on>
“I’m sorry I made you remember.”
“Maybe it’s just as well for me to remember. As long as the past festers in my heart, I’m not the kind of person God wants me to be. And the longer we work toward bringing Christmas to Yuletide, the more it makes me realize that I’ve not honored God by the way I’ve lived. My only concern has been Paul Spencer and no one else.”
“I understand what you mean. Helping with the celebration and looking after the children has caused me to look at my own spiritual needs,” said Carissa.
“We’ve been getting along pretty well the past three weeks, so let’s forget our past problems and concentrate on finding Christmas—the way we’d planned. I believe we’ll find it by caring for the children and bring Christmas to Yuletide.”
Paul reached ut a hand to her, and with only slight hesitation, Carissa took it.
IRENE BRAND
Writing has been a lifelong interest of this author, who says that she started her first novel when she was eleven years old and hasn’t finished it yet. However, since 1984, she’s published twenty-four contemporary and historical novels and three nonfiction titles. She started writing professionally in 1977, after she completed her master’s degree in history at Marshall University. Irene taught in secondary public schools for twenty-three years, but retired in 1989 to devote herself to writing.
Consistent involvement in the activities of her local church has been a source of inspiration for Irene’s work. Traveling with her husband, Rod, to all fifty states of the United States, and to thirty-two foreign countries has also inspired her writing. Irene is grateful to the many readers who have written to say that her inspiring stories and compelling portrayals of characters with strong faith have made a positive impression on their lives. You can write to her at P.O. Box 2770, Southside, WV 25187 or visit her Web site at www.irenebrand.com.
The Christmas Children
Irene Brand
For God so loved the world, that He gave His only
begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him
should not perish, but have everlasting life.
—John 3:16
To our friends, Rodney and Karen Dill,
who by example have given a new meaning
to the term “adoptive parents.”
Dear Reader,
I’m writing this letter in mid-December, and the hustle and bustle of the holiday season. Since this book has a Christmas theme, and since my hero and heroine take on the role of caring for three orphaned children, it seems fitting to consider the role of Joseph and Mary in the incarnation of Jesus.
Mary willingly submitted when God chose her to be the instrument to fulfill His promise to Israel and to the rest of the world. She set aside her own plans and rejoiced, even though this acceptance might have led to alienation and shame. Joseph also responded with faith and understanding to God’s plan. It must have been disturbing news to him that Mary was going to bear a child, and Joseph also ran the risk of being ridiculed by his peers, but he nevertheless accepted the message from the angel as God’s will.
Like Mary and Joseph, the main characters in The Christmas Children, Carissa and Paul, had to make drastic changes in their lives to provide for the children who came to them during the Christmas season. It took faith and dedication, for as with Mary and Joseph, the “when and how” was not laid out for them. When they accepted God’s will, they stepped out on faith that what God had initiated, He would bring to completion.
Often God calls us to a particular commitment. Our response to that message may bring with it joy or sorrow, but how blessed we are when we accept that plan that God has for our lives, not just at Christmas, but throughout each day of the year.
May God bless you.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Epilogue
Chapter One
Darkness had fallen when Carissa Whitmore drove into Yuletide, New York, and parked her SUV in front of a fast-food restaurant. At first, she couldn’t understand why she felt so let down, until she recalled her reason for being there. She’d come to this lakeside village to find the kind of holiday spirit she’d enjoyed as a child, but she couldn’t see any indication of Christmas.
Carissa had anticipated a village ablaze with Christmas lights, nativity scenes and decorated trees, but except for the streetlights sparkling on the gentle snowfall as it filtered among the evergreen trees, the town was dark and uninviting. Stifling her disappointment, she entered the restaurant, sat at the counter to order a sandwich and a cup of tea. When she finished the meal, Carissa asked the waitress for directions to the police station.
The woman answered Carissa’s question, then asked, “Are you the one who’s moving into Naomi Townsend’s house for the winter?”
Carissa smothered a laugh, but her blue eyes sparkled with mirth. She’d lived in a metropolitan area since leaving Minnesota twenty-five years ago. Carissa had forgotten how little privacy a person had in a small town.
“Yes, I am,” she said. “I’m supposed to pick up the key from the chief of police.”
The woman peered over the counter and nodded approvingly when she saw that Carissa wore boots. “I see you know how to dress for winter. It’s only two blocks to the police station, but the streets are kinda slippery. It’ll be safer if you leave your car parked here and walk, ’specially since you’re from down South and maybe don’t know how to drive on snow.”
Carissa laughingly admitted that she had no experience with treacherous roads. When she lived in Minnesota, she couldn’t afford a car.
She zipped up her heavy coat and stepped out into the chill air. The business section of Yuletide was located on the southern tip of Lake Mohawk—a small lake that measured four miles from north to south. Many vacation and permanent residences dotted the lakefront and extended into the wooded highlands.
Although Yuletide lacked Christmas ornamentation, it was a picturesque alpine village of small shops and businesses. Carissa looked forward to exploring the stores at her leisure, but she didn’t dawdle tonight; the wind from the lake was penetrating her heavy parka. She gave herself a mental pat on the back for being wise enough to shop at a mall in Pennsylvania on her way north. Her Florida clothing wouldn’t have been warm enough for Adirondack weather.
Warmth from a wood-burning stove welcomed Carissa when she entered the police station. The chief of police, a short sturdy man, sat behind a massive oak desk that dwarfed him.
“Hiya!” the chief greeted her. “I’m Justin Townsend.