Becca turned off the stove and preheating oven, slipped her bowl of shredded potatoes into the refrigerator and crutched her way out of the kitchen.

“Denny,” she said over her shoulder. “Come on!”

He followed, pulling his stocking cap back on his head. “Yes, sir!”

Jack hung up the phone and looked at Lorraine. “Where’s Frank? We’ll go help him out.”

“He went out to the shed quite a while back. He said he’d have to get the snow off the roof and bring in firewood.”

“Let’s do it,” Jack said to Preacher. They pulled their hoods up and tromped out of the house, following footsteps through the deep snow around to the back, where a shed sat next to an abandoned outhouse.

Frank was up on a ladder, using a shovel with his only arm to clear the roof of the rickety shed. He was leaning precariously to one side. Progress was extremely slow.

Jack stood at the bottom of the ladder with hands on hips. “Frank, man, you need to learn to ask for a hand. You could fall and break the only arm you have left.”

“What’s the difference?” he grumbled.

“Well,” Preacher said, scratching his head. “About one…”

Frank looked down at them. “I ain’t much good to anyone as it is,” he said. “I tried like hell to get this shed reinforced before snow, and look how far I got.”

“You need another arm,” Jack said.

“No shit?” Frank laughed bitterly.

“Shouldn’t you be getting a prosthetic limb?”

“There’s a waiting list. You oughta know that. By the time they get around to me, I won’t need it anymore.”

“And why’s that? You fixin’ to grow one?”

“Funny. Don’t be an ass**le.”

“Listen, two of my closest friends have artificial legs. They didn’t like the process that much, but one of ’em can run on his now. The other one, Ricky, I figure he’ll be able to run on his once he makes up his mind to. If you had another arm, you’d get a lot more done. You’d probably land a job if you had two arms and weren’t such a miserable cuss. Now, get off that goddamn ladder. We’ll clean off the roof and bring in the wood. I don’t have all day!”

Frank swore, but he left the shovel lying on the roof of the shed and started down. “That shed’s a piece of crap, but I can’t do without it. Stores half my tools and there ain’t no room in the house for that.”

“I’ll get the snow off,” Jack said. “And I’ll tell Mel you need an arm. Maybe she can find you one. Or at least get you moved up on the list.”

“She can’t do that.”

“Technically, she probably can’t. But she’s annoying as all hell and when she starts making phone calls, people tend to do what she wants just to get rid of her.” Jack smiled proudly. Then he opened the door to the shed and peered inside at an impressive stack of split logs. “Holy crap, you do all that? With one hand?”

“Took a while,” Frank said.

Jack scratched his head. “How the hell did you do all that?”

“Took a while,” he repeated.

Jack laughed in spite of himself. “Frank, if you’d drop the poor-me attitude, you’d probably be a whole circus act. Now, let’s get over it, man. I grant you, a logger losing an arm is a lot to handle, but seriously, there’s work here and there. You want a little help looking, I’ll be glad to help you put out feelers. You’re just going to be twice as good at everything once you get that prosthetic arm.”

“Yeah. Sure,” he grumbled.

Denny and Becca talked in circles on the way to the Thicksons’ house. We should go. We should stay through this emergency. We’ll end up going late. Late is better than too soon… The unexpected twist was that Becca was arguing for staying and Denny for leaving.

They pulled up to the house right next to the Hummer. The Thicksons lived on a big piece of property on the outskirts of town. A little house was burrowed into a large copse of trees at the end of a long drive that had been recently plowed. Preacher’s truck was still there, which meant that Jack and Preacher were still there.

Denny deposited her along with her crutches onto the narrow porch and went back for the bag of canned soup. She gave two knocks and opened the door. Right inside the door was a little living room/dining room/kitchen—one room. Just a quick glance told her the Thicksons were poor—the floors were scarred wood, covered by a thread-bare rug, a lamp without a shade sat atop a barrel covered by cloth, the appliances were very dated. Mel was kneeling on the floor beside Megan, who was using a small, sagging couch as her bed.

“I’m mostly well,” she was telling Mel.

“Just let me be sure, while Doctor Michaels checks your brothers. Open your mouth and let me have a look. Say ‘ahhh.’ Throat’s a little red, but not scary.” She ran the temperature sensor across Megan’s forehead and read it. “Normal. You’re right—mostly well.”

Then Megan coughed. It sounded like a seal barking.

“Well, you could use some help with that,” Mel said.

“Where’s Jack?” Denny asked. He put the bag of canned soup on the table next to the big box Jack had delivered.

“Out back, helping Frank with something,” Mel said.

“I’ll go see if he needs me,” Denny said, disappearing at once.

Becca stood, waiting, balanced on her crutches, while Mel checked Megan, listening to her chest, looking in her ears. A few moments passed, then Dr. Michaels poked his head into the living room. “I need you in here,” he said to Mel.

When Mel went into the bedroom, Megan noticed Becca and her little face lit up. “Mama said I probably wouldn’t see you again!”

“I still haven’t left,” she said, moving closer. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m mostly well,” she said. “But I think I gave it to the little boys. I tried not to!”

“Megan, you might have all caught it at the same time. You never know where germs come from.” She lowered herself carefully to the edge of the sofa. “You still have a cough.”

“If I’m Mary, I promise not to cough!”

“Hmm,” Becca said, thinking. “Mary was sitting outside in a stable. Chances are she had a cough. Or at least a sniffle. What do you think?”

“Maybe. Will you stay for the pageant?”

She shook her head. “I’m sure we’ll be on our way by then. We were planning to leave by tomorrow morning, but weather reports aren’t good. We might be stuck another day. But I’m planning on getting home by Christmas to be with my mom and dad.”

“You know what I wish?” Megan said. “I wish you lived here.”

Becca smiled and brushed the little girl’s hair back from her brow. “I’m so glad I got to meet you. I’m just visiting, but I’ll visit again. Promise.”

“I know, but…”

Mel came back into the room. She handed a couple of bottles to Becca. “Tylenol for fevers, cough syrup as directed.” Then she leaned down. “Megan, we’re going to take Jeffie and Stevie to the hospital for X-rays and medicine. Your mom is coming. Jeremy will be here with you and your dad. Probably the little boys will be back home tomorrow, the next day at the latest. They’re going to be fine—it’s for precaution. I don’t want them stuck out here, caught in the snowstorm if their fevers and congestion gets worse. You understand?”

Megan nodded, but her eyes were a little scared. Becca squeezed her hand.

“Everything is going to be fine. Jack and everyone will stay till they’re completely sure you have all the firewood and food you need, okay? And your mom will call you from the hospital to let you know the little boys are just fine. Okay?”

Again she nodded.

“Becca, hang out with the kids until Frank is briefed. Give him the medicine. Make sure these little ones are getting what they need. Tell him Jeremy has been dosed and should stay in bed. He gets more Tylenol and cough syrup in four hours. And try not to breathe the air if you can help it. No kissing sick kids, no matter how tempting!”

“Right,” Becca said, thinking that all she wanted to do was pull Megan onto her lap and cuddle her, reassure her.

Mel disappeared into the bedroom. In just seconds, Cameron Michaels came through the living room, carrying a child wrapped in a blanket. Right on his heels came Mel, also carrying a little boy. Behind them came Lorraine, her coat hanging open, carrying two doctors’ bags. She leaned down and kissed Megan’s forehead. “Tell Daddy I’ll call home as soon as we know what the chest X-rays say. Can you remember that?”

Megan nodded.

“It’s going to be just fine, Megan,” Lorraine said. “Dr. Michaels and Mel know exactly what to do.”

“I know….”

Becca watched Lorraine quickly race out the door, closing it.

She was filled with emotions she couldn’t quite label, but one of them was a fierce longing. She wanted to throw down the crutches and walk; she wanted to carry one of these children to safety.

She patted Megan’s hand. “I brought some soup. I’m going to warm it for you.”

Fifteen

Denny stood back and watched as Jack, up on a ladder at the Thicksons’ shed, dumped a pile of snow on top of Preacher’s head as Preacher was backing out of the same shed, his arms laden with firewood.

“Hey! Watch it!”

“Sorry, Preach.”

“Like the three stooges,” Frank Thickson muttered.

Preacher filled Denny’s arms with the firewood. “Here. Make yourself useful.”

“Gimme a load,” Frank said.

“Since we’re here and willing to help, why don’t you go back to the house and check on the family. We’ll bring your wood.”

“I don’t like being done for,” he said.

“Get over yourself,” Jack said from up on his ladder. And then he scooped another pile of snow on his cook’s head. He grinned. “Sorry, Preach.”

“Come down here and do wood!” Preacher commanded. “I’ll clean the roof!”

“That’s okay, buddy,” Jack said. “I got it.”

“You’re gonna get it!” the big man threatened.

Denny chuckled and started moving toward the house with his load of wood. Frank followed and Denny slowed. “Say, Frank, you have a lot of property out here. You ever keep a garden?”

“Summertime,” he grunted.

“There’s a reason I’m asking. I’m leaving my job out at Jilly Farms. You know, it used to be Hope McCrea’s place and Jillian Matlock has been farming it. Very interesting work. They’re going to be looking for someone—”

“Someone with one arm or two?” he asked.

“Jack’s right, you should get over yourself. I served two tours in the sandbox with the Marines—I know an unfortunate number of guys with missing limbs. I know it’s a struggle, but the crankier you are, the bigger your load is gonna be. You seem to do okay with one arm and you’re probably due to get a prosthesis before too long. You could at least talk to Jilly. You could at least try.”

Frank stopped walking. “You think I don’t try?”

Denny stopped. “I couldn’t say for sure whether you try or not. I can say for sure that it would all be a lot easier if you weren’t so angry and a little more grateful for what you’ve got instead of all pissed off about what you’re missing.”

“Oh, yeah? And what is it I’m supposed to be grateful for, Mr. Know-It-All?”

Denny lifted both brows. “Let’s see. A brain that works, eyes that see, ears that hear, two legs and one arm, for starters. Then there’s the wife, four good-looking, smart kids and a roof over your head. A lot of people would give their right arm for that.” Then he walked to the house and deposited the wood on the porch. He walked right past Frank on his way back to get another load.