A Child Shall Lead Them

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Epilogue

Chapter One

Brianna stood in the doorway of the music room in an oversize V-neck T-shirt and stone-washed jeans, her tawny hair framing her luminous face, her large, velvet green eyes looking worried. “Daddy, are you coming downstairs to dinner?”

She had assumed a tentative stance, her head cocked just so, one hand on the doorjamb, her rosy lips pursed questioningly.

Andrew’s heart lurched. Something in his daughter’s winsome face reminded him of his beloved Mandy. Like mother, like daughter. He half expected to see Brianna cradling one of her scraggly strays in her arms—a mongrel pup, a scrawny alley cat, a wounded bird. Since she was three she had managed to drag home every lost and homeless animal within a ten-mile radius of La Jolla. Mandy had been the same way, nurturing and comforting every ragamuffin child, every downtrodden soul, every wounded spirit. It was what had made her a great minister’s wife.

“Daddy? Did you hear me? You look a thousand miles away.”

Andrew’s reverie broke. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

“I said dinner’s ready. It’s Friday, so Frannie made her usual spaghetti. Your favorite.”

“Sounds great, sweetheart.” Frannie, his youngest, had designated herself chief cook and bottle washer after Mandy’s death six years ago. In fact, all three of his daughters had appointed themselves their father’s keepers, mollycoddling him like doting little mothers. His three precious girls: Cassandra, Brianna and Frannie. What would he have done without them?

But now there were just two left at home.

He cleared his throat and said with more enthusiasm than he felt, “Tell Frannie I’ll be down in a minute, okay?”

Brianna lingered in the doorway, looking unconvinced. Yes, no doubt about it. His middle daughter, with her wholesome peaches-and-cream, girl-next-door attractiveness, was at heart a mother hen—a cross between Mother Teresa and Florence Nightingale. And now Andrew was the object of her overweening concern.

“You’re thinking about Cassie, aren’t you, Daddy.”

Andrew swiveled on the mahogany bench, his right hand remaining on the shiny black grand piano. Cassie’s piano. “You caught me, baby cakes,” he confessed. “I guess I’ve been thinking a lot about Cassie this week.”

“Oh, Daddy.” Brianna crossed her arms and rocked on one heel. “Cassie’s on her honeymoon. She and Antonio are so happy. I’ve never seen two people so in love…except you and Mom.”

“And I’m happy for her,” Andrew said quickly. “It’s just…well, this old house hasn’t seemed so empty since…”

“Since Mom died,” said Bree softly.

Andrew nodded, a painful knot in his throat. He looked away before his daughter read too much in his expression.

Too late. Her eyes brimming with sympathy, Brianna crossed the room and twined her slender arms around her father’s neck. In Andrew’s memory flashed the image of a jubilant child, running, skating, dancing, her hair flying in the wind. “It’s okay to feel sad sometimes, Daddy,” she whispered. “I miss Mom, too.”

Andrew ruffled his daughter’s silky hair. “I’m fine, doll baby. You go downstairs and tell your sister to get out the king-size bibs because I’m ready to eat spaghetti!”

“She already has them out, Daddy. One for each of us, like always.” Brianna drifted back to the doorway and fluttered her fingers in a wave. “Don’t be long, or the pasta will be cold.”

“One minute. I promise.”

After Bree had gone, Andrew inhaled sharply and turned his gaze to the family portrait on the piano, taken the year before Mandy learned she had cancer. They were at the beach, having a picnic, building sand castles, collecting seashells, frolicking like children. Looking like windblown, ragtag beach bums.

When a stranger offered to snap their picture, they laughed uproariously. Why not? It would be a silly, hilarious memento for posterity. So Andrew, his wife and daughters all stood arm-in-arm like disheveled comrades, smiling, on the verge of side-splitting laughter on that dappled, sun-washed beach. They had been oblivious to the horror lurking in the shadows, nipping at their heels.

For Andrew, those dark, devastating days seemed like another lifetime now…watching his beloved Mandy succumb moment by moment, inch by inch to that ravaging monster called cancer. Only his faith in God and his darling daughters had kept him sane. After Mandy’s death, his girls had rallied around him and gradually turned their grief-stricken house into a rollicking, joyous, fun-filled homestead again.

But as devoted as his lovely daughters were to him, over the years Andrew had grown increasingly concerned about them. It wasn’t right for three grown, vibrant young women to remain in their father’s house, putting their own lives on hold for his sake. Sure, each daughter had a fulfilling career, but they needed to be out dating, making the acquaintance of suitable young men. They needed to be setting wedding dates and getting married and bringing home precious grandbabies that he could spoil the way he had spoiled them.

That’s why, almost a year ago now, he had resolved to help things along, to give his girls a proper nudge in the matrimonial department. And, thank God, it had worked for his oldest daughter, Cassandra. Just last Saturday, hadn’t he himself, the proud papa, officiated at the most gorgeous wedding on earth? Hadn’t he choked with love and pride as his darling Cassie said her vows and became the radiant bride of the dashing Antonio Pagliarulo? Hadn’t he smiled with satisfaction and, yes, relief as Antonio whisked Cassie off to a Mediterranean honeymoon?

One down, two to go, as the saying went. Now he just had to find husbands for his two younger girls, Brianna and Frannie. And that would not be an easy feat, for both girls were too devoted to their careers even to give a man a passing glance—Bree with her work at the family counseling center and Frannie with her sculpting and painting. Both girls were entirely too entrenched at home, fussing like nursemaids over their widowed father, to realize that the world contained a vast array of eligible bachelors.

Even now, as Andrew sat in the music room and studied the family portrait atop the grand piano, he knew his concerns were legitimate. If he let them, his remaining daughters would stay at home forever—at least until he went to be with his precious Mandy, or, heaven forbid, he took another wife.

He almost had. Taken another wife, that is. While Antonio was courting his sweet Cassie, Andrew had found himself enraptured with Antonio’s widowed mother—the audacious, unpredictable Juliana Pagliarulo. Her exotic beauty had tantalized him just as her flamboyant personality had captivated him. And, amazingly, she had seemed equally enamored with him.

But, of course, the timing wasn’t right for a serious romance. These days Juliana had her hands full helping her disabled daughter learn to walk again. And a fine job she was doing. Belina, a lovely, blossoming young woman, was well on the road to recovery. At Cassie’s wedding she had served as a bridesmaid, walking proudly, victoriously down the aisle on canes. There wasn’t a dry eye in the house. In fact, Belina nearly stole the show from Antonio and Cassie, and no one could have been happier about it than they.

But it wasn’t just Juliana’s parental responsibilities that had nipped their romance in the bud. If Andrew was honest with himself, he was equally to blame. As much as he cared for Juliana, he still couldn’t quite relinquish his emotional hold on Mandy. He knew he was being foolish, holding on so desperately to his memories, finding his solace in a woman who had been dead for six long years.

A few times his daughters had caught him speaking aloud to Mandy, as if she were still alive, still in the room with him, listening to him unburden his heart. But his daughters’ concerned glances weren’t warranted. As eccentric as he might be, he wasn’t addled enough to believe Mandy could actually hear him (although wasn’t it possible she was listening from heaven’s portal?). The problem was that he had become so accustomed over the years to Mandy’s presence, her patient smile, her gentle voice, her listening ear. She was a hard habit to break. But, in spite of his grief, he wouldn’t wish Mandy back with him. Far better that she was with the Lord, free of pain and basking in His love.

Andrew heard a scratch at the door and turned just in time to glimpse his mongrel, mop-haired dog push the door open and bound inside. Ruggs half scrambled, half slid across the polished hardwood floor, his shaggy, hirsute form landing in a disheveled heap beside the piano bench. Andrew reached down and massaged the panting animal’s floppy ears. Ruggs rewarded him with a lick of his rough, wet tongue on Andrew’s chin.

“Well, Ruggsy boy, it looks like my daughters called in the troops…or should I say, one furry, four-footed storm trooper. “You go back downstairs and tell my girls I’m on my way.” He chuckled as Ruggs yipped eagerly. “Okay, boy, bark if you have to. They’ll get the message.”

Andrew followed the big, lumbering dog downstairs. Ruggs was one of Brianna’s foundlings—a neighborhood stray she had rescued nearly ten years ago from the clutches of an overzealous dog catcher. Bree had promised to find the starving pup a good home; the home turned out to be Andrew’s. Now Ruggs was as much a part of the family as anyone. The girls adored the ungainly pooch and forgave his every vice, including chewing Andrew’s leather shoes to shreds and pilfering steaks from the backyard grill.

With much howling, Ruggs announced Andrew’s presence in the dining room. Andrew took his place at the head of the table, flashing an apologetic smile at his two daughters. “Hope I’m not too late,” he said as he fastened Bree’s hand-stitched, terry-cloth bib around his neck. Bree had made him the enormous bib several years ago as a practical joke. Andrew was known far and wide for his clumsiness; he could never maneuver his way through a spaghetti dinner without strategically positioning a dollop of tomato sauce on his best dress shirt. So the bib was a welcome defense against all the loose spaghetti strands that threatened to attack.

Oddly, the bib idea caught on, and soon everyone in the family wanted one. Then guests who came to dinner began to expect them, too, so Bree gladly stitched a stack of them, customizing each one. The bibs became wonderful conversation pieces, always good for a laugh.

And a laugh is just what we need these days, Andrew mused to himself as he smoothed his bib over his starched white shirt. “Looks good,” he told Frannie as she set heaping bowls of pasta and spaghetti sauce on the linen-draped table beside a tossed salad and a platter of garlic cheese toast.

“Your favorites, Daddy,” she said, sitting down.

“You bet.” He reached for his daughters’ hands, bowed his head, and asked God’s blessing on the food, adding softly, “Lord, take special care of Cassie and Antonio, wherever they are tonight. Give them a wonderful life together. And fill this empty house with lots of life and laughter again.”

As they ate, Brianna gave Andrew several curious glances, as if she had something to say but didn’t know quite how to say it.

“What is it, Bree?” Andrew prompted. “Got something on your mind?”