Sherri Shackelford - Mail-Order Christmas Baby

Reverend Morris was a fiercely principled man with a strict moral code of right and wrong, good and bad. There was no middle ground in his mind. If Heather had any complaints about his leadership, it was that his sermons tended to lean more toward righteousness and virtue, and less toward forgiveness and mercy.

“I haven’t done anything to disappoint anyone.” Heather spoke weakly, the denial sounding feeble even to her own ears. “This isn’t my child.”

For an instant she was back at her aunt and uncle’s house, taking the blame for something one of her cousins had done. Never once could she recall her aunt and uncle taking her side against their own children. She was the outsider, so she must be the guilty party, every time.

“Then who does she belong to?” Reverend Morris demanded.

“I don’t know!”

“And you, Sterling.” The reverend stretched out his arm. “Your pa just two months in his grave.”

Sterling fisted his hands on the back of the pew and avoided Heather’s gaze. But her shoulders wilted. She’d seen the doubt in his eyes. If he didn’t have faith in her, he should at least have faith in his brother. Despite her brief infatuation with Dillon, the brothers had always been honorable. Clearly someone had entrapped them both.

Otto sprang to his feet, his hat clutched in his hands. “If these two fine folks say they don’t know anything about this child, then I believe them. And you should too.”

Grace pulled herself up and gummed the back of the pew.

“She’s leaving teeth marks,” the reverend declared. “Don’t let her do that.”

Feeling unaccountably guilty, Heather grasped the child and set her on her lap. Grace turned her curious attention to the lace edge of her collar.

Sterling scooted toward the aisle and leaned her way. “You don’t have to bear this alone. I will make Dillon do the right thing by you. I promise.”

“Oh no you won’t.” Her heart skittered and stopped. She couldn’t think of anything more horrible than being married to Dillon. “This is not our child, and I don’t care if you don’t believe me. I know the truth.”

She didn’t want to spend the rest of her life attached to a man who’d broken up with her by leaving a note. Especially bound by a child who didn’t belong to either of them.

The reverend narrowed his gaze. “Do you still have feelings for Dillon?”

“No.” She huffed. “And what does that have to do with anything?”

“Well...” The reverend gave a vague gesture. “There’s the child.”

“For the last time, this is not my child. And if this is Dillon’s child, why did he fill out his brother’s name?”

Gracie grasped the ribbons of her bonnet and stuck the ends in her mouth.

“Let’s all take a deep breath.” Otto gave her shoulder an encouraging squeeze. “These are highly unusual and highly irregular circumstances.”

“Highly irregular indeed,” the reverend murmured.

“Hear me out,” Otto continued. “Are we going to believe a piece of paper over two people who have been model citizens in our community?”

The reverend tugged on his beard. The fingers of his gaunt hand were swollen and gnarled with rheumatism. “Even if I believe them, there is a child involved. What do you propose we do with her?”

“Find out where she came from,” Otto said. “You should at least allow these two fine people the opportunity to prove their innocence before you find them guilty.”

The reverend sighed dramatically and tapped his foot. “Miss O’Connor, it’s an undisputed fact that Sterling’s older brother, Dillon, once courted you. Is that correct?”

“He took me for a buggy ride a few times. I’d hardly call that courting.”

“And the two of you parted ways rather suddenly.”

“Dillon joined the cavalry.”

“Following Mr. Blackwell’s departure, you left town for a period of time.”

“I stayed with a friend in Butte.” She didn’t like the direction of his questioning one bit. The evidence was not turning in her direction. “You’re welcome to speak with Helen. She can assure you that I have nothing to do with this child.”

“The child did call you ‘mama.’”

“She said ‘ma’ and then there was a pause, and then she said ‘ma’ again.” Heather had made the same point at the train depot, though clearly no one was paying her any mind. “Her words don’t make any sense. They’re just sounds.”

“Gra.” The child spit out the ribbons. “Gra.”

“My point exactly!”

If only she could stir awake from this nightmare and have a good laugh over the ridiculous turn of events. She’d done everything right. She’d followed all the rules. It wasn’t her fault she’d been born with red hair. That particular trait harkened back to a grandfather she’d never met. If she had brown hair, they’d be less inclined to suspect her.

Sterling rubbed his forehead with a thumb and forefinger. “Heather, if you say that you haven’t seen this child before today, I believe you. We all believe you. But half the town heard what she said, and the other half is going to hear by suppertime.”

His placating tone made her lift her chin. “If you believe me, then stop debating the point and get down to business. The only way for us to clear our names is to find the real parents.”

“That’s all fine and good,” Sterling said quietly. Though he spoke low, everyone in the church was listening. “But where do we even start?”

Heather lost her patience. He was lying. He didn’t believe her. She clasped her trembling hands together. Even she had to admit the proof against her was incriminating. It was her word against the writing on a piece of paper. How did one refute a scrap of paper?

“Even if you think I might betray Dillon,” she said, “Sterling would never betray his brother.”

The reverend’s chin jutted out, splaying his gray whiskers like porcupine quills. “A point to be considered.”

The observation had mollified the reverend more than her denials, a demoralizing realization. Why was she the one being judged and questioned instead of the Blackwells?

Sterling turned toward her, but she kept her gaze rigidly forward.

“She’s right,” Otto declared. “I’ve known those two brothers since they were babes. They’re thick as thieves.”

The reverend rocked back on his heels. “All right, then. Everyone in this room agrees, for the moment, that Sterling and Heather are telling the truth. How do you propose we convince the rest of the town?”

“That there is a real problem.” Otto slapped his hat against his thigh. “Folks are going to expect the two of you to get hitched, and quick.”

“Out of the question,” Sterling announced.

Heather crossed her arms. “You needn’t make it sound as though it’s a hanging offense.”

As though this day wasn’t already humiliating enough.

“I didn’t mean it that way.” Sterling’s face suffused with color. “I was thinking of Dillon.”

“There is nothing between the two of us.” Heather bit her lip and collected herself. “There never was.”

“Is that true?”

“Yes.”

“Enough,” the reverend interceded. “Arguing will get us nowhere. Both of you claim that you’ve never seen the child before today. That’s where we start. Where was the child before this afternoon when she arrived at the train depot?”

The emphasis he put on claim gave Heather pause, but she pushed past the doubt. “If we can both agree that we know nothing about that child, then someone falsified that Return of Birth. Who has the ability to do something like that?”

“The question is why?” Reverend Morris interjected. “Why would someone choose the two of you? There is no rhyme or reason to the lie.”