by Leisha Kelly
Quiet as the cat, Kirk came out of the barn almost in front of us. He stopped for a moment with the milk pail in his hands and looked at his father. “This cow’s almost dry,” he finally said.
“Happens this time a’ year,” George replied immediately. “Don’t worry ’bout it. We brought milk an’ eggs from over t’ home.”
Kirk stood in an awkward silence, as if knowing there should be other words between them. Why they couldn’t seem to say anything else to each other, I didn’t know. George just looked away toward the toolshed. He ought to have hugged his boy, I thought. He ought to have told him he was glad to be here.
“Appreciate you doing chores,” I told Kirk just to cover up the silence. “Everything done?”
“Yes, sir. Robert was out a minute ago.” He turned toward the house. “Pastor’s here. They spent the night.”
“Well,” George drawled out, “can be thankful he was here and not with us. Don’t s’pose he’d a’ been too pleased at me submittin’ to a little drink like I done.”
“He knows about it,” Kirk said.
“Might espect he would, boy. You’d tell him, wouldn’t you?”
“It weren’t me. I ain’t likely to go tellin’ anybody but you what I think.”
George almost laughed. “Well, Merry Christmas anyway, Kirk Howard. Ain’t too pleased with your pa at the moment, are you?”
Kirk looked suddenly sunk. “At least you come. I’m glad for that.” He turned away from us, and I knew George had hurt him, talking the way he had. If Kirk was disappointed, if he was dismayed by his father, he had a right to be. But he didn’t need chided for it when we were supposed to be having a holiday.
Kirk went on toward the house, and after one glance back, young Sam was right behind him. But George just stood there.
“Are you coming?” I asked, far from patiently.
“I didn’t know Pastor would be here.”
“I didn’t either. It’s nice of him, though. I expect he knew it would be a difficult time.”
“Ain’t no easier with him here!”
“No harder either. Come on.”
“He don’t unnerstand. He thinks we oughta go right on praisin’ the Lord like nothin’s happened.”
“Well, it might help you feel better about things, just acknowledging that God’s still with you, George. That he’s good and hasn’t changed.”
“I told you you sounded like a preacher! An’ I ain’t ’specially needin’ to hear it!” He slung the sack over his shoulder. “Let’s get this over with.”
I almost objected to that statement of his. When it comes to your children, you don’t just get it over with. You go on with them because that’s what a father does. But at least he was headed to the house now.
We were only to the base of the porch steps when the door came swinging open.
“Pa! Pa! Come see the tree!” Harry came rushing out on the porch in his stocking feet, followed closely by Berty saying, “Looky! Looky!”
The rest of them hung back, not approaching George even when he stamped his boots off and came in the house. I set George’s ham and the eggs and Rorey’s cherries on the table and wondered if I should go straight back out to get the sleds.
Juli hugged me. “Thank God you’ve come so early,” she whispered. “Wait’ll you see what Pastor and Juanita brought us.”
Juanita was busy cooking, but she turned to greet me merrily. “Be just a little while before breakfast. Do you think the children might want to go ahead and open a present or two?”
She made it sound as if there were surely more than that, but I was still surprised when I stepped foot in the sitting room. A tree with the finest little glass ornaments and some very nice handmade ones. And scads of presents underneath. Enough for an army.
George was standing there with one boy on each side of him, just looking at that tree and then the wall of paper angels. “You do purty well, Mrs. Wortham, not havin’ a lot a’ cash on hand.”
“Oh, most of that the pastor brought out from the church folks,” she said quickly.
“Can we open somethin’?” Harry was asking. “Huh? Can we?”
“I—I brought somethin’ more,” George said and stepped forward to set his sack beside the tree. “They ain’t all wrapped individual, though.”
“I thought we already brung the candy,” Willy said.
“This here’s from your mama.”
Everybody was quiet for a minute. Pastor stood up. And from the bottom stair step where she’d been sitting, Lizbeth stepped forward to the tree and fished around till she found one certain package. With her face all red and her hair pulling out of its braid every which way, she turned around and handed her father the gift. “This is from Mama too. For you.”
I thought he’d turn tail and run. He looked like he might. But he just sunk down to sit on the floor next to Rorey. “Guess I better open it, then,” he said weakly. “You all get somethin’ to open too.”
“Mama’s first,” Franky said.
George nodded. “Ain’t no more’n fit.” He reached for the sack and pulled the whole pile out on his lap at once. Mittens, bright red and warm as anyone could ask for. There was a pair for every child except Willy and Kirk. For them, Wila had knitted two blue-green caps.
“These is nice,” Rorey said and immediately started crying.
Nobody said anything. Lizbeth leaned and kissed her sister’s forehead. Little Emma Grace threw one of her tiny mittens on the floor and commenced chewing on the other. Franky lifted his to his cheek and just rested his head against their softness.
Knowing the need at such a moment, Pastor quietly said a prayer, brief and gentle. George pulled the paper off the package Lizbeth had given him and stopped as the cloth lay revealed on his lap.
“What is it, Pa?” Rorey asked.
“Appears to be a vest, true enough,” he said. “Don’t know when she managed to stitch this together.”
“Clear last October, Pa,” Lizbeth said. “When you was harvestin’. She done the boys’s caps then too, but I didn’t know where she put ’em.”
“Well. She was a fine one. That she was.” George looked around for a moment at all the faces in the room and then settled his eyes on the tree. “I reckon we got a lot more ground to cover, thanks to the good pastor and the Worthams. Might as well start in.”
Some of the children put their mittens aside, but Rorey put hers on, and Franky stuffed his carefully inside his shirt. Every child, even Robert and Sarah, had a package from the church ladies: a multicolored scarf, every one of them different.
“Pretty,” Sarah said, reaching to find her mother’s hand. “When are we gonna open the stuff you made?”
“Oh, we will,” Juli told her. “Be patient.”
There were twelve little bundles all tied up with dainty ribbon—fudge, divinity, and little nut clusters of some kind. Homemade candy for each of the children, except the pastor gave Emma Grace’s to George.
“Oh! Oh!” Berty exclaimed and popped a piece in his mouth before anyone could stop him.
“Not no more,” Lizbeth told him sternly. “Not till after breakfast.”
“Look what a bunch a’ presents is still left,” Rorey told her sister.
“Yes,” Lizbeth agreed. “Seems like folks outdone theirselves.”
With Juli’s help, Pastor distributed the things she’d come up with. Young Sam’s fine hat that made him look like a grown man, and one for Robert, just like he’d hoped to have. Gloves for Willy, ties for Joey and Kirk. And a tie for George, who shook his head and said she shouldn’t have. Robert’s old shirt was a little big on Franky but looked all right. The little boys were so delighted with their cloth balls that they soon had them soaring past our heads or rolling around our feet. And Rorey couldn’t do anything when she saw her new doll except hug it and whisper, “Oh, she’s the bestest little baby.” Our Sarah was just as pleased with a new dress for her Bessie and ran immediately to get the doll and try it on her
.
With her own package untouched on her lap, Lizbeth opened Emma Grace’s little dress and gently fingered the fabric. “It’s beautiful.”
“Emma’s handiwork,” Juli said softly.
And then Lizbeth opened her own. She sat for a moment as if transfixed by the soft pink cloth and the delicate lace collar. Tears started running down her cheeks. “Oh, Mrs. Wortham. Mrs. Wortham, I never had somethin’ so nice.”
Juanita poked her head in with a smile. “Maybe we should go ahead and eat,” she suggested. “Since everything’s done and hot. We can finish the rest afterward.”
Slowly, everybody got up, surprisingly quiet, as though awed by all there was to see.
But I found myself thinking of the day we first met George, when we rode in his wagon that was headed into town with a pig’s head for a widow lady.
“You two’s bound to come better’n ordinary friends,” Emma had insisted once. “You’s called to be brothers.”
Called. Maybe she was right. Maybe I should’ve been praying all the time I’d been here that the Lord touch George, help him, prosper him somehow. Emma’d had confidence for him, even if nobody else had. She’d wanted me to have it too. And she’d be happy today, seeing how many people had lent a hand.
The kitchen smelled of bread and sausage and roasting turkey. Kids came after their plates more eagerly than usual, but there was nowhere near enough room at our table, so most of them took their food back into the other room and sat on the floor. George’s ham was sitting on the counter now, to be served along with Mr. Post’s turkey later that day.
George was quiet, watching everybody and looking especially somber. I went and sat beside him. “Merry Christmas, George. I didn’t mean to be unpleasant earlier.”
He was watching Willy and Robert in the corner comparing scarves and each sneaking a piece of divinity when they thought no one was looking. Then Willy put his new knit cap on his head and left it there.
“They miss her,” George said. “I know they do. But they’re all right. The church folks is done fine by ’em, an’ I didn’t even e’spect that.”
“We all care about you,” I said, hoping he understood that I really did mean him too.
“Uh-huh.” He turned to his food, still somber. There was something in his eyes I couldn’t name, except to say that it worried me as much as anything I’d seen in him so far.
Juanita and Sarah were singing “Hark the Herald Angels Sing” by the time the rest of us were done eating. And George just sat cold as stone.
When we’d all finished breakfast, Juanita passed out the rest of the presents, starting with jars of mincemeat and peach preserves for George and for Juli and me. Then a basket full of the same candies the kids had already gotten. Then Juanita lifted one of two stacks of identical gifts, small rectangles with the only store-bought wrapping paper under the tree.
“Miss Hazel bought these,” Juanita said softly. “She said something about a legacy.”
Twelve Bibles. One for each child of both families, regardless of age. And in all of them, “In memory of Emma Graham” was written inside the front cover.
I didn’t know what to think. It would never have occurred to me, even dreaming, that Hazel Sharpe would buy our children Christmas presents. But Juanita was handing me a small rectangle too. For Juli and me, a book from Pastor. Pilgrim’s Progress.
“In Des Moines about four years ago I gave them to graduating seniors,” Pastor told us. “I had four left.”
They gave George one too. But he set it down, barely looking at it. Instead he was watching Rorey now, who had her doll wrapped in her new scarf, rocking it just as vigorously as she could without tipping herself over.
“That dolly ain’t gonna nap much thataway,” he said.
“Oh, Pa,” Rorey responded. “I’m playin’ I’m the swing.” She kept right on rocking while Juli presented Pastor and Juanita with two gifts, to their obvious surprise.
“How could you manage?” Juanita asked. “You didn’t even know we were going to be here.”
I wondered the same thing until I saw that the first gift was a box of cookies. And the second was Julia’s cross that I’d carved for her from seasoned oak months ago.
“I hope you don’t mind,” she whispered to me. “Didn’t have time to ask you.”
“It was a fine idea,” I told her. “I’ll make you another one.”
“It’s wonderful,” Pastor said, looking at us both. “You don’t have to do this.”
“We want to.”
Juli went right on from there and gave me a jar wrapped in a dishcloth and tied with a yarn bow. The strange, dark brown liquid almost made the jar look like it was brown glass.
“Walnut stain,” Juli explained. “It should work for wood. Or your boots.”
I smiled. I knew she’d stuffed the outer walnut hulls into a bag last fall, but I just thought they might be useful kindling. This was better. “Thank you.” I kissed her cheek and stood to my feet. “Now I’ve got some things to get outside.”
I saw the smile spread across Robert’s face like sunshine. Pastor picked up the bundle of Christmas candy that George had bought and passed it all to him. Reluctantly George handed it out to his children as I pulled on my coat.
“Want to help me, Robert?”
“Yeah!” He jumped up with more enthusiasm than I could muster, and Julia smiled.
“Can I come too?” Sarah asked me.
“Sure. Why not?” I figured maybe it would be better to present these two with the sleds I’d made for them first and bring in only the one for the Hammonds.
“We got a lot this year,” Robert said when we were outside.
“Yes. You both need to write a letter soon and thank the church people. They’ve been more than generous.”
“We ain’t done, though, are we Dad?”
I smiled a little, enjoying putting him off. “Well, no. We have to give the Hammonds their sled. And I have something for your mother too.”
“You do?” Sarah asked with her eyes wide. “You made something for Mommy?”
“A curio shelf. I’ve had it done for almost a month.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Robert said in dismay. “Is there something else for me?”
Instead of going all the way to the barn, I stopped in front of the shed first, pulled the latch, and opened it wide.
“Wow,” Robert said.
Sarah said nothing at all. I pulled down the two sleds from the roof rafter and presented one to each of them.
“I knew it,” Robert said. “Can we sled today?”
“Maybe. After we give the Hammonds theirs. And I have to finish it a bit.”
Robert was looking over his sled front and back. “Thanks, Dad.”
Sarah nodded her head. “There’s room for Rorey on mine. And our dolls too.”
Robert frowned at the mention of the girl. “Do you think they’ll ever go home?”
“Yes. Maybe not tonight. But we’ll see.”
“Their dad ain’t happy to be here. Everybody else is thankful, at least. But not him.”
Not something I’d expect a child to notice on Christmas. But Robert was old enough to know.
“At least he’s here, son. That’s a start.” I pulled the gunnysack with Juli’s shelf out of the corner and handed it to Sarah. “You want to carry it?”
“Yeah!”
“You can carry the other sled in if you want, Robert.”
“Okay. We gonna leave ours out here?”
“For now.”
Somehow just coming outside with me this way made my kids feel good, and they loved the idea of carrying the gifts in. “They’ll think they’re from us!” Sarah chuckled.
We made quite an entrance, me holding the doors, Robert dragging the big sled, and Sarah hopping up and down with the gunnysack, shouting “Santa’s here! Santa’s here!”
Everybody gathered around, and the Hammond boys were especially taken with the sled. Franky was fairl
y glowing. “I knew you could do it!”
“For us?” Willy asked, incredulous.
“For us?” Harry echoed.
“For you,” I said with a smile, but then I saw George hanging back from the others. And I knew down in my gut that I’d made a serious mistake.
“And this is for you, Mommy!” Sarah exclaimed, thrusting the gunnysack in Juli’s direction.
She pulled out the shelf, looked it over front and back, and reached for my hand. “Sammy, it’s beautiful.”
But I could barely acknowledge her. George had retreated even further, to a chair in the far corner of the room. He was watching Lizbeth with haunted eyes as she held the baby and shook a rattle that someone must’ve given her while we were outside.
He saw me looking at him and gave just a hint of a nod. “Merry Christmas,” he said, but his voice sounded hollow, soulless. Something like fear tensed inside of me. He’s going to kill himself. He’s going to try.
I knew it as sure as I stood there, that that’s what he’d been meaning all along. And what could we do? If he hadn’t listened to a word any of us had said so far, how could we hope to stop him?
TWENTY-THREE
Julia
“This is too much,” Lizbeth was protesting over her gifts. “We ain’t never had so much.”
Juanita put her arm around the girl. “Maybe you all are needing it this year. You think?”
“It’s nice,” Lizbeth admitted. “You all been real nice. Still, I’d trade it all an’ a whole lot more to have Mama here.”
“I would too, honey,” Juanita acknowledged. “She was a good lady.”
“Say,” Lizbeth said, seeming to brighten, “I was thinkin’ we ain’t never had Christmas away from home before, but we did! Right here one time! Emma had us over. We was littler then, an’ she helped us act out Christmas. You remember that, Joey?”
Her brother nodded. “I was Joseph. You was Mary. An’ Rorey got to be Jesus.”
“Nah,” Rorey shook her head. “I ain’t never been Jesus.”
“You don’t remember,” Joe informed her. “’Cause you was just a baby.”
“Then we oughta do it again!” Rorey exclaimed. “I wanna be Mary this time! Emma Gracie can be Jesus!”
