Free Samantha's Gift by Valerie Hansen Page A

distressed look that suddenly came over Martha was a surprise.
    Glancing beyond her mother, Rachel saw Hannah give a barely perceptible shake of unspoken warning.
    Thoughtful, Rachel sat back in the pew, eyes forward and hands folded in her lap as if the service had already begun. How odd. In all the times she and Martha had argued the merits of motherhood, she’d never seen her get teary-eyed before. Was it possible she’d wanted more than one child?
    Was it possible she’d been unable to conceive a second time? Or a first? Rachel’s breath caught. Was I adopted?
    Her head snapped around and she stared at Martha. No, that wasn’t the problem. It couldn’t be. She and her mother looked enough alike to be sisters, taking into account their age difference. So why was her mom suddenly acting upset? Too bad this wasn’t the right time or place to ask.
    Resigned to wonder, at least for the present, Rachel glanced at her watch, then smiled at the women beside her. “It’s getting late. I think I’ll wander down the hall toward the Sunday school rooms and pick upSamantha so she doesn’t get lost in the rush. Be back in a flash.”
    Rather than give anyone a chance to object, she quickly got to her feet. The sanctuary was filling up, as usual, and there was a hum of muted conversation as families milled around in the aisles, searching for enough unoccupied space so they could all sit together.
    Being short, Rachel couldn’t see past the nearest parishioners. She smiled, offered an all-inclusive “Excuse me,” and stepped out into the crowded center aisle.
    Someone jostled her. Touched her arm from behind. Her first thought was that Sean Bates had changed his mind and come to church, after all! Excited in spite of herself, she turned and looked up with an expectant, jubilant smile.
    The smile quickly faded. Standing there, grinning down at her like a sated cat with bird feathers still clinging to its whiskers, was Craig Slocum.
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    Rachel was deeply grateful that her concern for Samantha had provided a ready-made excuse to gracefully escape from Craig. His smug expression had instantly made her so furious she doubted she’d have been able to come up with anything else socially acceptable.
    By the time she reached the kindergarten Sunday school room she’d pulled herself together. Most ofthe children had already left. She peered in the open door. Samantha had stayed behind and was helping the teacher straighten the chairs.
    â€œHi,” Rachel said, smiling.
    Samantha’s eyes widened. She squealed, “Miss Rachel!” forgot everything else and raced across the room.
    Rachel bent down to welcome the child and was immediately caught in a possessive embrace. Samantha’s thin arms wound around her neck and she clung as if she planned never to let go.
    â€œI’m glad to see you, too,” Rachel said. She straightened with the little girl in her arms and balanced the extra weight on one hip. “Did you like Sunday school?”
    â€œUh-huh. How come you’re not my teacher?”
    â€œI am. In regular school. Don’t you want me to have a little time off?”
    â€œI guess so.” Samantha’s eyes remained bright and curious. “Is this where you live?”
    â€œAt church?” Rachel laughed softly, her tone gentle. She was used to having students ask her if she lived at the school because that was where she was every time they saw her, but she’d never been asked if she lived at the church. “No, honey. I live in a regular house. Why?”
    â€œJust wondered.”
    â€œOh.” Remembering Hannah’s earlier mention of Samantha’s angel fixation, Rachel assumed that mightbe the underlying reason for the question. Since angels were spiritual beings, they might live in a church—it was a logical conclusion for a five-year-old.
    â€œWould you like Mrs. Brody to bring you to see my house someday?