The Christmas Children. Irene Brand

twenty years Carissa had worked relentlessly building Cara’s Fashions—a line of casual clothing for tall women—into a prosperous business. She’d had no intention of selling, until the building where her corporate offices were located had to be razed for a road project. While she was searching for a new location, she was approached about selling her business.

      She enjoyed her work, but the purchase price was high enough that Carissa seriously considered the sale. Considering led to selling, and within a few weeks, she was carefree for the first time in years.

      When she was moving out of the office building, she uncovered an antique trunk that had been sent to her after her grandmother’s death fifteen years earlier. When she’d received the trunk, Carissa had put it in storage and forgotten about it, because she didn’t like to be reminded of her past. But when she saw the trunk again, curious about its contents, she opened the trunk and found keepsakes from the past—textbooks, school papers and items she’d collected in Sunday school. She’d dropped those in the trash can, but she’d looked long at a large, white, wooden key decorated with golden glitter.

      She remembered when, at six years of age, she’d carried that key in a Christmas pageant. She’d worn a long white dress, and appearing on stage, she had addressed the audience: “I have the key to Christmas, and I’m looking for a lock it will fit.”

      A first-century false-fronted village had been constructed on the stage with homes, a stable, an inn and several other businesses. She walked from door to door trying the key without luck, but when she found a lock that the key opened, a nativity scene was revealed. The Christ Child in the manger was Christmas personified, and Carissa had stood to one side while other church members presented the story of Jesus’s birth.

      To close the program, Carissa had turned to the audience, saying, “I’ve found Jesus, the reason we have Christmas. Won’t you come to the manger and find Him, too?”

      Carissa had known a close relationship with Jesus as a child, and the observance of His birth had been a special time. Her grandmother couldn’t afford to buy many gifts, and the church program had been the focal point of their Christmas. As the years passed, however, Christmas had gradually become commercialized for Carissa, a time when huge sales boosted her income, for Cara’s Fashions were popular throughout the United States and overseas. Carissa hadn’t been selfish with her income. In addition to contributing to many charities and churches, she’d provided freely for her grandmother until her death. Carissa had given generously of everything—except herself.

      Her musings ended when the doctor entered the waiting room and asked for Chief Townsend. Carissa caught her breath, and cold sweat spread over her body. On trembling legs she moved down the hallway and peeped into a small room where Paul Spencer, eyes closed, lay on a hospital bed.

      “He’s all right,” the doctor said, “and I don’t see any sign of concussion, but he’ll have a headache for a while. Exhaustion, more than anything else, caused him to faint.” He turned to Carissa, saying with a grin, “You’ve got a pretty hefty swing, lady. You ever play baseball?”

      Her face flushed, but Carissa tried to answer lightly. “Several years ago, I played on a women’s softball team.” She turned to Justin. “I’m so embarrassed about this that I’ve half a notion to leave without unpacking my car.”

      “Oh, Paul’s a good sport and he won’t blame you. He should have told someone he was coming.”

      “He could be released,” the doctor said, “but he shouldn’t go to sleep for a few hours. Paul hasn’t slept since he left Europe, so somebody will have to keep him from dozing off. Since Naomi isn’t home, he can stay in the clinic the rest of the night.”

      “He can come back to the chalet,” Carissa said. “I’m responsible for his injury, so the least I can do is watch over him for a few hours.”

      “I’ll go in and explain the situation. He might not want to trust himself to you,” Justin said and guffawed. The doctor joined in the laughter, but Carissa failed to see any humor in the situation.

      A few minutes later, she had to force herself to meet Paul Spencer’s brown eyes when he walked into the hallway.

      “Carissa Whitmore meet Paul Spencer,” Chief Townsend said, humor still evident in his voice. “Although it seems you’ve met before.”

      “I’m so sorry, Mr. Spencer.”

      He shook his head and winced. “My fault! I should have let my sister know I was coming home. Our construction job had to shut down for a few weeks and I decided to come back to the States for Christmas. I tried to call Naomi when I landed at Kennedy. When she didn’t answer, I came on home. The keys to my apartment are in her house, and I intended to knock on the door to get her attention. But when I discovered the door wasn’t locked, I thought I could slip in without disturbing her and sleep on the couch until morning.”

      “I’ll drive you back to her house now,” Carissa said. “The doctor thinks you need monitoring for a few hours. Since I knocked you out, I’ll feel better if I keep an eye on you.”

      Paul agreed, and the chief of police accompanied them to the parking lot. An uncomfortable silence prevailed in the SUV as they drove through the business section of town. Carissa wasn’t used to driving on snow-covered roads, so she drove as slowly and as carefully as she could. Her silent passenger gave her the fidgets.

      “I’m so embarrassed I could scream,” she said finally.

      “I’m not embarrassed, but I am bewildered,” Paul said, “and it isn’t all because of the crack on my head. I’ve got some questions. What prompted Naomi to leave her home and business and take off for Florida, and how do you come into the picture? When I talked to my sister six weeks ago, she didn’t mention anything about leaving. Justin may have explained it to me, but my head was woozy, and I don’t remember what he said.”

      “We’re almost to the house, and I’ll explain when we get there, if that’s okay. I’m not used to hazardous roads so I need to concentrate on driving.”

      “I understand that. Take your time. I haven’t driven on snowy highways for years. I drove cautiously from Kennedy, and that’s the reason I was so late getting into Yuletide.”

      When they entered the house, Carissa surveyed the disheveled living area with distaste. She’d replace the furniture and kitchen utensils later.

      “Do you feel like a sandwich and maybe a cup of tea?” she offered.

      “That might be a good idea. It’s been a long time since I’ve had any food, well, except for the pretzels and soda they served on the plane.”

      “I’ll see what I can find. I’ve only been here a few hours, and I haven’t found my way around the kitchen yet.”

      Paul followed her into the kitchen and leaned against a massive wooden post supporting the upstairs balcony that overlooked the living area. The kitchen was as inviting as the great room. Light oak cabinets blended with the pine-paneled ceiling. A food-preparation island filled the center of the kitchen. A round table was arranged in a window nook and four cushioned armchairs were placed around it. Several large, curtained windows blended in with the cabinets, to make the room light and airy in warm weather.

      Carissa and Naomi had agreed that they’d put enough food in their refrigerators to last for a few days, but she saw now that the shelves were practically empty. That seemed strange, for in their business association, Carissa had found Naomi to be a woman of her word. There was a carton of orange juice and a gallon of milk in the refrigerator, both of which had been opened.

      “We can have juice or milk. I don’t see any sandwich fixin’s, but what about a sweet roll? There are two left in the package. I can warm them in the microwave.”

      “I’ll take coffee with the roll,” Paul said, yawning and lounging wearily in one of the chairs at the table. “I haven’t been to bed for about thirty hours. I may have to take a cold shower, too.”

      “It’s cold enough