Silent Days, Holy Night

by Phyllis Clark Nichols

  “Um-huh. No need to plead your case. I’ve already made my decision.”

  I put my spoon down and raised my arms over my head. “So, can we take Mr. Lafferty a Christmas party and change his life and make him happy or not?”

  “You certainly know how to phrase a question, daughter.” Dad stirred his oatmeal. “And you did get right down to the heart of the matter, and that’s Mr. Lafferty’s pleasure.”

  “But Grancie said she thought it was time, that Mr. Lafferty had opened his door a little to me and Mr. Hornsby, and she thought we should march right in with a Christmas party.”

  “I can understand why Grancie thinks that.”

  “But what do you think? It’s all up to you, Dad. Mr. Lafferty’s whole Christmas is up to you.”

  “I’m thinking it might work, but I can’t say yes until I have a conversation with Mrs. Schumacher. If this plan has a chance of working, we will need her help. And I think she’s the one who will know best how Mr. Lafferty would respond.”

  “Yes!” I was so excited I spewed oatmeal. “So when will you talk to her?”

  “I’ll talk to her this week. But young lady, you’d better keep this quiet, and no talk of the confidential things you know.”

  “Yes, sir. I don’t want to do anything to upset Mr. Lafferty. But I really, really, really think he’s going to like this. Grancie said it could be the moment that could change the rest of his life.”

  Dad shook his head. “Grancie and her life-changing moments. She’s been talking about those for as long as I can remember.”

  I wanted to tell Dad what Angus said, but this was no time to be bringing up broken windows at Emerald Crest. He could change his mind about the party. I hated knowing things I couldn’t talk about. That list was getting longer. I hoped I could remember.

  Dad dropped Jackson and me off at school. I knew it wasn’t for sure we were having the Christmas party, but I told Piper about my ideas anyway. She liked my story and promised to help with the mime.

  She and I were eating lunch together. I couldn’t look at the niblet corn or the chicken, so I just ate the green beans and spice cake. Angus came by after he got his tray, looked squinty-eyed at me, and said, “Wouldn’t you like to know, Julia?”

  I wanted to knock his lunch tray out of his hand. “Know what, Angus? You’re the one who doesn’t know anything. And besides, I know all I need to know.”

  He stood there with Gary right beside him. “You know what I’m talking about. About who broke the windows out at that creepy green house.”

  Jesus, forgive me. I’m about to tell another fib, but it’s for the greater good like Grancie said. “I don’t care about that old house or any broken windows. Go choke on your chicken.”

  “Oh, you’d like to know, and it’s going to happen again soon. I know that too.”

  My head buzzed, and my insides were churning like Mom’s new spin-cycle washing machine. “Remember what I said, Angus. I know all I need to know. And I know you have stink breath.”

  “Yeah, and you have bird legs and bug eyes.”

  “Just go away, Angus, or I’ll use one of these bird legs to kick you to the other end of this table.”

  Angus and Gary laughed and walked away and sat down. Piper grabbed my arm. Her face looked like it did when her gerbil crawled down her shirt. “Julia, what got into you? You shouldn’t be saying that kind of stuff to Angus. He’s mean, and he’ll do payback. What did your dad say when you told him about Angus?”

  “Remember, he was gone all weekend, and I didn’t tell him yet.”

  “You didn’t tell him? But he should know, especially if it’s happening again.”

  “Maybe I’ll tell him tonight. And I’ll give him the new information. But it won’t be happening again. Mr. Hornsby is looking out for Mr. Lafferty and Emerald Crest.”

  I told Dad everything Angus said that night when he got home from work. He didn’t like it. When we got to Emerald Crest on Tuesday afternoon for my second bird-carving lesson, he reminded me he would talk to Mrs. Schumacher about the party. He sent me in and said he was going to the studio and would be back in a few minutes. I knew he was going to look for Mr. Hornsby. He’d be telling him what I learned from Angus and asking him to be on the lookout.

  Mrs. Schumacher answered the door. “Welcome, Julia. You’ll be seeing Mr. Lafferty in the library again today. He wanted to take you to the studio across the garden, but it’s a bit cold, and Mr. Hornsby is out there speaking with an electrician.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Dad is on his way out there too. He said to tell you he’d be in shortly. He has something very important to ask you.”

  “Oh, he does, does he? While I’m waiting for that conversation, suppose I go and make a pot of tea, and I have some pound-cake cookies. Lots of milk and three sugars if I remember correctly?”

  “Yes, thank you. Except for only two sugars if you have cookies. Coffee or tea is better not so sweet with sweets. And pound-cake cookies are my favorite. Grancie makes them too. She’s famous for them.”

  Mrs. Schumacher stroked my hair. “Wise girl about the sugar, and I should ask your Grancie for her recipe. Maybe hers is better than mine since she’s famous for them. Now scurry on down to the library. Mr. Lafferty’s waiting on you.”

  H was seated at the big table in the library just like last week and the week before. He smiled and motioned for me to come in. I waved and set my backpack down in the chair at the end of the table, opened it, and pulled out my carving tools, my yellow legal pad, and a surprise for H—two tail feathers from one of the pheasants Dad had brought home.

  He took the feathers and examined them and signed Thank you. I wrote a quick note telling him about the pheasant hunt. He replied in a few words that Dad usually brought pheasant to him at Thanksgiving, but he’d never brought the tail feathers. I wrote back explaining I thought he might like to see one since we were carving feathers.

  Our unfinished feathers, gloves, and thumb guards were already out and in front of him. The books were open to the same pages. He pulled out a different tool, and I did the same. Last week we’d trimmed away the wood, leaving a piece the shape of a feather. This week the work would be more detailed. He didn’t have to write that or sign it. He pointed to the book, picked up his tool, and started carving. I did the same.

  H and I were learning to communicate, and it was like we had our own language. Sometimes he would stop and teach me a new sign. Other times he’d fingerspell or write a short note. And sometimes he looked at me and I just knew. Every time he taught me a new sign, I wrote down the word on my yellow pad so I could practice and remember.

  We were carving away when Mrs. Schumacher served tea in the same china cups. H didn’t want to stop working on the feather. He wanted me to eat my cookie and start back to work. Dad came in shortly after that. I heard him talking to Mrs. Schumacher over in the corner, but it wasn’t about a party. He was asking something about outside lights, and everything about her said no, no, no. Dad disappeared and returned in a matter of minutes to open his computer and start to work at the corner desk.

  H looked at the grandfather clock in the corner three times. I heard it chime every fifteen minutes. At exactly five o’clock, he brushed the wood shavings into a pile, removed his glove, and put away his feather. He reached for my feather and examined it, then signed Good, good. Then he taught me the signs for smooth, balance, and important.

  I wanted to learn everything H would teach me. He was patient, and it seemed everything he did was with purpose.

  He tapped on his watch and signed piano. I followed him into the garden room and played for him. Dad stayed in the library with Mrs. Schumacher. I could hardly play for thinking about the conversation they were having. I hoped that everything about her was not saying no, no, no to the Christmas party.

  Dad was smiling when he came into the room. I could only pray that meant yes.

  Before we left, H handed me a hymnbook from the bookshelf. He opened it to “Go, Te
ll It on the Mountain” and signed You know and drew a question mark in the air with his index finger.

  My whole chest felt like a cage full of butterflies. That was the song I’d chosen for the play, and it must be H’s favorite. Jesus, forgive me, but I’m not about to spoil the surprise. I signed No.

  H closed the book and signed You can learn. He rolled across the room to the chair where my backpack was and put the book next to it.

  It was time to go. I hugged him and signed I will learn song.

  He smiled and followed us to the door.

  Dad hadn’t even turned the ignition key before I was asking, “What did Mrs. Schumacher say, Dad? Please don’t make me wait any longer. I know she had to say yes.”

  “She said yes, and she thought it was a good idea. And she said, ‘If anyone can make this okay with Mr. Lafferty, it will be Julia.’”

  “It was a sign. I knew it.” Then I explained to Dad how I had chosen “Go, Tell It on the Mountain” and how H had given me that very music to learn today. “This is great. Now we just start to work. Tomorrow is choir practice, and I’ll take my story for Mrs. Wilson to read. Mom can talk to her too. I already have a list of costumes, and we only need one prop.”

  “Costumes, props? I’m not sure Mrs. Schumacher agreed to that. I told her we’d keep it very simple. How many people are we talking about, Julia? I told her about twenty or twenty-five.”

  “That sounds right, or maybe thirty-five.”

  Dad opened the gate with the remote. “But I thought you’d just sing a couple of songs with the choir out in the garden room, and we could have refreshments in the dining room. We can’t fit thirty-five people in the garden room.”

  “Is there another room?” This was getting complicated.

  “There’s a grand hall where they hosted parties decades ago, but I don’t know when that room has been opened. It’s one whole wing of the house.”

  “But we must have a piano. So we can’t use that room.”

  “Who said it doesn’t have a piano?”

  Butterflies were again about to explode. “What? Nobody has two pianos.”

  Dad chuckled. “The Laffertys do, and the one in the grand hall is just like the one in the garden room, only bigger.”

  “What? And I’ll bet it has ivory keys too.” That was another big can’t erased. “And that takes care of the room we need for one prop. We only need one.” Another can’t gone.

  “Okay, Julia. You’d really better get this act together and make it work.”

  “I will, Dad. I was so afraid when I heard you and Mrs. Schumacher in the corner that she was saying no to the party. What was that all about?”

  Dad explained his idea about installing motion detectors in light of the broken windows. “Mr. Hornsby and I met with an electrician this afternoon about the possibilities, but Mr. Hornsby thought it wasn’t such a good idea. He said there are so many animals that could set off the lights, and Mr. Lafferty is so sensitive it just might be more trouble than it’s worth. Don’t know why I didn’t think of that myself, and Mrs. Schumacher said no in a hurry.”

  “Sounds like Mr. Hornsby and Mr. Lafferty are getting along just fine. And I think Mr. Hornsby will take care of things.”

  “I asked him to be on the alert, and he will be.”

  “Did you give him the pheasants?”

  “I did, and was he ever happy! I left one for Mrs. Schumacher to prepare for Thanksgiving dinner for them. And you’ll be glad to know there were plenty of birds left for the Russell clan too.”

  “We’re having pheasant for Thanksgiving?”

  “Yes, we are, served on the turkey platter just like it might have been a gobbler. And your mom and Grancie are making all the trimmings.”

  Right. I would definitely be a vegetarian by then. No way I could swallow a bird that Jackson had skinned. I’d just be grateful for green beans and sweet potatoes. “We can tell Grancie tonight about the party. She’ll be so happy that she’ll start baking next Monday morning.”

  “You’re probably right. Now, about that prop you need. You need mine and G-Pa’s help with that? If you do, we might need to get started as soon as we get the house decorated and the Christmas lights strung outside.”

  I was grinning on the inside. “Yes, sir, but it won’t be hard.”

  “What is it?”

  My grin leaked out when I looked at Dad. “Just a mountain.”

  Thanksgiving Day at the Russell’s was a feast day starting with a breakfast casserole and Grancie’s drop biscuits. The Russell men were in the woods hunting before sunup, came home for breakfast, and left again.

  Grancie and Mom spent the morning in the kitchen baking pies and corn bread for the dressing, getting ready for our Thanksgiving meal, which was usually around two o’clock. This was the first year I’d gotten my very own job. Mom handed me the recipe and all the ingredients for the green-bean casserole. Then I was to peel oranges for the cranberry salad.

  I usually set the table, but not today. Mom had outdone herself with burlap, acorns, gourds, pumpkins, dried hickory nuts, and some bare limbs from the red maple out back of the shed. Instead, I poured canned soup over the green beans and told Grancie about taking my Christmas story to choir rehearsal yesterday. “The play is a mime, a picture story for Mr. Lafferty. Piper and her mom said they’d teach us all the actions, but I have some of my own ideas about that since I wrote the play. I think Mrs. Wilson likes this plan because all she really has to do is teach our choir two stanzas of ‘Go, Tell It on the Mountain.’ She’s planning to write a special letter to the parents inviting them to go with us to a surprise party. I think that’s a great idea.”

  Mom chopped pecans. “We’re talking a surprise party, all right. Usually surprise parties are just for one, but this party? It’ll be a surprise for everyone.” She sprinkled the last chopped nuts on top and put the pecan pie in the oven, then turned to Grancie. “Julia says I’m in charge of costumes, and I could use the help of your ladies in the sewing ministry at church.”

  “Oh, they’ll be so happy to help. They’re getting bored with making pajamas for the nursing-home patients. We just need a pattern or a description, and I’ll be happy to supply all the fabric.”

  Mom swished by me with the dishrag in her hand. “Tell her what you need, Julia.”

  “Well, we only have two characters with special costumes, maybe three, but we don’t have to worry about Piper. She has more costumes than Jackson has baseball cards. So that leaves the king. I see him dressed in white and gold, with a big crown and a long, white beard, sort of like God.”

  Grancie laughed at me. “Oh, so that’s what you think God looks like. Walking around in heaven all day in flowing white robes and a crown on his head. I’m glad to know that.”

  “Not really. This king in my story is sort of like God. I know God doesn’t look like us or wear a white robe or anything like that. But this king has to look special.”

  Grancie chopped celery for the cranberry salad. “Okay. A white robe with a gold sash, and we’ll make him a gold crown to be remembered. In fact, we may already have one in the costume closet at the church. So, what else?”

  “Then we need nine kids dressed in clothes like they wore when Jesus was on earth.”

  Grancie laughed. “Oh my. We are not using king-sized pillowcases or striped bathrobes with a rope belt, are we? I’ve seen too many costumes like that in my time.”

  “Maybe more like togas in blue, green, or gray, and the girls need something over their heads like a shawl. Rope belts are good, and we’ve got lots of rope in the shed. We could get Dad to cut it in the lengths we need. But we need one costume that’s different …” I stopped to think. “I think it should be dark purple and simple, but with a gold sash like the king. And that’s all.”

  “Why, that’ll be a piece of cake. We should be able to get that done in no time flat. And I’ll talk with Mrs. Wilson about asking the parents to bring a Christmas treat. I think it would be best if e
veryone participated in the party.” She turned to Mom. “Jennifer, maybe you and I should make the hot cider and a few extra goodies just to be sure it’s festive like we want. And Julia, I’ll call Mrs. Schumacher. That’s a long overdue call anyway. I’ll ask her about her plans for Christmas decorations. Why, I think this party is just about planned.”

  When I told Grancie about choosing the song and how Mr. Lafferty had given me the music Tuesday, she said again, “Like I told you. This party was meant to be.”

  “Grancie, you remember what you said about Mr. Lafferty doing what he can instead of complaining about what he can’t do? We’re turning all the can’ts into cans—everything from the play being a mime to performing in the big living room with a piano. It’s all working out.”

  “That’s amazing, Julia. Maybe we’re getting a bit of divine help. What do you think?”

  “I didn’t think of it that way, that God would be too interested in a Christmas party. Lots more important things for him to think about. Besides, there’ll be lots of other folks having Christmas parties around here … and all around the world.” Grancie frowned, and I added quickly, “But if God’s interested in this one, then it will be the best Christmas surprise party ever. I can hardly wait.”

  Mom called Grancie over to the crockpot on the counter. She lifted the lid, and the smell of bacon mixed with garlic poured into the kitchen. “I wrapped the pheasants in bacon and put them on a bed of carrots, onions, celery, and a whole head of garlic and poured in a little wine. They’ve been cooking for over four hours. Do you think I should turn them off?”

  “I think they’re done enough. They’ll stay warm, and we’ll take off the bacon, brush them with a bit of butter and honey glaze, and put them under the broiler for a few minutes before we’re ready to serve.”

  My mind was made up. They could wrap those pheasants up in honey and tie them with bacon strips like we wrap the Christmas presents and float them in whatever, but I wasn’t touching anything that’d had feathers on it or Jackson’s hand down its throat.

  The morning passed. The hunters returned to clean up, and G-Pa left to pick up an elderly couple who had no family around and nowhere to be today. When he returned with his friends, we were ready to take our seats, and G-Pa said grace. Seemed there were always extra folks at our table for Easter and Thanksgiving, and there was enough talk that no one noticed I passed the pheasant to Mom without putting any on my plate.