The Christmas Children. Irene Brand
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to my home” gave Carissa the feeling of a warm, gracious hug.
The room was cool and Carissa turned the switch on the electric blanket. While the bed warmed, she bathed. A few minutes later, bundled into a warm, ankle-length nightgown, Carissa laid the poker nearby and, sighing deeply, she stretched out in the warmth of the king-size bed. A Bible lay on the bedside table and Carissa reached for it. It had been a long time since she’d looked inside a Bible, but if she was going to be successful in her search for Christmas, she knew she’d have to start with God’s word. She turned to Matthew’s account of Jesus’ birth and read a familiar passage aloud.
“‘Now when Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judæa in the days of Herod the king, behold, there came wise men from the east to Jerusalem, saying, “Where is He that is born King of the Jews? For we have seen His star in the East and are come to worship Him.””’
Carissa remembered enough from her childhood teachings to know that a person found Jesus through the eyes of faith. How strong was her faith? She believed that God had been her lodestar as she’d built a successful business. And she’d tried to repay Him by contributing a great deal of money to charitable organizations. To find the Christ Child, however, she’d have to go further than that. A Scripture verse she hadn’t thought of for years flashed into her mind: “You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart.”
Carissa had been hesitant about opening her heart to anyone, but she knew it was the only route to the peace found in the Savior who’d been born in Bethlehem years ago. She longed to experience the close fellowship she’d once known with God—the only thing that had sustained her through a difficult childhood. Would she find it in Yuletide?
The warm bed brought comfort to her tired body, and she thought she’d fall asleep immediately, but an hour later, she was still awake. She didn’t consider herself an imaginative woman, but intermittent with the wind gusts that blew tree branches against the house, she thought she heard whisperings and muffled footsteps. Finally, she went to sleep—only to awaken suddenly.
Terror as strong as a bolt of electricity flooded her body as she struggled to a sitting position. She glanced at the illuminated dial of the clock on the bedside table. Three o’clock in the morning! What had awakened her?
Her pulse fluttered when she heard a muffled exclamation downstairs, a clatter of pans and the ringing of sleigh bells. Someone was in the house, and she knew it wasn’t Santa Claus.
An intruder had stumbled over the barrier she’d placed in front of the glass door. Without waiting to put on a robe, Carissa jumped out of bed and grabbed the poker. Heart in her mouth and hands shaking, she was halfway down the stairs when the pale glow of the security light revealed a tall figure disentangling himself from her self-made booby trap. He groaned softly, and Carissa assumed he was injured.
She had left her cell phone in the car. If she went upstairs to use the phone on the bedside table, the man might follow her, and she’d be trapped. The man was between her and the kitchen phone. Her car keys were in the pocket of her coat, which she’d hung in the entryway closet. Realizing she was on her own, Carissa slipped down another few steps, just as the intruder stopped in front of her and looked upward. She swung the poker and hit him on the forehead. Carissa screamed as the man folded up like an accordion and fell backward on the floor. She’d only meant to stun him.
Jumping over his body, she sprinted to the kitchen and grabbed the wall phone. She dialed 911, and recognized Justin Townsend’s voice when he answered.
“This is Carissa Whitmore at Naomi’s home. A man just broke in. I’m afraid…I’ve killed him.”
Dead silence greeted her remark for a few seconds, then Justin shouted, “Don’t touch a thing! I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
Carrying the poker with her, Carissa rushed to her bedroom and tied a long robe over her nightgown. The intruder was stirring by the time she returned downstairs, and she breathed easier knowing he wasn’t dead. Poker in hand, she waited by the door and kept a wary eye on the trespasser until a police cruiser screeched to a halt in front of the house.
Carissa opened the door, and Justin pushed by her into the living room.
He knelt beside the fallen man and checked his pulse before he took a quick glance around the room. When his gaze encountered the furniture in front of the glass door, he looked up at Carissa.
“What’s happened here?”
“I sensed that someone had been in the house when I got here. I couldn’t lock that door, so I piled things around it before I went upstairs to bed. This man came in, stumbled over my booby trap and awakened me. I hit him with a poker. Is he going to die?”
His eyes twinkling, the police officer said, “Nope. It’d take more than a knock on his hard head to kill this man. Don’t you know who he is?”
“How could I?”
“This is Paul Spencer, Naomi’s brother.”
Carissa’s breath rushed from her mouth, and she dropped like a deflated balloon into the closest chair she could find.
Chapter Two
Still staring at the stranger spread-eagled on the floor, Carissa wrung her tiny hands and struggled to comprehend what Justin had said.
“I thought Naomi lived alone! Why would she exchange houses with me if her brother lives here?”
“Paul doesn’t live with Naomi. He works for a construction company that bids on jobs all over the world. He hasn’t been home for two years, and when he is here, he lives in the garage apartment behind the house. Naomi probably didn’t know he was coming home.”
Carissa stared at the tall, amazingly good-looking man, lying flat on his back. His dark skin had a weathered look, and his short brown hair, thinning a bit at the temples, had streaks of gray showing around his ears. A large blue knot had risen on his forehead.
“Oh, I’m so sorry!” Carissa said. “How can I face the man when he comes to?” Eager to justify her actions, she added, “But what would you have done if you’d thought he was a burglar?”
“Same thing you did, lady. Only I’d probably have shot him,” he added with a grin, patting the holster at his right hip.
Chief Townsend called for an ambulance and said, “I’ll keep him from moving until the medics get here. Don’t look so scared. You had no way of knowing who he was.”
When the prostrate man opened his eyes and started to sit up, Carissa dodged out of his range of vision. Townsend held him on the floor.
“Stay there, Paul. I don’t want you to move until the ambulance gets here.”
“What happened?” Paul said, a glassy expression in his dark eyes.
“I’ll explain later. You’ll be all right.”
Paul closed his eyes again, and Carissa whispered, “I’ll go upstairs and change. I’m going with you to the hospital.”
“There’s no hospital closer than Saratoga Springs, but we’ve got a clinic here in town. It’s small, but it’s a good one. The doctor there will be able to tell if he needs to go to the hospital.”
The ambulance crew was working with Paul when Carissa finished dressing, and she waited until they pushed the stretcher toward the door. In her own car, she followed the ambulance into town until it stopped at a small building adjacent to the police station.
The waiting room had several people in it, and Carissa and Chief Townsend weren’t able to sit side by side, which was a relief to her. She didn’t feel like talking. Townsend seemed to know everyone in the room, and he told them in detail what had happened to Paul. Carissa tried to block out their amused chatter at her expense.
What if she had seriously injured the man? She knew better than to strike anyone on the forehead. Her only excuse was that she was half dazed after being