Welcome the Little Children

by Lynda McDaniel

  55

  Della

  In the new year, the months seemed to fly by. I could see how busy—even panicked at times—Fiona and Abit were, scrambling to get everything done before the baby was born. When we had coffee or lunch together, Abit often mentioned his long to-do list.

  I wanted to do something for Fiona, but I was never keen on those silly baby showers with games and such I’d had to go to for colleagues at work. I was glad to learn the women at the hospital had given Fiona one of those because I just couldn’t. Then I thought to myself, why does it have to be silly?

  Cleva and I planned a simple get-together in April with just the three of us. Alex was back in D.C., but I found some of his scones in the freezer. Cleva outdid herself, making the prettiest carrot cake with little icing carrots indicating each piece. But really, we just wanted to wish Fiona well and make her feel special. I remembered how friends in their last months of pregnancy complained about feeling like beached whales.

  We chatted a while, not exactly comfortably but pleasant enough. When Fiona mentioned how Abit refused to name the baby Colin, Cleva, who’d spent more time on playgrounds than all the kids in Laurel Falls combined, agreed. I could tell that put Fiona at rest; Conor really was the better name.

  At some point in the afternoon, all my concerns about Fiona melted away. As we shared cake and presents, I knew she was the best thing to happen to Abit. I felt closer to her and wanted her to know how good I felt about their future together. Abit had shared all kinds of fears, and I knew all that couldn’t help but affect her, too. I leaned over and said, “I hope you’re feeling fine about the baby. Abit is so much more than he’d ever give himself credit for.”

  “I KNOW THAT,” she shouted at me as she raced to the bathroom. Even through the closed door, Cleva and I could hear her crying. We started clearing up the dishes, barely saying a word to each other. When the bathroom door opened, I walked over to her. “I’m sorry, Fiona. Of course you know all that—way better than I do.”

  She blew her nose and shook her head. “No, I’m the one who’s sorry. I guess I’m more tense than I thought. I look like a blob, I feel like shit, and Rabbit is a nervous wreck.” She blew her nose again and added, “And Mildred was unkind to me today.”

  “Don’t worry, honey, Abit won’t let that happen.”

  “But it did happen,” she snapped, then made that motion with her hands that said I’m sorry.

  “Okay, but it won’t happen again. You can count on that.”

  56

  Della

  I was working in the store when the bell over the door rang. I looked up. Astrid. Wearing new designer jeans and a stylish cotton sweater.

  How Christine finally squeezed the money from their account, I’d never know. But I’d heard through Cleva that the school band had new uniforms, and both kids had new bikes. Enoch had come through, making the plan work in a way he could live with.

  At first, neither one of us knew what to say. Like a wimp, I let a ten year old break the ice. “I’m sorry I haven’t been by much, but it’s been hard,” she said.

  “Honey, you don’t have to explain to me. Just glad to see you.” We settled in the back and shared some Earl Gray tea and Linzer cookies I’d recently ordered. She licked off the confectioners’ sugar first, then ate the shortbread part, popping the jammy center into her mouth last.

  “It’s nice in here,” she said, looking around the backroom. She acted almost her age again and seemed relaxed. “I couldn’t come for a while, you know.” I did know. Bad memories. Then she added, “I won’t be needing to stop by much anymore. Daddy’s hiring a housekeeper to do most of the cooking and cleaning.”

  “That’s great news.”

  “Well, yes and no,” she said, systematically dismantling another cookie. “Seems a distant relative died and left us some money.”

  I played along. “Did you know this relative?”

  “No, but it’s still sad, in a way, isn’t it? I wish I’d met him so I’d know who to thank for what he’s doing for us.” Back to age twenty-something.

  “Well, just send up your thanks to whomever. And you know, you’re welcome here whether you buy anything for supper or not. In fact, I’d be delighted to see you, knowing you’re not slaving over a hot stove!”

  That made her giggle. She reached for another cookie.

  57

  Abit

  I paced round that delivery room, but it was better than being stuck in the waiting room. The air was stuffy and overheated in there, and I would’ve been nervous and hot. And besides, I wanted to be with Fiona and soon Conor.

  Fiona had to work awfully hard to bring that boy into the world. I think I held my breath the whole while, until that young’un let loose with a wail that rivaled the Southern Crescent. I stood by Fiona while they tidied him up, and we both sighed as the nurse laid our little boy in his mama’s arms. I kissed his little towhead. We were both surprised he wasn’t a redhead—or ginger nut, as Fiona called it—but I’d read where that could happen. It just made him all the more special.

  But then being special, like me, was what scared me. But I was getting ahead of myself. I couldn’t let thoughts like that ruin such a fine day.

  Conor changed our lives, for sure. And for the better. I took to him like, well, the only expression that came to mind was flies to stink, but I knew that weren’t quite right. Trouble was, I couldn’t find any words big enough.

  I managed to live most of the time like Della said—one day at a time. I enjoyed little changes in his eyes and how he moved round and wiggled his little arms and legs. We created new routines, and I especially enjoyed bath time, washing that precious little body.

  But then his three-month checkup rolled round, and I was eat up again with worries. Fiona didn’t seem the least bit concerned, as if she knew he wasn’t like me. She admitted she’d never really taken care of babies before, not even as a nurse, but she said she just knew he was fine.

  Well, I didn’t. I barely slept the night before his appointment. I hated to think what the doctor might say.

  58

  Della

  I heard Abit’s car before I saw it. He and Fiona and the baby were heading my way while I was out front getting the mail. He slowed the Merc and pulled up next to the mailbox. Conor was so bundled up I could barely see him. His little knit cap had slipped down his forehead when Fiona cradled him close. But I’d seen this before with new parents, adding layers of protection against anything and everything.

  Abit rolled down his window and called out, “Della, he’s not Abit Junior!”

  “He’s not your baby?” I asked, puzzled that some changeling had come into their lives.

  “No, silly,” he said. “The doctor says he’s perfect!”

  He and Fiona were smiling broadly, and their happiness was contagious. I joined them with a smile of my own, relieved we could put those concerns behind us. But Abit wasn’t finished.

  “Conor’s not like me, Della. He’s better than me.”

  That time I couldn’t agree. I knew that wasn’t possible.

  2004

  59

  Abit

  I never gave the first thought to keeping that old house. I hadn’t really lived there since I went to The Hicks when I was sixteen year old, and I wasn’t about to live there again just because Daddy and Mama left it to me in their wills. As I walked through the almost-empty house, I was surprised to find it in such good shape, especially considering Daddy had died two years earlier—to the day—than Mama.

  I’d been working on clearing out the house for some time. Amazing what two pack rats could collect over a lifetime. I could only stand to work on it a day here and there. Fiona’d offered to help, but I didn’t want anyone else round.

  I’d held a giveaway earlier in the month. I’d put up a notice in Della’s store and a small ad in the Mountain Weekly. That Saturday, when I opened the doors, people came from all round to cart off old chairs and tables and such. I w
as happy to see the things go, happy they’d do someone else some good. I’d been working since then to clean out the rest so I could sell the house. But I was in no rush. It had to go to the right person, someone who’d be a good neighbor for Della.

  I did find a few things I wanted to keep. Daddy’d stashed four of my best hubcaps in the back of his closet. That was so strange, so unlike him, I had to sit down and hold them for a while. They made my heart ache for him and how he just couldn’t let himself show what he was feeling. Of course, I didn’t really know why he saved the hubcaps, but it struck me that it musta been somethin’ nice.

  He’d made me get rid of the collection one summer between semesters at The Hicks, except for a few I’d mounted on my bedroom walls. I couldn’t recall why, but likely he’d felt I was pretty much gone from home, and he wanted his barn cleaned out. We made a right penny on them, and I split the money with Daddy. Not sure why I felt I needed to do that. Rent, I guessed, on space for my collection all those years, as if I’d just been a tenant.

  In Mama’s dresser, I found my elementary school report cards from before Daddy yanked me out. I didn’t even look at them. I ripped them into shreds and threw them in one of the bulging plastic bags I’d been dragging from room to room.

  I also found a few old toys of mine I planned to share with Conor. He was a fine, imaginative lad. And musical. He could fiddle like a little champ, just like his mama. Thanks to him, the past seven years had been the best of my life. Where oncet I hadn’t wanted children, I couldn’t imagine life without Conor. I’m proud to say that neither could Mama or Daddy. They took to him like a house a fire. And not just because he wasn’t like me. He had his own personality that couldn’t help but win your heart.

  Of course, everyone was relieved he didn’t get my traits, no one more than me. At the same time, I was glad Fiona and I’d agreed not to have any more, if things went as they should. I didn’t want to press our luck.

  I’d left my room for last. I found a bunch of keepsakes and dusty books, including the two old diaries I planned to share with Della. I rarely wrote anything down any more—other than ideas for furniture or music. As I dug round, I uncovered a thing or two that musta belonged to Andrew, things he’d left behind when he’d stayed in my room so many weekends. Like the tooled leather belt my parents gave him one Christmas.

  Oncet Andrew went off to Afghanistan, they needed something to fill their lives, and little Conor did that in a way I never could. It was as if they’d said here’s a clean slate so let’s fill it like we never have before. And by then in my life, that suited me just fine.

  Some of my clothes were still in the closet. Flannel shirts with sleeves that wouldn’t get past my elbows if I were to try them on. And pants that had been high-water when I wore them all those year ago. When I held them up, I got a good chuckle, somethin’ I was needing real bad.

  I walked through the house and ran my hand over counters and built-in bookshelves. There weren’t any photos of me, but I’d convinced myself that was because they’d never owned a camera. I’d taken so many pictures of Conor I had to build a cabinet for them. Fiona said I should hold up some on the photos, but I didn’t think so.

  I thought I’d feel regret, revulsion even, when I pulled out all the things Mama and Daddy had collected over the years, but it just looked like somebody’s old junk. Broken dishes—oncet part of Mama’s best but used so rarely, I couldn’t imagine when they’d had a chance to break. Or why she’d held on to all them pieces. And more figurines of happy children than could fit on the mantle or the few shelves we had in the house. Children smiling, holding balloons and puppies and kittens. She musta needed them. Pretending, because our lives were nothin’ like that.

  After Daddy died, Mama seemed different. Not so nervous, and she laughed more. Maybe because she spent more time with Conor; he couldn’t help but make you feel good. Shiloh started visiting with her some, and when I’d stop by to check on her, I’d hear her chuckling over his jokes. (Of course, he told only the clean ones.) She even went on a church bus trip to Asheville and one to Blowing Rock. It seemed a shame she had only a coupla year to enjoy herself that way. But then maybe that kinda freedom proved too much for her.

  I packed up for the evening, and I looked over at the store, which was closed at that hour. Della seemed to be working there less and less, Mary Lou keeping shop whole weeks at a time. I couldn’t understand why Della had been holed up in her apartment so much; I’d been missing her. I knew she’d tended to Mama, and it was sad and all with her passing, but they were never really friends. Just neighbors doing a good turn for one another from time to time. Then my mind would go crazy worrying that maybe Della was sick or sick at heart. She’d been through a lot over the past few year.

  Della did make it to Mama’s funeral, which was well-attended. I knew Fiona and I had to be there, but I told her I didn’t want Conor to come. She was all into Irish wakes and had a different take on death and funerals, but she agreed.

  She did give me hell, though, when I bought a new suit for Mama’s funeral. I didn’t know about the Irish curse that fell upon anyone wearing new clothes to a funeral; Fiona said it would bring us no end of bad luck. But I couldn’t go in my overalls, and the only suit I had was from our wedding, almost eight year ago, and I just didn’t want to wear it. It was a happy suit.

  The man at the men’s shop in Asheville said the new suit I tried on didn’t need alterations—that I was a natural. I wasn’t sure what that meant, but he straightened the lapels and stood back and admired the fit. Not unlike the way I took a good look at my new furniture pieces.

  I did wear an old tie—one of Daddy’s. I found it in his closet, good as new; I’m pretty sure he’d never worn it. It was out of date and didn’t look all that great with the suit, but it seemed right to wear it for Mama.

  When I walked up to the front of the church—well, really, the VFW Hall—and started speaking, I struggled with what to say. I knew Mama loved me, and I loved her. But it was always different. Nothing like what I felt for Fiona or Conor. And I didn’t want to make up flowerdy notions about her. I settled on the word steadfast. That coulda been her middle name. She’d bought me nice enough clothes, when she could, and she always kept a clean house and made good food, even if her menu was also steadfast. (I got a chuckle then; I think she always took the same two things to church potlucks.) I kept my comments short. I knew Mama would’ve approved of that.

  Andrew sent a real nice note, all the way from Afghanistan. I don’t know how he’d heard of her passing, but I appreciated his kindness. I read some of it to the people gathered in her honor. Della choked back a sob during my talk, but mostly she just cried quietly. Not as hard as Bettina Redgrave, who made it her life’s work to cry at funerals.

  Mama had requested that Fiona and I play “Will the Circle Be Unbroken” on the fiddle and mandolin. Fiona joined me up front, and she carried the melody for us. Glad she made us look good; I felt spent and not up to my usual playing.

  After the funeral, I couldn’t wait to get home to my boy. I could make him laugh. I was really good at something Fiona called silly buggers. Fun things together like running and tumbling and tickling. Mollie, a sweet dog who came to live with us when we lost Millie a year back, would join in, too. Fiona would just watch for a while and finally, when she couldn’t hold back any longer, jump in and join us.

  Times like that were the best. They felt more like family than any othern.

  60

  Della

  Whole weeks had gone by when I didn’t go to work. I just couldn’t face that store. In fact, I could barely get out of bed. Mary Lou accepted the burden of handling everything herself without complaint, but I knew I was taking advantage. And yet the idea of dealing with those whiney customers sent me back under the covers. The price was too high, the can was dented, the bread didn’t feel fresh enough (because it wasn’t Bunny Bread with a thousand additives). One customer even complained that a new brand of ice crea
m was too creamy!

  At that moment, I hated them all. They’d been part of the world that had made me jump through hoops because I wasn’t born in Laurel Falls and made Abit live under a cloud of lies. All that hate—theirs and mine—made bile rise in my throat.

  Often over the past weeks, when I looked out the window, I’d see Abit working hard on that house of horrors next door. I wondered who would become my neighbors. They’d need an exorcism to rid it of evil.

  When Mildred got sick, a little more than a year after Vester died, I started going over and sitting with her. Just reading to her and chatting when she felt up to it.

  After she told me her lie, I kept playing that pointless game of “if only.” If only I hadn’t gone over that day. If only she’d fallen asleep before she spoke to me that last time. But it had happened, and I didn’t know how I could live with it.

  I was reading Gone with the Wind, a book she loved. I wasn’t so keen on it, but that wasn’t the point. As I read a passage about Ashley Wilkes, she held up her hand for me to pause. With tears rolling down her cheeks, she said, “I wished I’d had a husband like that.”

  At first I thought she was hallucinating, but then I understood. She was comparing Vester to the man in the book. “He beat me, you know,” she said, her voice so soft I struggled to hear. “Early on in our marriage, especially while I was in the family way with Vester Junior. One time, I fell down the steps, and I almost died. I should say we almost died. Vester and I never admitted how my fall happened, but the doctor knew. He warned Vester that if anythin’ like that happened again, and I lost the baby, that would be, uh, oh, what did he call it? Infant side, or somethin’ like that. I didn’t want to think about it, so I never tried to look it up. Besides, I knew what it meant. The doctor did warn us that our baby could be damaged from my fall. Slow—or worse. Fortunately, he was just slow.”