by Sarah Hualde
The meeting had gone well. Kat could lead with her feet on fire. With the flip of an invisible switch, she could become whatever the group needed. She could empathize and encourage, direct, or lecture. Kat was a good leader. But she wasn’t a good liar. When Flora asked what was wrong, Kat had stammered and cried. They prayed together, hugged, and then returned to prepping snacks for the group.
“Maybe I’m just losing my mind.” She retorted. “Maybe, I only imagined the fruit was there, just like I imagined my kids were further ahead than they are.”
“Don’t go there. Your kids are your kids. You know them, and you know what they need. You tell others to take courage and carry on. Tell yourself the same thing.”
“Maybe I could get Lydia to tutor them, once she gets back from Africa?” Flora popped a piece of bread in her mouth and lifted the tray. “But that’s two months more they’ll be behind.”
“Maybe.” Flora munched on a burnt corner of bread. “God will show you what to do. Don’t panic about it now. In the meantime, there’s a room of hungry homeschool mamas just a wall away. I’ll take this into them.” She nodded to the baked goods and headed for the door. “Enjoy Christmas and enjoy your family. Wait until the New Year, to change things up.”
“Enjoy Christmas?” Kat sneered and shook off the sarcasm just as she stubbed her offended foot against the kitchen’s doorframe. She nearly collapsed in a conniption of Kindergarten quality. Someone in the other room played the song Holly Jolly Christmas on their phone. Kat shook her fist at the ceiling cursing both Burl’s and now Bublé’s renditions of the tune. Oh by golly, she despised that song.
With this fresh assault on her already mangled members, she was sure her doctors would keep her on crutches for the entire holiday season. She stopped storming on the carpet, used a barstool to pull herself upright, asked the Lord to forgive her tantrum and strengthen her against the urge to throw another and returned to her awaiting group. Switch flipped.
✽✽✽
Lydia’s feet tangled around Ethan’s ankles. The fireplace flickered and sputtered as the last chunks of fuel surrendered to the flames. Lydia’s eyes were puffy and swollen. Ethan tried to build up his wife’s spirit before leaving for Africa. He ordered Thai food and kept classic movies playing. With only hours left before take-off, they sat watching the embers pop and float up the flue. Ethan’s phone shook. The couple reacted to the incoming text by curling closer to each other. A fresh tear rolled, unannounced across tiny laugh lines and onto Lydia’s cheek. How am I going to handle this, God? Both spouses offered the same soundless question.
✽✽✽
Curled in a ball, wincing and whining, Ivy prayed without words. Her hands dripped, scarlet, and sticky. The blood won’t stop. Dear God, help me, the blood won’t stop.
CHAPTER 6
Lydia chauffeured Kat to her recheck in Ashton. Her generosity gave Thad an extra morning of work and gave Lydia someone to accompany her on the sad drive home from the airport. Her adventure to an African Christmas was canceled before it started.
Ethan comforted his wife, and she put on a brave front for her husband. They both felt the devastation, with the loss of her bag and the ruining of their holiday plans.
Ethan treated each lady to breakfast at the airport hotel before kissing his wife goodbye. Little tears puddled in his hazel eyes and her brown ones. They held each other as long as possible without crumbling into despair. Kat’s presence ballasted the moment, keeping the sorrow at bay.
Lydia smiled at her husband’s back as he entered the elevator. He spun and tossed a kiss in the air. “Please try to make it,” he pleaded. “And Kat,” he hollered into the lobby. “Keep her from being alone and sulky.” Kat nodded and placed a consoling arm around Lydia’s shoulders.
Kat expected a torrent of tears. It was no secret to anyone in Honey Pot, how much hope Lydia placed on her travel to Africa. Many early morning phone calls ended with the comforting phrase, “Only until December.” Now, the empty nester felt her emptiest ever. Depleted and hollow, she had no tears left to cry. Not at the moment, anyway.
“C’ mon,” She chimed instead of sniffled. “Let’s see what’s going on with your foot. We can’t have you limping your way through the season.” Kat smiled, reveling in her friend’s strength.
As expected, they prescribed one more week of crutches. The ankle warranted an awkward blue boot in addition to the bandaging. Kat could walk on the boot. However, for the next few days, she was advised to lean most of her weight into the crutches. No pain medication landed on the prescription pad. She didn’t have time for pain meds, anyway. She had rehearsals to hold every night from tomorrow, December 2nd until the evening of the pageant December 16th. The fuzzy feel good that accompanied pain management would not aide her in saving this year’s Christmas play. She needed all her wits about her.
The ladies partook in a little shopping before returning to town. Neither of them could force enough seasonal spirit to have a good time. When Lydia left Kat in Ethan’s truck to pick up a few groceries, Kat delighted herself in people-watching. With the fresh dawning of December came the rise of ugly Christmas sweaters.
Parked across from the bus depot, she had plenty of material to make a game of tallying sweater ornaments. So far, Rudolph, the Red-nosed reindeer was 13 sweaters ahead of Santa and 22 ahead of Frosty and his snowmen. Lost in her waiting game, she stumbled upon a familiar face, double glanced, and waved at the young woman. The girl squinted in Kat’s direction but didn’t acknowledge her. Instead, she hurried her tottering pace across the street
“See someone you recognize?” The driver’s side door popped open with the crinkling sound of brown paper sacks.
“Ivy, I thought. She didn’t wave back.”
“That’s unlike her. She’s friendly. Then again, she doesn’t normally ditch tutoring either. But she did. Where did you see her?”
“Over by the bus. Not sure if she was coming or going.”
Lydia clicked her tongue. “Just a minute earlier and we could have offered her a ride. Lord knows that girl doesn’t have much money.”
“She probably has a bus pass.”
“True. Here I got you a dirty coke.” The women took long soothing sips of their cold, carbonated cokes and headed back toward home. “Ivy’s a great girl. She’s just living in a difficult situation, “Lydia said. “She lives with her stepdad. Though, he’s rarely home. Though I think she prefers it that way. Not sure why she’s catching a bus.”
“Teenagers aren’t the most sensible creatures. I did far crazier things than ride a bus, to the city, for no reason. Maybe she’s shopping for Christmas.”
“She’s broke, bad broke. I donate my time to tutor her.”
“Why not? You should reward a girl with her persistence for learning.”
“I agree. She’s very bright. She only has trouble with essays. That’s why she comes to see me. I thought she had a huge midterm right after Christmas. It’s odd for her to miss.”
“She probably got swept up in her break. Friends and parties, maybe even a seasonal job.”
“You’re right. Still, remember her in your prayers, okay? I’m worried about her.”
Conversation never led to Ethan and Joan or Christmas alone. Both friends, anxious over their own struggles, didn’t want to burden the drive with crying jags. They kept talk casual as the truck chugged past empty lavender fields and clusters of beehives walled in by bales of hay. The beauty of their county infused the air with the magical ability to calm and re-center even the most distracted mind.
In June, the fields would burst with purple and buzz with honey bees. They would bring visitors from all over the state and even the country. The Hive Bed and Breakfast would reopen and thrive. Farmers Market stalls would grace Honey Pot’s center lawn every Tuesday evening through August. Wedding parties would boost the small town’s economy and summer would float by like a tender breeze after the rain. Even hay fever and Epi-pens couldn’t keep people away.
✽✽✽
Flora burst from the church building in a rush of hippie skirt and a denim jacket. She made it to the smart car before Lydia yanked back the parking brake.
“What is it? Is something wrong?” Joan’s smiling face came crashing to the forefront of Lydia’s mind. An instant later, a familiar purple leather purse waved at the end of Flora’s arm. “Where was it?”
“It was sitting in the nursery, this morning, hanging on the back of the wooden rocking chair.”
Both women laughed with relief and astonishment. Lydia riffled through her bag, cataloging the contents. “It’s here. Wallet. Passport. Credit Cards. Photos. I must’ve misplaced it when I dropped off donations. Though I don’t remember being in the nursery. Thank you, Flora.” She hugged her friend, and they moved inside to Sunday Services.
Kat slid into the pew behind them halfway through the sermon and shook her head. “Don’t ask,” she mouthed. Her friends didn’t. They continued to listen to the lesson. Flora took notes in her spirited script and wept from time to time. Lydia’s hands marked her place while she nodded to the sermon highlights.
“Come have lunch with us,” Flora begged Lydia. “You must not have a lot of food at home. You had been ready to leave the country. Come over and share ours. I can even help you make phone calls. Maybe we can find you a flight to Zambia before Christmas.” Lydia could not refuse. She was desperate to get to her daughter’s side.
“Let me swing home first. I’ll grab my old ticket info and see if we can transfer it over to another flight.”
Lydia opened the door to her house and skipped up the stairs. The quiet wasn’t as oppressive, knowing it may be over. She picked up the manila envelope containing her travel plans.
The phone burst with noise. Lydia yelped. Having a landline was a blessing in the winter when cell service was spotty, but not so much so when one was upstairs, and the only phone was in the kitchen.
She answered as voicemail picked up and spent a few scattered seconds, waiting for the outgoing message to finish. “I’m here, don’t hang up.”
“Hey, babe.” Ethan’s voice was so tired and so comforting, Lydia cried. “I’m here. It’s 9 pm my time, and I’m about to head to bed. Joan will pick me up tomorrow and take me to the orphanage. I’m not sure when we’ll get to talk after that.”
“It’s so good to hear you. How were your flights?”
“Long and lonely. My night in Germany was nice. Then I saw what you’d packed under my shirts.”
Without a single witness, Lydia’s blush deepened as she remembered the nighty. Only four days ago, and she’d already forgotten about it. Awkward that Ethan discovered it alone. She changed the subject, stammering in her embarrassment. “Oh that. Yes. Well. I found my purse!”
“Awesome!”
“It was at the church.”
“We looked there, for hours. Weird.”
“Yes, well, I’ve got it now.”
“Good. Get to Zambia pronto. It feels strange to be here without you. You can also bring that extra cash you had.”
“What cash?”
“The money you picked up for the trip. You went to the bank the same day you got your passport. Remember? I’ve been living on plastic. Speaking of, I wish I could talk to you more. But this phone call is costing a fortune. I love you. I’ll email you when I’m with Joan. God’s with you, my young, hot mama.” She blushed again, sent her love, and hung up the receiver.
Cash? She didn’t remember seeing any money in her purse. But now, she recalled the white deposit envelope filled with twenties. Larger amounts became traveler’s checks. Ethan handled that part, which meant he still had funds with him. She had forgotten all about her withdrawal.
✽✽✽
Yelling vibrated the glass of Flora’s front window. Lydia pretended not to notice and waited to knock until the voices quieted. Kevin opened the garage door and backed down the drive. Ever perched in the passenger seat and Eden sat in the back. He didn’t see Lydia on the front porch. All the better, she wouldn’t want to humiliate anyone. Pieces of nouns and accusatory adjectives escaped under the door jamb. The early guest sat on the porch swing, keeping far out of sight and fidgeting with her turquoise bracelet.
Lydia recognized the tone of a freshly hormonal female. It made her ache for her Joan, but little didn’t these days. What was less familiar was the timber of her gentle friend responding with hollers. The explosion climaxed with a slammed door and a fit of sobbing. Flora’s sniffling got nearer the front door, and she peeped out the window and caught Lydia watching. Instead of shame, Flora’s face tenderized with relief.
“You heard. Isn’t it terrible?” Flora sat beside Lydia on the swing. “I’m sorry to keep you out here longer, but I’ve got to calm down. Refocus. I don’t know what’s happening.”
“She’s twelve,” Lydia soothed. “Hormones can make people do crazy stuff. They’re not an excuse, but they are a pain to tame. Especially right at the beginning. It’ll get better.”
“I know, I know. I mean hormones are my job. My mind knows, but my heart wasn’t ready. And the worst of it is me. I’m losing it like she does and then raising her one.” Sniffling, stretching, and standing she escorted her friend indoors and brewed a fresh pot of coffee.
Kevin returned with lettuce and ice cream. Eden hugged Lydia shaking her curly-haired head in disgust. “We didn’t need lettuce. Dad didn’t want us watching sister and Mom fight, again.”
“Oh?” Kevin’s shoulders tightened, as Lydia received Eden’s report.
“At least she didn’t barf this time,” Eden added and scampered off to play.
“There’s no privacy in this house.” Kevin apologized, to his wife, who shrugged and hugged his neck.
“I think Lydia got the worst parts, anyway. “
“I’ve had a preteen before,” Lydia said. She sipped her black coffee, added coconut sugar, and chugged more.
After a lovely dinner of shepherds’ pie and salad, including homemade buns and butter, everyone under the age of thirteen left to pursue their own Sunday delights. Kevin set up his laptop, ready to aid his guest’s quest for plane tickets. Flora manned the landline and Lydia attacked the problem from her cell.
✽✽✽
“I was there, right where you told me to be.” Ivy’s chin wrinkled as she staved off tears. The blonde menace in a green hoodie pushed closer. He jerked his hand into the air and laughed when Ivy shrunk in response.
“You should’ve waited.”
“I would’ve missed my ride.” She reasoned, shifting closer to the wall behind her. She had nowhere to run and no one around the help. If she screamed, her aggressor would grow more anxious and angry. She could not bear his wrath. Not again.
Hoodie man shrugged and laughed. “Not my problem. But my information is yours.” He shoved his forehead onto hers forcing her neck back and pushing her against the rough stucco. “You will keep quiet. I know that, now. But will I?” He backed away, relieving the pressure in her spine but causing her stomach to roll in panic. She swallowed back bile and willed herself to form words.
“You wouldn’t! You know they’d put me away! Please, please don’t.” Again, the man laughed.
“One little phone call,” His cellphone jumped between his palms. Ivy whimpered against her will.
“Just take the money and go. I’m no threat.” Greedy hands dug through her backpack. He pocketed what cash he found and even took her last energy bar.
“Don’t make me come back.” After tossing her bag at her feet, he turned and walked away whistling.
Ivy sunk to the cold ground. She’d watch him drive away. If he spotted her hideout, she’d never get rid of him. Her red and swollen eyes tracked him, from the sidewalk, as he picked the pocket of a holiday shopper before sliding into the seat of his ride and peeling away.
✽✽✽
Three hours later, the kiddos had demolished dessert. Kevin lit the fireplace. Flora stirred a warming pot of apple
cider, and Lydia propped her head up in her hands. Elbows chiseled into the tabletop, lower back aching, and all dreams of an African Christmas dashed. She recalled her purse story and the missing money, asking if perhaps Flora had heard anything about her missing envelope.
“I don’t know, Lyds,” Flora said as Kevin sat back at the dining table. “It doesn’t seem like you, leaving your purse behind. Not when so much was in it. You’re much more organized than that. Kevin thinks someone snatched your purse. I’ve told him about the fruit tray from small group, the quilts from the club, your purse, and now the water well money.”
“Not the Sunday school donations? Those kids have worked hard to collect that money.”
“The jar and all, missing. No way it’s coincidental.”
“That’s a lot of thefts from one tiny church building in one small town. I can’t think of anyone who had access to all of those. Except for us.”
“That’s what I said.” Flora set steamy mugs on the lazy Susan.
“But we do have a lot of families and teens we’re not familiar with, running in and out of the building at Christmastime. Maybe...”
“What a sad thought.” Lydia soaked in the cider, down to the gooey cinnamon sediments. She dreaded her cell phone ringing. Soon, she’d have to relay the awful news to Ethan. Until New Year’s Day, all flights to Africa remained overbooked.
CHAPTER 7
Kat was pulling her hair out, literally. It wiggled from the seam of her car door. Rushing to yet another pageant meeting, she barely missed smashing her cranium on the doorframe.
“Biscuits!” Sam and Jess startled and put headphones on. Mom’s behavior suggested an oncoming storm of crazy, and they wanted no part. Kat opened the door, flicked the plucked hairs from the panel, tossed them onto the lawn, and slammed the door. She drove to the B.F.F., unaware her favorite coat was the latest victim of her over-scheduled haste.
The Mission Youth House dinner was in four hours. Pageant practice would take up three hours, and she still needed to collect the donation gifts and clothes from the pantry at the B.F.F. and the Church of Christ. Kat’s stomach hollered and churned. She could not remember the last time she ate. Swinging into the parking lot, she dug through her messenger bag, looking for her emergency almonds. Empty wrappers and fuzzy mints greeted her fingertips. She cursed and chucked the mints into her mouth. She hoped they were dressed in purse lint and not tissue remnants. Either way, they were all she had to keep her hunger at bay.
