CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
A FOUNTAIN FILLED WITH BLOOD
NOTE: If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
IN THE BLEAK MIDWINTER
Copyright © 2002 by Julia Spencer-Fleming.
Excerpt from
Cover photograph © Ed Dimsdale/Photonica.
Hymn on page xi, “In the Bleak Midwinter,” from
Hymn on page 79, “The King Shall Come When Morning Dawns,” from
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 2001051303
ISBN: 0-312-98676-9
Printed in the United States of America
St. Martin’s hardcover edition / March 2002
St. Martin’s Paperbacks edition / March 2003
St. Martin’s Paperbacks are published by St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
–TO LESLIE–
WINTER MUST BE COLD FOR THOSE WITH NO WARM MEMORIES.
—DELMER DAVES AND LEO MCCARY
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thanks to Ruth Cavin, Julie Sullivan, and everyone at St. Martin’s Press for making my first time so much fun, and thanks to Luci Zahray for discovering me. This book was immeasurably improved by the critiques of those who read it as a work-in-progress: Adele Hutchinson; my father, John Fleming; Karen Fletcher; Les Smith; and Anne Steele Zembala. I had expert help from the clergy of the Cathedral Church of St. Luke, Portland, Maine, and from Timothy J. LaMar, formerly of the U.S. Army Infantry, who took me shooting and explained what it sounds like when you bash in someone’s head with a rock. Thanks to my mother, Lois Fleming, my first and best writing instructor, editor, critic, and fan. Finally, thanks to my husband, Ross Hugo-Vidal, who went through everything but a plague of locusts during the writing of this book and lived to tell the tale.
IN THE BLEAK MIDWINTER
LYRICS BY CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI
In the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone;
Snow had fallen, snow on snow, snow on snow,
In the bleak midwinter, long ago.
Our God, heaven cannot hold him, nor earth sustain;
Heaven and earth shall flee away when he comes to reign;
In the bleak midwinter a stable place sufficed
The Lord God incarnate, Jesus Christ.
Angels and archangels may have gathered there,
Cherubim and seraphim thronged the air;
But his mother, in her maiden bliss,
Worshiped the beloved with a kiss.
What can I give him, poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd, I would bring a lamb;
If I were a wise man, I would do my part;
Yet what I can give him: give him my heart.
CHAPTER 1
It was one hell of a night to throw away a baby. The cold pinched at Russ Van Alstyne’s nose and made him jam his hands deep into his coat pockets, grateful that the Washington County Hospital had a police parking spot just a few yards from the ER doors. A flare of red startled him, and he watched as an ambulance backed out of its bay silently, lights flashing. The driver leaned out of his window, craning to see his way between cement rails.
“Kurt! Hey! Anything for me?”
The driver waved at Russ. “Hey, Chief. Nope. Heart attack stabilized and heading for Glens Falls. You heard about the baby?”
“That’s why I’m here.”
Kurt continued to back out, almost to the end of the parking lot. “Jesum, hard to imagine sumpin’ like that here in Millers Kill—” The rest of his commentary was lost as he heeled the ambulance into the road. Russ waved, then pushed open the antiquated double doors to the emergency department.
