Either Wiggins was too occupied in Tumbulgum to arrange for my departure, or perhaps, in his kindness, he had granted me the pleasure of being in Adelaide for Christmas Eve. Surely that augured well for future adven-missions.
Late Christmas Eve afternoon, Charlotte Hammond looked across the quiet room at her husband. Her tone was gentle. “Are we going, Hammond?”
He looked worn and tired, a figure of defeat. He stared down at his hands, flexed the fingers. “My arthritis is bothering me.”
She waited, but there was understanding in her gaze and love.
He lifted his eyes. “I know. We always go to the service with them.” He paused, cleared his throat. “Nothing will be the same without Susan. And”—the words came slowly, reluctantly—“I shouldn’t have fought against the little boy getting everything. That wasn’t the right thing to do. I’m glad they found Susan’s will.” His look at Charlotte was rueful. “I mean it. When Peg called and told me, it was hard to talk. I hope she understands. But I know it must be hard for Jake and Gina, too. Still, what does any of it matter when you think about Susan and Tucker. But I don’t know if we’ll make it. Susan’s bequest will be a big help, but even so we may have to file for bankruptcy.”
“It will be all right, Harrison.” There was quiet confidence in her voice. “Maybe the bank will help. They say credit is loosening up. Whatever happens, let’s not worry about anything tonight. Let’s go over to Susan’s and go to the service with them. Just as we always have.”
He pushed up from his easy chair. “Sure. That’s what we’ll do.” There was some of his old bluster in his voice. “What are we waiting for? It’s time to go. They’ll be waiting for us.”
Keith, his blond curls freshly brushed, his brown eyes curious, stood patiently as Jake Flynn tucked up another inch of a little boy’s red bathrobe, fastening it with a safety pin. A packet of pins lay on the floor beside her. She looked over her shoulder at Peg. “Is that about right?” Despite a face puffy from tears, Jake was caught up in the cheer of the moment.
Peg knelt beside Keith, too. Peg was pale, her eyes reddened from a tear-filled night, but now in the lovely old room elegantly decorated for the holidays with the cheerful crackle of a fire, she was absorbed in judging the length of the hem on the bathrobe. She finally gave a decisive nod. “That’s perfect.”
Jake continued to lift and pin.
Charlotte smiled, her eyes soft. Harrison nodded in approval. “Keith will be the dandiest shepherd there.”
Jake glanced up at Peg. “Is Dave coming?”
Peg stiffened. Her face was carefully expressionless. “No. Not tonight. Not any night. He called, and when I told him the new will had been found he started backing away. I hung up on him.”
“Well, that’s good riddance.” Harrison was emphatic. “We don’t need anyone like him in the family.”
Jake looked sorrowful. “Oh, Peg.”
Peg’s quick smile was light and bright and eager. “I have a better date.” Then she turned to Gina, abruptly sad and uncertain. “Johnny Cain is coming. Oh, Gina, do you mind terribly?”
Sunk in a chair near the fire, pale and drawn, Gina said abruptly, “I’m glad for you, Peg.”
“Please come with us.” Peg reached out a hopeful hand. “It will bring back good days, Gina. Remember how Mitch used to always try to knock off my angel wings?”
Gina almost managed a smile. She said steadily, “I’ll come. I can’t miss seeing Keith as a shepherd.”
The early evening Christmas Eve service for families with young children had always been one of my favorites. The magnificent midnight service is triumphant and glorious, an outpouring of joy, but there is something heartfelt and touching when the younger children, to the vibrant sound of “Once in Royal David’s City,” come down the central aisle, the little boys in bathrobes as shepherds and the little girls with wire halos and cardboard angel wings, to gather around the wooden crib and sing “Away in the Manger,” their childish voices rising in the sweetest song of all.
The front doorbell rang.
Peg looked uncertainly from Gina toward the hall.
“It’s all right.” Gina’s voice was shaky yet firm.
Peg gave Gina a swift hug, then turned and ran quickly to the hall. In a moment, she was back in the living room, Johnny Cain close behind her. He was not in uniform this night. He was resplendent in a dark blue suit, white shirt, and red tie. He smiled first at Keith. “I like your robe. Hey, you’re going to have fun tonight.” Then Johnny looked across the room at Gina. There was a taut silence that he finally broke. “I’m sorry about Tucker.”
Gina lifted trembling fingers to flick away tears. “You were there for Peg. You saved Peg.”
Peg lifted a hand to her throat, gazed at Johnny with remembered horror in her eyes. “I don’t know how you managed to reach Tucker in time.”
Johnny shook his head. “God knows.”
And that was true.
Peg abruptly moved to Johnny. He reached out, took her in his arms, held her tight. Jake came to her feet, moved to curve her arms around her daughter and her rescuer. Charlotte and Harrison and Gina came across the room and they all held one another, moving only to make room for Keith as he joined them with a whoop, ready for a holiday scrum.
In the distance, I heard the whistle of the Rescue Express.
Outside I circled high above Adelaide, glorying one last time in the brilliance of the holiday lights. I heard clear and sweet and beautiful the strains of “It Came Upon a Midnight Clear,” a midnight such as this.
I swung aboard the Express with both pleasure and trepidation. There had been some moments during my adven-mission that Wiggins would likely mention without pleasure. Yet I had accomplished my primary task. Keith Flynn was safe in the arms of his family.
I popped into the first carriage and headed for a comfortable seat, ready to enjoy my farewell views of lights blazing from dear planet earth on this night when joy lifted hearts and souls. The carriage was filled with travelers of all sorts and backgrounds, some shabbily dressed, some elegant, but all with happy faces. There was an air of festivity and a sense of eagerness.
The gray-haired conductor, tall and thin with smiling eyes, gently took my elbow. “Compartment 3, please, in the next carriage.”
A private compartment! Perhaps I had been promoted. As I reached the door at the end of the corridor, I looked back, wishing I could stay and meet some of my fellow travelers, perhaps exchange stories of derring-do.
Trains always afford excitement, the lurch and swing as the heavy door is pushed open. I felt the jostle and jolt of the connecting plates and lurched to the opposite door. The next carriage was very quiet, compartment doors lining either side of the corridor. I hurried to Compartment 3, tapped. The door swung open. I stepped inside.
Wiggins rose to greet me. “Bailey Ruth.” There was warmth and kindness in his tone.
At his nod, I sank onto the opposite plush seat. I feared the worst. Had I been invited to a private compartment because my contraventions of the Precepts for Earthly Travel were so egregious they must be addressed before the Rescue Express reached Heaven?
Wiggins settled onto the plush seat, next to a black topcoat. He was imposing in his stiff white shirt and broad suspenders and heavy gray flannel trousers. His hair was a bright chestnut beneath the stiff, dark station agent’s hat. He lifted a hand to smooth his walrus mustache. “I was pleased when I learned you would be on the Express tonight.”
Pleased? I managed a stiff smile. “I’m happy to see you.” Was insincerity a bar to any future adven-missions?