Читать книгу Home For Christmas - Carrie Weaver - Страница 9

Prologue

Nancy McGuire allowed the strange sound of Russian to flow over her as the house mother and the translator conversed.

Glancing around, she noted the house mother’s office was neat and tidy, but sparse. The translator had indicated the budget was stretched to the breaking point.

Her gaze strayed to a collage on the wall. Hundreds of photos of children, some candid, some posed, most smiling broadly, attested to the orphanage’s success in finding adoptive homes in the U.S.

Nancy shifted, crossing her legs. Her foot bounced as if she were some sort of marionette. How ironic that her husband’s death should have jump-started her decision to adopt a child. Even more ironic that the sale of their house had financed her endeavor.

In some small way, it took away the sting of Eric’s betrayal. And allowed her to heal.

Leaning forward, she doubted her excitement could be contained another second. She’d been waiting for this moment her whole adult life and now that it was here, she could scarcely breathe.

A knock sounded at the door and the house mother rose. Opening the door, she stepped aside as an assistant carried in a toddler.

The assistant placed the child on Nancy’s lap and said something in Russian.

Nancy’s eyes blurred as she cradled the little girl as naturally as if she’d held her every day for the past fourteen months. Her breasts tingled as if responding to memories of breastfeeding this child. Nancy stared into the baby’s solemn brown eyes and time seemed to stand still. There was an instant connection, a peace she’d never known before. It was the overwhelming certainty of being in exactly the right place at exactly the right time. She’d waited all these years for this moment, this girl. Her daughter.

Brushing a silky brown lock of hair from the toddler’s forehead, she stumbled over the Russian greeting, “Zdravstvujte, Tatiana.”

Tatiana smiled shyly, then patted Nancy’s face. “Mama?” The word was heavily accented and probably coached, but it still brought a lump to Nancy’s throat. She’d nearly lost hope of ever hearing a child call her that.

“Yes, Mama’s here, baby. Everything’s going to be all right.”