The Christmas Portrait

by Phyllis Clark Nichols

  After I finished wrapping Daddy’s present, Emily and I went up to her room. Her room was pink like bubblegum. The walls, the carpet, the curtains, almost everything was pink. What wasn’t solid pink was white polka-dotted. I didn’t know how Emily lived in that cotton candy room. I liked my yellow sunshine room better.

  Emily perched on her bed, and I flopped down beside her. “So,” she said, not looking at me too close, “why did you make a present for your mama?”

  “I always make a present for Mama at Christmas, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, I do. But my mom’s here to get hers. Your mom isn’t. So what’s the use in making it?”

  I moved away from Emily. “But Mama would want it. It would make her so happy.”

  Emily traced the polka dots on her bedspread with her fingers. “Okay, but how are you going to get it to her?”

  “I don’t have that part figured out yet. Putting it under the Christmas tree won’t work.”

  Emily nodded. “Maybe you could leave it at your mama’s grave in the cemetery and put a card with her name on it, sort of like the daisies you and your daddy take there.”

  “I already thought of that, but it won’t work either, because Mama’s not there, not really. Just because that’s the last place I saw her doesn’t mean that’s where she is.” I didn’t like putting Mama in the ground because I knew Mama liked sunshine and flowers and warm weather. Daddy told me it wasn’t really Mama there in the ground. He said Mama’s body was like some old clothes she took off, sort of like butterflies leaving their cocoons behind. He said Mama, the real person she was and all that she felt and knew inside, now had on bright new clothes in heaven.

  I didn’t tell Emily all that. I just said, “There just has to be a way to get it to heaven. Maybe I could leave the box in the cedar tree outside the kitchen window and the redbird would take it to Mama.”

  Emily knew what Mama told me about the redbird. “No, I don’t think that’s a good idea. Some crow could just fly by and take it.”

  She was right. A lot of crows hung out in the woods by the stream this time of year.

  Emily got quiet, and I thought she was trying to come up with a good idea, one that would crank up and fly. But then she asked, “Do you really think there’s a heaven, Kate?”

  Her question made me want to cry, but I just nodded. “I’m sure, really sure there’s a heaven because Mama’s there, just living in God’s neighborhood.”

  “So where do you think God’s neighborhood is?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know, Emily. I think it’s somewhere in the sky, higher that we can even see, and so far up it’s not even blue anymore.”

  Emily didn’t ask any more questions about heaven. She pointed at the box. “Why don’t you mail it to Santa Claus at the North Pole and ask him to take it to her?”

  Now Emily made straight As, but sometimes she could be just plain dumb. She probably thought the North Pole was closer to heaven. Who knew? Maybe it was. I didn’t believe in the whole Santa thing anymore, but I didn’t tell Emily that just like I didn’t say anything to Chesler about it either.

  I tried to be nice. “Santa has enough to do without worrying about my mama’s present. I’ll figure something out.” I had an idea about who might have the answer, but I didn’t share that with Emily.

  The doorbell rang, and I was glad. I knew it would be Daddy. We’d stop at Aunt Susannah Hope’s and get Chesler, and then take off to the Blue Cow for our Friday night supper. Grilled pork chops, succotash, hot biscuits, and cheese grits.

  When we got to Aunt Susannah Hope’s, Chesler met us at the door with his balloon and the bag Dr. Berg gave him. Like he would use a new toothbrush, and toothpaste, and dental floss. It was a wonder Chesler had any teeth left. He never brushed them the way Mama said to.

  We got into the warm car and started singing the “Blue Cow Here We Come” song before we got to the corner. We’d been singing that song every Friday night since I could remember. Every time I heard it, I could taste cheese grits.

  We drove up the street, passed the filling station, and right in front of the motorcycle shop, for no good reason I could see, Daddy slowed way down. He leaned over the steering wheel so he could see out the side window over my head.

  I turned to see what Daddy was looking at.

  Mr. Fields and Laramie were in the parking lot of the motorcycle shop. Her dad was pulling her arm, yelling something, and Laramie was standing her ground just like she did with those boys making fun of her after school. Mr. Fields yanked on her arm, and right then Daddy sounded the horn.

  Mr. Fields’s head came up. He looked in our direction, dropped his hand, and disappeared into the shop. Laramie took off running down the sidewalk, away from our car.

  “What is wrong with that man?” Daddy muttered.

  We rolled down the street, and Daddy kept looking in the rearview mirror, watching. I watched out the window till Laramie disappeared between two buildings.

  “Do you know that little girl?” Daddy asked.

  “Yes, sir. I know her a little. She’s in my class.”

  “Do you think she’ll be all right?” Daddy was still driving slow and looking in the mirror.

  “I don’t know, but I think so. She does a good job of taking care of herself.” I remembered her offer to take care of Eric after school.

  “Looks to me like she’s had to learn to protect herself if that’s the way her dad treats her.”

  “Her mama’s gone.” That’s all I wanted to say.

  “What do you mean gone?” Daddy looked at me.

  “I don’t know, just gone.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Laramie. Laramie Fields.”

  “Oh, Fields, is it? Okay.” Daddy stopped talking and nodded his head like he knew something I didn’t know.

  I didn’t want to tell Daddy what I had heard Mama and Granny Grace say about Laramie’s mama leaving in August. Granny Grace told me after Mama went to heaven that it was a sad thing children had to think about things like funerals and graveyards. Granny would probably add Laramie’s mama to her list of things children ought not to have to think about.

  We rode the rest of the way to the Blue Cow in silence, too sad to say anything. I knew Daddy didn’t like what he saw, Mr. Fields yanking on Laramie’s arm like that. Daddy always said hands were for taking care of people, not hurting them. And much as he wanted to, Daddy couldn’t fix every hurt there was in the world. Mine included.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  DADDY HAD TO work Sunday morning, so we went with Granny to church and then out to her farm for lunch. When we drove in, Grady met us all excited like, trying to wag his tail, but it was mostly sweeping the driveway. That old hound dog loved nothing more than chasing guinea fowl with Chesler. Grady didn’t run too well since he got hit by a car, but he could almost keep up with Chesler. Granny and I stayed inside, looking through Christmas cookie recipes and keeping an eye on Chesler from the kitchen window.

  Granny drove us back to town for pageant practice late Sunday afternoon. Almost as soon as we pulled out of the driveway, Granny said, “Chesler, let me hear you sing your song.”

  When Chesler sang, his mind just went off somewhere else. Not many people had heard him besides Daddy, Granny Grace, and me. But I knew that when he sang at the Christmas pageant, it would make people cry, and then everybody would go home talking about that little Harding boy sounding just like his mama. Granny Grace, Aunt Susannah Hope, and Chesler, they all sang like Mama, but I didn’t. Guess God had to make some of us to listen.

  Chesler practiced his solo all the way to Broad Street, his clear voice singing “All Is Well” even though we knew good and well it wasn’t. How could it be when Mama wasn’t here? It was like she was everywhere and nowhere all at the same time.

  I thought about Laramie when we drove past the motorcycle shop. Pastor Simmons always said that whatever happened, God knew best, but something was not right about a daddy fighting with h
is daughter or children growing up without their mama.

  Granny Grace dropped us off at the front door of the church. “I’m going over to your Aunt Susannah’s, and I’ll be back to pick you up when practice is over.”

  I hurried inside. I had to find Pastor Simmons to ask him something, but I didn’t want Granny to know about it. I was glad she didn’t stay at the church to watch us practice.

  We were a little early. Chesler ran straight to the choir room and started practicing his solo with Miss Jan, so I wandered down the hallway to Pastor Simmons’s office. Even though I could hear his voice talking to some ladies in the kitchen, it seemed kind of spooky to be in the church hallway alone, without any other kids.

  I knew Pastor Simmons would walk by his office and see me, so I went in and sat down to wait for him. I sat up straight and tall in the chair in front of his desk, looking around at all the bookshelves. I thought there was just one Holy Bible, but Pastor Simmons had more Bibles than Aunt Susannah Hope had catalogs. I was glad. With all those Bibles he was sure to know the answer to my question.

  I really liked the photos on the wall behind his desk, all picturing local scenes. One showed the springtime when wild flowers bloom in the woods and everything turns bright green. The summer photo showed the bridge down at the lake. Mama would have liked the autumn picture of the waterfall where we used to picnic, with its red and gold sycamores. But I liked the winter picture best: our old stone church with a blanket of snow around it and red ribbons tied to the lampposts.

  “Kate, is that you? What a nice surprise.” Just then Pastor Simmons came in smiling. He had blond, curly hair, and he wore little round glasses and a red sweater.

  “Hello, Pastor Simmons.” I really hoped he wouldn’t think my question was dumb or something. But at least it would be easier to talk to a preacher wearing a red sweater.

  He looked at me like Daddy checking out Chesler’s skinned knees, but he didn’t say a word until he sat down behind his big desk stacked with books and papers. “So, tell me, Kate, how are you this afternoon?”

  “I’m just fine, sir.” I pointed at the wall next to the window. “I really like your pictures. It’s like a whole year in Cedar Falls.”

  He nodded. “Well, thank you. That’s what my sister said when she took those pictures. My sister travels the world taking pictures, but her favorite place to take pictures is right here in the Appalachians. She says God took great pleasure in creating this part of Kentucky with its hills and forests and streams. And I agree with her.”

  “Mama always said Cedar Falls was closer to heaven than anywhere else.”

  He leaned back in his chair. “Well, just maybe your mama was right. So, tell me, Kate, what brings you to see me today?”

  I told him I had some questions about my mama and about her dying.

  “Well, we shouldn’t talk about dying without first talking about living.” He scratched his head. Then he asked, “Do you like to read?”

  I nodded. “Yes, sir, I really like to read. I read all the time.” I didn’t tell him I read under the covers with a flashlight late at night. I didn’t figure he needed to know that.

  “Well, Kate, life’s a lot like a book with a setting and characters and a few problems to solve.” Then he asked me about my favorite book and if I remembered the characters and their problems.

  “My favorite is Charlotte’s Web, and how Charlotte saves Wilbur, and how Wilbur gets all sad when she dies.”

  He nodded. “That’s a very good story. I’ll have to read that to Harry.” Harry was his five-year-old son.

  Then he said in a soft, kind voice, “God is kind of like an author, Kate. He writes a story for each of us, and we are the characters in His story. Sometimes God lets us write a little bit of our own story, like choosing someone to be our friend. But God decides who our parents are.”

  I guessed that was what Mama meant when she said God picked me out to be her one and only daughter.

  Then Pastor said, “We get to decide about some things, but God decides when the characters die and go to heaven to be with Him forever.”

  I remembered what Mama told me when we were sitting on that rock above the creek. Faith. Family. Forever. What the pastor said sounded sort of like living happily ever after, but I wasn’t so sure about that part. “I know Mama’s in heaven, but I wonder if she’s very happy without Daddy and Chesler and me.”

  “Oh, your mama’s happy, Kate. She knows the end of the story. She knows one day you’ll all be together again.”

  Talking to Pastor Simmons was better than giving book reports at school, but I didn’t come to talk about books and stories and happy endings. I wanted to talk about dying and about Mama. But before I could say anything, Pastor Simmons said, “Life comes in stages, you know.”

  I knew about stages. For a while, Chesler threw a fit about eating vegetables. Granny Grace told Mama he was just going through a stage and not to worry about it. Sure enough, he got over it once he saw me eating my vegetables and getting dessert as a reward.

  Pastor Simmons said, “I remember when you were born and you couldn’t walk or talk. And when you could walk, you were a toddler, and being a baby ended.”

  I didn’t remember being a baby or a toddler either.

  Then he said, “You grew up more and went off to school. Your next stage will be when you’re a teenager, and then you’ll be a woman and get married and be a mother just like your mama.” He went on and on about stages. Then he said, “The last stage is death, when we leave this world and go to be with God and all our loved ones who’ve gone before us.”

  I bit my lip hard. I didn’t want to cry. I wanted to see Mama, but I was scared to die because I thought it hurt. Mama didn’t seem to hurt; she just slipped away when she died. But with Daddy being an EMT, I knew about car wrecks and bad stuff like that.

  So I asked Pastor Simmons, “Does it hurt to die?”

  Pastor leaned back in his chair. “Well, Kate, did it hurt when you changed from being a baby to being a little girl?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t think so.”

  “Well, you’re getting to be a big girl, and I’m going to be real honest with you.” That’s when he got up out from his desk and came around to my chair. He squatted down in front of me. I didn’t think I was going to like his answer.

  “Sometimes people die in accidents. Sometimes they’re sick for a while like your mama, and sometimes they just get old and their bodies wear out like your grandpa’s did. And sometimes people hurt before they die, but when they die, they’re not sick or hurting anymore. And for your mama, because she chose to invite Jesus into her heart, dying was just like walking through a beautiful door into a perfect new place, a place where nobody has to say good-bye ever again. You don’t like to say goodbye, do you?”

  I nodded again. That didn’t sound so bad. “But what if I grow up and I get old like Grandpa and just wear out? Mama won’t know me when I get to heaven.”

  “Oh, Kate, your mama will know you. The Bible doesn’t tell us all we want to know about heaven, but your mama would know you no matter what because the Bible says so. Would you like to pray now?”

  What I really wanted was to talk to Mama, but I told him I had one more question.

  He got up and rubbed his knees and leaned against the front of his desk.

  “I made this special Christmas present for Mama, but I don’t know where to put it so she’ll get it in heaven. I was kinda hoping you could tell me.”

  He smiled. “Your mama has everything she wants in heaven. You don’t need to give her a present. She knows how much you still love her.”

  “But my present would make her real happy. She could have it forever ’til I get there. There’s just gotta be a way to get presents to heaven. Do you know what it is?”

  He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Kate, I don’t rightly recall anybody ever asking me that question before. Now I’ve read the Bible lots of times, and it doesn’t say one thing
about where to leave Christmas presents for delivery to heaven. I’ll have to think about this one, and if you find out before I do, would you please let me know?” He was still rubbing his eyes when somebody knocked on the door.

  It was Miss Jan. “Kate, time for practice.”

  Pastor said, “You come back to see me anytime, and I’m going to read Charlotte’s Web again because you made it sound so interesting. I enjoyed our little talk.”

  We shook hands, and I left with Miss Jan. Chesler was singing “All Is Well” again while I climbed the steps of the choir risers. I wished singing alleluias made everything all right. If they did, I’d sing all the time.

  I was thinking about when we would get home that night; it would be Chesler’s turn to take the peppermint candy off the Advent calendar. Seven days ’til Christmas. Not nearly long enough to figure out where to leave Mama’s Christmas present so she would get it.

  CHAPTER SIX

  JUST LIKE SHE promised, Granny Grace was parked right outside the front door of the church when choir rehearsal was over. We headed back to the farm with her. When Daddy got off work, he would join us for supper.

  Granny Grace and Grandpa lived in town when they were young. But when Grandpa sold his business and retired, he wanted to live out in the country and have a garden and chickens and goats and guineas. So they bought a farm and built a log cabin a few miles outside of town. Mama said that log house was like the one Grandpa grew up in out in the mountains. He never forgot home, and he never forgot being poor.

  When my grandparents moved to the country, Aunt Susannah Hope was the first in line to inherit their old house in town. Since my aunt and uncle didn’t have any children, they spent all their money and time fixing it up. They had piles of books to show them what an old house ought to look like. When they finished one room, they just went on to the next.