The Unfinished Gift

by Dan Walsh

  “Where’d you get him?” she asked as she cradled him in her arms. She put her hand over his chest. “Heart beatin’ all right, nice and strong. What happened? Where’d he come from?”

  Ezra’s two boys backed away toward the edge of the room, eyes fixed hard on this little stranger come into their home. “Long story, Ruby. I’ll tell you the whole thing you get me something hot to drink. I need to get him and me over by that radiator.” It wasn’t putting out strong heat, but it felt good as a fireplace right now. He smiled as he heard it moan and hiss.

  “Boys, go get the blankets off the bed, put them on your daddy and this little boy.” Ruby walked toward the kitchen. “I already got hot water on the stove, have you some nice hot tea in just a minute. I’m so glad you’re home.”

  Ezra leaned his back against the radiator and pulled the boy up on his lap. As soon as his boys returned, he wrapped the boy in the first blanket, then himself. “You boys yank these boots off your daddy? The little boy’s too.”

  “Yessir,” they both said, and took to it like a wartime mission.

  Ruby came in from the kitchen a few minutes later, carrying a hot cup of tea. “Okay, Ezra. Now you tell me what’s going on here, and how you come to have this boy.”

  He looked to his boys stacking the wet boots by the front door. “I will, Ruby. Just give me a few seconds here to catch my breath. You boys . . . I’m gonna need a few minutes with your mama. You head off to your bedroom, now.”

  “We gotta get to bed?” said Willy, the oldest. “Can’t we hear the story?”

  “It’s way past your bedtime already,” Ruby said. “I only let you stay up to wait on your daddy. Well, he’s home now, so you go on. I’ll be there in a few minutes to say your prayers.” And off they went.

  She picked the two overcoats off the floor. “Now what we got here,” she said, holding his up. “What you got in here?” She started pulling the food out of his pockets. “What in the—”

  “I’ll explain, Ruby. Come over here and sit by me. I don’t want the boys hearing what I gotta say.”

  She reached down and put her hand across the white boy’s forehead. “Don’t feel no fever. What’s his name?”

  “I don’t know. He hasn’t opened his eyes or said a word since I found him.”

  “He unconscious?”

  “I think he’s just sleeping. I think he’ll be okay come morning.”

  Ruby sat on the chair closest to the radiator, looked back at the collection of food he brought home on the table, then down at the boy again. “Okay, Ezra. Start talking.”

  Ezra knew he’d have to tell her everything. She’d like the hero part, about him finding and saving this here boy. But then he’d have to tell her where he found the boy and where this food came from. Dread filled his heart as he thought about the hardest part of the tale, the part where he lost his job. What an awful night this was for his poor Ruby. She’d gone from fretting something awful to joy at his return. And now he was about to plunge her right back into fretting once again.

  And that only two days out from Christmas.

  Thirty-Three

  Collins awoke disoriented. He was in his bed, had a terrific headache, and was still in his clothes. He was lying on top of the bedspread, not under it. And he was cold, so cold. The amount of light coming in the window suggested midmorning, at least. What was going on? He sat up slowly as the events of the night before began to come together in his mind.

  Patrick, where was Patrick?

  Then he remembered. He was gone.

  He remembered working in the attic until 1:00 a.m. carving the wooden soldier, when the police captain called up to him from the second floor. The captain said they were calling off the search until daylight. His men had covered ten square blocks around the house, but no sign of Patrick. The only thing that made any sense is that someone took Patrick in for the night. Come morning, he’d have the men start going house to house. They were sure he’d turn up. Collins wanted to believe him, but he didn’t sound very convincing.

  The captain also informed him two officers had escorted Mrs. Fortini and Miss Townsend next door for the night, and that he’d leave an officer downstairs, in case something unexpected turned up.

  After the captain left, Collins had gone back upstairs to finish the wooden soldier. He didn’t know how long he’d been at it, but he worked until it was done. Then he came down and collapsed on his bed.

  All he needed now was to go back up and paint it. If they did find Patrick today, Collins wanted the soldier completely finished and waiting by the front door. He put on a fresh shirt and noticed out the window that the storm had stopped. The trees were still, the winds had ceased. The snow had blanketed his entire street, smoothing away all the hard edges.

  Directly below he saw deep footprints leading away from the house, but he didn’t see any officers standing or moving around outside. He looked up and down the street; not a soul was in sight. Where the heck are they? he thought. Should be guys all up and down the street, knocking on doors and searching backyards.

  As he buttoned his shirt, he made his way downstairs. Someone had better explain why no one was out looking for his grandson.

  Katherine Townsend had slept but not well. She never slept well when not in her own bed, but all the more with so much on her mind. Last night, Mrs. Fortini had made her something she called a “hot toddy” to help quiet her nerves. It didn’t work. She saw her make it with brandy and lemon, and wanted to tell her to just give her the brandy, keep the lemon.

  She got up from the bed and began changing from a borrowed nightgown to the clothes she’d worn yesterday. A look out the window revealed the storm had ended, but she was shocked at the amount of snow on the ground. It was halfway up her car door. The next shock was that her car was the only car out front, at either house.

  Where were the policemen and firemen from last night? The officer who’d helped them over to Mrs. Fortini’s said they’d all be back at first light. She looked at a clock on the nightstand. It was 9:30 already.

  All right, don’t get mad, she told herself. Maybe they had already come and were out searching on a different block. But then she looked again. The snow in front of the house and out by the street was undisturbed.

  Now she was getting mad.

  She took a quick look in the dresser mirror, brushed her hair a few strokes, then heard someone humming softly in the kitchen. “Mrs. Fortini?”

  “Oh, there you are, Katherine. Care for some coffee?”

  “Huh? Yes, that would be nice. Do you know what’s going on? It’s after 9:30, and I don’t see anything going on out front.”

  “Now, you just sit down over there, and I’ll make you a couple of eggs and toast.”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t think I can eat. I don’t understand why isn’t anyone out looking for Patrick.”

  “In a way, they are,” she said, almost smiling. “I’ve already talked with the police captain almost two hours ago. I decided not to wake you. There really isn’t anything more either of us can do.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “The captain explained a plan they came up with for this morning, and I had to admit, it sounded like a good plan to me.” She set the cup of coffee down in front of her.

  “Okay, I’m listening.”

  “He said the storm brought way more snow than anyone predicted, and it would take his men the better part of a day just to see the houses within a few blocks of here. The cars are all snowed in. You like your eggs fried or scrambled?”

  “What?”

  “Fried or scrambled?”

  “Scrambled is fine.”

  “Anyway, someone had the idea to call everyone. Almost all the homes around here have telephones now. The phone company gave them the numbers of each house, street by street. So he’s put his men on phone duty. The same men who were out searching last night are now calling each house in the neighborhood to see if anyone took Patrick in.”

  Katherine
smiled. It actually was a good idea. “Did he say how long it would take?”

  “He didn’t know; they’ve never done anything like this before. But he sounded very optimistic.”

  “Maybe I could help. I’m good on the phone.”

  “Katherine, have you looked outside? We’re snowed in. Your car is almost buried, and the streets are completely covered.”

  Katherine sighed. “It’s just so hard to sit here doing nothing.”

  “We’re not doing nothing. We’re having a nice breakfast together.”

  “You seem so . . .” She didn’t want to accuse her of not caring. “Relaxed.”

  “In a way, I guess I am. I don’t know what you think about these things, but when I woke up this morning and said my prayers, I got a very strong feeling that everything was going to be okay. I don’t think God is going to take Patrick away from us. He knows how much we can handle, and none of us could handle losing him right now. Least of all Mr. Collins next door.”

  Katherine had a hard time imagining God would do anything out of the ordinary to help that old man. “I wish I felt as secure about this as you.”

  Mrs. Fortini just smiled. “Here you go.”

  She set a nice plate of scrambled eggs and toast in front of her. That and the coffee did seem to quiet her nerves. “Maybe I better call the office, let them know what’s happened.”

  “You could,” said Mrs. Fortini, “but the radio said the whole town is pretty much shut down from the storm. Tell you what you could do, if you have the energy, that is.”

  “Anything.”

  “I’ve got a snow shovel in the basement. Maybe after you eat, could you make a small path between here and next door? Just wide enough for our feet. I’d like to check in on Mr. Collins if we could.”

  What a sweet woman, Katherine thought. When she thought of Collins, the best she could manage was a momentary suppression of rage. “I’d be happy to do that, Mrs. Fortini. The eggs are wonderful, by the way.”

  “Glad you like them.”

  “I hope we hear something soon. I don’t know if I can make it through a whole day without knowing where Patrick is, if he’s doing all right.”

  “Well, let me turn on the radio and see if that helps. They’re supposed to be playing Christmas music all day. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve, you know.”

  Thirty-Four

  “I think he’s waking up.”

  “Is he?”

  “I think so. Hey, little boy, you okay?”

  Patrick felt very strange. He heard a pleasant woman’s voice but didn’t recognize it. He tried to focus, but nothing looked familiar. “Where am I?”

  “You’re at our place,” the woman said. “You had a terrible time last night. You remember anything?”

  Patrick looked up into the smiling face of a colored woman. Beside her was a big colored man, smiling just as much. Then he heard some giggles.

  “You boys stay back,” the man said. “Give him some space, now.”

  Patrick looked to the left of the woman and saw two little colored boys, one about his age, the other a little older. “What’s your name?” the older boy asked.

  “Patrick. Patrick Collins.”

  “I told you he looked Irish,” the man said.

  “Oh, Ezra. Like you so smart,” the woman said. “Over half the folks where you found him be Irish. You hungry,

  Patrick? We let you sleep till you get up on your own. It’s past lunchtime, but we saved you some food.”

  Patrick looked around. It looked like the living room of his apartment on Clark Street, only smaller. And there were no rugs on the floor, and the furniture looked much older and worn. “I guess so,” he answered. But he wasn’t sure what colored folks ate. He had never met any before. His mom had told him about them, how some people treated them badly because they were different. But she said they were just people like us, and God loves everyone the same.

  “You want to go outside and play?” the boy his age asked. “Snowed all last night. We could make a snowman.”

  Patrick loved making snowmen. “I guess so.”

  “Now, you wait a little while,” the woman said to the boy. “Let’s let Patrick have a few minutes to eat and get situated.”

  “But it’ll get dark in just a few hours,” the boy said.

  “Mind your mama,” said the man. “Say, Patrick, how you come to be in that alley last night, by Hodgins’s Grocery? Don’t you got any kin?”

  “They must be worried something awful,” the woman said.

  Patrick didn’t want to talk about it. He looked up at the woman. “What’s your name?”

  “Me? I’m Ruby, and this here is Ezra, my husband. Over there is Joseph, and Willy, our oldest.”

  “Do you have a last name?”

  She laughed. “It’s Jeffries.”

  “How did I get here, Mrs. Jeffries?”

  “I brung you here last night,” Ezra said. “Found you in that alley. Look like you were half dead. You remember how you got there?”

  “I was waiting for a bus, but it never came. Then it got so cold. All the stores were closed. The alley was the only place I could go.”

  “You don’t have a home?” Mrs. Jeffries asked.

  Patrick hesitated, trying to think of what to say. “I guess I was running away.”

  “Why?” Mr. Jeffries asked. “And on a night like that, of all nights.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well, whatever the problem is, I’m sure your mama must be worried sick about now. She won’t know if you dead or alive, I expect.”

  Patrick started to cry, he couldn’t help it. “My mom is already dead,” he said. “In a car wreck, a week ago.”

  “Oh my Lord.”

  “What about your daddy?” asked Mr. Jeffries.

  “He’s away at the war; people are trying to find him.” Then Patrick remembered the telegram and started crying even harder. “But he’s missing. They don’t even know where he is,” he said through his tears.

  “My, my,” Mrs. Jeffries said. She wrapped her arms around his head and drew him near. “You go ahead and cry if you need to, Patrick. I expect I’d be crying myself if I were you. Have half a mind to join you.”

  “But where you staying?” asked Mr. Jeffries. “Somebody must have been lookin’ after you.”

  Patrick heard him but didn’t want to answer. He’d rather stay here with the Jeffries than go back to his grandfather’s. Then he remembered the card Miss Townsend had given him. “I don’t want to go back to where I was staying. But there’s a nice government lady we could call. She was the one I was trying to see last night. Could we call her now? Her name’s Miss Townsend.”

  Both of them made a sad face. “I wish we could,” said Mrs. Jeffries, “but we don’t have a telephone.”

  “We’re gettin’ one soon,” Mr. Jeffries said, “but we just moved up a few months ago from the Carolinas.”

  Mrs. Jeffries gave him a funny look. “Maybe we could call down at the store on the corner, though. Do you know her number?”

  “It’s on a card in my coat pocket.”

  “I don’t know, Ruby. All that snow, I’m thinking no stores be open today. Maybe for a few days.”

  “I know someone’s got a phone,” said Willy. “A boy I was playing with on the next block. His folks got one.”

  “How you know that?”

  “He asked if we had one, said he wanted to call me after the storm, see if we could come out and play.”

  “You know where he lives?” asked Mr. Jeffries.

  “Yep. Right where. Just the next block over.”

  Mr. Jeffries looked at Mrs. Jeffries. “We could do that then, Ruby. Me and Willy can go right now, while the boy eats and gets situated.”

  “Can’t I go too?” Patrick asked.

  “I think you better stay here,” said Mrs. Jeffries. “You had quite a time last night. I don’t want you catching a cold.”

  “Besides,” said Mr. Jeffries, “she ai
n’t gonna be able to come get you, anyway. The streets all snowed in, and the plows don’t come here till they go everywhere else. I just want to let this lady know where you are and that you’re all right.”

  “I sure wish I could talk to her,” said Patrick.

  “You will, probably tomorrow,” said Mrs. Jeffries. “Get you warmed up and well fed today, and they can bring you back to that telephone tomorrow, let you call her yourself.”

  “That would be great.”

  “Does that mean he can go outside and play with me?” asked Joseph. “Since Willy’s going with Pa?”

  “We’ll see about that,” said Mrs. Jeffries. “Let’s let Patrick eat, and see how things go after that.”

  Patrick didn’t know what to make of all this. All he knew was that he already felt much better here than he had the whole time at his grandfather’s. And Miss Townsend would know where he was in a little while, and maybe tomorrow he would see her. He knew once she heard all that happened, she would take him away from his grandfather for good.

  Maybe he could even live with her.

  Thirty-Five

  Ezra hated coming back home to Ruby with more bad news. Willy didn’t mind it a bit. Kids always have it easy like that. Their minds just skip to the next thing, so easy to see the bright side.

  Took almost forty minutes to get to Willy’s friend’s place, the snow being so high. He told them this little white boy’s sad story, and they were happy to let him use their phone. He called this Miss Townsend from that card, and let it ring till the operator said he gotta hang up. Nobody answered, either at the office number or the number she wrote on back. He waited a whole hour, called four different times, just so Ruby and Patrick would know he did his best. But nobody ever answered.

  He had to get back now, before it get completely dark.

  Now it was even colder than before. About the only consolation was he and Willy could walk through the same path in the snow they’d made getting here. But now, he just gonna walk forty more minutes in the cold, just to say it was all a waste of time.