very late customer. And the only one so far tonight. She wiped her eyes with another tissue and quickly smoothed back her hair. A few reddish gold curls escaped from her lopsided, upswept hairdo and she pushed them behind her ears.
Whoever was stopping by so late had better be satisfied with nothing more than coffee. Make that coffee to go. She didn’t have the energy to start messing up the kitchen, not at midnight, when she should have flipped the Closed sign in the window an hour ago. And she would have, too, if that ridiculous movie hadn’t distracted her. And if she’d had somewhere to go tonight, or someone to go to…
“Be right with you—” she called out as she left the small room that doubled as the café’s storeroom and office. She walked briskly through the big kitchen and pushed through the swinging doors into the seating area, grabbing the coffeepot en route in a gesture that had become total reflex.
She glanced around, all set to explain that the menu was extremely limited. But the dining area, gaily decorated with lights and pine garlands, was empty. She looked around twice to make sure. Whoever had come in had left. Maybe over the TV she hadn’t heard them enter, and the bells had signaled their exit?
Then she saw it—a large wicker laundry basket sat smack in the middle of the counter. Right between the cash register and a stainless-steel napkin dispenser. A plaid woolen blanket stuck out of the top. What in the world—was this some kind of joke? Jessica put the coffeepot on the counter and looked around the dining area again, this time peering in the wooden phone booth and then out through the front window at Hope Springs’ desolate Main Street.
The snow that had started hours ago now fell fast and thick. The town’s Main Street, with its old-fashioned storefronts, holiday decorations and cast-iron streetlights, looked like a scene that had been lifted right off a Christmas card.
“Not a creature was stirring,” she whispered to herself, turning back to look at the basket. “Not even a—”
Her breath caught in her throat as a small white hand popped up from the blanket. She blinked and shook her head. Then, just as unbelievably, a small bare foot emerged, as well. Hypnotized, Jessica watched as the tiny hand swatted the air, grabbed for the foot and finally caught it. Then a sound, an unmistakable baby gurgle of satisfaction, followed.
With her heart pounding wildly in her chest, Jessica ran over to the basket and swiftly flipped the blanket aside. A bit of powdery snow that had collected in the folds sprinkled down to the floor.
“Oh my Lord!” Jessie said out loud.
A baby stared up at her, looking serious and wide-eyed, still clutching its foot in one hand. Not quite believing that the infant was real, Jessica reached out and ran one fingertip gently along the baby’s smooth pink cheek. The baby tilted its chin against its chest, looking as if it might burst out crying. Then suddenly the baby smiled and clutched Jessie’s finger in a sticky grip.
“Oh, sweetheart,” Jessie cooed. The baby’s smile widened in response.
The baby appeared to be wrapped in about three flannel receiving blankets that were now bunched around its middle. Jessica worked her way through the blankets and found that the baby was dressed in nothing more than a thin and stained pink-and-white nightgown. She reached into the basket and pulled the baby out, holding its small warm body close to her chest. “Where did you come from, little angel? Huh?”
The baby put a fist in its mouth, then rested its head against Jessica’s shoulder. Golden curls rubbed against her cheek and Jessie thought she’d never felt anything so soft and fine. A mixture of baby lotion, formula and some other subtle, elusive perfume mingled in a scent that was distinctly baby. Jessica took a rich, intoxicating lungful and felt her heart clutch. Yes, there was indeed a lump of genuine, delectable babyhood in her arms. Pink and white and sweet as spun sugar. A lamb. A dove. A real live baby. Holding the baby to her chest in a firm but gentle embrace, she rocked from side to side, quieting the baby’s soft whimpers.
“You’re okay, kid. You’re okay with me, little sweet potato,” Jessie whispered.
The blankets had been dragged out of the basket and now Jessica could see that under the cushy bed the basket held some baby clothes, a number of disposable diapers and a plastic bottle.
A scrap of paper taped to the basket caught her eye and she pulled it off. It was a note written on a piece of white writing paper, folded in half and addressed on the outside “To Whoever Finds This Baby.” Jessica sat down on one of the counter stools and propped the baby in the crook of her arm so she could read the note.
The handwriting was plain printing, clear and neat.
Please look after my baby. Her name is Daisy and she is real sweet. I can’t take care of her no more. 1 just can’t do it. Help her find a good home with people who love her and can buy her things, etc. I am sorry.
Jessie dropped the note on the counter and turned to look at the baby again. “Daisy,” she said out loud, smiling at the baby. The name suited her, with her big brown eyes, bright smile and halo of golden hair. “Hello, Daisy sweetheart. Hello, little girl. You must be hungry, I’ll bet. You poor little thing. You poor sweetheart.”
Daisy stared up at Jessica, wide-eyed and attentive. Jessie laughed at her. Then, without a second’s warning, the baby burst out crying.
“Oh, golly—oh, my.” Jessie bounced the little girl in her arms, not quite sure of what to do next. “Oh, now, sweetheart, please don’t cry. What’s the matter, honey? What is it, sweet?” she asked the baby. “Does something hurt? Are you sick?” The baby paused for a second and stared at her, taking in a lungful of air, then exhaled, screaming even louder.
Jessie willed herself to keep calm. Though she adored children and desperately wanted her own, the truth of the matter was that Jessie had little hands-on experience with kids, and no experience at all in caring for a small baby.
“Uh, let’s see now. What could it be? Maybe your diaper is wet. Is that it?” Jessica stuck a finger under the edge of the baby’s diaper and felt around. It felt perfectly dry. No luck there.
The baby’s cries were rising, becoming sharper and louder. “Okay, let’s see,” Jessie said out loud. “You must be hungry then. That must be it.”
The baby’s cries continued. Well, there’s only one way to find out if I’m on the right track. This little muffin sure can’t tell me, Jessie thought.
“Let’s fix you something to eat, Daisy. How about a nice bottle of milk? It might just be tonight’s special,” Jessie said as she whisked the baby back in her basket and, carrying it, headed for the kitchen.
Jessie set Daisy’s basket down on the big butcher-block table in the center of the kitchen. Then she held Daisy while she rummaged through the basket to find the bottle.
The ride from the dining room to the kitchen had temporarily quieted the baby. But now Daisy started to make small fretting sounds again, which Jessica guessed would soon build into a full-fledged wail. She hurried around the kitchen, grabbed a container of milk out of the refrigerator and began to fill the bottle. But how much should Daisy get? She had no idea. She filled the bottle to the top, figuring the little girl might be real hungry. But shouldn’t it be warmed up a little? Yes, that was right. You were supposed to warm it, Jessie decided. She took the bottle, emptied the contents into a pot and put in on the stove
