Daddy's Angel. Annette Broadrick

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СКАЧАТЬ before gathering the soft fluff of hair in his hand in an effort to subdue some of the curls.

      She had such a wise look, as if she understood him and the pain that he perpetually carried in his heart. Bret knew he must be losing his wits to have such a strong reaction to a doll, even if she was supposed to be an angel!

      He placed the angel on the mantel and turned to help Travis. Picking him up, Bret pointed out some of the higher branches that still needed decorating.

      “Dad?” Brenda asked, carrying a tray with cups into the room and setting them down on the coffee table. “Did you find out how Freda’s doing and when Chris is coming home?”

      “Chris probably won’t be home until late. He and Roy plan to wait at the hospital until the doctor finishes with all his tests.”

      “Was her leg broken?” Sally asked.

      “’Fraid so, sugar,” Bret replied.

      “Well, who’s supposed to look after us?” Sally asked. “What are we going to do without Freda?”

      Bret readjusted Travis’s weight on his hip, handed him a tiny rocking horse and waited while small hands arranged the ornament to a three-year-old’s satisfaction before he answered. “It seems to me that we managed quite well last summer when Freda went to visit her sister for a few days, didn’t we? None of you starved to death.”

      Brenda giggled. “Maybe so, Dad. But you really looked silly wrapped up in Freda’s apron making pancakes.”

      Sally chimed in. “And you got real mad that time when you burned the biscuits you’d made for supper.”

      Bret forced himself to smile at the girls, recognizing their teasing was a way to lighten the atmosphere. “Okay, so maybe I need a little more practice. This will be a good time. According to the weather report, it’s going to be too bad for me to work outdoors for the new few days, anyway.” He looked down at his son who was still in his arms. “Travis and I’ll find something to keep us busy, won’t we, pardner?”

      “Will Freda be here for Christmas?” Travis asked.

      Since Travis seldom spoke they all looked at him in surprise.

      Bret hugged his son a little closer to his chest. “I hope so, son, but it’s too soon to tell just yet.”

      “School’s out next Friday, Dad.”

      “I know, Brenda.”

      “Then we’ll be here all day long for two weeks,” Sally pointed out.

      “I know.”

      There wasn’t much to add to the conversation and for the next few minutes each of them concentrated on the tree.

      Eventually, Brenda said in a subdued voice, “I wish we could go see Freda and let her know how much we miss her and how sorry we are she got hurt.”

      “Maybe we can, sweetheart,” Bret replied. “I’ll talk to the doctor tomorrow to see when he thinks she can have visitors.” He glanced at the clock. “In the meantime, it’s way past time for you to go to bed. School isn’t out for the holidays yet.”

      “But Dad—”

      “We have to—”

      Brenda and Sally spoke at once, but it was Travis who was the most emphatic.

      “You forgot the angel,” he said with a great deal of indignation.

      Bret stepped back from the tree and studied it. All the ornaments were hung…everything was in place…except for the angel.

      “Sorry, gang,” he muttered, leaning over and setting his pajama-clad son on the floor. He reached for the angel and carefully smoothed her dress and hair once more, then stepped on a nearby footstool so that he could reach the top of the tree.

      With an ease from years of practice he attached the angel to the tree so that she faced the room. Then he climbed down from the footstool, walked over and turned off the overhead light, leaving the room in shadows. He returned to the tree and flipped on the switch.

      The tree immediately came to life with a multitude of tiny lights flickering and twinkling among the scented branches.

      “Oooh,” Travis sighed softly. The girls took each of his hands and stared at the tree in awe.

      Finally Brenda said, “I wish Chris could have been here. This is the first Christmas he hasn’t helped us decorate the tree.”

      “I know, honey,” Bret replied. “I miss him, too, but Roy says he was a real help today. At least he helped to choose the tree.” He was silent for several moments, as they enjoyed the magical sight before them. His gaze returned to the angel who presided over the tree like a benevolent reigning monarch.

      She’d been a part of this family for as long as there had been a family. Somehow having her with them once again gave him a sense of peace and a degree of normalcy to the unusual day. Nothing seemed quite as bad as before.

      Brenda was the first to turn away, still holding Travis’s hand. “You want me to put Travis to bed, Dad?”

      “Thank you, honey, but Travis and I’ll manage just fine, won’t we?” Bret replied, smiling at his son. He held out his hand to Travis, who took it with a nod.

      Spending time with Travis was always a pleasure to Bret. He enjoyed looking at the world through a three-year-old’s eyes. The girls were patient with their little brother, but he didn’t want them to feel overwhelmed with the responsibility of looking after him.

      No matter how tired or sore Bret was each evening he made a point of spending the last hour of Travis’s day with the boy.

      His youngest scampered up the stairs, no doubt racing ahead to find a story for Bret to read to him while the girls chattered about school as they left the room. Bret decided to leave the tree lights on for Chris when he came in. Roy would probably wait until morning to give him an updated report from the hospital. Bret knew he wouldn’t sleep until he heard Chris come in, anyway.

      By the time Bret heard Chris come up the stairs, Travis had fallen asleep—his giraffe tucked next to him.

      Pausing in the doorway of his own room, Bret watched his oldest son come down the hallway toward him. Roy was right. Chris was growing fast, and not only in height. He was losing his boy-child look. His face appeared to be changing—his features looked sharper and more defined.

      “How’s it going, Dad?” he asked, following Bret into the room and sprawling out on the bed with a sigh.

      Bret began to unbutton his shirt. “All right. How’s Freda?”

      “She was asleep when we left. The doctor gave her something for the pain. She’s got a nasty sprain in her left ankle—probably caused when she tried to stop her fall—as well as a broken right leg. I was glad they gave her something. I could tell she was really hurting when we took her in, but she wouldn’t complain.”

      “Did the doctor have any idea when she’d be able to leave the hospital?”

      “He СКАЧАТЬ