Jingle Bell Baby

The snow that had started hours ago now fell fast and thick. The town’s Main Street, with its old-fashioned storefronts, holiday decorations and cast-iron streetlights, looked like a scene that had been lifted right off a Christmas card.

“Not a creature was stirring,” she whispered to herself, turning back to look at the basket. “Not even a—”

Her breath caught in her throat as a small white hand popped up from the blanket. She blinked and shook her head. Then, just as unbelievably, a small bare foot emerged, as well. Hypnotized, Jessica watched as the tiny hand swatted the air, grabbed for the foot and finally caught it. Then a sound, an unmistakable baby gurgle of satisfaction, followed.

With her heart pounding wildly in her chest, Jessica ran over to the basket and swiftly flipped the blanket aside. A bit of powdery snow that had collected in the folds sprinkled down to the floor.

“Oh my Lord!” Jessie said out loud.

A baby stared up at her, looking serious and wide-eyed, still clutching its foot in one hand. Not quite believing that the infant was real, Jessica reached out and ran one fingertip gently along the baby’s smooth pink cheek. The baby tilted its chin against its chest, looking as if it might burst out crying. Then suddenly the baby smiled and clutched Jessie’s finger in a sticky grip.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Jessie cooed. The baby’s smile widened in response.

The baby appeared to be wrapped in about three flannel receiving blankets that were now bunched around its middle. Jessica worked her way through the blankets and found that the baby was dressed in nothing more than a thin and stained pink-and-white nightgown. She reached into the basket and pulled the baby out, holding its small warm body close to her chest. “Where did you come from, little angel? Huh?”

The baby put a fist in its mouth, then rested its head against Jessica’s shoulder. Golden curls rubbed against her cheek and Jessie thought she’d never felt anything so soft and fine. A mixture of baby lotion, formula and some other subtle, elusive perfume mingled in a scent that was distinctly baby. Jessica took a rich, intoxicating lungful and felt her heart clutch. Yes, there was indeed a lump of genuine, delectable babyhood in her arms. Pink and white and sweet as spun sugar. A lamb. A dove. A real live baby. Holding the baby to her chest in a firm but gentle embrace, she rocked from side to side, quieting the baby’s soft whimpers.

“You’re okay, kid. You’re okay with me, little sweet potato,” Jessie whispered.

The blankets had been dragged out of the basket and now Jessica could see that under the cushy bed the basket held some baby clothes, a number of disposable diapers and a plastic bottle.

A scrap of paper taped to the basket caught her eye and she pulled it off. It was a note written on a piece of white writing paper, folded in half and addressed on the outside “To Whoever Finds This Baby.” Jessica sat down on one of the counter stools and propped the baby in the crook of her arm so she could read the note.

The handwriting was plain printing, clear and neat.

Please look after my baby. Her name is Daisy and she is real sweet. I can’t take care of her no more. 1 just can’t do it. Help her find a good home with people who love her and can buy her things, etc. I am sorry.

Jessie dropped the note on the counter and turned to look at the baby again. “Daisy,” she said out loud, smiling at the baby. The name suited her, with her big brown eyes, bright smile and halo of golden hair. “Hello, Daisy sweetheart. Hello, little girl. You must be hungry, I’ll bet. You poor little thing. You poor sweetheart.”

Daisy stared up at Jessica, wide-eyed and attentive. Jessie laughed at her. Then, without a second’s warning, the baby burst out crying.

“Oh, golly—oh, my.” Jessie bounced the little girl in her arms, not quite sure of what to do next. “Oh, now, sweetheart, please don’t cry. What’s the matter, honey? What is it, sweet?” she asked the baby. “Does something hurt? Are you sick?” The baby paused for a second and stared at her, taking in a lungful of air, then exhaled, screaming even louder.

Jessie willed herself to keep calm. Though she adored children and desperately wanted her own, the truth of the matter was that Jessie had little hands-on experience with kids, and no experience at all in caring for a small baby.

“Uh, let’s see now. What could it be? Maybe your diaper is wet. Is that it?” Jessica stuck a finger under the edge of the baby’s diaper and felt around. It felt perfectly dry. No luck there.

The baby’s cries were rising, becoming sharper and louder. “Okay, let’s see,” Jessie said out loud. “You must be hungry then. That must be it.”

The baby’s cries continued. Well, there’s only one way to find out if I’m on the right track. This little muffin sure can’t tell me, Jessie thought.

“Let’s fix you something to eat, Daisy. How about a nice bottle of milk? It might just be tonight’s special,” Jessie said as she whisked the baby back in her basket and, carrying it, headed for the kitchen.

Jessie set Daisy’s basket down on the big butcher-block table in the center of the kitchen. Then she held Daisy while she rummaged through the basket to find the bottle.

The ride from the dining room to the kitchen had temporarily quieted the baby. But now Daisy started to make small fretting sounds again, which Jessica guessed would soon build into a full-fledged wail. She hurried around the kitchen, grabbed a container of milk out of the refrigerator and began to fill the bottle. But how much should Daisy get? She had no idea. She filled the bottle to the top, figuring the little girl might be real hungry. But shouldn’t it be warmed up a little? Yes, that was right. You were supposed to warm it, Jessie decided. She took the bottle, emptied the contents into a pot and put in on the stove to warm.

Daisy was crying at the top of her lungs. Just about rattling the pots that were hanging over the stove, Jessie noticed. She tried to soothe her by rocking her basket, then picked her up and held her close and did a few laps around the butcher-block table, but to no avail.

“Your order is coming right up, ma’am. One bottle, room temperature. Sorry for the delay. Just happens to be the cook’s night off and the kitchen is a bit backed up,” she chattered to the baby in a bright, waitressy voice.

The baby stared at her. Her crying lessened to a soft whimper.

“We make a wonderful bottle of warm milk here, if I might say so myself,” Jessie continued. “Babies come from miles around for our bottles and I think you will truly enjoy it, ma’am.”

Finally the bottle seemed warm enough. Jessie placed Daisy back in her basket, then took bottle and baby back out to the dining room where she could sit down comfortably.

With Daisy settled in the crook of her arm, Jessica offered her the bottle. The baby clamped on and sucked with astounding force.

“This one is on the house, honey. And do let me know if there’s anything else I can bring you—”

Daisy’s face soon glazed over with a look of utter contentment. With her eyes half-closed, she reached up and held onto the bottle. Her little fingers rested trustingly on Jessie’s and Jessie gazed down at the tiny hand, feeling a strange and wonderful thrill. A little milk dribbled down Daisy’s chin and Jessie quickly wiped it away with a paper napkin.

She was just so darn cute, Jessie thought. How in the world had anyone had the heart to leave her?

While Daisy sucked away, Jessie guessed that calling the police and reporting she’d found a baby should be the next order of business. But then they would come and take Daisy away—wouldn’t they?

The bells on the door jingled again and Jessie quickly looked up. Drat, she’d forgotten to lock the door and turn the sign. Well, she’d just have to tell whoever it was that she was closed.

A man entered. A huge, snow-covered man who stood with his head bowed, cursing softly to himself as he shook the white powder from his thick dark hair and stomped his heavy boots. The gesture and the sheer size of him distracted Jessica from the baby for a moment.

“Sorry, but we’re closed,” Jessica shouted in his direction. “You can have a cup of coffee to go, but I have to warn you, it’s been sitting there all night and must taste like mud,” she added, looking up at him again.

He had finally picked up his head and stared at her with brilliant blue eyes, eyes the color of a cloudless summer sky. The expression on his face, however, was anything but cloudless—it could only be described as a dark scowl. His dark brown hair, wet and slicked back from his forehead, accentuated his bold features—a wide brow, high cheekbones and square jaw. He was in need of a shave, she noticed, and looked as if he’d had a hard night that wasn’t going to end anytime soon. But he was definitely one hell of a good-looking man. If you liked them tall, dark and difficult, that was. Which she certainly did not.

“Luckily I’m not here for the coffee,” he curtly informed her.

“Well, the rest room is back and to the right,” Jessie said, her attention still fixed on the baby. “Normally, it’s for paying customers only, but I suppose on a night like this it can’t be helped.”

“And I didn’t stop in to use the damn john,” he said, sounding more than a bit insulted, she thought, at her assumption. “I came in to tell you to close up. There’s a fullblown blizzard out there, lady, or haven’t you noticed?”

“I guess I didn’t,” Jessie replied truthfully. She glanced out the window. Yes, it was snowing buckets, but as a native New Englander, the sight of a little—well, a respectable amount of—snow didn’t throw her into a panic.

“Even if you’re not concerned for yourself,” he added in a disapproving tone, “you certainly ought to give a thought to your baby.”

“Listen, you—whoever you are—” Jessica began, ready to set the stranger straight.

The baby had sucked the bottle down to the very last drop and now made a loud sucking sound on the nipple. Jessica turned her attention back to Daisy and gently pulled the nipple from her mouth.

“Now, wasn’t that nice?” Jessie said to Daisy. “You were hungry, weren’t you?”

Totally satiated, the baby stretched across Jessie’s lap as floppy as a rag doll. Jessie wondered if she should just let her go to sleep. Wasn’t there something else you were supposed to do?

Jessica rocked Daisy in her arms, trying to remember what it was you were supposed to do after babies ate.

“Aren’t you going to burp her?” an annoying masculine voice asked. “She’ll just wake up screaming with a gas bubble later.”

That was it! They needed to be burped. Though grateful for the information, Jessie didn’t thank him.