Free Home in Time for Christmas by Heather Graham Page A

they just get back in?”
    Her question to her brother was answered by a merry “Hello!” from her mother.
    They were back. And her mother had taken the dogs for the ride.
    Melody raced out of the kitchen and down the hall to the entry.
    Mona was taking off her scarf, giving off a little shiver as she did so. Jake was right behind her, ready to help her with her coat with one hand while he held a shopping bag in the other. Melody raced forward to rescue the bag.
    Jake smiled at her. She felt a little pitter-patter in herheart and brushed the feeling away. She still wasn’t sure he hadn’t been hired by some nefarious and unknown enemy to make her and her family look ridiculous.
    And then, of course, there was the possibility of a man who was totally insane.
    Because she’d hit him.
    Given him a severe concussion, and declined to take him to a hospital.
    â€œThank you, dear, just drop the groceries in the kitchen—there are a few more bags, boys, if you’ll come on out again,” Mona said.
    Jake and Keith obligingly followed her out. Melody ran the bag into the kitchen, nearly tripped over Brutus, set the bag down and raced back to the door. It was a little late to panic over what might be said in front of her mother when she wasn’t there, but she couldn’t help feeling ridiculously anxious.
    â€œDid you two have a nice time out?” she asked.
    â€œOh, it was lovely,” Mona said. “We met that nice young Anglican priest, Father Dawson. He hasn’t been here all that long, and he was delighted to go through the records with us. Then, we went to the café just down the street from the church, and had a lovely time. Jake is so knowledgeable about Colonial days and the American Revolution. It was just a wonderful and enlightening chat. Father Dawson thinks that Jake must write a book. He says Jake speaks just as if he really understands events—he could do a bang-up job on a first-person historical fiction type of thing.”
    â€œI’m sure he could,” Keith said, coming in the door with two more grocery bags. Jake was behind him.
    â€œWell, certainly, one day, I’d like to maybe work ona book,” he said. “Most of the writing that I’ve done has been for pamphlets and such other materials.”
    â€œOh, have you written guide books?” Mona asked.
    â€œOh, some of my own rhetoric, that’s all,” Jake said. He arched a brow to Melody, as if awaiting her approval on his reply.
    â€œWell, I’m glad you had a good morning,” she said. “What did you find out?” she asked carefully.
    â€œNothing. And it’s quite strange! The records are there—and, of course these must be Jake’s family. I mean, it’s just so obvious. There is a record of the other Jake—the revolutionary Jake’s ancestors coming to the parish, of Jake’s birth, Serena’s birth and then adoption into the family,” Mona said. “Then, there are records regarding his, the other Jake’s parents’ deaths—we even found the headstones, and they’re legible, they have a very active women’s club at the parish. They keep up the graveyard. Oh, the church is lovely. Father Dawson asked us if we’d come by for services sometime on Christmas or Christmas Eve, and I thought it would be a wonderful idea. It’s so beautiful, really. The baptismal font there is from England, it was carved in the 1500s. And they have truly magnificent stained-glass windows. Now, mind you, it’s not that a church’s appearance makes it any more a place of worship. Or a temple, a mosque, what have you. That’s all in the spirit of a place, and Father Dawson gives the church such a lovely spirit!”
    â€œWhat about this other Jake?” Melody asked. Her mother was heading for the kitchen, following her brother and Jake with the grocery bags.
    â€œOnly the meat and dairy need go in the