Peg stiffened. Her face was carefully expressionless. “No. Not tonight. Not any night. He called, and when I told him the new will had been found he started backing away. I hung up on him.”
“Well, that’s good riddance.” Harrison was emphatic. “We don’t need anyone like him in the family.”
Jake looked sorrowful. “Oh, Peg.”
Peg’s quick smile was light and bright and eager. “I have a better date.” Then she turned to Gina, abruptly sad and uncertain. “Johnny Cain is coming. Oh, Gina, do you mind terribly?”
Sunk in a chair near the fire, pale and drawn, Gina said abruptly, “I’m glad for you, Peg.”
“Please come with us.” Peg reached out a hopeful hand. “It will bring back good days, Gina. Remember how Mitch used to always try to knock off my angel wings?”
Gina almost managed a smile. She said steadily, “I’ll come. I can’t miss seeing Keith as a shepherd.”
The early evening Christmas Eve service for families with young children had always been one of my favorites. The magnificent midnight service is triumphant and glorious, an outpouring of joy, but there is something heartfelt and touching when the younger children, to the vibrant sound of “Once in Royal David’s City,” come down the central aisle, the little boys in bathrobes as shepherds and the little girls with wire halos and cardboard angel wings, to gather around the wooden crib and sing “Away in the Manger,” their childish voices rising in the sweetest song of all.
The front doorbell rang.
Peg looked uncertainly from Gina toward the hall.
“It’s all right.” Gina’s voice was shaky yet firm.
Peg gave Gina a swift hug, then turned and ran quickly to the hall. In a moment, she was back in the living room, Johnny Cain close behind her. He was not in uniform this night. He was resplendent in a dark blue suit, white shirt, and red tie. He smiled first at Keith. “I like your robe. Hey, you’re going to have fun tonight.” Then Johnny looked across the room at Gina. There was a taut silence that he finally broke. “I’m sorry about Tucker.”
Gina lifted trembling fingers to flick away tears. “You were there for Peg. You saved Peg.”
Peg lifted a hand to her throat, gazed at Johnny with remembered horror in her eyes. “I don’t know how you managed to reach Tucker in time.”
Johnny shook his head. “God knows.”
And that was true.
Peg abruptly moved to Johnny. He reached out, took her in his arms, held her tight. Jake came to her feet, moved to curve her arms around her daughter and her rescuer. Charlotte and Harrison and Gina came across the room and they all held one another, moving only to make room for Keith as he joined them with a whoop, ready for a holiday scrum.
In the distance, I heard the whistle of the Rescue Express.
I swung aboard the Express with both pleasure and trepidation. There had been some moments during my adven-mission that Wiggins would likely mention without pleasure. Yet I had accomplished my primary task. Keith Flynn was safe in the arms of his family.
I popped into the first carriage and headed for a comfortable seat, ready to enjoy my farewell views of lights blazing from dear planet earth on this night when joy lifted hearts and souls. The carriage was filled with travelers of all sorts and backgrounds, some shabbily dressed, some elegant, but all with happy faces. There was an air of festivity and a sense of eagerness.
The gray-haired conductor, tall and thin with smiling eyes, gently took my elbow. “Compartment 3, please, in the next carriage.”
A private compartment! Perhaps I had been promoted. As I reached the door at the end of the corridor, I looked back, wishing I could stay and meet some of my fellow travelers, perhaps exchange stories of derring- do.
Trains always afford excitement, the lurch and swing as the heavy door is pushed open. I felt the jostle and jolt of the connecting plates and lurched to the opposite door. The next carriage was very quiet, compartment doors lining either side of the corridor. I hurried to Compartment 3, tapped. The door swung open. I stepped inside.
Wiggins rose to greet me. “Bailey Ruth.” There was warmth and kindness in his tone.
At his nod, I sank onto the opposite plush seat. I feared the worst. Had I been invited to a private compartment because my contraventions of the Precepts for Earthly Travel were so egregious they must be addressed before the Rescue Express reached Heaven?
Wiggins settled onto the plush seat, next to a black topcoat. He was imposing in his stiff white shirt and broad suspenders and heavy gray flannel trousers. His hair was a bright chestnut beneath the stiff, dark station agent’s hat. He lifted a hand to smooth his walrus mustache. “I was pleased when I learned you would be on the Express tonight.”
Pleased? I managed a stiff smile. “I’m happy to see you.” Was insincerity a bar to any future adven-missions?
He suddenly boomed with laughter. “You didn’t follow the Precepts. But”—he leaned forward—“I must share a truth with you.”
I scarcely breathed. This was the moment when I would learn of my permanent banishment from the Department of Good Intentions, though it was rather cruel of Wiggins to find the prospect so amusing.
“In Tumbulgum”—and his brown eyes gleamed with delight—“neither did I.”
