couldn’t be mad. Under her rebellious expression was a hurt little girl overwhelmed by pain and loss. He placed one hand on her shoulder as they walked side-by-side, both silent as they approached the car.
Chrissy pulled off her backpack and flung it on the floor. Along with the clicking of seat belts being fastened in place, they were the only sounds until he turned the key in the ignition. J.C. drove out of the school parking lot before he spoke. “You’ll have to spend the afternoon at the office.”
Chrissy stared out the window. “I’m old enough to stay by myself.”
Thinking how vulnerable she was, he kept his tone light. “I’m not sure I’m old enough to stay on my own. At any rate, you’ll have more space to spread out your books in Mrs. Cook’s office.”
Chrissy snorted.
J.C. glanced over at his niece. She still stared out the window. The only time she reacted positively was when they passed Wagner Hill House, the building on Main Street that had contained her father’s business. It had sat undisturbed since Jay’s death.
Thinking it might help Chrissy, J.C. decided to drive by his sister’s house. Although he kept putting it off, he needed to sort through the house, make it livable again. Maybe Chrissy would settle down if she could live in her home again. He didn’t mind giving up his tiny apartment; it was just a place to sleep really.
Turning on Magnolia Avenue, he saw Chrissy straighten up.
Pleased she was finally showing interest in something, he pulled into the driveway.
As soon as he turned off the vehicle, Chrissy began shrieking.
“No! I won’t go in! No! No!” Sobs erupted and tears flooded her cheeks. “You can’t make me!”
Horrified, J.C. tried to calm her. “What is it, Chrissy?”
“The house killed them!” She blurted out between staggered sobs.
Her distress was so intense J.C. didn’t try to reason with her. Instead, he quickly backed out of the driveway, then sped from the neighborhood. Once past the familiar streets, he pulled into a space in front of the park. Unhooking his own seat belt and then Chrissy’s, he gently guided her from the car to a bench beneath a large oak.
Still shaking from the remaining gulps of tears, she allowed him to drape an arm over her shoulders. When she was tiny, he would have popped her in his lap, pulled a dozen silly faces and made her giggle. He felt completely ill-equipped to comfort her now.
Patting her arm, he waited until the last of her hiccupping gulps trailed to an end. “I’m sorry, Chrissy. I wouldn’t have gone to the house if I’d known it would upset you.” He paused. “I was hoping it would make you feel better.”
She shook her head so hard that her light brown hair flew unchecked from side to side. “I never, ever want to go there again.”
“After some time—”
“Never!” she exclaimed. Her lips wobbled and a few new tears mixed with the wash of others on her cheeks.
J.C. patted her knee. “I thought you might like to live there again, get out of my scruffy apartment.”
“No!” she cried again, burying her face against his shoulder. “I can’t!”
J.C. imagined he could hear the child’s heart actually breaking. “Then you won’t.” He would have the contents packed for storage, then rent out the house in case she changed her mind later. “And if it starts bothering you, we won’t go by the print building, either.”
Chrissy pulled back a bit so she could look at him. “It’s not the same.”
“No?”
“Daddy’s work didn’t hurt them. It was the house.”
Logic wasn’t a factor. Just the raw feelings of a wounded child.
“Okay, then.”
“We could move in there,” she suggested hopefully. “To Daddy’s work.”
The first floor of the building had been occupied by the business. And there were two apartments above it. Jay’s parents had lived in one until they passed away.
“No one’s lived in those apartments for a while,” he explained. More important, they wouldn’t have any immediate neighbors. Even though his bachelor apartment was small, at least in his complex, Chrissy was surrounded by people. He didn’t like the idea of her being alone in a big building on Main Street when he had to make night calls at the hospital. A few proprietors lived above their businesses, but not in the building next to them. And the Wagner Hill House was on a corner next to a side street that bisected Main, so there wasn’t a second adjoining neighbor.
“We could fix up the apartment,” Chrissy beseeched, kicking her feet back, dragging them through the grass. “And live on top of Daddy’s print shop.” The apartment was above the business on the second floor, but he knew what she meant.
Blair, a nurse who worked at the hospital, lived in his apartment complex and so far J.C. had asked her to listen for Chrissy when he had to leave her. But it wasn’t a comfortable situation. He worried the entire time he was away. What if Chrissy woke up and was scared? What if there was a fire? The possibilities were endless. But he couldn’t hire live-in help to share their small space. As it was, he was camping out on the sofa so Chrissy could have the only bedroom.
And babysitters weren’t pleased to be phoned in the middle of the night. The few who had reluctantly responded once didn’t respond again. Not that J.C. blamed them. Who wanted to get up at two or three in the morning to babysit, not knowing if they would have to stay an hour or the rest of the night? What they really needed was sort of a combination housekeeper and nanny who lived in. But Chrissy had run off every single one he had hired, resenting anyone she thought was trying to take her mother’s place.
“I’m afraid we can’t live in the Main Street building.”
Chrissy sniffled. “Then are we going to stay in your apartment?”
J.C. glanced up at the cloudless sky. Rosewood’s tranquility had always been a peaceful balm. But now he wasn’t certain there could be peace anywhere. Lord, we need your help. Chrissy deserves more than just me. Please help us find the answer.
Sighing, Chrissy leaned her head against his arm, her soft weight slumping dispiritedly.
Please, Lord.
Chapter Two
Maddie pulled one of her numerous tins of tea from a shelf in the pantry. “Sure you don’t have a preference?”
Samantha Conway, Maddie’s best friend and one-time neighbor, shrugged. “Surprise me. How many blends have you made now? One hundred?”
“Afraid not.” She placed the tin on the table. “I have ideas for twice that many and space for less than thirty.” Collecting two porcelain cups and saucers she added them to the table.
“So,
