Mini Miracles Read online

  Not angry.

  She’d never been like that before, and she didn’t want to be like that now. “Maybe you’re right, but we still owe it to…” She hesitated. “To, uh, Mama Mary and her children to at least try.”

  “I agree,” he answered simply. “This won’t be like the time with the squirrels,” he added as an afterthought.

  Oh, those darned squirrels… Truth be told, she liked the puppies better already, but she would keep that to herself.

  Chapter 3

  Abigail

  After moving the box from the table to the floor, Abigail sat with the dogs while her father zipped around the house procuring arrangements for them. An old pillow with an even older throw blanket draped on top became their bed, a pair of ceramic cereal bowls converted into food and water dishes, and a space heater set atop an overturned milk crate helped to warm the area.

  “Now I’m going to make Mama Mary a dinner like she’s never had before,” he said, kneeling down to scratch the dog between its ears before popping back up and heading toward the kitchen.

  “Don’t tell me you’re planning to feed her the Christmas ham,” Abigail called after him, half-believing he would.

  His laughter floated over from the stove. “No, that would take too long. But I figure our good girl has earned herself a nice New York strip.”

  The mother Chihuahua grunted in affirmation, and Abigail could swear she heard the dog’s belly rumble. She couldn’t stop the chuckle that bubbled to the surface. It felt both amazing and like the worst kind of betrayal to Owen’s memory. This was far too soon for her to be happy over something so trivial.

  She grew silent as she watched the little puppies nurse at their mama’s side. While they squirmed and whined freely, the mother dog stayed mostly still and quiet—like Abigail herself. The last thing she needed was to get attached to a sick dog, only to have it die before the morning sun.

  “I think we need to take them in to see a vet,” she called to her father.

  He answered back after a series of three loud plops and sizzles that told her he was making steaks for more than just the one of them. “I called around, but no one’s open tonight or tomorrow.”

  She tried to think, at last remembering who it was they knew for this kind of thing. “What about Mr. Manganiello? Doesn’t he work with animals?”

  “He’s celebrating Christmas with his family same as everyone else. Besides, we’ve got this. You and me, just like the old days.”

  Ah, the old days… back when Abigail’s biggest problem had been whether or not she could convince her father to let her attend the freshman dance with dreamy Gavin Holbrook as her date. After much pleading he’d said yes, but only on the condition that he could chaperone. Abigail had never been so mortified in her entire life, but that hadn’t stopped Gavin from sneaking a kiss on the front doorstep before they’d said goodnight.

  How long ago that seemed. She’d lived and died many times in the decade and a half between ninth grade and the new, sadder life she struggled through now. Each day was a gift, that’s what she’d believed before. These days, she knew better.

  And yet…

  Her heart would break all over again if this poor mother dog didn’t live to see her puppies grow into strong, full-grown ankle biters. Abigail didn’t know much about dogs, but she knew enough to know that Chihuahuas were fierce, yappy little things.

  Why couldn’t her father have found a litter of Golden Retriever puppies instead?

  Guilt hardened in her stomach once more as Abigail watched Mama Mary breathe heavily and close her eyes.

  “Hey, hey,” she said gently, nudging the dog until it opened its eyes again. “We’re going to get through this. Don’t give up.”

  She continued to stroke the dog’s patchy fur and murmur to it while her father prepared their dinners. Judging from the poor thing’s condition, she’d either never had an owner or had been missing for a very long time. What if her owner had been searching for her all this time? What if the dog had finally found help for her puppies but it turned out to be too late for her? She tried not to think about that. After all, there was nothing she could do to prevent either outcome. She could simply ease the pain that came before.

  “Did you and Mama get some good bonding in?” her father asked, watching her from the door frame.

  “It’s hard not to root for her,” Abigail admitted. “But I still don’t think we should keep them long term.”

  “Banish the thought.” He clucked his tongue and wagged a finger at her. “When God sends you a gift, you don’t just send it back. These pups were meant to find our church, and that’s where they belong.”

  “So now they’re the church’s pets?” she said flatly. It seemed her father’s plans for these dogs were growing by the minute. Before the end of the night he’d have them signed up to compete for blue ribbons at the Westminster Kennel Club.

  He chuckled as if privy to her private speculations. “Not pets. I was thinking more like working dogs.”

  Abigail forced down a giggle of her own. It would have cost her too much to let laughter in twice that day. “Working dogs? But they’re so small! What are they going to do? Pull a sled the next time it snows?”

  Her father’s eyes glimmered, but he said nothing as he returned to the kitchen.

  Abigail eased herself up from the floor and followed him. “What kind of work are they going to do for the church?”

  “Whatever the Lord decides is good enough for me,” he answered, plopping another steak into the frying pan.

  “Wait. You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  “As a heart attack” came the response.

  “I always knew you were crazy, but this seems beyond your normal. You know all of Charleston will be talking about this before no time at all.”

  “Good, let them talk. Maybe then they’ll come to church to see for themselves.”

  “More like they’ll come to see the infamous Church Dogs of Charleston.”

  “Now, that does have a nice ring to it,” he answered with yet another chuckle before turning and pushing a tea plate stacked with sliced steak into her hands. “Go see if you can get some food in that poor dog. After that, we’ll work on you.”

  Chapter 4

  Abigail

  Abigail could scarcely sleep that night. After her third time waking up in the wee hours, she officially gave up and went to hold vigil over the Chihuahuas.

  Once in the living room, she found a plate of sugar cookies and gingerbread men waiting beside a glass of milk. Had her father put these out for tradition’s sake, or did he have a feeling she’d rouse early and need a snack?

  Why they were there didn’t much matter, because food was one of the few joys Abigail still luxuriated in from time to time. She chose a gingerbread figure with chocolate icing hair and a red licorice smile, and bit into it with delight.

  This one had to be her.

  Growing up, she and her father had decorated dozens upon dozens of cookies each year, fashioning each to look like someone they knew from the church. She’d taken that tradition with her when she married Owen and moved into base housing. In fact, last year they’d had quite the laugh over her interpretation of his commanding officer.

  This year, she’d skipped out on baking with her father. She’d skipped out on many things, not quite ready to attempt normality just yet. The baby inside her, she knew, presented a ticking clock. She’d need to be strong, healthy, and happy when he or she arrived. It wouldn’t be fair to push her grief onto the child. After all, the poor thing would already be starting life one parent short.

  Abigail took another bite of the warm cookie and glanced over to the basket of sleeping puppies nearby.

  Mama Mary caught her eye, her little nose sniffing high in the air as if she needed two senses to confirm she had a visitor. And then, the tiny dog gently worked her way out of the basket and waddled over to Abigail.

  “What is it, girl?” Abigail asked.

 
; The dog cocked her head to one side, then slowly pulled herself into an upright position. Her two front paws clawed at the air in the most adorable bout of begging Abigail had ever witnessed in her whole life.

  She smiled at the mother dog, glad to see she was already feeling so much better. “I’m not sure this is good for you, sweetie,” she explained, frowning at the frosting smeared across her fingers even after the cookie had disappeared into her mouth. “Actually, they’re not very good for me, either. Let’s see if we can find something better in the kitchen.”

  Together, the mom and mom-to-be trotted into the kitchen and peeked into the fridge. It was flowing with abundance even more than usual. It seemed that this time of year every little old lady in her father’s congregation wanted to help feed the poor single pastor—especially this year since he now came with a tragic widowed daughter and a yet-to-be-born grandchild.

  Abigail selected a chicken and rice casserole from amongst the bounty and pulled it from the fridge. “We really need to pick you up some proper dog food as soon as the stores open again,” she said, dishing out a serving for each of them. She stuck her plate in the microwave and put Mama Mary’s on the tiled floor.

  The dog sniffed it and sat without taking even the tiniest of bites. She glared at Abigail as if trying to tell her something. Just what that was, Abigail hadn’t the faintest idea.

  “Sorry, I don’t speak dog,” she said, grabbing her plate from the microwave before it could beep and disturb the still sleeping members of their household—especially the puppies. Their mother deserved whatever little bit of break she could get, especially if it meant getting more meat on her fragile bones.

  Abigail carried her plate over to her favorite chair, surprised when Mama Mary chose to follow her out to the living room and continue her begging there.

  “I just gave you some,” Abigail reminded her, gesturing toward the kitchen where the other helping of fine Southern comfort food sat untouched.

  For some reason unbeknownst to Abigail, these words encouraged the dog who attempted to jump up on the chair with her. However, she couldn’t quite make the whole leap and fell back down to the floor.

  “What?” Abigail laughed despite herself. “Do you want mine?”

  The little dog glanced from Abigail’s face to her plate and back again, causing her to laugh even harder. This time she didn’t even scold herself for the happy gesture. Well, at least not much.

  “Okay, have it your way,” she said, offering the plate to the hungry Chihuahua who immediately dug in and made fast work of cleaning the plate.

  Abigail was just about to return to the kitchen to warm a second plate for herself when her father appeared at the end of the hallway, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “Morning already?” he asked with a giant overhead stretch.

  “Not exactly,” Abigail admitted, feeling a bit more reserved now that another human was around. Somehow it was easier to let her cruel inner dialogue rest in Mary’s presence. Maybe because, inexplicably, it felt as if the dog understood in a way even Abigail’s father couldn’t—in a way she had yet to figure out for herself, too.

  “Us girls were just having a late night snack,” she added, continuing to the kitchen and thrusting open the fridge. “Want some?”

  “Oh, what are we having? Actually, you know what? It doesn’t matter. I’ll have two, please.”

  That was her father, though. If it was worth doing, then it was worth overdoing, which was exactly why they now had five new dogs to take care of. It was also why his pants had become increasingly snug around the middle after she’d left to make a new home with her husband.

  Well, she was back now, and if she couldn’t straighten out her own life, maybe she could at least do some good in her father’s.

  She smiled coyly to herself as she served him a single portion.

  It was for his own good, after all.

  Chapter 5

  Pastor Adam

  I knew my daughter and that mama dog would be thick as thieves in no time at all. Only “no time at all” happened faster than even I’d dared to hope. By the time I woke up the next morning, I found Abigail smiling and laughing just like she used to in a time not so long ago.

  What I’d give to have that time and that happy, hopeful version of Abigail back for good.

  Of course, I still remember clear as a bell when I first heard the news of my poor son-in-law’s departure. Abigail had been crying so hard I could scarcely understand the words as she spoke them. Somehow I knew before she even had to confirm the tragic passing. I knew my daughter inside out, but nothing I could have done would have prepared her for this untimely loss.

  Regardless of all that, I still question myself to this day. If I’d worked harder to keep Abigail’s mama around, would she have an easier time dealing with the loss of her husband?

  These questions remained impossible to answer, but that didn’t mean I’d ever stop asking them. Just that night, for example, I had lain awake in bed, thinking, praying, wishing, wondering if my baby girl would ever come back to me. The Lord works in mysterious ways, but sometimes it’s quite difficult to see His plan when you’re standing right in the middle of it.

  Abigail herself seemed to have decided that there was no plan, or if there was, then it meant His only aim was to torment her in this life and quite possibly also the next. Even though I understood her need to question, it still broke my heart to watch her shut God out—and, in turn, to shut me out, too.

  You have to understand, it wasn’t so long ago that my wife, Rachael, abandoned the both of us—only, unlike Owen, she chose to do it. I know Abigail’s husband would have given anything to stay with her and guide their child through life.

  Even still, I sometimes wonder what Rachael is doing with her life these days, but I also know not to pick at that particular wound. It’s why I haven’t succumbed to the allure of Facebook even though so many of my congregants do sorely wish I’d start an account there. The best way to avoid temptation is to avoid temptation, if you know what I mean.

  Whether I should have talked with Abigail more about her mother, I still don’t know. But what could it help now? In my heart and by the eyes of God, I’m still married to Rachael, even though she chose to walk away from our life together and has never once looked back.

  Had I been a bad husband to her?

  Was I a bad father to Abigail?

  Whatever the answers might be, the only thing I want now is for my daughter to smile again. Well, that, and to find her way back into the Lord’s waiting arms. I pray for her many times each day. It’s like breathing—a sacred routine I need in order to keep on keeping on.

  That’s why when He sent those dogs I knew for a fact that my prayers were well on their way to being answered, and then… this morning, I saw the beginnings of that answer take shape. God is good!

  Chapter 6

  Abigail

  Abigail fell asleep in her favorite wingback chair sometime between three and four a.m. When she finally awoke to start the day, the room was brightly lit by the morning sun and her father had returned to the kitchen to make his famous Sunday morning fry-up.

  Never mind that today was Friday.

  And Christmas.

  She padded over to the kitchen and gave her father a kiss on the cheek.

  “Merry Christmas,” he said, wrapping his arm around her in a tight, warm hug.

  She returned his holiday wishes and asked, “What do you have planned for today? I’m sure the church is keeping you on a very busy schedule as always.”

  He grinned and shook his head. “Not this time. Today I have the full day free to celebrate with you and our five new family members.”

  Abigail scrunched up her nose in confusion until she realized… the dogs, he meant the dogs. “Well, don’t back out of any plans on my account. I’ll be fine on my own.”

  He clucked his tongue and dismissed her hesitation with that same self-assured smile he always offered when she had no choice in a matter
. “That’s what you say every day,” he pointed out. “But today is Christmas. And I’m not taking no for an answer.”

  Abigail brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She probably looked a fright. “Okay, but what’s the question?” she teased.

  “No question. Just you, me, and the dogs celebrating His birth and eating lots of good food. Now while I finish up in here, why don’t you go check the stockings?”

  Abigail smiled at the memory of so many years before. She and her father had a veritable treasure trove of holiday traditions, and unpacking her stocking was one of her most favorite.

  “There’s one for the little squirt, too!” her father called after her as she traced her way to the fireplace.

  Reflexively, she brought a hand to her belly. Next year she’d have an actual, real live baby with her—a small piece of Owen who would need her to show him the world and all its wonders.

  That meant she had less than a year left to rediscover them for herself. No pressure. Nope. None at all.

  She gently unhooked both stockings from the mantle place and sat cross-legged on the floor to inspect their contents.

  Mama Mary sidled up to her, tail wagging furiously as her four puppies whimpered and searched the bed for their missing mother.

  “I bet it’s exhausting,” Abigail confided in her. “Having four! I can barely picture having one. I don’t think I’m ready.”

  The little brown and white dog came closer and pushed her head under Abigail’s palm.

  Abigail smiled and petted the dog as requested. This tiny little thing had braved incredible obstacles to keep her babies safe. Would Abigail know to do the same once her child was in this world? Would she simply snap out of it and do what was needed?