Before the car even lurched to a stop, Bradley launched himself at the machine, shouting Kate’s name as loud as he could. It was a good thing no one else lived out here, or he’d be disturbing the entire neighborhood.

“Miss Kate! Miss Kate!”

No matter how many times she heard it, she always got a thrill of the maternal every time one of the children in the festival called out to her. Leaving the donation tub behind her, she leapt out of the car and scooped him into her arms, hugging him tight.

“How’s it going, Bradley?”

Bradley, as it turned out, wasn’t interested in telling her about his day. Missing front tooth and all, he spluttered, “Are we going back? Is the festival back on again? Do I need to go get my hat?”

The belief in his eyes that everything was set right again stabbed a knife straight between her eyes. This boy with the saucer-big brown eyes believed she had the power to wave a magic wand and make everything well again.

She hoped she could prove him right.

“No, buddy. We’re still working all of that out, but—”

“Will you tell me why?”

Still holding him in her arms—he was too big for it, but she indulged him anyway—Kate turned to watch the movement in the car.

“Sure. I’ll tell you as soon as I can.”

“Good. Because I have been working on my accent and,” he dropped into a thick and terrible Cockney accent, “I fink it’s going swell, I do!”

He continued speaking in his accent, but her mind wandered. By the end of the afternoon, if they kept to their plans, they’d visit four houses with presents while a second group visited later in the evening with hot meals and frozen, reheatable food for the next day. If the festival were going on, the food would have been served at the event and the presents doled out on Christmas morning, but given the unexpected changes, this morning they devised a new plan. In some ways, this might be better. More personal. On the other hand, Kate knew how deeply these families hated anything remotely resembling charity. In the friendly environment of the festival, where huge buffets of turkey and sweet potato pie ran through town hall like a deliciously fattening river, no one felt they were accepting charity because everyone shared equally. Bringing a bunch of food directly to a family with maybe six or seven days off a year so that they could spend their precious time together instead of cooking was targeted, singling out the people who needed the most help.

By the time she turned to the car, it was empty.

Well, empty except for one.