Hearts Divided (Cedar Cove #5.5)(58)

He didn’t know what made the trees beckon to him on these wintry afternoons. He knew only that they did. Time permitting, he always paused to catch his breath against the orchard’s three-railed fence. And on the afternoons when he dashed out of the classroom the moment the dismissal bell sounded, there was time, once his breath returned, to sing a song or two.

Nick wished he could sing carols, even one carol, to the apple trees on this December day. Or, having made sure that Dennis and his mom had already left the house on Center Street, he could go back to the orchard and spend the evening here. It wouldn’t feel as cold—here. Somehow the barren trees would warm him.

But on the nights Nick was forced to keep vigil from the porch, Dennis would get tavern customers, drunken ones, to drop by. They were supposed to confirm that Nick was there—and that, as they approached, he demand to know who they were and what they wanted.

Nick ran past the orchard, stumbling—but not falling—as he took his eyes from the path ahead to the trees he wanted to see. In the distance he saw the farmhouse.

When the Keelings lived there, it had been painted white and teal—which, his teacher explained, was a blend of green and blue. The new owners kept the original color scheme until the end of World War Two. With the help of the entire town, the young bride painted it daffodil-yellow with butter-cream trim. She wanted it to look like a beacon, to guide her soldier husband home.

The soldier must have liked the beacon. The farmhouse was still yellow and cream, glowing to Nick even on cloudy afternoons.

Today, the house also glowed from within. All the lights were on. The eaves were adorned for Christmas, as were the apple trees that lined the drive. Those closest to the house twinkled white. Along the drive itself the trees were wrapped in lights the color of ripe apples.

For the past three weeks, Nick had noticed the strands coiled around the trunks and limbs. Until today, the Christmas lights hadn’t been illuminated when he ran by. It wasn’t twilight even now. But the trees were shining. The family was celebrating, too. It was a large gathering, Nick saw. The partygoers had overflowed to the porch, and the grounds.

They seemed to be searching. And shouting. Their shouts weren’t angry, like Dennis’s—or his mom’s previous boyfriends’.

These shouts sounded worried.

The road dipped, leaving the farmhouse and its noises behind. The orchard entrance lay ahead, at the bottom of the long, steep drive. The entrance was twinkling, an archway of red and white, and just inside, at the base of a lighted tree, was a sobbing child.

She wasn’t very old. Two or so. And she was really sobbing. The kind of hiccupping wails that only grew silent when it became necessary for her to breathe.

Nick had witnessed such sobbing before. Marianne’s boyfriend before Dennis had a two-year-old daughter who cried like this. Nick hadn’t been allowed to comfort her. She needed to learn not to cry, her father had said.

No one was forbidding Nick to comfort this sobbing girl. Without hesitation he ran to her.

“Don’t cry!” he implored.

She looked at him and immediately wailed.

She didn’t seem injured, although her holly-green tights had dirt stains at the knees. Nor did she seem cold; in her heavy Christmas sweater, she was probably warmer than Nick.

Maybe she was scared.

Maybe a carol would help.

“Jingle Bells” wasn’t Nick’s favorite. “A Midnight Clear” was.

But “Jingle Bells” might cheer her up, if she could hear his singing above her cries.

She could, and when she did, she stared at him. It was a bold stare and, at first, an indignant one—as if she’d been enjoying a perfectly good cry and how dare he make it end?

Then she smiled, beamed. Her stare had been one of surprise, he decided, not indignation. Surprise that what had felt like hopelessness could be vanquished by a song.

“You belong up there, don’t you?” he asked, glancing at the drive. “You’re the reason everyone’s searching. They probably figure there’s no way you could’ve made it this far.”

She didn’t say anything, but the smile disappeared and new tears threatened.

“Don’t start crying again, okay? I’d better carry you.” Assuming he could lift her.

She was a healthy toddler. He was small for his age. Very small, as Dennis—and others—never failed to point out.

She was heavy. Nick staggered a little under her weight. It helped when she curled her arms around his neck and hung on.

Nick began singing, and she joined in.

“‘Jingle bells,’” she crooned. “‘All the way.’”

Her jumbled lyrics were nothing compared to the tune she couldn’t carry.

But she had a happy voice, and the tears were gone. She’d obviously concluded that it wasn’t so bad, in fact fun, to be carried up the hill. She pointed to the twinkling branches overhead and giggled as she sang.

When they reached the crest of the hill and were spotted by a searcher who shouted the wonderful news, she was immediately surrounded by the kind of love Nick wouldn’t have believed existed if he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes.

Whisked from his arms, the girl was held jointly by her weeping parents while the large circle of people who loved her wept, laughed and marveled that she’d wandered so far, so fast—especially since, or so they’d thought, they were all keeping an eye on her.