Twelve Days by TERESA HILL Read Free Book Online

recognize this?" Rachel pointed to the house.
    "Uh-uh," Zach said.
    "It's this house," she said, delighted to be living in her grandfather's old house on this cold winter night, so close to Christmas, with children gathered around her. She felt as if she were sharing a bit of true magic with them.
    "Uh-uh," Zach said.
    "It is. You'll see tomorrow, when we get all the decorations up."
    "Your house is in a book?" Zach asked, leaning closer.
    "Well, it actually belonged to my grandfather. This is a painting he did of the house at Christmas a long time ago."
    "An it's in a book?" Zach was amazed.
    "Yes. He's a bit famous. A few years ago, a publisher was interested in illustrations for a Christmas story, and he came and got a bunch of my grandfather's paintings, and now they're in this Christmas book. Isn't it nice?"
    "Uh-huh," Zach said.
    Zach settled in a bit closer to hear the story. Emma didn't seem as interested, but she sat there quietly, holding the baby. Rachel read, telling them about all the different things in the pictures that she could show them when they went into town the next day. She wasn't sure Zach actually believed her, had to admit it was probably hard for a little boy to understand. But he would see for himself soon. It would add to the magic even more.
    Later, she tucked Zach into bed, let Emma put Grace down, then walked an unusually quiet Emma to the room down the hall where she'd be sleeping.
    "You'll be all right here? By yourself?" Rachel asked gently.
    "I will. But Zach's used to sleeping with me. Grace, too. We all sleep in the same room."
    "Oh." Aunt Miriam said the children should have their own beds, preferably their own rooms. But she didn't say they had to actually sleep in them. Obviously, they were used to being together, and Rachel didn't want to make this any harder.
    "Why don't we try it like this, Emma. And if Zach or Grace get lonely, they know where you are."
    "Okay," Emma said.
    "Is there anything else?"
    Emma looked troubled. "This is really the house in the book?"
    "Yes. It looks a little different now, because it was about thirty years ago when my grandfather painted the picture." Her grandfather wasn't a brilliant painter; he'd done the paintings as a first step toward making the models of the buildings he used in the snow globe scenes. But he had a gift in the way he used color and light and in selecting such beautiful scenes. Once the snow globes became popular, so did his paintings.
    Emma frowned again, her brow wrinkling in concentration, and asked, "Is this a magic house?"
    "I used to think so when I was your age. It's always been a happy house," she said, refusing to think about the last few years when it had been just her and Sam.
    "And I want you and Zach and Grace to have a good Christmas here with me and Sam. Do you think we could do that? Make it a good one?"
    Emma nodded.
    "Then we will. And I don't want you to worry, Emma. We'll take good care of you here. All right?"
    "Okay."
    Rachel gave her a kiss on the forehead and a gentle hug. "Call me if you need anything."
    * * *
    Sam lingered on the fringes of the nighttime rituals. He watched as Rachel supervised—teeth brushed, hands washed, faces washed. The baby tried to eat the washcloth. She truly did try to eat everything.
    He made sure he got upstairs ahead of the rest of them to set up the portable crib Miriam had brought in the middle bedroom. Then as Rachel came upstairs with Zach and the baby, he slipped into the front bedroom and cleaned his things out of there. Miriam said the children needed their own beds, which meant Rachel would need that room for one of the children.
    He was still trying to decide where to put his things when Rachel came into the hall and caught him standing there with a handful of clothes. Her cheeks flushed, whether with anger or embarrassment, he couldn't tell, and the look she gave him made him feel like a thief, like he'd stolen something from her, something personal and very important,