The Christmas Portrait

by Phyllis Clark Nichols

  Granny said, “It’s all right, John.”

  Daddy’s voice was all choked up. “No, it’s not. Nothing’s all right anymore. I don’t know how to do this without Diana. The kids, the work, the house. And Christmas. What is Christmas without her?”

  They talking stopped ’cause Daddy was crying so hard. Just hearing him cry made me cry too. Then Daddy said, “I don’t know what came over Kate tonight. I thought she was handling Diana’s death so well.”

  Granny said, “Grief came over Kate. That’s what came over her and you too. Just let her cry, John, and it’s okay if you cry too.”

  “I do, but sometimes I’m afraid I’ll upset Kate and Chesler.”

  “They need to see you grieve, John. Find yourself some time to cry, and let Kate do the same. She’s trying to be your rock just like Diana Joy told her to, but she’s still a little girl who’s missing her mama.”

  I couldn’t stand it anymore and just went back to my bed and put the pillow over my head. In a little while Daddy came into my room with Chesler. He sat down on the side of my bed and put Chesler in his lap. “Hey, little peep. You asleep?”

  I moved the pillow from my head and sat up. “No, sir.” Then I started crying all over again. “I don’t want to be here, Daddy. I don’t want to be anywhere if Mama’s not there.”

  Daddy just grabbed me and rocked me and Chesler right there on the side of my bed. “I know, Kate. I know. Sometimes I feel the same way. But I think if I weren’t here, I’d be even sadder about what I’d miss. I’d miss you and Chesler, and decorating the Christmas tree, and so many other things. And look at all the things you’d miss if you weren’t here.” Daddy just kept rocking back and forth.

  Then I thought about what Mama said about the rocks. “I’m sorry, Daddy. I’m so sorry.” I moved over next to him, and we just sat huddled together like Granny’s chickens did when a big storm’s coming.

  “No, Kate, I’m the one who’s sorry. I’m sorry that I sent you to your room. I should have understood why you were so upset. And that bird in the cage? I don’t blame you. It was creepy, but it’s gone. We like redbirds that fly, and sing, and sit in the cedar tree, and peck on the window, don’t we?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Everything’s okay now, and I’ll try to do better.”

  “Me too, Daddy. I’ll try to do better too.” Chesler was sniveling.

  “Hey, Ches,” Daddy said, “you remember when Granny’s dog, Grady, got hit by the car?”

  “I remember,” Chesler said.

  I curled up closer to Daddy, wondering why he was talking about another sad day when we had enough sadness to last us forever.

  “Do you remember how he was a sweet old dog, but when he got hurt, he growled at us and wouldn’t let us get near him?”

  Chesler perked up a bit. “Yeah, I was just trying to help him, but I thought he was going to bite me.”

  “Well, people are like that too, trying to protect ourselves when we hurt. When your Mama went to heaven, it was like we were all wounded, and sometimes we act like Grady. We get angry and snap at the folks who are just trying to help us.”

  “So that’s why I snapped at Aunt Susannah Hope.”

  “That’s right, and that’s why I snapped at you too. We’re just all hurting, missing your mama so much. But we still have each other.”

  We did a group hug, and Daddy kissed me good night. When he and Chesler left my room, Daddy started to turn out the light.

  “Not yet, Daddy. I need to get ready for bed. I love you, and you too, Chesler.”

  “Love you too, little peep.” Daddy closed the door.

  I put on my gown, turned out the light, and crawled into bed. I turned my pillow over because it was wet. I lay there thinking about Grady and how he got sweet again when his leg got better. And then for some reason, I thought about what Granny said about giving Baby Jesus a birthday present.

  That was when I got my idea.

  Mama always said ideas were a lot like cars. “Most folks have them,” she said, “but some of them you can’t crank up and get out of the garage, and then others just fly.” My idea had to fly. I just didn’t know how to make it go.

  CHAPTER THREE

  I WAS GLAD TO go back to school. It was the only place that felt normal without Mama around. At school I could see my best friend, Emily, and go to art class, and I could even draw when Mrs. Maxwell wasn’t looking. And sometimes I got to fill up the bird feeders.

  Daddy put up bird feeders at the school and said it would be good for the children to watch the birds and take responsibility for filling the feeders, but I knew why he really did it. He brought a big sack of feed every week to school, and we took turns filling up the feeders every Monday morning. Just before Thanksgiving I saw the redbird for the first time at school, just sitting on that limb all by herself, waiting for the sparrows and chickadees to clear off the feeder. That’s when I asked Mrs. Maxwell if I could move to a desk by the window. She let me. And since then I’d seen the redbird at the feeder almost every day.

  Monday morning during math class, I was surprised when Laramie poked me with her pencil and pointed to the window. A redbird! My eyes stayed glued to that redbird perched on the feeder, ideas churning in my head.

  Laramie poked me again. “You like cardinals, don’t you?” she whispered. Everyone else was bent over their math sheets, scribbling away.

  “How did you know?”

  “Kind of obvious.” Laramie pointed at my notebook covered in redbird stickers. “And you’re always staring out the window at them when they’re nearby.”

  “Yeah. So?”

  Then she turned her head, and I could tell Mrs. Maxwell was looking at us. So we started doing long division again and acted like we’d been working on our worksheets the whole time.

  “Kate?”

  I was looking at that redbird and thinking, so I didn’t hear Mrs. Maxwell the first time she called me.

  “Katherine Joy? Are you drawing again when you’re supposed to be listening? I don’t want to have to call you the third time.” If Mrs. Maxwell had used her playground voice, I would have heard her, but I wasn’t sure she had one. She was so old I think it just wore out.

  I looked up. “Yes, ma’am. I mean, no, ma’am, I’m not drawing.”

  “Put your notebook away, and come get your papers, please.”

  Mrs. Maxwell was still going through stacks of papers when I got to her desk. Eric was waiting too. He could annoy you just by looking at you. Mrs. Maxwell said his name more than anybody else’s in class, even Laramie’s.

  “Look a here, Kate.” He picked up the snow globe on her desk, turned it over, and watched the snow falling on a little manger scene.

  Mrs. Maxwell said, “Eric, put that down. You know better.”

  I shook my head. Now why would a teacher put a snow globe on her desk and then not let anybody touch it? What good was a snow globe if you didn’t turn it over to make it snow?

  Mrs. Maxwell found the papers before it stopped snowing over the manger. She handed my papers to me and told me to put them in my take-home folder.

  I said, “Yes, ma’am,” and walked back to my desk. I put the papers away and got in line to go down the hall to the art room. Laramie was in front of me. I knew Emily didn’t like her, but I wanted to talk to her. “Where’d you get the name Laramie, by the way? I always wondered. It’s really pretty.”

  Laramie smiled just a little when I said that. She had been my classmate since second grade, but because I always played with Emily I hadn’t gotten to know her very well.

  “Oh, my mama and daddy were camping out in Laramie, Wyoming, when they thought it up.”

  “I guess you’re lucky they weren’t camping in Louisville.”

  She looked at me quick like she might be getting mad, but when she saw I was grinning, she smiled too. “Yep, real lucky.”

  “I can’t wait to get to art class. Do you like art?”

  Laramie turned around a
nd smiled again. “It’s my favorite class.”

  “Mine too, and I just love Miss Applegate.”

  “Yep, she’s really nice, and she lets me do the kind of art I want to.”

  “What kind of art do you like to do?”

  Laramie’s face looked different, not like she was so mad like it did most of the time. “I really like to sew and make things out of fabric.”

  “Cool. My mama liked to sew too, but I don’t know how. I just like to draw.” We were almost at the door. “Have fun making whatever it is you’re making.”

  “You too.”

  Miss Applegate was everybody’s favorite teacher. She was young and pretty, like a cheerleader, and she said I had real artistic talent. She’d been teaching me to draw after school. Uncle Luke, Daddy’s brother, liked her a lot. I saw them kissing last summer when we were all out at Granny’s for a fish fry, and she came with Uncle Luke to Mama’s funeral. I could call her Miss Lisa when she was with Uncle Luke, but I called her Miss Applegate at school.

  When Daddy told Uncle Luke he should marry Miss Lisa before somebody else did, Uncle Luke said, “I need to finish medical school first. Then I’ll think about it.” I hoped he thought about it in a hurry. I’d like an Aunt Lisa.

  When we got to art class, Miss Applegate already had the plastic containers with our names on them on the art table. I tugged at the lid to lift out what I made for my daddy. He liked anything to do with fishing, so I made him a bowl that looked like a fish. It could go on his dresser, and he could put his keys and change in it at night when he emptied his pockets. Miss Applegate showed me how to draw fish scales in the soft clay with a toothpick. And then she baked it so it would get hard and gave me some special paint to make the scales look shiny. She thought of everything, just like Mama.

  After I finished Daddy’s gift, I put it aside and lifted up a small wooden box. I had planned to decorate the box for Granny Grace, but her talking about a gift for Baby Jesus had given me a new idea. I needed that box for something special. What, I didn’t know yet. But I would think of something.

  First I painted it red. After I had carefully painted around the edges, I set the box on a piece of newspaper. When the paint was dry enough, I planned to put on some redbird stickers. After that Miss Applegate would spray it, and then it would be finished and ready for Christmas.

  Eric sat across the table, painting a giraffe on a Christmas ornament. He pointed at the bowl I had made and mumbled, “I like that fish.”

  “Thank you. It’s for my daddy.”

  He pointed at my red box with his dripping paintbrush. “Who gets that?”

  I nearly snatched the paintbrush right out of his hand before it dripped on my box. “It’s a special gift for somebody.”

  “For the teacher?” Eric dabbed some more spots on his giraffe.

  “For my mama,” I said.

  “Your mama? You don’t have a mama. Everybody knows she’s dead.”

  Eric’s words shoved me into a place where I didn’t want to be. I didn’t know whether to cry, or to run, or to just sock him in the nose. My mama had gone to heaven on September twenty-eighth, but no one had ever said out loud to me, “You don’t have a mama. She’s dead.”

  Laramie heard what Eric said and came and sat down beside me. “Don’t listen to Eric. He’s a dumb toad.” Then she leaned over and whispered in my ear, “If you want me to, I’ll take care of him after school. I’ll make him sorry he ever said something like that.”

  I just bit my lip and shook my head. I believed Laramie could take care of him all right, but I didn’t want her to get in trouble.

  Laramie was as tall as Eric and the fastest runner in the class. She acted like a tomboy, but she didn’t look like one, with her green eyes and long blonde hair. She often got in trouble for sassing or for saying ugly words, but she could be nice sometimes. She was the only one in the class who ever told me how sorry she was about Mama dying. I think it was because her mama was gone too. But I wasn’t friends with her because my best friend Emily didn’t like her. Emily was prissy and all into girly things, and Laramie? Well, Laramie was different and mostly stuck to herself.

  I didn’t talk to Eric or Laramie anymore. I just wanted to be quiet, put the redbird stickers on my box, and think about Mama. I finished, and Miss Applegate sealed the box and the lid with spray. When I wiped my face on the sleeve of my sweater and Eric started pointing at me, Miss Applegate told him the spray had made my eyes water.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  THE LAST DAYS of school before Christmas break flew by, and finally it was Friday again. Daddy was working, and Aunt Susannah Hope had to take Chesler to the dentist, so Daddy asked Mrs. Peterson if I could come home with Emily after school. Mrs. Peterson and Mama used to be like me and Emily, best friends.

  Everybody said Emily and I looked like sisters. Maybe it was ’cause we spent so much time together or maybe ’cause we were both skinny and had long, brownish hair the color of a dirty string mop.

  The Petersons lived down Sycamore Drive only four blocks from Cedar Falls Elementary School and just a few doors down from Aunt Susannah Hope’s. Mrs. Peterson said it was safe for us to walk home from school since there were two of us. Emily and I were both on the Honor Roll at school, and we didn’t play with matches or knives, but we were not allowed to stay at home without an adult.

  I’m not quite sure why it was safe to walk home in the snow, right past Glenn’s busy filling station on the corner and the motorcycle repair shop, but it wasn’t safe to stay at home by ourselves. I heard Granny say one time, “There are some seedy-looking characters at that motorcycle shop.” She didn’t know Laramie’s dad worked there.

  Laramie walked out the school door ahead of us. As soon as they spotted her, some of the older boys started in. “Hey, Laramie, want to race? Bet you can’t catch us.”

  She didn’t even look their way, she just said, “Shut your mouth, Jeremy, or you may catch my fist in your nose.” They started whistling and teasing her about her long legs. So she stopped, and when she turned around what came out of her mouth would have gotten me grounded until I was eighteen.

  We passed right by, but I felt bad for not speaking up or doing anything. “Those boys are so mean. Maybe we should invite her to walk with us.”

  Emily shook her head. “No way. Laramie’s too trashy.”

  I felt sorry for Laramie. I heard Mama and Granny talking after Laramie’s mama left in late August. They said Laramie and her daddy woke up one morning, and her mama was gone. Just plain gone. She had taken some of her clothes, a loaf of bread, a jar of peanut butter, and the car, and she never came back. Mama said, “It’s just not right for a mother to leave her children like that. There’s got to be more to this story.”

  Mama left me and Chesler, but not because she wanted to. I wasn’t sure where heaven was, but wherever it was, I knew Mama was there and it was a good place. Laramie didn’t know where in the world her mama was.

  Laramie ran on ahead of us, and by the time Emily and I got to the motorcycle shop, Laramie was kicking a pile of beer cans around the parking lot. I raised my hand to wave to her, but when she saw us, she ran around the shop and disappeared.

  “Don’t wave at her, Kate, she’s just trouble.” Emily wouldn’t even look in Laramie’s direction.

  Emily didn’t know the difference between being trouble and having trouble. I wanted to tell her I would wave at Laramie if I wanted to, but that would just start a fuss. Emily always had to have her way. Anyway, I would just talk to Laramie when Emily wasn’t around. Emily could still be my best friend and all, but somehow I thought Laramie was more like me.

  Mrs. Peterson had the hot chocolate almost made when we got to her house. By the time we got out of our coats and mittens, she had put the marshmallows on top and started popping popcorn. She said, “You can eat it, or string it and hang it out back in the oak tree for the birds.”

  When we finished our snack, Emily wanted to see what I made in art cla
ss. Miss Applegate had helped me wrap up the presents with bubble wrap. So I unwrapped Daddy’s fish first and laid it on the kitchen table.

  Mrs. Peterson smiled. “Your daddy’s just going to love that, Kate. You know how he loves fishing. What else do you have in there?”

  Emily touched the bubble wrap. “Yeah, show us. We’re good at keeping secrets.”

  So I decided to let them see the box.

  “Oh, that’s really pretty,” Mrs. Peterson picked it up. “Who’s it for? Your Granny Grace?”

  I paused a minute, and then decided to tell them straight out. “I made this one for Mama.”

  Mrs. Peterson’s face got a wrinkled-up look and she set the box down. “Oh, my goodness!” Adults said that when they didn’t know what to say and thought something was weird. Emily just acted like she hadn’t heard me. That was how she acted when Mama died too, like it didn’t happen.

  Then Mrs. Peterson got her perky smile back. “Would you like me to get the Christmas wrapping paper? You can do your wrapping here.”

  Emily said, “Yeah, Mom. Let’s use my favorite paper.”

  I nodded. “Yes, ma’am, I would like to wrap the fish bowl.”

  Mrs. Peterson looked a little relieved that I didn’t want to wrap Mama’s box. She probably thought I changed my mind about giving my mama a present, but I hadn’t. I had plans for that empty, painted box.

  Mrs. Peterson brought in two rolls of Christmas paper, one of them silver with pink and purple Christmas balls, and the other gold with pine needles and pine cones. She put them on the table and looked at me. “Here, Kate, you get to decide which one your daddy would like.”

  I knew which one was Emily would choose, but I couldn’t wrap Daddy’s fish bowl in pink and purple. I took the one with pine cones. “Thanks, Mrs. Peterson. Emily’s lucky to have you as a mom.”

  Mrs. Peterson smiled ’cause what I said made her a little bit happy, but somehow the smile didn’t make it all the way to her eyes. They looked kind of sad and worried still. Anyway, I tried to make her happy. But lately, lots of people looked sad around me, as if I had a sign around my neck that said, “Be sad around Kate, her mama went to heaven.” But at least I made her smile enough so I could put another smiley face on my calendar tonight.