Page 15 of Christmas Past
“It might not work,” she warned. But even as she said the words, she was walking over to the fireplace mantel and hanging her stocking from one of the old hooks protruding beneath it.
~*~
The afternoon was growing late. Camille had been missing more than five hours. Chad’s tension grew with every minute that passed. Bella could feel it. And not because of any gift. It emanated from him.
He nodded toward Bella, as she worked with her herbs. “I appreciate what you’re doing here.”
He’d held her hand through two cold sweat episodes. Mostly he was pacing. On the phone with the FBI agent in charge of the investigation. With his deputies. Getting reports. While he sat with her. Because it was where the FBI wanted him. He told her about some of what he heard. Christian Knowles, Director of Public Works and responsible for public buildings roads, bridges, public spaces, public services had his entire staff out looking for any sign of the missing child or anything out of the ordinary. His son, Trenton, a civil engineering student home for the holidays and his nephew, Patrick whose family was visiting, had teamed up with the three Minor boys – whose father, George was Superintendent of Schools – to organize a posse of all of the town’s high school and older youth to cover every inch of the town on foot. If anyone would know the places in town to hide out, it would be the kids.
Trent’s mother, owner of Holiday Treats and Sweets Bakery, was working with The Tea Pot on the town square to man the hot chocolate stations they’d set up around town. The stations were also being used as check points with every one having radio connection to the FBI agent in charge.
A central phone number for tips and reporting had been established as well.
Her job was to let the feelings come. And when they did, to report everything in as much detail as possible to Chad.
The whole thing made Bella feel like crying. These people…the community…they were family to each other. Real family. She wanted to be a part of it.
“You don’t have to stay right here, you know,” she said as he sat on the bar stool at her island – it served as her kitchen table as well – “If I feel something, I’ll call you immediately …”
"The FBI wants me here."
Which made her feel even more guilty. "I'm sorry I'm wasting your time, Chad. I know you want to be out there..."
He just looked at her.
“What?”
His shrug wasn’t quite as nonchalant as he probably wanted it to look. “I don’t believe in things you seem to take for granted. And we’re getting no results.”
“What things?”
“The herbs for instance…they’re no different than lettuce or potatoes. Yet you sell them as though they have healing properties. I’m not saying you’re tricking people. I think you really believe it’s possible for people to get healing properties out of them. But I don’t. Just like I don’t believe in psychic detectives.”
“You don’t believe at all? As in, you don’t think anyone has an ability to see or know more than others? You don’t believe in the existence of a sixth sense?”
“No.”
For a second there she felt sorry for him. Some of life’s best stuff came on the sixth sense level. True love, for instance. You had to tune in to allow it to change your life.
“I do.”
He frowned. “You’ve been saying all day that you don’t believe you can…”
“…I said I don’t believe I have the ability to feel what other people are feeling, or that I know how to tap into it,” she clarified. “I believe, fully and completely with all of my heart, thatthe possibilityexists.”
“I believe in what I can touch. And see. What I know I can put my finger on.”
She understood now why he'd doubted her earlier. And probably doubted her still. It wasn't personal. It was...sad.
“But what do you trust in?”
“Verified sources.”
“So what about this town? What about Christmas? And the magic? You don’t believe in that?”
“Of course not. Christmas isn’t magic. It’s everyone working really hard to build an illusion of magic. Of spending their hard earned money to buy gifts that they already know people will like so that they’ll like them. No different than birthdays. No more magical. Just on a larger scale.”
Now she really did feel sorry for him.
