
He looked weary but, to her, still handsome. He had shaved off his beard, and it made him look younger, but his sideburns were tipped with silver that hadn’t been there when he’d visited last.
“And now,” Josh said, “if you’ll promise to eat a breakfast like that every day, I’ll give you a present.”
Nealie’s expression was excited, yet tinged with conflict. “But, Daddy, sometimes my tummy feels funny. And I’m not hungry.”
“I know,” he said. “But you could try. You could remember your promise and try, couldn’t you?”
Nealie’s brow puckered. “Yes. But if I couldn’t eat everything…”
“The important thing is you try, okay?”
“Okay,” she said solemnly.
Josh turned to Briana. “You know where that present is, don’t you?”
She smiled and nodded, rose and went to the pantry. From the top shelf she took the tattered package with its Russian stamps. She carried it to the table and set it beside Nealie’s empty plate. “Daddy sent this. It came a few days ago.”
“Wow,” Nealie said, staring at the exotic stamps. “What is it?”
“Open it and see,” Josh said.
Nealie’s small fingers struggled with the taped box, and finally Briana helped her. She had no idea what the package held.
At last Nealie lifted the flaps of the box. She stared inside at something beautifully white and furry. “What is it?” she repeated.
Josh gave her a cryptic smile. Nealie opened the box. Inside was a pair of boots like none Briana had ever seen. They were white as cream, with dark leather soles and ornamental insets of brown fur at their tops.
“They’re from the Khanty-Mansiysk district in Russia,” Josh told Nealie. “They’re made of reindeer hide, sewn with deer sinew. A white hide like that is special. It’s for someone specially loved.”
Nealie held the boots and looked at them with pleasure and awe. But then a shadow crossed her face. “This was a reindeer?”
“That’s how the Khanty people live,” Josh said. “They herd reindeer. For over five thousand years they’ve taken care of the deer, and the deer take care of them. The deer are grateful so they give them food and clothing and hides to make shelter. A woman named Vika made these for you. She said they’d keep you warm all winter long. That the spirit of the forest would protect you from the cold.”
“They’re beautiful,” Nealie said, stroking the thick white hair. She kicked off her slippers and pulled on the boots. “Can I wear them to church?” she asked Briana. “Please? Can I?”
“Yes,” Briana said, smiling at how the girl wriggled her feet and stared at them in admiration. “But run and change your clothes. Wear your brown pantsuit. They’ll look good with that.”
“Wow,” Nealie said, sliding out of her chair. “Nobody I know has boots clear from Russia. Thank you, Daddy.”
She gave Josh a smacking kiss on the cheek then clomped happily up the stairs, enjoying the sound of each boot step.
Together they watched as she disappeared into her room. Josh gave a sigh of mock relief. “For a minute, I thought I’d goofed. I’d become a purveyor of murdered reindeer.”
“She has leather shoes,” Briana said. “So do I. I thought you explained it nicely.”
“Spend a few months in Siberia, you forget about political correctness.”
She rested her chin on her hand again and studied him. “You never were a great one for political correctness, as I recall.”
“I don’t want to make her unhappy.”
The only way you make her unhappy is when you go away, Briana thought, but she said nothing. Instead she rose and said, “I’d better clear this off and get ready for church.”
She reached for his empty plate, but he clasped her wrist gently and held it. “Briana?”
She looked into his eyes, which were serious. “Yes?”
“Larry came to see me this morning. He doesn’t want me to make you unhappy, either.”
She made a sound of exasperation. “Oh, why does he have to put in his two cents? This is none of his business. Not at all.”
“No. It’s ours.”
“That’s right,” she said, feeling a surge of defiance. “And it’s only ours.”
“Other people won’t feel that way,” he said, stroking her wrist with his thumb. “Not when they find out there’s a baby on the way.”
“I don’t care what people think.” She believed this. She had convinced herself of it.
“You’ll stand against them all if you have to?”
“Yes.” She spoke without hesitation.
“And you’ll do it alone?”
“I can handle it. I know I can,” she said. She prayed that this was the truth and that she had the strength.
He stood, sliding his hand down to lock with hers. He took a step nearer. “You don’t have to,” he said. “I’ve thought about it.”
Her flesh tingled at his nearness, but she did not move away. She felt she must stand her ground. “I’ve thought about it, too. I can do it.”
“You don’t have to face it alone,” he said, his voice quiet. “Briana—marry me. Marry me again.”
CHAPTER FIVE
HIS WORDS struck her like numbing blows, and his nearness overwhelmed her.
“No,” she said, her throat constricted. “I’d never ask you here for that. Never.”
“I know that,” he said. “But think about it. It’s best for everyone.”
She shook her head to clear it. “No. We didn’t get it right before. We—we just can’t live together.”
He bent so close she felt the warmth of his breath on her lips. “We don’t have to. Who says it has to be a conventional marriage?”
She stared at him, bewildered. “You mean it wouldn’t be real?”
Something flashed deep within his eyes—something he immediately