Whether or not the sentence was reasonable, nothing changed the fact that they had no income and no savings. A five-dollar fine would have been difficult; fifty dollars, impossible.
Pa looked at her, eyes clear and full of understanding, sadness etching more lines onto his forehead, adding years to his age.
I will not cry, not here, not now. Polly summoned the will to smile at him. Once she had regained her composure, she would go to visit him at the jail.
After the deputy escorted Pa back to jail, Joey sought her out. Grinning, he looked as excited as a preacher who had seen a dozen people come forward after a sermon.
“Polly, this calls for quiet conversation over good food. Mrs. Denton said to come over as soon as the hearing finished.”
At least he hadn’t called it a celebration. Polly didn’t feel joyful. “I should tell the children….”
“They’ll be there. We can tell them together.” He helped her over a mud puddle. The cold temperatures had created a few patches of ice.
Polly accepted his arm. What would they have done without him? Without his help, things could have gone so much worse. Her champion. Her heart flipped. In his presence she rested, quiet and easy. But she wasn’t sure she wanted to rehash it all, even with the Dentons. Her steps faltered as they approached the parsonage.
Before they reached the house, Gabe Noell came out of the lean-to. “I heard what happened at court. I’ll continue praying for you and your family, Miss Jessup.”
“Thank you.” Gabe’s kind words helped Polly decide. She couldn’t handle any more pity. “I’m sorry. But I don’t feel like talking with anyone just now. Please give the Dentons my regrets, and ask the children to come home.”
She turned and marched in the opposite direction, toward Dover Street, before he could stop her.
Joseph stared after Polly, sensing he shouldn’t chase her.
Gabe stopped beside him. “Give her time. She’s been hit hard.”
Joseph frowned. True, the judge hadn’t given them everything they had asked for, but no lawyer expected that—especially when your client insisted on pleading guilty. “I thought she’d be pleased.”
Gabe only smiled and shook his head. “Spoken like a lawyer. You’re right, you did a good job.” He didn’t elaborate. “I’ve nearly finished carving Mary and Joseph. You can paint them whenever you have time—as long as it’s before Sunday.”
Joseph wondered what he meant while he flexed his fingers. Maybe some time with a paintbrush in his hands would calm his roiling emotions after the turmoil of the past few days. “I’ve got some unexpected time on my hands this afternoon,” he said. “I’ll explain the situation to Mrs. Denton and join you a little later.”
After the meal—Mrs. Denton said she would package up the leftovers and take them to Polly later in the day—Joseph joined Gabe in his lean-to. In spite of the cool temperatures, a small campfire kept the space cozy and warm.
When Joseph came in, Gabe was carving individual pieces of straw in the manger around the figure of the baby Jesus. As he had many times before, Joseph marveled at the intricacy and beauty of the craftsmanship. Works of art, the simple pine figures didn’t need further adornment in his opinion. But the church had requested they be painted, and he had agreed.
He held a precise picture of Joseph in mind—someone a bit like Gabe, with salt-and-pepper hair, kind, peaceful eyes, and gnarled fingers used to working with wood. But he still didn’t know how he wanted to paint Mary.
What had Gabe told him? To think about the character of Mary? At first, Joseph thought about using Alice as his model. She was beautiful, and he had fooled himself into thinking she possessed more godly characteristics than she did. The last of his illusions about her fled out the window when she condemned Mr. Jessup without a hearing.
He sighed and studied the figure Gabe had carved. All the things Pastor Denton had preached about were present. The hope and glory of God shone from her face, while the pain that would pierce her soul shadowed her eyes. He only needed to bring what was already there to life. He assembled his paints and brushes before him and set to work, praying all the while.
When the afternoon light faded to the point he could no longer do detailed work, he set aside his brushes. His shoulders ached from bending over the figure, but he felt happy with the results.
Gabe studied his work, a slow smile indicating his pleasure. “Mary, the mother of our Lord. God chose good parents for His Son.”
“Yes, He did.”
Gabe pulled a tarp over the work to protect it from the elements. As Joseph cleaned his hands at the pump, he realized all his concerns and worries had fled while he worked. Polly had no such release. Guilt assailed him. But what could he do?
“Give her time, Joseph.” Gabe seemed to read his mind. “Wait until tomorrow.”
Joseph nodded. When he went, he wouldn’t go empty-handed. What would Polly take from him that wouldn’t offend her pride?
By the next morning, he still hadn’t reached a decision. Painting the nativity scene on the previous day proved to be fortunate. Representing Jessup hadn’t done his reputation any harm. Three different people stopped by his office, seeking an appointment with Breading’s newest lawyer.
Grant Richards expressed the common sentiment. “I want someone who’s brave enough to stand up to Albert Johnson representing me.” The shop owner asked him to review some shipping contracts.
The morning sped by before Joseph had the opportunity to get to the mercantile. Without a clear idea of how to help the Jessups, he asked God to guide him. He had considered asking Richards’s opinion when he came in but refrained. His office was not the place to ask about personal matters.
As Joseph approached the store, he paused, remembering the joy on Jessup’s face when he exited with arms laden with presents. Joseph wished he could duplicate his purchases, to give the family the Christmas their father had dreamed of, but Polly would never agree. Besides, neither one of them knew what was in the packages. They had returned them to the store unopened.
Joseph considered other options—perhaps a gift for the family. Strolling through the store, he resisted his usual pull to the books. Only the Bible would benefit the entire family, and they already had one of those. Something for the kitchen? Not food. Mrs. Denton had already spoken with him about a food basket for Christmas.
In the corner he spied a table decorated for Christmas, a cheery red tablecloth adorning the pine wood surface, set with a single setting of blue and white china. A sign announced SERVICE FOR TWELVE AVAILABLE. It looked vaguely familiar. Not the china the Johnsons used. Probably he had seen it at one of the fancy dinners he attended while in law school. He wondered why the store was carrying it. Few people could afford it.
Shaking off the sense of familiarity of the china pattern, Joseph perused the store. Nothing struck the right chord as a gift to give to the Jessups for this season. He’d think about it and come back.
Chapter 8
You shouldn’t have done all this.” Tears splashed down Polly’s face as she unearthed jars of strawberry preserves and green beans and bags of dried apples and potatoes. Not to mention two hams, pumpkin and mincemeat pies, flour, sugar, lard … the list was endless. They had enough for Christmas dinner with much more besides.
“Lots of people contributed,” Mrs. Carpenter said. Mrs. Denton nodded. “We were so relieved when we learned that your house was paid for. We hope this tides you over until you figure out what to do.”
What to do. Polly didn’t know. The fine had been paid, at considerable sacrifice, and Pa would be released from jail in a few weeks. Of course, he had lost his job at the bank and might not get another anytime soon. Mr. Richards had offered to hire Polly at the mercantile. But a clerk’s salary wouldn’t support a family of six, even with the discount they offered on foodstuffs.
“God will provide, dear. And don’t be afraid to ask if you need help.” Mrs. Denton said a prayer and they left.
On
e look around the well-stocked kitchen confirmed the truth of Mrs. Denton’s words. They had everything they needed and more than she hoped for Christmas. God had provided today’s daily bread and tomorrow’s as well. Thanks to Mr. Richards’s generosity, the Lord had even given her a way to pay Pa’s fine. How could she doubt God’s provision for her future? Humming, she prepared to leave for the final rehearsal for the Christmas program.
“Joy to the world!” Dolores sang along. “I’ll have the beans ready when you come home. With some corn cakes?”
Her sweet sister had shouldered more responsibility around the house without grumbling, and the children hadn’t complained about the unvarying diet of beans, beans, and more beans. Chili and beans. Beans with salt pork. Sweetened beans. Pinto beans, black-eyed beans, kidney beans … Beans with every conceivable spice. “That sounds good. And maybe some of the pumpkin pie? I’m afraid it might spoil before Christmas.”
“Oh, can we?” Dolores smiled. “What a treat. I’ll see you later, then.”
Polly went outside, her shawl the perfect protection against the cool December air, crisp and clear and full of promise. Her heart skipped, and she was glad Joseph and the pastor had insisted she come to the final rehearsal. Spending time in the Lord’s house would take her mind off her worries.
Although she expected to arrive early, she opened the door to find everyone already assembled, even Martha Johnson.
“Miss Polly!” Jemima saw her first and ran to her. “You’re back!” She was dressed in costume, a delicate blue cloth wrapped around her head and down her gown, a perfect match for her deep blue eyes. “Come on. We can’t wait for you to see the play.” Her wide smile was infectious, and more of the Christmas spirit seeped into Polly. She let herself be propelled to the front pew.
Jemima came to the middle of the makeshift stage together with Peter. As Polly listened to their well-delivered lines, she wondered who had taken over the rehearsals. Pastor Denton had only told her not to worry; everything was taken care of.
Joey came out from behind the organ and motioned for them to leave the stage. Joey had taken over the play? On top of going to trial with Pa and spending so much time with her?
She thought back to her childhood dream that he would come home and claim her as his bride. Such a sweet, considerate, wonderful man. Any girl would be blessed to marry him. Since he had stopped keeping company with Alice Johnson, why not her? But he would never look twice at someone like her. What lawyer would marry a woman with a convicted felon for a father and a ready-made family to care for? Friendship, yes. He had proven that. But marriage? Never.
In fact, who would marry her? Maybe no one. One look at Jemima and Martha rehearsing the scene between Mary and Elisabeth, and Polly put that thought aside. If God provided a husband for Mary, unmarried and pregnant, He could do the same for her. Someday. Although it was hard to imagine anyone more wonderful than Joey.
Jemima did a terrific job, as did Martha. When they finished, Martha took a seat next to Polly. “Miss Polly,” she whispered as the shepherds prepared for their scene.
Polly faced the young girl, who had all the beauty of her aunt Alice plus a sweet spirit. She was brave, too, to defy her family. They couldn’t approve of her continued participation. “I’m so glad you’re taking part in the play.”
“You are? You don’t mind?” The girl fluttered her hands in a helpless gesture.
“Mind?” Polly smiled. “Of course not. You’re perfect as Elisabeth. There’s no one I would rather have in the play.” She hugged the girl, and some of her resentment against the Johnsons and their clan dissipated.
The cast sped through the remainder of the play with scarcely a hitch. Although the church would hold a party after Sunday’s church service, complete with luncheon and gift bags for all the children, today the cast of the play threw their own celebration. They traipsed to the parsonage for hot cocoa and sugar cookies.
“I’m sorry I didn’t bring any cookies. I had forgotten about the party,” Polly apologized to Mrs. Denton.
“Your presence is our gift, dear.” The pastor’s wife patted her hand. “The children couldn’t be happier.”
The children held back from starting the party until Jemima and Martha arrived. When they came in, they each carried a package. They stopped in front of Polly.
“We wanted to do something special for you,” Martha said.
“You worked so hard to write the play and helped us and all,” Jemima said. “Some of the ladies from the church helped so we could get it done in time. Otherwise we couldn’t have done it.”
Polly teared up as she studied the elaborate packaging. Big white bows sat atop boxes wrapped in shiny red paper. Both boxes looked big enough to hold more food baskets, only they were too light for jars and cans and cuts of meat. She could feel her mouth widening in a smile, using muscles that almost hurt after the heaviness of the past few days. With the children, she didn’t mind. She untied the ribbon and worked her finger underneath the wrapping paper of the first parcel, sensing the softness of whatever it covered.
Underneath lay a crazy quilt made of patches of outgrown dresses, torn dungarees, and towels originally destined for shepherd’s headgear. She also spotted some material she had lingered over at the mercantile. Altogether it was a beautiful piece of work.
“When … how …” Polly didn’t know what to say.
“Well, it’s been cold. And we figured you needed to keep warm. You and Mr. Jessup,” Martha said.
“So we all brought things we didn’t need anymore.” Jemima’s words stumbled over each other in her rush to get them out. She probably loved having a chance to give to someone else. Polly had never realized how hard it could be to be on the receiving end until she experienced it herself these past few days.
“I showed them how to cut the squares,” Mrs. Denton said. “And we had a quilting bee last weekend.”
Last weekend. Before they even knew the outcome of the trial, the children had planned this surprise.
The second parcel—the one Martha carried—held hand-knit scarves in every color imaginable. “Even the boys helped make these.” She smiled.
“I cut the fringe.” The youngest Fuller boy pointed to bright blue yarn dangling from the end of a lopsided length scarf.
“They’re beautiful. Thank you so much.” Polly hugged each of the children. Masking the tears that threatened her voice, she said, “Now you’d better drink your cocoa before it gets cold.”
Joey smiled at her over the pile of presents in front of her, and she knew who had dreamed up this special surprise.
Friendship, she reminded herself. Nothing more. For now, that would be enough.
Joseph studied the manger figures one last time, eyeing them from several angles.
“Never quite satisfied with our work, are we?” Gabe had exchanged his overalls for Sunday clothes. The church had invited him to distribute gift bags to the children—complete with the little toys he had carved for each of them in his spare time. In a plaid shirt red enough for Santa Claus, he looked the part.
Joseph couldn’t imagine uncertainty clouding Gabe’s mind. His work was so sure, detailed—masterful. “You, too?”
“All artists feel that way.” Gabe looked at the figures. “Mary is your best work, in my opinion.”
Joseph sucked breath between his teeth. “I tried.” Capturing the spirit of the woman God had chosen as the mother of His Son had hovered beyond his reach.
“You had excellent inspiration.”
“I wasn’t thinking of anyone in particular,” Joseph said. He looked at the manger scene without prejudice. “Whatever beauty is there is from your original work.”
Gabe shook his head. “There’s more to it than that, but you have to figure that out for yourself.” He tapped Joseph’s shoulder. “Ready or not, today our work is unveiled. It’s time to go in to the service.”
Joseph spared one last look at the crèche, a sheet shrouding it for now from the congr
egation’s sight. After this morning, the manger scene would be set up in front of the church. The congregation hoped the people of Breading would take a minute to remember that first Christmas morning when they stopped to enjoy the display.
The set for the children’s play took up the remainder of the platform. The pulpit had been moved to the front between the aisles. After Mr. Post led rousing renditions of “Joy to the World!” and “O Come All Ye Faithful,” the play began.
After the days of practice, Joey could recite each line as well as the children. Polly’s play put the familiar story into a new and thought-provoking format. After a few moments’ discomfort in front of an audience, Jemima settled in and spoke clearly so that all could hear. Martha, her hair powdered gray, welcomed her into her home. Joseph shook his head. Who would have expected those two girls to become friends?
The other children did well, and Joseph listened as if hearing it for the first time, right to the last lines. Jemima looked straight at the congregation. “What a night it has been. Angels announced the birth of my little baby boy! Shepherds came to visit! The Savior has been born!” She touched the wiggling baby she held in her arms. “What stories I will have to tell You about the night You were born. I will treasure these things always and will think about them often.”
A hush spread over the sanctuary as the children sang “Silent Night.” Joseph rose to his feet and clapped, and soon the building rang with applause.
Pastor Denton came to the front, and the congregation quieted. “Mr. Noell will have gift bags for all of our children at the end of the service,” he told the littlest ones who lingered near the front, looking for the promised treats. Laughter broke out. He looked behind him at the now-empty stage. “I don’t know that I need say anything more, do I? They’ve said it all.”
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