From the December 2001 issue of True Love Stories:

For three years, I traveled home by bus for the Christmas holidays. My sister thought I was crazy to put myself through the emotions this trip caused. Dad offered to buy my plane ticket, not understanding that money wasn’t the issue. The trip was my tribute to the sweet baby who was no longer mine, and I needed to make the journey in this way. Honoring her memory settled my soul and made me feel close to her in a way that I couldn’t when I had to concentrate on driving.

Some said it was morbid to retrace the route to my hometown in the Rockies, to travel the same roads I’d traveled with her inside of me. But I relished the trip as a way of renewing my wavering belief that the choice I’d made was the right one.

In the middle of my sophomore year at a small midwestern college, I wasn’t the right person to give her the best in life. Although I was sure of my love for her, I knew I couldn’t provide her with a stable life. So I’d returned to the sanctuary of my parents’ home for the last six weeks of my pregnancy. . . .

Suddenly, the bus rattled through a pothole, and I was jostled from my reverie, taking a look outside. The afternoon sun shone weakly through low gray clouds that threatened snow before the night was over. The prairie grass was brown and matted, lying low as if hugging the ground for warmth.

The traffic alongside the bus had increased, which meant we were approaching another town. The repetition of short stops and cookie-cutter bus stations was soothing. I liked knowing that not too many miles farther along the road would be a well-lit, warm room where I could stretch my legs and buy a cup of cocoa.

Bus travel was as anonymous as I wanted it to be. I made the decision to either talk with my fellow passengers, or maintain my distance. On this particular trip, I was thankful that the bus wasn’t too crowded, and for several hours, I enjoyed a whole seat to myself. Mostly, I was just glad that the other travelers were also going solo—military personnel, college students, and seniors—not families.

Christmas was always the hardest time of year for me. Seeing happy families enjoying each other chipped away at my belief that I’d done the right thing. I worried that her adoptive parents couldn’t possibly love her as much as I did. That year, my baby would be almost two. To save my sanity, I’d been having to pretend that toddlers were invisible. At shopping malls, I kept my eyes straight ahead, not daring to let my gaze dip down to the huge eyes, rounded cheeks, and dimpled smiles beaming up at me from strollers and carriages everywhere.

After another short stop, at which I got off the bus momentarily to take advantage of the station’s rest rooms, my bus’s departure was announced over the intercom, and I hurried back aboard. The bus creaked and moaned as it waddled away from the station. One more city left behind us.

Settling into my seat once again, I concentrated on the passing scenery through the window. Ten minutes passed in pleasant viewing before I heard the baby’s first cry.

Someone with a small child must’ve boarded at the last city. Whenever I heard a baby’s cry, my whole body went on alert, fighting my natural impulse to get close to that sound. The fussing sounds spun my thoughts back to the reason for my trek.

Three years before, I’d hoped for a quiet holiday spent in the loving atmosphere of family in my childhood home. My baby had had different ideas.

Content with the last-minute excitement of holiday baking and gift wrapping, I’d ignored the first labor twinges and promised myself that I’d put my feet up as soon as the next batch of cookies was done. But before I realized what was happening, Mama had taken one look at my hand bracing my lower back, bundled me into the car, and driven me to the local hospital. She’d stayed right by my side, whispering words of encouragement and telling me how proud she was of me. I’d clung to her words as tightly as I’d clung to her hand.

Not prepared for how the act of giving birth would touch my soul’s most primal depths, I’d started wishing that I could keep the baby, that I’d find a way to make a life for us. But Mama brought me back to reality. From then on, I’d tried to believe that letting my baby be adopted was truly the best choice—for both of us.

For one fleeting moment at five minutes past midnight on December twenty-fourth, I’d seen my daughter’s sweet face, and then she was gone. Gone forever.

Now, from behind me, the baby’s cries grew louder, and I heard the low rumble of a man’s soothing voice. I told myself not to turn around, not to make eye contact with the child. My cardinal rule was not to get involved with other people’s children; I knew my heart wasn’t strong enough.

But the cries tugged at my hardened mother’s heart. I could see passengers with deepening frowns craning their necks to see what the problem was. Being inside the bus was more personal than being at the mall. Once those doors closed and the wheels started rolling, an intimate environment was created. As inhabitants of that special world, we couldn’t truly separate ourselves from inevitably interacting with each other in some way or another.

I looked out the window, searching for anything of interest to distract me. If the child’s father soothed it quickly enough, I’d be able to maintain my distance. And so I counted telephone poles, telling myself that if I reached one hundred and the baby was still fussing, then—and only then—I would go back and offer to help. Although I wasn’t sure what exactly I thought I could do better than the child’s father could. All I knew was that if the situation were reversed, I’d want someone to offer to help me.

And so I counted—ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred.

And the baby’s cries only grew louder, more high-pitched.

I knew then that I couldn’t avoid the situation any longer, and my stomach knotted with nerves. I scooted to the aisle and glanced back. A small head covered with blond curls swung into the aisle and disappeared, cradled in a dark-haired man’s arms.

Why did I feel compelled to help? What was drawing me to this baby—drawing me enough to make me put aside my rules about children?

As if he knew I was watching him, the man looked up suddenly and connected with my gaze. His eyes were the deepest blue I’d ever seen, but it was his look of mute appeal that went straight to my heart. Automatically, my legs propelled me toward the back of the bus. As I approached, I noticed that the seats around him were suddenly vacant.

Abreast of his seat, I spotted the baby, who seemed dwarfed by the big man’s arms. She was older than I’d first thought—probably close to two years old.

About my daughter’s age.

That thought sliced through me, and I sucked in a deep breath, resting a hand on the back of the seat to steady myself.

Could I do this?

Hesitating, I sat down across the aisle from him and smiled. “Hello, my name is Janet. Please don’t think I’m trying to butt in, but I was just wondering if you might need a hand.”

At the sound of my voice, the baby quieted, twisted around in his arms, and focused dark brown eyes on me. Clad in denim overalls and a pink turtleneck, snuggling against his chest, she stared at me, her breathing erratic with shuddering sobs.

At the instant change in the baby’s demeanor, the man’s eyes grew wide and he smiled, causing a dimple to wink in his left cheek. “What do you know? I think we should listen to the nice lady, don’t you, sweetie?” He glanced at me. “Keep doing whatever it is you just did, Janet. It obviously works. I’m Rob, by the way . . . Rob Petrie.”

I pulled my gaze from the little girl’s. “Pleasure to meet you, Rob. And what’s your daughter’s name?”

“My niece. Her name is Grace.”

“Grace,” I repeated, liking the sound as I said it. “A pretty name for a very unhappy little lady.” Instantly, I felt sorry for this man who, judging from the way he held her too tightly, obviously didn’t have much experience with toddlers.

“She’s got an ear infection, I’m afraid, and the doctor advised against making the trip by plane.” He gazed down at the child fondly and brushed a tear from her cheek. “I thought that the bus would be quieter than the train. So, here we are.”

My ticket took me through Denver, too. We’d be sharing the same bus for at least another twelve hours, maybe enough time to become better acquainted.

Grace struggled to sit upright in his arms. Her eyes hadn’t left my face since I’d sat down, and I discovered that I couldn’t look away from her, either. She was a little beauty, all right. She didn’t look much like her uncle, though, so maybe she took after her mother. The thought of who my own daughter favored flashed through my mind then suddenly, but I hastily pushed it back down deep inside of me.

“You know, she might actually feel better if she’s seated upright.” My suggestion was hesitant; I was wondering if I should be telling him what to do. After all, what did I know about taking care of a child? “My nephew, Devon, gets them, too. My sister, Claire, always props him up with extra pillows when he sleeps. Something about less pressure on the eardrum.”

He nodded, adjusted Grace’s position, and she snuggled her head on his shoulder. His large hand awkwardly patted her back, and immediately, her eyelids grew heavy.

“Does the trick every time,” I whispered, smiling. “She’s almost asleep.” Relief shot through me, and I stood, ready to return to my seat.

“Janet!” His voice was quiet, but it held an unmistakable note of panic.

I stopped, quickly checking Grace’s face, and then my gaze went to his. He was ruggedly handsome, his dark hair curling around his ears, and, judging by his jeans-clad legs jammed against the back of the seat ahead of him, well over six feet tall.

“Um, would you mind sitting back here with us? I’m a complete novice to this sort of thing, and more than willing to listen to any pointers you can offer.”

Again, my stomach clenched. I’d thought I was done, that my foray into contact with children had ended. But one look at Grace’s sweet face, and my resolve wavered. This was, after all, the perfect opportunity for me to test my abilities—a temporary interaction with a definite time constraint. Once the bus reached his or my destination, our association would be over for good.

“Let me get my things, and I’ll be right back.”

I quickly walked several rows forward, gathered my jacket, carry-on satchel, and the lightweight blanket I used for these trips. I returned and set my belongings on the adjacent seat. Then there seemed to be nothing to say.

“I really appreciate this,” Rob said. “All I want right now is to get her safely to my parents’ house.”

“Where are her parents?”

He stiffened, and the baby moaned at his sudden movement. He automatically rubbed circles on her back, whispering quietly. I liked how natural his responses seemed. If he was indeed a rookie, at least his instincts were good.

“Look, if I’m being nosy, just tell me. I come from a big family in a small town. We’re used to talking about everybody’s business.”

He angled his lean body, stretching one leg into the aisle, and rested his head against the seat. “My brother and his wife were killed last week in an automobile accident. Thank God, Grace wasn’t with them. She was still at the daycare center, waiting to be picked up. They were on their way to get her.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss.” Immediately, I said a silent prayer that my two sisters and one brother were all happy and healthy.

He dipped his chin in acknowledgment. “Mom wanted to fly out to get her, but Dad’s recovering from hip replacement surgery. I had vacation time due me, so I flew east to straighten out their affairs.” He leaned his head back and closed his eyes for a moment.

For the first time, I noticed the lines of exhaustion around his eyes and mouth. I tried to imagine myself in a similar situation and knew that not living close to his brother’s family had probably made Rob’s worse. The poor child! How scared she must’ve been, and probably still was. The people she loved and trusted had disappeared, and now an inexperienced bachelor uncle was doing his best to take care of her needs.

Impulsively, I leaned over and tucked my blanket around the sleeping baby and tossed the rest over Rob’s long legs. He’d fallen asleep, and his head nodded close to hers—dark waves almost touching golden curls. Outside, darkness was gathering, and I gazed out at the flickering lights of an unnamed city on the Kansas prairie. Soon, my eyelids drooped, as well.

“Janet.”

A deep voice called my name, and I thought I was dreaming. I reached for my blanket, but my fingers came up empty. The jostling movement and monotonous purr of tires on wet pavement reminded me suddenly of where I was.

“Janet, you awake?” Rob spoke again.

I opened my eyes and turned my head slowly, wincing at the stiffness in my neck. “Barely.”

“I need to. . . .” He jerked his head toward the back of the bus. “Can you hold Grace for a minute?”

My fingers yearned to touch her curls, my arms waited for her warm weight, but I panicked, doubting the wisdom of those thoughts. “Maybe you can lay her on the seat.”

“Didn’t you say that lying flat would hurt her ears more?”

“So, I did,” I mumbled, momentarily frustrated because he was obviously a good listener. “Sure, pass her over.” I sat up straighter and opened my arms to the sleeping girl. When Rob leaned close, I smelled musk, warm flannel, and a scent that was uniquely his—a masculine blend that sent shivers of awareness through me.

Grace arched her back at the movement and then snuggled her body to my chest. My senses were achingly overloaded by her closeness—warmth from where she’d cuddled with Rob, baby shampoo, and fresh, sweet skin. Instantaneous peace settled over my anxious heart, and I could do nothing but stare down at her innocent face. This child was single-handedly crumbling the aged stone wall around my heart.

When Rob returned, he held out his hands to take her from me.

“Oh, I don’t mind holding her for a while.” Even to my own ears, my voice sounded a bit shaky. “Stretch your legs a bit.”

He leaned an elbow on the seat in front of me and arched his back. “Thanks. I had no idea that having a little one around can be so tiring. She’s small, but demanding.”

“It won’t always be like that. The poor little thing’s just trying to make sense of a senseless world.”

“You’re right. And I’m a poor substitute for the great mom that Molly was.” His gaze flickered away to the window, and he swallowed hard before continuing. “Stupid drunk driver.”

I reached out my hand and covered his, trying not to notice how solid he felt. “You’re doing what needs to be done, Rob. And you’re doing it with Grace’s welfare in mind.” I removed my hand and made a sweeping gesture. “Not everyone chooses to travel by bus these days.”

He chuckled and sat back in his seat, smiling at me. “I appreciate your kind words. You sound like you’ve had practice calming people down. Is that talent connected to your job, by any chance?”

“Not really.” I smiled. “I just finished my degree in education, actually. Now I’m facing a decision about teaching right away, or enrolling in a master’s program.”

“From the sound of your voice, I’d guess that further studies is not the favored option?”

I couldn’t admit to him that my real reason for that stemmed from my not wanting to be responsible for other people’s children, a feeling I’d thought would go away with enough time, but hadn’t.

“Well, I’m tired of living the student life, except. . . .”

“That sounds like a big ‘except.’ ”

“Last semester, my senior project got me interested in library science. If I focused on a master’s in that, I could see my way toward extending my poverty lifestyle.”

“Personally, I think that people should go after whatever interests them. After what I’ve experienced, I’ll never tell anyone to delay their dreams.”

His voice was filled with such sadness that I wasn’t sure how to respond. This man intrigued me like no one else I’d met recently.

“What job did you leave to help your family?”

“I’ve been writing grants for my city’s school district for the past two years.” He looked at his hands, then back at me. “But what I’d really like to do is concentrate on my woodworking.”

“You build things, like chairs and tables?”

He grinned. “No, I carve artistic pieces from chunks of wood using a lathe. So far, I’ve been doing it in my spare time, but my brother’s death has changed my way of thinking. I realize now that we have no control over our time on this earth, and that we need to grab every moment we get and just enjoy it. I’ve decided I’m not going to waste my time any longer doing a job that I don’t love.”

For a moment, my mind flashed to my own indecision about which direction I’d take next. Rob’s words resonated with something deep inside of me, and I knew suddenly that I would have to think a lot more about my choice.

Grace shifted in my arms then. I loved the feeling of her small, warm body snuggled close, so trusting and calming. I moved her higher up on my shoulder and gently patted her back.

Rob frowned and leaned forward. “Is she getting heavy?”

“Not too heavy,” I quickly answered, wanting to keep her as long as I could, but not willing to tell him why. I never knew how people would react to a woman who’d given away her own child, so not many people outside of my immediate family knew about my daughter. “My nieces and nephews are all past this age, and holding her brings back fond memories for me.”

The other passengers must’ve been asleep by then, because ours was the only conversation I could hear. The swaying movements of the bus, muted lighting, and the darkness outside the windows all combined to create a special, cozy, intimate world, and we talked in low voices, sharing our lives.

I learned that he lived in a midsized town in Washington, rode in a bicycle club, loved to read legal thrillers, and had a weakness for his mom’s homemade shortbread. I shared with him my passion for quilting, my love of Celtic music, and the prize I’d won in the children’s division at the county fair for my chocolate chip oatmeal cookies. Rob was easy to talk to. I surprised myself with how much I shared with this man whom I’d only known for less than three hours.

Then the bus slowed and turned off the highway. I peered out the window and saw blurry images.

“Rob, did you know that it’s snowing?”

He leaned close and looked out my window. “By the looks of the road, it’s been coming down for a while. I’m going to ask the driver what’s up.” He rose, swung into the aisle, and walked toward the front of the bus.

I couldn’t resist a peek as his lean body moved away from me. His jeans accented long, muscular legs and narrow hips.

As the bus jerked to a stop at a red light, Grace stirred and raised her head, blinking sleepy eyes in my direction. A sinking feeling in my stomach hit. What if she panicked at waking in the arms of a stranger and started to fuss? What would I do? All my doubts about being around other people’s children surfaced again suddenly, and I vowed to put distance between Rob and this sweet little girl and myself the first chance I got. What had I been thinking, sitting here and holding this sleeping girl, letting her baby scent and sounds wrap themselves around my heart? She sat up and looked around, then focused wide eyes on my face.

“Hello, Grace. Do you remember me?”

“Wady.” She nodded, but her gaze moved, her eyes obviously searching for her uncle.

I lifted her in my arms and turned her toward the front of the bus. “Look, there’s your uncle, Grace. Can you see him?”

Just then, Rob straightened from talking to the driver and started back toward us. He spotted Grace and raised his hand in a wave. Her chubby legs bounced in my lap, and she held her arms up for him.

“Want Wob!”

His last few steps were rushed, and with a wide grin on his face, he scooped her up into a tight hug. “Hey, Gracie girl, you’re awake!”

Grace giggled and clamped her arms around his neck. Their affection for each other was obvious, and I was amazed at how naturally he seemed to handle her after only a week.

Rob lowered himself into his seat and set Grace in his lap. “The driver told me we’re making an unscheduled stop to allow the snowplows to clear the highway ahead.”

My first thought was of how the delay would affect my sister’s picking me up at my destination. “Did the driver tell you how long the delay would be?”

“No, I don’t think he knows, himself, really. I guess it all depends on how deep the snow is.”

“Of course, you’re right.”

“Hungee, Wob,” Grace piped up.

“Me, too, kiddo.” He tapped her tiny nose with his fingertip, making her smile. “When we get to the station, we’ll find some food.”

“Want juice.”

He reached under the seat, pulled out a backpack, and grabbed a bottle from the side pouch. “One request filled. Apple juice for the little lady.”

Grace snuggled against his chest and happily drank her juice from the bottle, sucking noisily.

Rob looked over at me, noticing that my gaze was riveted to Grace, and gave me a sheepish look. “I know all the books say I should be encouraging her to use a cup, but I figure she’s had enough changes in her young life for a while.”

My gaze raised to his eyes and I smiled. “I think you’re doing a wonderful job, Rob. She’s obviously fond of you, and you’re so gentle with her. Not everything follows a schedule in a book.”

“Yeah, I’m amazed at how much she means to me.” He ruffled her hair, his blue eyes softening as he gazed down at her in his arms. “Leaving her with my folks is going to be harder than I thought.”

The bus squealed to a stop suddenly, and the driver stood to make the announcement about the delay. Right then and there, I silently vowed to use this stop to separate myself from Rob and Grace. Already, I felt a bond with the mismatched pair, and worried that I was becoming too attached to them. All around us, the other passengers gathered their belongings and disembarked.

“You coming?” Rob asked.

I peered under my seat, pretending to be looking for something. “I’ll be along in a minute. My hairbrush must’ve fallen.” Inwardly, I cursed myself for being a coward.

“Okay. See you inside, then.”

He smiled and was gone.

I slowly gathered my things and dawdled until I was the last person off the bus. I don’t know how I’d expected to keep my distance from them in the bus station of a small town in western Kansas. By the time I’d finished using the ladies’ room, most of the other passengers had already staked out their areas. I bent over the drinking fountain, scanning the empty seats that were still available, hoping for one on the opposite side of the waiting area from where Rob and Grace already sat.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him waving at me. When I pretended not to see, he stood and called my name.

I was trapped.

As I reluctantly walked over to join them, I told myself that this togetherness was a good thing, that I’d learn to interact with a small child without experiencing the overwhelming regret I’d always felt in the past.

But why did this particular child have to come with such an attractive man attached?

Rob grinned and pointed when I finally stood before him. “We saved you a seat. Did you find your hairbrush?”

“Oh, yes. Thanks.” I dumped my stuff on the floor and sat in the molded plastic chair beside him, looking around at the room. “There’s not much to this station, is there?”

“You’re right about that. Luckily, though, I spotted a vending machine when I first came in.” He scooted to the edge of his seat. “Will you stay with Grace while I get us some snacks?”

“Sure. But here—let me give you some money.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it.” He squatted in front of Grace’s chair. “I’ll be right back, honey. I’m just going over to that machine over there to get you some food. Okay?”

She nodded solemnly. I noticed that her gaze followed his every step across the room to the vending machine, and every step back to us. I tried to imagine what she was thinking. Was she worried that her uncle, the only constant in her upturned life, would now also disappear like her parents had? Suddenly, I remembered what Rob had said earlier about leaving her with his parents, and thought that no amount of explaining would take away her fear when that happened. Had Rob thought of that? Had he made plans for how to make that transition as smooth for Grace as he possibly could?

I stiffened at my thoughts and told myself that it was none of my business. By this time tomorrow, I’d be swept up into the holiday celebrations of my own boisterous family, and these few hours would’ve faded into nothing more than a pleasant, fleeting memory.

Rob stopped in front of me. “What’s wrong, Janet? You have such a sad look on your face.”

I pushed my gloomy thoughts away and forced a smile. “Oh, I was just thinking about how to let my sister know about the delay.”

He sat down next to me. “Well, as soon as we know what the new arrival time is, you can borrow my cell phone. Now, for more important decisions.” He held out his hands to me, filled with cellophane-wrapped snacks from the vending machine. “For our snacking pleasure, our choices are crackers and cheese, or crackers and peanut butter.”

Grace held out her hand. “Cwackers and cheese!”

Rob quirked an eyebrow at her. “How do we ask, Gracie?”

“Pwease!”

“That’s better, sweetie.” He quickly unwrapped one end of the package and gave her two crackers. Then he leaned close, mischief dancing in his eyes. “I’m saving the good stuff for later. I’ve got candy bars hidden for when she falls asleep again.”

“Ah, the privileges of adulthood.” Rather than let the delay upset him, he was going to make it fun.

We nibbled our way through the dry cracker sandwiches, encouraging Grace to eat a couple more. Looking around, I noticed that several of the other passengers were engaged in conversation with people nearby or across from them. Suddenly, the waiting room had a congenial atmosphere about it.

“Janet, where do you think I should change her diaper?” Rob’s brow was wrinkled into a frown as he glanced dubiously at the seats around us.

“Well, I saw a changing station in the women’s rest room. Do you think she’ll let me take her?” As soon as I spoke, I worried that he’d think I was being too forward.

“I don’t know. But it’s got to be better than out here.” He grabbed the backpack and stood, picking her up, and started off across the waiting room. “You need a clean diaper, Gracie. Janet’s going to take you into the ladies’ room and change you. Will that be okay?”

I followed closely behind, admiring the way he stated the situation in a matter-of-fact tone. This man was a natural at fatherhood; I knew he’d make some lucky woman a great husband one day.

We stopped at the rest room door. Grace clutched Rob’s arm tightly, looking anxiously at the two of us.

“There’s a nice place for you to lay down while I change you, Grace, and then we’ll come right back out to your uncle.” I hoped my voice was calm and reassuring to her.

“That’s right, sweetie. I’ll wait right here by the door,” Rob soothed gently.

Grace looked at me for a long moment, then held out her arms to me.

My heart filled with such joy at her gesture. I felt like I’d won a major victory. And in a sense, I had—I’d earned this small child’s trust. At that moment, the walls around my heart that had kept me blocked off from babies and small children for so very long, were gone. They’d been knocked flat by this innocent little girl.

The diaper change was accomplished quickly, and the three of us were soon settled back in our chairs. Snow continued to fall outside, drifting along the edges of the windows. We talked quietly about nothing of importance. As the minutes stretched to hours, people walked the floor or visited the snack machine, sharing idle comments about our common experience of being stranded.

I stifled a yawn.

“Sleepy?” Rob whispered, trying not to disturb Grace, who was curled up in the seat next to him with her head nestled on his folded coat. “Why don’t you lean against my shoulder and get some rest?” He slid his arm along the back of my chair.

I pulled my blanket from under my purse and tossed it over us. “Only if you promise to close your eyes, too.”

Getting comfortable on the plastic chairs seemed impossible, and I doubted that I’d be able to sleep. But resting my cheek against Rob’s warm chest and listening to his slow, even breathing was the perfect sedative. I was out in moments.

A little while later, a loud bang assaulted my ears, and I slowly came awake, aware that my arm was slung across Rob’s stomach. His cheek rested against my head, his arm wrapped around my shoulders. I opened my eyes and saw an elderly woman staring intently at us. Looking around without moving my head, I realized that the waiting room was now very crowded. Maybe another bus had been forced to stop. Slowly, my gaze came back to the woman, who still stared.

“You have a lovely family,” she said. “Treasure them.”

I hesitated about correcting her wrong assumption, but, not wanting to wake Rob, I just mouthed the words, “Thank you.”

Rob stiffened and stretched, letting out a low moan. I wondered if he’d heard the woman’s words, too. I sat up gingerly, bracing a hand against my lower back. Turning to him, I was nervous about how intimately we’d been entwined just a few moments earlier.

“Did you sleep?”

“I must have. My arm’s all tingly.” He shook his arm and grimaced, his eyes widening as he looked around. “Wow. This room really filled up. I’ll go check on the situation. Be right back.” He patted my knee before standing and striding away.

I liked how he trusted me to watch out for Grace. I glanced over at her and saw that she was still asleep. My jacket had slipped off her legs and I straightened it. That’s when I met the elderly woman’s gaze again.

“Did your bus get stopped here, too?” I asked her.

She nodded. “Snow was coming down real thick a couple hours ago. It’s stopped now.”

I turned my head and looked out the window. The sky was still overcast, but the clouds were higher and the far horizon had lightened with the coming dawn. Glancing at my watch, I was surprised to see that it was almost six o’clock in the morning. I really had slept longer than I’d thought.

I arched my back and reached my arms over my head, trying to work out the kinks. “These chairs aren’t too comfortable.”

The woman’s eyes twinkled. “You looked real peaceful sleeping when I sat down. A good man always could put a smile on my face.”

I opened my mouth to correct her, but spotted Rob headed in our direction.

He came over to me and said, “Our driver says the road’s been cleared and we’ll leave in about ten minutes. I just remembered about the candy bars. I could use a little something about now.”

“So could I. What did you get?”

He looked at Grace, then back at me. “They’re in my coat pocket.”

I looked at her and giggled. “Maybe it’s just as well. Chocolate’s not the best choice for breakfast. Are there any more crackers?”

“Nope, I finished them off before I fell asleep.” He leaned close to the window and looked outside. “Hey, there’s a drive-through a couple of blocks away. What do you like on your hamburger?”

“Could you see if there’s anything with eggs? And don’t forget—”

“I know, milk for Grace.” Hesitating, he glanced down at her. “Janet, will you. . . .”

I waved my hands in a shooing motion. “Go on, I’ll watch her. Just hurry back so the bus doesn’t leave you behind.”

He scooped up my blanket, wrapped it around his shoulders, and jogged outside and down the street. I had to laugh at the silly image he made.

“That’s a considerate man. You best hold on to him.”

“Yes, he is.” I hadn’t taken my eyes off of Rob’s retreating figure. But I knew I had to set this woman straight. “But he’s not my man, and we’re not a family. We met tonight on the bus and we’re just making the best of this sudden change in our travel plans.”

She shook her gray curls, a doubting look on her face. “That’s not the impression I got from him. He looks at you like you’re someone special.”

Grace moaned, “Wob?”

I knelt down in front of her chair and rubbed her back, talking softly. My thoughts whirled with what the woman had said. Did Rob look at me with an emotion stronger than gratitude? We certainly worked well as a team, and had almost developed an understanding about what was needed.

So why was I listening to this stranger? Rob and I had separate lives and we’d be saying good-bye to each other within a few hours. So I concentrated on gentling Grace back to sleep, but she wasn’t having it.

I sat in Rob’s chair and brushed her tangled curls. “Uncle Rob went to get us breakfast. He’ll be right back, sweetie.”

She sat upright, her head swiveling in all directions. When she couldn’t see Rob anywhere, her chin started to quiver.

The elderly woman seated across from us leaned forward in her chair. “Hello, sweetheart. And how old are you?”

Grace shrunk back from the well-intentioned woman and looked up at me, tears pooling in her eyes. “Wady?”

Poor thing! She was disoriented, and I was the only familiar face in the room. “I’m here, Grace. Shall we see if Uncle Rob is coming?” I held my arms out to her, and she scrambled into them.

I stood with her and moved toward the door. “Let’s look through the window. Do you see all that white stuff on the ground? It’s called snow.”

I talked about anything and everything that I could see, hoping that the sound of my voice would keep her calm until Rob returned. With surprise, I realized that my natural response had been to figure out what would soothe her, and somehow, I’d succeeded.

Then an announcement came over the loudspeaker for passengers to Denver to start boarding. I glanced down the street and spotted Rob heading back. I pointed him out to his niece.

“Look, Grace, Uncle Rob is coming.”

She pressed her nose up against the window, her eyes watching every step he took.

Rob swung the door open, cold air clinging to him, and stopped when he saw us waiting expectantly, a grin spreading across his handsome face.

“What a welcoming committee!”

Grace leaned away from me with her arms held up to him. “Unca Wob!”

Rob dropped the sack of food onto the nearest chair and reached for her. “Hey, punkin, you’re awake!” He rubbed noses with her and she giggled. Cradling her head to his chest, he looked at me. “Is everything okay?”

I nodded, too overcome with emotion at the picture they made together to speak. How could he not see how much she needed him, that he was her family now? Immediately, I shoved my thoughts aside. “Our bus is boarding. We need to hurry.”

I grabbed the sack and the blanket and hurried back to our seats. Maybe back on the bus, with the aisle between us, separating us, I’d be able to begin the separation process again. I tried hard not to think of the woman’s comments about her impression of Rob’s feelings.

But I couldn’t help wondering—

Were the three of us like a family?

Why was I even listening to a stranger?

Within minutes, we’d settled into seats in about the middle of the bus, mine across the aisle from them. Rob distributed our breakfast sandwiches, and silence reigned as the three of us ate hungrily. Then the driver’s radio crackled, and he held a short, muffled conversation.

“Folks, can I get your attention? We’re going to board additional passengers from the other bus. Please stow your belongings under the seats and make room for as many people as possible.”

Rob turned his head and looked at me. “Why don’t you move over with us, Janet? Grace doesn’t need a seat all to herself.”

There was no argument I could give him. And, if I was honest with myself, I was glad he’d asked. I didn’t really want to miss a minute of our remaining time together. People shuffled in, stowed their belongings, and soon, almost all the seats were filled.    The driver thanked everyone for cooperating and announced that we should arrive in Denver by lunchtime, weather permitting.

I gasped and turned to Rob. “I forgot to call my sister.”

He reached for his coat under the seat and pulled out a cell phone. “That’s because we were too busy eating. Go ahead and use it first.”

I looked at the phone in his hand, then back at him. “Instructions, please?”

He chuckled. “Tell me the number and I’ll punch it in.”

Within a few moments, I was relating the story of our storm delay to Claire. Before I hung up, I urged her to confirm my bus’s arrival time before leaving the house. “I’m anxious to see you, too. ‘Bye.” I handed the phone back to Rob, suddenly saddened because our time together was waning.

He started to punch in his parents’ number, and Grace wanted to play, too. I lifted her into my lap to give him more room and started a game of pat-a-cake with her. Her eyes lit up, and she played along. I tried not to listen, but I overheard Rob reassuring his parents that the two of them were fine.

“How’s Dad? . . . If the weather turns, we’ll grab a cab. I don’t want you driving in the snow, Mom. Promise me? . . . See you soon.” He dropped the phone back into his coat pocket and rubbed a hand over his face. “So, your sister’s picking you up in Denver?”

I shook my head. “My stop is the one after Denver.”

He started to say something, but Grace scrambled into his lap and demanded his attention. I told myself it was just as well that our destinations were different. Saying good-bye in the presence of our families would be awkward, at best. Ours was just a temporary alliance, after all, and I’d known all along that it would end.

For the next several hours, Grace occupied all of our time and attention. She was full of energy and had fun moving between our laps. Rob and I didn’t share any more personal details, but several times, I found his intense gaze focused on me.

Outside, the storm had cleared, and blue skies filled the bus windows. The snow on the roadway had been melted by the morning sunshine.

“Want juice!” Grace demanded.

Rob searched through the backpack and held up an empty bottle. “Sorry, sweetie, but you drank it all. Anyway, we’ll be there soon.”

“No!” She started to whimper.

“I think this is where I come in.” I kept my voice light, grabbed my satchel, and pulled out a half-full bottle of water. “She can finish this. My water is her water.”

Rob turned a grateful smile my way. “Thanks, Janet.”

My heart melted. Suddenly, I wished I could be two years old and demand to have what I wanted. I wanted Rob to smile at me like that, always.

Then the driver announced our bus’s arrival at the Denver station in five minutes. Rob passed Grace to me so he could gather up their belongings.

I held her close as she finished her water, savoring the weight of her body pressed against my chest. It was hard to believe that I’d only known these two less than twenty-four hours. Suddenly, I was glad I’d impulsively introduced myself. I knew I’d always remember this bus trip with fondness.

Rob turned to me then, a serious look on his face. “There’s so much I didn’t say, Janet. How can I ever thank you for all your help?”

The brakes squealed, and the bus jerked to a stop.

“You just did. I’ve enjoyed sharing the ride with both of you.” My throat tightened and I brushed my lips against Grace’s curls. “You’ll never know how much this has meant to me.”

His gaze flickered to outside the window. “There’re my folks.”

I turned to look out. “Where?”

He leaned close, bringing his head close to mine. “By the benches. Dad’s sitting in the wheelchair.” The elderly gentleman slumped in his seat, his eyes closed. “Janet, they look so old. How are they ever going to manage with an energetic toddler?”

I immediately thought of my parents, and how their grandchildren kept them young at heart. “I’ve seen what my nieces and nephews do for my folks. You’ll be surprised by the changes that take place once they’re around her for a while.”

He sat forward and looked out the window again, then stood. He reached for Grace and I lifted her up to him. He grabbed my hand and held on.

“Come meet my folks,” he said.

I hesitated, uncertain of his intentions. “Rob, I shouldn’t get off the bus. This isn’t my stop.”

“It’ll only be for a second. Do it for Grace.”

“For Grace?”

“Meeting you will take some of my parents’ focus off of her.”

He sounded so logical, and I had no argument. I followed as he led me down the aisle. As soon as we’d descended the steps, I tried to pull away, but he gripped me tighter. Maybe he was nervous about how this meeting would go.

In a moment, we were across the expanse of asphalt and I stood back from the exchange of hugs and exclamations of welcome. Then suddenly, Rob wrapped an arm around my shoulders and pulled me forward.

“Mom, Dad, I want you to meet Janet, who helped Grace and me on this trip. Janet, these are my parents, Howard and Judy. Hey, I don’t even know your last name.”

I extended my hand. “It’s Vanvolkenburg, Janet Vanvolkenburg. Glad to meet you. Your son and granddaughter made great travelling companions.”

Behind me, I heard the driver call for passengers to board. My gaze flew to Rob’s, hoping for the strength to say good-bye before the tears that stung the backs of my eyes flowed.

“Well, good luck to you all. Thanks for breakfast, Rob.” I swallowed hard against the lump in my throat. “ ‘Bye, Grace.”

She waved a hand. “Bye, wady.”

I waved and spun on my heels, quickly walking back to my seat in the bus. Calling myself all kinds of fool, I watched as they collected their luggage and moved slowly toward the parking lot. Rob turned once, raised a hand in my direction, and I waved back.

Thirty minutes later when the bus pulled into the Eagle Pass station, all signs of my recent tears were gone. I told myself that I should be happy for the experience of meeting Rob, but I couldn’t help wishing for more time with him. Claire and Chloe, her youngest daughter, spotted me as soon as I stepped down from the bus, and I was instantly swept up into big hugs and the latest news of my family.

Arriving at Claire’s house, more family greeted me, and there wasn’t a single moment to myself for hours. As we cleared the table from dinner, Claire pulled me aside and asked me how the trip had been this year.

“You aren’t as sad as you’ve been the past years,” she observed.

“I know. I think this will be my last bus trip.”

“Oh?”

My sister has the ability to put volumes of meaning in a single word. “I spent some time on the bus with a darling little girl, and I guess I just finally realized that parents aren’t only created through giving birth. I’m finally at peace with my decision to let my baby be adopted.”

“I don’t understand.” Claire was surprised. “Could you tell she was adopted?”

The phone rang once and was picked up in the other room.

“She’d recently lost her parents. I watched her uncle act as their stand-in, and he gave her everything she needed.”

Claire’s oldest, Matthew, stuck his head into the room. “Call for you, Aunt Janet. It’s a Rob Petrie.”

I sucked in my breath and reached a hand out to steady myself on the counter. How had he gotten this number?

“Thanks, Matthew. Claire, can I take it in Darren’s office?”

“If I say yes, you’re giving me details when you’re done.”

Suddenly, I felt carefree. Rob had called. “Sure. We’ll talk later.”

Carefully, I closed the door to the office and grabbed the phone. “Hello, Rob. How did you get my number here?”

“Remember, it was on my cell phone. I punched the number into memory.”

“Well, it’s certainly great to hear your voice. How are things going with Grace and your parents?” I settled into a chair and waited for his reply.

“I wish I could be positive. Everything’s tentative. She’s shy with them and clinging to me. Mom’s giving her a bath right now, though, so I’ve got a ten-minute break. There’re lots of breakable things in the house that Grace could accidentally knock over.” He took a deep breath. “I miss you.”

Hearing his words surprised me. I knew that we’d gotten along well, but I hadn’t hoped for anything more. Then the words of the elderly woman in the station echoed through my thoughts.

“I miss you, too, Rob.”

“Watching that bus drive away forced me to realize that we’d developed a special bond on that trip. I keep turning to ask your advice and you’re not next to me. Tell me I’m not crazy, Janet.”

I felt the first glimmerings of hope. “You’re not crazy, Rob. I felt it, too, but I don’t know where we go from here.”

“We have to spend time together. Does your family do a Christmas Eve or a Christmas Day celebration?”

“Christmas Day. Why?”

His voice was confident. “Because you’re spending Christmas Eve here, then. I’ll pick you up and you should plan to spend the night.”

“Wait, Rob. Won’t your parents object to a stranger coming for the family holiday?” He was moving so fast, but I liked his confidence that what we felt for each other was real.

“Don’t worry, I’ll explain it to them.” His voice grew husky suddenly. “I need you here because I value your opinion, and I have a big decision to make.”

“What decision?”

“I don’t think I can leave Grace with them. I want to raise her myself—maybe with your help, if things work out the way I’m hoping they will.”

My heart stopped, then raced. He was offering me the opportunity to be a mom, and a chance at a real family. Before I could answer, I heard him laughing at someone in the background. His muffled voice said a few words, and then I made out my name.

“Grace wants to give you a good-night kiss,” he told me. Next, I heard a loud smacking noise.

I couldn’t believe how much I missed them. “Tell her night-night from me.”

“I will. So, what do you think? Are you willing to see where this will lead?”

I felt like shouting, but I kept my voice calm. “Very willing. I like you, Rob, very much. I agree it seems sudden, but I trust what I feel.”

That Christmas was three years ago. Rob and I were married on December twenty-ninth that year, and moved into a small house halfway between Denver and Eagle Pass. I have a part-time job at the city library, and Rob is happy working out of our garage, turning wooden objects into bowls and vases. Grace started school this fall, and she is thriving. Her younger brother, Jonah, will celebrate his first birthday soon. As the holidays approach each year, I still remember my first baby and send her and her parents loving thoughts. I’ve learned that families are created in more ways than we can possibly imagine, love and caring being the important factors.

Nowadays, when a bus drives by, Rob and I share a special look, ever grateful for that fateful, snowy trip.

 

From the December 1948 issue of True Love and Romance:

“Get that dog out of here this minute! Oh, Ted, how could you? Look at the floor I just mopped!”

“But he just has to get warm a minute,” Ted cried desperately. “His paws got snow-packed between the toes while we was goin’ to the store, and—”
“And now it’s melting all over the clean linoleum,” I interrupted grimly, corralling the joyful beast between the sink and the stove. “If you insist on keeping this–this—horse, he’s to stay outdoors or in the basement. I’ve told you that a dozen times. I think I’ll have to speak to your father!”

Ted ducked under my elbow and flung a protecting arm across the massive canine shoulders: “I’ll wipe up the tracks he made—honest I will, Mother. It’s freezin’ outdoors, and you know how cold the cellar is. Please—”

Boy and dog stood before me in an attitude of hopeful pleading—such a small boy and such a ridiculously overgrown pup. An eight-month-old Great Dane makes a classic showing in the kennels, but in a kitchen so small that even the mix-master has a built-in cupboard, his very bulk presented a major problem, let alone the mud and wet he tracked in. Hopelessly, perplexedly, I stared at the pair.

Subconsciously, and very likely for the hundredth time since marrying his father nearly a year ago, I noted how strikingly different Ted was from Jim. Jim, my husband, so dark and vibrant and forceful, so straightforward and gay, loving the full rich taste of life, afraid of nothing. Ted was slight and blond, with eyes that held secrets which never passed his lips. He must look very like the fragile girl who had given him birth—Jim’s first wife, who had died so soon after her tiny son was born. Without being actively jealous, I knew she had been lovely—lovely and strangely quiet, like a bird who had lost its song.

And I wasn’t actively jealous of Ted, merely because, up until now, I had had no reason to harbor resentment toward this offspring of Jim’s first marriage. He was polite, neat, and astonishingly quiet—a combination rarely found in a healthy nine-year-old male. Besides, I had Penny, my own child by a first marriage. Suddenly, as though merely thinking of her was sufficient to evoke her physical presence, she appeared in the kitchen door.

“Poor Butch,” she crooned, tossing the russet tumble of hair away from her warm blue eyes. “You aren’t gonna make him go outdoors right away, are you, Mommie?”

Her smile, honey-smooth, slid over the big pup, Ted’s tense face, and touched me with the calculating guile of a small girl who had early learned the value of her own charm. She promptly knelt beside Butch, who evidenced his delight by licking her face from hairline to chin.

I felt myself weakening. “He can stay in the kitchen for half an hour if you’ll watch him, Penny,” I said, knowing full well that my remark was poor psychology, as well as smacking strongly of favoritism.. “He’s such an ox of a dog, he’s bound to smash something. Now, Ted, get a cloth and wipe up the floor!”

“Yes, Mother.”

I went back to my mending, conscious of the queer look Ted had given me—not reproachful, not grateful; puzzled, and hurt, perhaps. But why? That great hunk of dog was still in my clean kitchen, wasn’t he? I sighed, feeling vaguely sorry for myself. It was difficult to bring up another woman’s child—especially an odd, secretive boy like Ted.

I had been darning but five minutes when there was a crash from the kitchen and a squeal from Penny. One glance was sufficient to show me that the icebox rolls, which had been on the work table in the process of raising, were now upside down on the clean floor, where Butch was avidly investigating the mess with his nose and paw. Ted was staring in dumb horror. Penny, balanced daintily on a chair, looked more amused than alarmed.

He didn’t mean to do it, Mommie,” she piped cheerfully. “He wanted a drink, so he stood on his hind legs and—”

“Get that dog down in the cellar!” I said, trying not to shout, but my voice soared to an unpleasant falsetto. “Your father is so fond of hot rolls, and now look—”

Butch lifted his nose, on which my precious dough was generously smeared, and grinned at me. If you don’t think a dog can grin, then you’ve never owned a dog. His tongue lolled in vast enjoyment. I was furious. “Scram, you!” I stormed. I struck at him with the sock I had been mending. It had about as much effect as flailing at an elephant with a reed. Butch thought it was some new kind of game and seized the heel in his teeth. Needless to say there was no heel left to mend.

Ted buried his fingers under the handsome collar with its name plate and license. There was a faint blue line around his mouth, and his eyes were filled with fright.

“I’ll–I’ll get him right out,” he stuttered, and his very panic added to my irritation. I had never lifted a hand to hurt Ted in my life, yet he acted now as though he expected to be beaten within an inch of his life. Butch allowed himself to be led to the basement door with obvious reluctance, and the two disappeared, leaving a miserable silence behind them.

Penny made no offer to help me clean up the wreckage, but she did nuzzle against me for a moment before she went into the living room. “Don’t be mad, Mommie. Butch didn’t mean to spill the dough—honest,” she said in that soft, demure wave of hers. “He’s a nice dog.”

“What’s nice about him?” I muttered, but I patted the round dimpled cheek as she passed me. I could never be angry with Penny.

Jim came home an hour later—seeming to overflow the apartment like a small avalanche. He aimed his hat at the hall tree, scored a perfect shot, and gathered me into his arms. He smelled of cold air, good tobacco, and damp wool. Even as he kissed me, he was brushing snow from his overcoat. After all these months, his lips still had the power to send shivers straight down my spine. He cupped my chin in his palm, grinned, and kissed me again. Then he caught Penny up in a bear hug, kissed her forehead where the quaint widow’s peak lay against the softness of her forehead, and then demanded: “Where’s Ted? Hey—boy? Where’s my pal?”

When there was no immediate reply, Jim’s eyes sought mine in sharp question. “He’s not in the doghouse again over that pup?”

“He’s down in the basement with Butch —yes,” I retorted unhappily. “But I didn’t tell him he had to stay there. You’re eating just plain bread for dinner because that miserable dog knocked my icebox rolls on the floor and—”

Jim took off his coat and hung it up in a way that was a danger signal in itself. His mouth had a grim twist.

“Will you go to the basement and tell Ted I’m here, Penny?” he asked in the falsely pleasant way you show a collector to the door.

“Of course, Daddy.” Penny skipped off, and over her shoulder she gave Jim a dazzling smile.

Jim stalked into the living room, his back presenting a wide expanse of disapproval. “I suppose you punished the kid?” he asked in a carefully controlled voice, the minute Penny disappeared.

“I’ve never touched him in my life!” I flared, finding sudden difficulty in getting words past the lump in my throat. But he’s such a strange child, I can’t get next to him. I think he hates me—and I’ve tried so hard.”

“Have you?” Jim picked up a cigar, but he didn’t put it in his mouth. He just stood there, turning it round and round in his big square fingers. “Have you, really, Jan?”

I blinked fast, but not fast enough; tears overflowed and splashed on my clenched hands.

“Oh, Jim, how can you say that?” I wailed. “We’d do all right if it wasn’t for that awful hound.”

“Great Dane,” Jim corrected grimly.

“Great Dane—hound—all the same to me.” I sobbed. “Every day it’s the same story. That beast knocks over something or does some damage. And Ted just won’t keep him outdoors. It isn’t as though the dog didn’t have a nice house of his own and—”

I stopped because Jim was staring at me so fixedly—as though I wasn’t there, or he hadn’t seen me before or something.

Fear turned the pit of my stomach cold and sick. I loved Jim—loved him in a way I could never explain—wordlessly, completely, with every atom of my being. I had loved Penny’s father, too, but not like this. This was a mature love—full, rich, utterly satisfying. Jim had brought gusty gay romance into the weary plodding of my widowhood. When we’d fallen in love, we’d been so sure that marriage, for us, would be the perfect answer. Ted had been in a boarding school since his mother’s death, and Penny had spent her days with an elderly neighbor while I worked. And our union—Jim’s and mine—had meant a home for both children.

But now we were quarreling—not violently, but with a subtle undercurrent that any woman knows is deadly. I heard the children coming and hurried into the bedroom to repair the ravages to my face. When I came out, Ted was standing a little apart from Penny and Jim, his hands thrust deep in his pockets, his face as expressionless as a small graven image. Penny was perched on Jim’s chair, chattering like a magpie and hugging him with more enthusiasm than technique.

We all made a conscious effort to be gay during dinner, but the meal dragged and each was glad when dessert was finished. Ted started back toward the basement, but Jim called him into the living room.

“Ten more shopping days until Christmas,” he announced, winking at Penny. “When are you folks planning on going downtown?”

Penny’s dimples flashed. She plopped into Jim’s lap, nestling her head under his chin in a gesture I recognized as pure artifice. I wasn’t surprised when she asked naively: “How much money can I have to spend, Daddy?”

Jim chuckled. “The eternal woman,” he grumbled. Nevertheless his arms closed tenderly around her soft young form, and for an instant his cheek rested against her hair. In that moment, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ted’s chin come up and his shoulders straighten as though to meet an unseen challenge or a too familiar pain. I tried to slip my arm over his bent head, but he moved swiftly aside and I felt the rebuff like a slap.

“He hates me,” I thought desperately. “He hates Penny, too, because she is taking his place with his father. He doesn’t care for anybody or anything but that dog. And it’ll get worse all the time. Jim will blame me. What am I going to do? Dear God, how can I manage this?”

The children went to bed early, but Jim remained cool toward me. I knew it was because of Ted’s peculiar actions. Toward eleven o’clock I had reached the breaking point. Jim glanced up from his book to find me crying.

“Jan—honey!” He was instantly penitent. He caught me to him with a rough urgency that never failed to bring the same wild, sweet thrill. “I was a beast to talk to you as I did. I know Butch is no lap dog. Why I let Ted have him, I don’t know. Maybe we can sell him after Christmas.” His lips came down to mine. “I love you so, Jan. I suppose, at my age, I ought not to—”

He didn’t finish, because I kissed the sentence from his lips. “Oh Jim, darling, forgive me for being such a nagging shrew,” I whispered finally “I’ll try again with Ted. Poor little boy! I think he resents me because, in his mind, I’m taking the place of his own mother.”

“Is he rude to you?”

“Oh, no, never rude. Just—well–aloof.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Jim said uncomfortably. And then for a while we forgot about him in talking of other things.

The next morning, after Jim had gone to the office, I was washing dishes at the sink, where I had a full view of the back yard. It being Saturday, the children were both home. Penny was cutting out paper dolls in the living room, but Ted had disappeared right after breakfast. But now as I looked down at the snow-dusted yard, where Butch had his doghouse, I witnessed a strange scene which I was destined to remember later with painful clarity.

Ted came through the alley gate, plodding slowly like an old man who carries too heavy a burden. Trudging at his heels came Butch, the great head pressed lightly against Ted’s corduroy pants, the brown eyes raised in poignant question. Boy and dog crossed to a secluded corner of the yard where, it was evident, Ted felt safe from prying eyes. Glancing swiftly around to make certain they were alone, he dropped to his knees and enfolded the pup’s neck in one long hug.

That in itself was not strange. It was the dog’s reaction. As a rule, any such behavior on the part of his young master flung Butch into gyrating ecstasy. He would yank away and run in mad, joyous circles, digging holes in the soft sod and ending the frenzied performance with a lavish demonstration of affection, such as licking Ted’s face and hands or galloping at full speed against his chest until the two were rolling on the ground in wild abandon.

But today there was no such crazy cavorting. The dog stood perfectly still as the boy knelt before him—still, except for a slight quiver that ran through him and was gone. When Teddy stood up, Butch leaped up and put his paws on Teddy’s shoulders. The massive head rested against Ted’s chest, motionless, yet somehow so expressive of misery that I found the breath catching in my throat.

When Ted released his hold and rocked back on his heels, Butch sank to his belly and crawled a few inches forward until his chin rested on one of Ted’s small clenched fists. Though I couldn’t hear it, of course, I could fairly feel the sobbing whine that filled the great throat. Ted sat for many minutes, staring blindly into space, the dog crouched in sympathetic anguish beside him.

“I suppose Ted’s remembering his mother,” I said aloud, startled and hurt by the eloquent drama. “If he would only try to like me—but he won’t. He’s set his heart against me and against Penny, and—” I was afraid to finish—afraid to think what the natural outcome might conceivably be.  After all, Ted was Jim’s son, and if I failed to make Ted happy—

It was because of the scene I had witnessed in the back yard that I made the shopping suggestion, right after lunch.

“How about a trip downtown?” I asked, addressing the question to Ted with cheerful purpose. “Remember what Daddy said about Christmas? We’d better get our gifts bought before the best things are all gone.”

Penny was instantly rapturous. “Oh goody—goody! Can I have some money to spend, just the way I want?” she demanded, jumping up without finishing her milk. “I’m old enough to buy things for you and Daddy and Ted and my friends, without any help. Please, Mommie!”

“Both of you may have money to spend as you wish,” I said, still looking at Ted. He hadn’t spoken during the entire meal, and now he sat with his eyes on his plate, looking almost sick under his peppering of freckles. “Have you any idea what you’d like to buy for your father, Ted?”

His glance was brief and empty.  “I don’t want to go shopping,” he said with finality and lapsed again into silence.

Penny’s blue eyes opened to their widest. “You don’t want to go shopping?” she echoed blankly. “You’re crazy. Why, Barbara says that Jarvis Lane’s store has a real fairyland in its window and—”

I shook my head at her. I was frightened by the panic that stirred in me. How bitterly deep-rooted must be Ted’s hate—so deep-rooted that he wouldn’t even go shopping with Penny and me. I knew that in his heart he longed to see the Jarvis Lane store as much as Penny did, and surely a nine-year-old boy would love having Christmas money to spend as he pleased. But Ted’s face was set and white.

“I promised Max I’d go to the library with him,” he muttered. “I gotta take some books back, too.”

I drew a long breath. “All right, Ted, if that’s the way you feel. Perhaps your father will take you down some night next week. The stores will be open nights, then.”

Ted made no reply. After a minute he asked politely to be excused. A moment later the back door closed behind him. He was gone, quietly, locked in his inner world—a world that shut me out.

I dressed Penny and myself, determined to go shopping anyway. Perhaps, during the course of the afternoon, some new plan would come to me. Rather than dim the joy of Jim’s love, I’d let Butch wreck the house, I decided—anything to make Ted happy. Anything to break through that icy barrier—that tight, defensive barrier that would eventually alienate Jim and crush our happiness.

Penny, wearing a moss-green beret and a coat to match, danced from store to store like a bewitched child in the Land of Enchantment. Clerks smiled indulgently as she soberly considered handkerchiefs for me, ties for Jim, and a football for Ted. But to my surprise she didn’t buy any of these things. With tongue in cheek and blue eyes averted, she loitered beside perfume counters, examined golf bags, and explored the toy department.

“Remember, darling, you only have three dollars. That seems like a lot to you, but it won’t buy a golf bag for Daddy or those skis for Ted. Why not buy—”

“This is my very own money, Mommie,” she interrupted. Her voice was breathless with excitement. Having known Penny for nine years, I suspected that she had finally come to some decision and that it was a thrilling one. After several minutes she led the way back to an elevator and we were once again lifted to the toy department.

“I think Ted would love this rabbit,” she said in that soft-as-a-kitten’s-purr voice. “It’s so nice and wooly, and it plays a tune when you wind it up and—”

“Penny,” I began, then stopped, not quite able to wipe that rapt look of complete bliss from her round face. Ted would never want that rabbit, and besides it cost more than the dollar she had to spend on him, but I knew Penny wanted it passionately. She had been back to pet it five times already. Half amused, half vexed, I told the clerk to wrap it up. I’d have to buy something else for Penny to give to Ted, of course, because I knew, and Penny knew, that she’d end up getting the rabbit.

However, I was more vexed than amused when she stopped next at a long counter of games and picked up a miniature bowling alley. It was cleverly made, with tiny balls, miniature pins, and an hook of rules easy to read and understand. She tried the balls, laughed when she knocked four pins down, and then placidly asked the price.

“Just think, Mommie—only two dollars,” she cooed softly, snuggling up to me. “Wouldn’t Daddy just love it?”

“But you haven’t that much money,” I reminded her. “Besides, that is a child’s game, and your father belongs to a regular bowling team.”

Her blue eyes clouded with tears. The soft red underlip quivered. She half turned away, a picture of grieved innocence.

An elderly clerk gave me a pleading look.

“It’s natural for children to pick out for others what they’d like themselves. She doesn’t understand that everybody doesn’t love the same things she does.”

Of course, we ended up buying the thing, and I supposed Jim would be amused by Penny’s choice and probably get a big kick out of it.

I wasn’t to know what my daughter had purchased for me until Christmas morning.

Whatever it was, it was very bulky, and she insisted on carrying it herself. We arrived home very much the worse for wear. Ted was reading in the living room. Butch was nowhere in sight.

“You’ll never guess what I bought you,” Penny caroled, dancing around him. “It’s white and soft and—”

“Penny!” I warned sharply. With a guilty shrug and a merry wink, she disappeared into the bathroom. I attempted to draw Ted into conversation, but he was as remote as ever, answering only when politeness demanded. I put some money on his chair, saying, “Perhaps you’d like to go shopping with your father some night next week, Ted. Penny spent more than she should, so here’s some extra for you, too.”

He gave me a straight, level look. “I don’t want any money, thank you,” he said, his tongue licking his dry underlip nervously.

“But you’ll want to get something for your dad and Penny, at least, Ted. She bought a present for you.”

His brown eyes dropped for an instant, but his mouth tightened. “No, thank you,” he repeated again.

When Jim and I were in bed that night, I told him about Penny’s shopping and Ted’s refusal to go or to accept money.

“He loathes me,” I whispered, burying my face in Jim’s neck. “I’ve tried everything.”

“Everything but letting him alone,” Jim interrupted, his body suddenly stiff and resisting. “You just don’t understand boys, Jan. You nag him and—”

“Why, Jim, how can you say such a thing?” Angry tears choked me. “I’ve done everything I could to win him. I—”

“Let’s not argue,” Jim said wearily. “Ted will go shopping with me some night next week. Maybe he doesn’t like shopping with women. Most men don’t.”

“How utterly ridiculous! Ted isn’t a man. He’s just a little boy and—” I stopped short. Jim had turned his broad back to me with a cold finality that put terror in my soul.

The next few days were such a torment that my heart bled silently, without sign of outward anguish. Ted was more secretive than usual, and even sweet little Penny couldn’t make up for his silence with her wild joyous burst of pre-Christmas spirit. To please her, I bought a whole box of greens and decorated the apartment from hall to kitchen. And Jim tried gallantly to ignore the rift between us, climbing ladders to hang holly and mistletoe, and joking constantly with Ted and Penny.

But it was no use. Ted not only dampened the spirits of the rest of us by warily watching from the sidelines instead of entering into the fun and gaiety, but he continued to refuse to go shopping, even with his father. I could see that this bothered Jim as much as it did me, though he didn’t say much.

At first Jim seemed to be silently blaming me for Ted’s stubbornness. He acted as though it were all my fault—as though I had antagonized Ted by handling the thing wrong from the beginning. But later on he became just as annoyed and discouraged about Ted as I was. And I must admit that I was glad. Glad that Jim was getting a taste of Ted’s sullen silence and stubborn, secretive ways. It was a good thing for him to see what the boy was really like. He’d soon see that nobody could get close to Ted’s cold, unfriendly little heart. And then, perhaps, he’d talk to the boy and try to make him more appreciative.

This was, after all, the first Christmas since he’d been born that Ted had had a family. Here we were—father, mother, and sister—all trying to make this the happiest Christmas he’d ever had, and what was he doing? Nothing but his best to make not only himself miserable, but the whole family. He seemed to enjoy being unhappy himself, and liked to make everybody else unhappy, too.

Of course, there was Penny. Her bubbling spirits, gay laughter, and the open affection she had for all of us took away part of the sting of Ted’s indifference and surliness. She was the incentive that kept me going ahead with the holiday plans, and I was sure Jim felt the same way. With each passing day, he looked at Ted with growing doubt in his eyes, and turned to sweet little Penny, just as I had done, for comfort.

Christmas Eve, we went to midnight service. It was good to be walking through the clean, freshly fallen snow, with my hand in Jim’s, and the children racing on ahead. Nearly every house had a gayly lighted tree and colored lamps banging outside. The air glittered with frost. Every ledge and post held a tuft of white. Small virgin drifts lay along the walk.

The singing was awesome and glorious, it always was—clear, boyish voices lifted the ancient chant—”Peace on Earth, good will toward men.” The candles making long shadows against the dark altar rail, the pungent smell of bayberry and greens, and Penny kneeling beside me but wriggling occasionally with impatience. Surprisingly, it was Ted who followed the service with the most rapt attention, his face bent earnestly over the prayer book, his blond hair falling softly over his forehead. Once I thought I heard him sob, but, when I looked, his eyes were dry, his face still and pale.

Afterward we hurried home through the magic of the night, calling Christmas greetings to friends, listening to the echo of children’s voices laughing with joyous excitement. Penny skipped and threw handfuls of snow, but Ted was silent, walking a few panes ahead, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, his chin resting on his coat collar. I knew Jim was watching him anxiously.

“Feeling all right, fella?” he asked gently, as we entered the warm apartment.

“Sure,” Ted said quickly—too quickly. “Sure, Dad. I’m going to bed now. ‘Night.”

“He hasn’t even a gift for his father,” I thought, a tug of misery at my heart. “Oh, I wish he were different. If only he weren’t so self-centered. If only he were more like other children—more like Penny!”

Penny woke up before eight and immediately roused the household by shouting “Merry Christmas” at the top of her lungs. Jim grumbled, then laughed as he felt sleepily for his slippers.

“I should holler,” he said wryly. “I used to get up before dawn on Christmas morning. Come on! We might as well get out to the tree. I can hear Ted getting up.”

Our first Christmas together I wanted so terribly for it to be a perfect one. Yet the fear was there—grim, stark, menacing. Before we went into the living room, I pulled Jim’s face down to mine to kiss him long and hard. “I love you,” I said, not too steadily. “Merry Christmas, darling.”

He kissed me back almost fiercely, as though he, too, felt the danger ahead of us. “And I love you, too—very much, Mrs. Richmond,” he whispered huskily. “May this prove to be the happiest Christmas you’ve ever had.”

Somehow it sounded like whistling in the dark, that quick wish of his, spoken with such determined cheerfulness. We went to the living room, hand in hand, yet with more bravado than real joy.

Penny was already there, dancing around the tree, lifting this package and that, shaking them, trying to read the name cards, exclaiming, laughing. Ted came in from his bedroom, fully dressed, with his bright hair slicked down, and his face cold and pink from recent scrubbing.

“For the love of Pete, fella!” Jim gasped. “How long have you been up?”

Ted’s smile was nervous. He didn’t look at us. “I don’t know,” he said vaguely and slid into a chair well back from the tree.

Penny already had a gift in her arms—the one she had bought for Ted, and she took it to him, dancing on her toes, her eyes twinkling with excitement. “Open it, Teddy. It’s to you from me,” she laughed.

I watched with a sinking heart as Ted opened the brightly wrapped package. When he saw the stuffed rabbit, he stared for a stunned instant, as though he couldn’t believe anybody would buy such a stupid gift for a nine-year-old boy. Then his mouth twisted into a polite smile and his face was instantly masked. “Thanks,” he mumbled. “Thanks a lot, Penny.”

“Now it’s your turn,” Penny reminded him, picking up the rabbit and cuddling it under her chin. “You get a gift from the tree.”

Ted got up slowly. His face was dead white except for two spots of crimson that burned high on either cheekbone. His eyes were suddenly ablaze. He walked to the tree and stood for an instant as though gathering all the force of his will. Then he stooped down and reached far under the bushy branches. It wasn’t until then that I saw the pile of clumsily wrapped gifts, hidden far behind the tree. There was a catch in my breath and in my heart.

“This—this is for you, Mother.” Ted came to me, his hands trembling, and put a queerly shaped bundle in my lap. “I hope you like it.”

“Thank you, darling.” I glanced up at Jim, but he looked as completely non-plussed as I felt. Awkwardly, I slipped off the ribbon and paper. In utter bewilderment I stared down at a nest of gay heat-proof bowls that I had long wanted for the kitchen. In the center one was a card reading, “With love to Mother, from Ted.”

A lump rose in my throat and stuck there. I blinked hard and fast. “How—how did you know I wanted these?” I asked, choking a little.

“You said you did.” Ted’s voice was muffled. “You said Mrs. Clayton had a set, so I got you a set, too.”

“But they cost a lot—” I began and stopped, feeling heat creep into my face. “Thank you, Ted—thank you, so much,” I ended helplessly. This was no time to talk about cost.

However, when that pile behind the tree revealed a talking doll for Penny and a smoking jacket for Jim, there just naturally had to be some explanation. Jim sat with the jacket across his knee while Penny hugged her doll in an ecstasy of joy.

“But, fella,” Jim’s voice was bewildered. “Where did you get the money for all this? You didn’t have enough in your bank for—” He didn’t finish because, without meaning to, I cried out suddenly as a memory flashed across my inner vision.

I saw Ted kneeling before Butch, his arms wrapped around the great neck, his head bowed in voiceless grief and surrender. It occurred to me abruptly that I hadn’t seen the dog for two days. The last rush of Christmas preparation had so taken my attention that I hadn’t noticed his absence until now.

Unbelievingly, I stared at the blond head, bent now so that the sensitive face was hidden. It couldn’t be true! A nine-year-old boy just wouldn’t make a sacrifice like that! Yet the truth was there—a wild, sweet agony clamoring against my heart. Ted loved me! Ted loved his home, his father, and even his stepsister. He had loved enough to make the supreme sacrifice. I caught Ted’s arm in a grip that made him wince.

“You sold Butch, didn’t you?” I asked, winking my tears back. “That is how you got the money. Am I right, fella?”

Bright red crept up Ted’s neck and into his face. His hands clenched and unclenched. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. “He was a dirty old dog, anyway—always making tracks and chewin’ up things. Bob Mason’s father gave me twenty dollars for him.”

Penny’s bleat held the surprised anguish of a wounded animal. “You sold Butch? Oh, no—no—no!”

Jim made a harsh sound—the sound a man makes when he is denied the lubricant of tears. “Why did you do it, son?”

“I—I wanted to buy things with my own money. It ain’t—it isn’t really Christmas unless you give something that’s yours, is it? I wanted Mother and Penny and you to have the things you wanted, so—”

He stopped suddenly, staring blindly out the window. As one, we moved across the room until we, too, could see into the street below. Bob Mason was passing by, and he was having considerable trouble with a big dog who was attempting with all his strength to turn in at our gate.

“Butch” Penny squealed. “He wants to come home.”

“Go buy that dog back!” I commanded. “What’s a family without a dog, I’d like to know! Oh, Teddy, darling, I know why you did it, but Butch is one of the family, and I want all my family home on holidays.”

Ted’s eyes came to mine—wide with question, dim with tears, bright with dawning hope. “You—you mean you like Butch, Mother?” he asked. “I thought—”

“You thought wrong,” I whispered. “Butch and I have arguments now and then, but—down deep, we understand each other.”

Jim had already disappeared, his bathrobe flapping like a victor’s flag.

I could feel joy taking root in Ted. He lifted a face so breathless with happiness that my own heart leaped in response.

“You mean—you mean Dad will buy Butch back now—that he’ll always be ours—that you don’t mind if he tracks things up?”

“I mean just that. You see, Ted, I happen to love you and Butch very much—very much indeed.”

For a long minute we looked at each other, a look that banished the gulf that had separated us. In that moment Ted became my son. Then Penny, who was still at the window, squealed in a frenzy of delight.

“Daddy’s coming—Daddy’s coming, and he’s got Butch—he’s got Butch!”

Ted raced for the door, his body straining forward as though his heart ran ahead of him. Through a blur of glad tears I followed him.

“Merry Christmas, son!” I said. “Merry Christmas!”

Oh, no! Scandal’s season has been cut back from 22 to 18 episodes. ABC announced that because of Scandal star Kerry Washington’s pregnancy — it’s making it more challenging to hide her baby bump – They will cut the season short. Continue reading →