Silent Days, Holy Night

by Phyllis Clark Nichols

  Dad said, “I think the coffee’s kicking in. Just look at your book, please. I need to speak with Mrs. Walker. I may need her to be more than an interpreter this afternoon.”

  We were pulling up the hill on the long driveway when they finished talking. Mrs. Walker turned to me in the back seat. “It’s important that you know I am an interpreter. That means I should behave more like the TTY, just as a conduit of information and communication between your father and Mr. Lafferty. I do not express my opinions, and I don’t insert myself into their conversation. Do you remember how that went from last time we were here?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “But today, your father has asked me not only to interpret but also to express my own opinions since he knows that Mr. Lafferty is my friend and I’m very concerned about him right now.”

  “I don’t want anything bad to happen to Mr. Lafferty. He’s had enough bad things in his life.”

  Dad parked the car, and we climbed the front steps. He let me ring the bell. Lights flickered in several places inside the house.

  This time, Mrs. Schumacher answered the door. I’d heard Mom say she was the housekeeper who came to clean and do the cooking. She introduced herself to me and then pointed down the hall to the glassed-in room where the piano was and said, “Come with me, and I’ll get Mr. Lafferty. He’s in the garden.”

  “Wait,” Dad said. “If he’s in the garden, could we watch him from the window for just a moment?”

  “Certainly, Mr. Russell, but he might have seen the lights flicker when you rang the bell.”

  “Try to stay quiet, Julia, and don’t make any sudden movements.” We practically tiptoed down the hollow hall into the garden room. There stood the piano, and beyond was the garden.

  The afternoon sun was so bright that Mr. Lafferty hadn’t noticed the flashing lights when the bell rang, and so bright I could barely make out more than his silhouette. He sat in his wheelchair on the brick garden path with his back to the window.

  Dad motioned for me to step closer.

  I did, and I could see color. Mr. Lafferty and his plaids. He had a plaid blanket across his shoulders and a different plaid tam on his head. But I noticed his right arm was stretched straight out from his body and his palm was up.

  Then I saw it—his amazing gift. I stepped even closer to the window just to be certain what I thought I saw was real. It was. A tiny chickadee fed from his hand, and another one perched on his left shoulder. And then more came. Birds fluttered all around him like bees to a honeycomb.

  I turned around to Dad. “The birds? That’s his special gift? The birds coming to him like that?”

  “Yes. Never knew anybody who could feed wild birds out of his hand. That’s why he can sculpt them. He studies them up close and feels their lightness and their softness.”

  “How did he learn to do that? Is he like a bird whisperer or something? I want to learn to do that too!”

  I could have watched Mr. Lafferty feed those birds until next Tuesday, but Dad nodded, and Mrs. Schumacher opened the door to the garden. The second the birds flew, Mr. Lafferty swiveled around. He saw us, brushed the birdseed from his hand, waved, and started pushing his chair to the doorway. As Mr. Lafferty rolled into the room, Mrs. Schumacher signed and asked Dad, “Would you like to meet in the dining room as usual?”

  Dad hesitated. “You know, I think we’ll just sit right here this afternoon.” Mrs. Walker interpreted Dad’s answer. I had at least a gazillion questions about learning to feed birds from my hand, but I knew better than to ask.

  Mr. Lafferty signed something back really fast, and Mrs. Schumacher nodded in agreement. “Mr. Lafferty would enjoy having you join him for a cup of tea, and wouldn’t you know, I just baked some scones this afternoon, and I have freshly made strawberry jam.” Then she turned to me. “Julia? That was your name, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Would you like a glass of milk?”

  “Oh, no, thank you. I’d really like a cup of tea.” I glanced at my dad. I knew he was adding up a cup of coffee, a cup of tea, a stale donut, and a fresh scone with jam in one afternoon.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Schumacher, but maybe you could put mostly milk in Julia’s teacup since she’s already had coffee this afternoon. Too much caffeine for seventy pounds of girlishness. I must say, though, my daughter does enjoy her tea.”

  Mrs. Walker signed everything Dad said. I looked at Mr. Lafferty the whole time, and he grinned just a little about the tea.

  “Oh, she’ll enjoy this. It’s Irish afternoon tea, and it’s perfect for a November day.”

  Mrs. Schumacher disappeared into the kitchen. Dad and Mrs. Walker sat on the sofa, and he motioned for me to sit in the chair near the piano. I hadn’t really looked at the room so much the first time I was here because I was more interested in the piano and the ivory keys. But when I looked around, I saw every piece of furniture in that room was covered in flowers—big fluffy chairs, two sofas, a stool, and too many pillows to count. Green marble, like Grancie had said, covered the floor.

  Mr. Lafferty wheeled his chair right in front of Dad, and he couldn’t see me. I fidgeted because I knew if I waited they’d start talking, and I’d never have my chance. So I got up out of the flowered chair I had sunk into and walked over to where Mr. Lafferty could see me. He looked at me like he was afraid I might hug him again. But I didn’t. I stood there and signed How are you?

  Mr. Lafferty looked like I might have thrown a plate of spaghetti at him. He jerked his head back, and if eyes could talk, I would have had an earful. Then he signed Fine, how are you?

  I answered. Then he started signing fast, and I didn’t understand a thing. Mrs. Walker stepped in to interpret. He was curious about how I knew those signs and how much sign language I knew.

  I explained I had DVDs that were teaching me the basics. Then I signed What is your sign name, please?

  He smiled and made the sign for the letter H. His eyes and the movement of his head asked me if I knew the sign.

  I signed Yes and started showing him I knew how to fingerspell the entire alphabet.

  He fingerspelled the alphabet with me and signed Good, good when we finished. Then he made the sign for H again, pressed his two fingers to his lips, and then moved them to the left side of his chest, right over his heart. My sign name. He repeated and then pointed to me.

  I signed his name and then I like that.

  That’s when Dad interrupted our conversation, and Mrs. Walker became the interpreter. I plopped down into the chair by the piano again and watched and listened. When they began talking about the broken window, immediately Mr. Lafferty started pushing himself toward the front hallway and motioned for them to follow.

  Dad turned to me. “He wants me to see the repaired window. You stay here.” He and Mrs. Walker followed Mr. Lafferty to the hallway, where two wooden panels on the wall opened up and showed an elevator. I’d never thought about how Mr. Lafferty got upstairs. I’d guessed he just lived downstairs.

  They disappeared into that elevator, and I had time to look around the room. Grancie had said Colleen Lafferty liked flowers and beautiful things, and she was right. Flowers were everywhere—fabric, paintings on the wall opposite the windows, fresh flowers on the table in the corner, and birds. Small carved birds looked like they’d just alighted on the tables and on the shelves at the other end of the room.

  Since they were all small, I imagined the wooden birds were the first Mr. Lafferty had carved as a child. I just knew if I pulled one of those bird books off the shelf there would be wood shavings in its pages. He had touched birds, had felt the softness of their feathers, but he’d never heard a cardinal song or the chirp of a chickadee. I wondered when and how he’d learned to feed them.

  Then there were other books on the shelves, stacked on the floor, and on the tables—novels, books on gardening, lots of travel books, and books about Ireland and Scotland, books to take him to places he could never go. I fancied that his
grandmother had told him all about growing up in Ireland. This room was Mr. Lafferty’s window to the world. I decided his grandmother had thought if he couldn’t hear, then she would make everything he saw beautiful.

  Then I spied framed photographs on the bookshelves in the corner. I got up out of my chair and walked closer. I couldn’t tell if they were pictures of his grandmother or of his mother, Mackenzie. They looked like the same woman—same hair, same eyes, but not quite the same. And then there was the picture of a little boy in a suit next to this woman. That had to be Mr. Lafferty. I was just about to pick it up to look closer when I heard the elevator. I moved quickly back to my chair.

  They entered the room and took their seats. Almost at the same time, Mrs. Schumacher came in through the door to the kitchen, served our tea and scones, and disappeared again.

  Dad made small talk until we finished our tea, then started in on his mission. He told Mr. Lafferty that he was very worried about the broken-window incidents and that he was having a TTY installed at our home. Dad said, “I thought all this was just a bit of mischief, but my concern is growing since this is the second episode this month, and this one came through your bedroom window while your light was on.”

  Mr. Lafferty said he wasn’t too bothered by the first one, but the second one with a rock flying through his window had kept him from sleeping last night.

  Dad suggested everything from wooden shutters to an updated security system with more nightlights and cameras to someone living at the house full time. Mrs. Walker interpreted and announced when she was inserting her own opinions. Everything she said backed up Dad’s ideas. She explained that during this approaching holiday season of the year, there was always more reported crime, and she didn’t want Mr. Lafferty to get hurt.

  Mr. Lafferty refused the idea of shutters, and why wouldn’t he? What world would he have left without windows? He had no interest in someone living there, and he argued that another person in the house would be very little protection from rocks thrown through windows anyway. He agreed to think about a new security system and asked Dad to check into it. But when Dad mentioned having someone patrol the property at night for a few weeks, Mr. Lafferty said yes.

  I think he agreed because Dad told him Mr. Hornsby could really use the work since he had been laid off from the mill in Elkins. Dad reminded him Mr. Hornsby just lived down the road, had four children to feed, and Christmas was coming. Like Dad said, “Mr. Lafferty’s heart pumps goodness.” They agreed that Dad would call Mr. Hornsby and get him started right away and that he could use Mr. Lafferty’s studio as a place to come in from the cold when he wasn’t patrolling the grounds.

  Mr. Lafferty reminded Dad that the terrain was rugged and that Mr. Hornsby would need a vehicle. Dad agreed to check on renting an all-terrain vehicle. Before they finished, Dad summarized his assignments, and I could tell he was satisfied and wanted to leave before Mr. Lafferty changed his mind. I had been quiet because I was learning stuff, but I wasn’t about to leave without playing the piano.

  Mr. Lafferty was the most interesting person I had ever met. The only people I knew were a lot like me. They might have been taller or shorter, or brunette, or smarter, or dumber, or interested in other things, but we were so much alike. And none of us were like him, with his own language and feeding birds out of his hand and carving birds. Mr. Lafferty was just a whole heap of mystery, and I wanted to know more and more about him.

  I stepped up to Mr. Lafferty again and signed I and pointed to the piano. It wasn’t really sign language, but he understood and smiled. I signed Learned two new songs. Mr. Lafferty almost did a wheelie and went straight to the curve of the piano. When he got in position, he waved for me to play.

  I sat down and began to play “Deck the Halls,” and I followed that with “O Christmas Tree.” When I finished, he signed Again, please. I repeated both songs. Then he asked me to play and sing “Silent Night.” His hand was on the piano just like before, and he looked at my face. As I started to sing, his mouth formed the same words. He understood. I just knew he remembered his mother and his grandmother singing and playing for him. All the tension from talking about shattered windows and the need for security disappeared from his face. He was peaceful. He asked me to sing it one more time.

  Dad said, “Time to go, Julia. I’m sure Mr. Lafferty must be tired. He didn’t get much sleep last night.”

  I got up from the piano. My good manners had been on parade long enough. If I didn’t ask, then I would for certain never know, and there was so much I wanted to know about his world. So I walked right up to him and said, “Mr. Lafferty, I’d like to come to your house more often. And I’d really like you to teach me sign language. Mrs. Walker doesn’t have time to teach me, and I really want to learn more than anything. Watching the DVDs helps, but I think you could teach me a whole lot better.” Mrs. Walker signed what I said with all the excitement she could muster.

  I waited for Dad to interrupt, but he didn’t. Mr. Lafferty lowered his head and closed his eyes. I wondered if he was praying about it. No use in saying anything else, because he wasn’t looking. I stopped up my ears when I’d heard enough; he just closed his eyes.

  Finally, he raised his head. His eyes and his lips were smiling when he signed Yes, I will teach you sign language.

  I immediately signed Thank you very much. I wasn’t like Dad, and I wasn’t about to quit while I was ahead. “And would you teach me how to carve birds?” Mrs. Walker interpreted that.

  That was the first time I heard him laugh, even if it was just a weird chuckle. He nodded his head. If I teach you to carve birds, you will have to agree to play the piano and learn my favorites.

  I knew he remembered. He even had favorites. “Yes, sir, I will. I will learn your favorites and play them for you. Thank you so much. I promise to be a good student.” I stepped nearer and gave him another hug. Hugging was the one thing I needed to teach Mr. Lafferty, but I thought he could learn.

  He followed us to the front door, and Dad said his goodbyes. I turned and waved and formed an H with my right hand, pressed it to my lips, and then to my heart.

  Mr. Lafferty cocked his head just like one of those chickadees he was feeding. He looked so curious, like he didn’t know what to sign, so he just smiled and waved goodbye.

  That was the day Mr. Henry Lafferty the Second became H to me.

  Several days later, Piper and I were in my room practicing sign language. Mom had moved an old bench from her studio so that we both could sit in front of the computer at my desk. We watched the video and repeated the signs. After a while, I stopped the video, and we used our hands like the flashcards we used to learn our multiplication tables. I would sign something, she would voice it, and then we’d switch.

  Piper made sign language look like ballet. Her fingers were shorter than mine and twice as graceful, but I was catching on quicker. Signing just came naturally to me.

  Piper got up, pirouetted across the wooden floor, and plopped down on the bed. “I need a break.”

  “Yeah, me too. I just want to learn a few more signs before tomorrow, but I’ll do that later.”

  “Emerald Crest sounds like a castle. I hope I get to see it.”

  “It is like a castle, and I want you to go with me. Dad already said I could go tomorrow, and he’s working out a schedule for my weekly visits. I hope you can go with me soon. But for now, I can’t ask anything about anything. I’m still sitting on the edge of trouble for not talking to my dad before I asked Mr. Lafferty to teach me to sign and to carve birds.”

  “But you’re going back tomorrow?”

  “Yes.” Jesus, forgive me for breaking my word, but Piper won’t tell. “Mr. Lafferty’s window was broken the other night. Dad’s going out to check on it, and he’s taking Mr. Hornsby. He’s the new man who will work for Mr. Lafferty at night when he’s there alone. He’s supposed to walk around the property and keep everything safe.”

  “Safe? Is Mr. Lafferty in danger?”

&n
bsp; “Oh, no. He’s not in danger.” I knew I had said too much, and worse than that, I had said the wrong thing.

  “Did someone break the window on purpose?”

  Now, Jesus, please forgive me again. I’ve thought better of it, and I shouldn’t be breaking promises. Now I must fib to cover up the first one. “Probably it was just the wind. His house sits on a high hill, you know.”

  “Yeah. That can happen.” She turned around and looked at me. “You’re always wanting to learn new stuff, Julia. Tell me again why you want to learn to sign to that old man who lives out there.” Then Piper walked over to my dresser and picked up my hairbrush.

  I watched that brush go through her hair like it was silk threads. “I don’t know exactly. Why do you want to learn to dance?”

  “I don’t know exactly, either. I just know I couldn’t imagine not dancing.”

  “I think it’s the same with me. After I met Mr. Lafferty, I knew I wanted to learn sign language so I could talk to him. He’s different in an interesting way.”

  “But carving birds? Why do you want to carve birds?”

  “Because that’s what Mr. Lafferty likes. I figured if I carved birds with him that he would want to spend time with me.”

  “But you already said he likes you to play the piano. You could just play the piano to spend time with him.” She put the brush down and turned around.

  “It’s not the same. I think I should learn to like what he likes. And I think carving will be interesting. You should see his birds. He must really like cardinals. They’re everywhere in that house, and it’s always a pair carved out of one piece of wood. Just think about it: you start with a block of wood and whittle away until a bird appears.” I looked at my hair in the mirror, picked up the brush, and put it down. I could dump a bottle of conditioner on my head and brush my hair until next April, and it wouldn’t look like Piper’s. My spongy curls would never be silky.