by Fannie Flagg
Frances said, “Mildred, I hope you are not too upset. Maybe it was for the best that you saw him.”
“I’m not upset at all, I feel great.”
After Mildred left, Frances thought about how strange life had turned out for Mildred. At age fifty-one she was finally over Billy Jenkins once and for all. Now maybe, just maybe, she would be able to see how nice Oswald really was. Not only was he nice, he had talent. Maybe there was hope for the two of them after all. Frances had grown very fond of Oswald in the past weeks and could not think of anybody she would rather have as a brother-in-law. She immediately put on her thinking cap about how to help things along. It wasn’t meddling. Everybody needs a little help, she thought.
Frances was planning another dinner party for Oswald and Mildred as soon as she and Oswald got back from their next trip to Atlanta, but something much more important came up. When they went to visit, Amelia told Frances once more that she was very pleased with Patsy’s progress; she was getting better every day. Then she said, “But I know from experience when a child has something to look forward to it makes all the difference in the world, and all she talks about is going home to see her friend Jack.” Frances’s heart sank when she heard that, and Oswald felt sick. Frances did not tell Amelia that the bird was dead, but it was just a matter of time before Patsy would be coming home and going into the store expecting to find Jack. When he had died so suddenly they had all been worried about how it would affect her before she had her operations. Now they had another dilemma on their hands.
When the two of them arrived home, a special meeting of the Polka Dots was called and Oswald was invited to attend, the second male ever to be invited. Frances felt he had earned the right if Patsy was going to be discussed.
Dottie spoke first. “We can’t let her come all the way home and then when she gets here tell her he’s dead, we have to at least warn her or something.”
“Maybe we should just bite the bullet and go ahead and tell her the truth,” said Mildred.
“What truth?” asked Frances. “That all the hard work she’s been doing, thinking she was going to get to come home and see Jack, was for nothing?”
Betty said, “Listen, she still has six more weeks of therapy left. Maybe if we tell her just a little something now to soften the blow, it won’t be so hard on her.”
Mildred asked, “How can you soften the blow, tell her he’s sick?”
Oswald spoke up. “No, we can’t do that. I know Patsy and that would only worry her.”
“He’s right,” said Frances.
After much discussion, they finally decided what they would do. A letter would be written as soon as possible and because of her literary background, Dottie would be the one to write it. And her nurse Amelia, the one Patsy liked so much, would be the one to read it out loud to her.
After it was finished, Butch got in his truck and drove it to Atlanta, hand-delivered it to Amelia Martinez, and then turned around and ran like a bandit. That afternoon after therapy, Amelia sat by Patsy’s bed and read the letter out to her.
Dear Patsy,
I am writing to you on behalf of all your friends here in Lost River to tell you the most wonderful news! Not more than a week after you left a man came into the store and took a look at Jack. As it turned out, the man was a top veterinarian who specialized in treating injured birds. After examining Jack, he told Roy he could fix that wing and he took Jack to his clinic and did just that, like your doctor did for you. When he came back you can imagine how happy we all were to see Jack flying around the store as good as new. We all wanted to wait until you came home so you could be there with us when we set him free, but the doctor said it was best to let him go now. After we knew he was nice and strong and had fully recovered, we all gathered at the store, and when Roy opened the door he flew straight to the very top of the big cedar tree across the street. And oh, Patsy, how we all wished you could have been there with us to see it! Jack looked so happy to be free and flying around way up in the sky, and to be back in nature again, among his friends. Just as happy as all of us here will be to have you back, among all your friends who love you. I know we will all miss not seeing Jack at the store anymore, but the other day Mrs. Underwood said she saw him looking fat and healthy sitting on a branch with a lady friend, so perhaps we may see a bunch of little Jacks flying around here in the near future. We all hope you will be home very soon and, just like Jack, be healthy, happy, and as good as new!
Best wishes from Dottie and
all your friends at Lost River
Neither Sybil Underwood nor anyone else had spotted a redbird since Jack died, but Dottie said, “I’ll just have to believe the Good Lord will forgive me for lying just this once. And if He doesn’t, then He’s not half the man I thought He was.”
After Amelia read the letter to Patsy, she said, “Well, that’s good news, isn’t it? Your little bird friend is all cured and well, just like you are going to be. Aren’t you happy?” But Patsy did not look happy. She looked worried and upset. She remembered exactly what Roy had said about why Jack should not be outside and it scared her.
“Oh, Amelia, you don’t think a hawk or an owl will get him, do you?” And then, for the first time since she had come to the hospital, she started to cry.
Amelia was alarmed. “What’s the matter?” she asked.
“I want to go home. I want to see Jack.”
A couple of weeks later Frances was in the kitchen when the phone rang.
“Mrs. Cleverdon, this is Dr. Glickman.”
“Yes, Doctor?”
“I’m afraid we’ve had a little setback here. I think you need to get to Atlanta as soon as possible.”
Frances and Oswald left Lost River at 5 A.M. the next morning and were sitting in Dr. Glickman’s office by 11:30.
“What happened?” asked Frances.
“Well, the main problem is, she’s not progressing. If anything she seems to be getting worse. We’ve done everything we can, but it’s almost as if she’s lost her will to get better, and without that, all the medicine and therapy in the world is not going to help.”
“Oh, no, what can we do?”
“At this point, for you people to spend what you are spending to keep her here is a waste, so I’m recommending that you take her home for a while, give her a rest.”
Oswald said, surprised, “Is she ready to leave?”
“No, physically she is not ready; she needs much more therapy if she is going to improve beyond the point where she is today. I don’t like to release a patient who is not fully healed, but in this case it seems Patsy no longer cares about improving . . . and she was doing so well. Do you have any idea what might have caused this?”
Frances looked at Oswald and then at the doctor. “I think she’s just heartbroken over that bird.”
“Are you talking about the bird in the picture she has?” asked the doctor.
Oswald said, “Yes, it was a little crippled redbird.”
He brightened a little. “Well, maybe a visit with him could cheer her up. We can try, at least. Is there any way we could get the bird here?”
“No,” said Oswald. “That’s the problem. The bird died.”
“Oh, I see,” said Dr. Glickman. “And you told her?”
Frances said, “No, we were afraid to tell her the truth so we lied and told her a veterinarian fixed him and he flew away. I wish we hadn’t but we did.”
Oswald said, “We didn’t know what else to do.”
Dr. Glickman looked at the two distraught people across the desk. “Don’t be too hard on yourselves. At least for the time being she can still think he’s alive somewhere. That’s something for her to hang on to. Then maybe after some time passes she’ll get over it and we can get her back up here and finish what we started.”
“How much time?” asked Frances.
Dr. Glickman shook his head. “Not much, I’m afraid. My concern is that without continuing therapy the muscles will weaken, the leg will start
to move back into the old position, and all our work will have been for nothing. Let’s hope we can get her back right after Christmas.”
Patsy, looking thinner than the last time they saw her, was so excited when they told her she was going home she could hardly wait to leave. Amelia was sorry to see her go but helped get her packed up. As they wheeled her out to the car, Amelia waved goodbye and hoped Patsy would be back, but she wondered if she would ever see her again.
Patsy chattered happily to her picture of Jack all the way to Lost River, and Oswald and Frances both felt terrible.
When she got home she was still weak and could not walk very far. She had to stay inside most of the time. Everybody did everything they could to cheer her up, but all she wanted to do was look for Jack. Frances tried to reason with her. “Darling, Jack is probably way off somewhere, busy with his own family, and he might not ever come back.”
But Patsy would not be convinced. “Mr. Campbell says if you want something really really bad it will happen, and I want to see Jack really really bad.”
Patsy woke up each day thinking she would see him and was disappointed when she didn’t, but she did not say so. On the days it rained, she sat in her room looking out the window hoping to get a glimpse of him. Frances could not tell her the truth. Dr. Glickman said it was good to have hope, even if it was only false hope. Christmas was coming and Frances was hoping for something as well: She was hoping that Christmas would be a distraction for Patsy and help get the bird off her mind once and for all. She told Mildred, “This will be Patsy’s first Christmas with us, and I don’t care what anybody says, I’m going to spoil her to death.” Day after day Claude came up the river and delivered Christmas packages for Patsy sent from every store that had a catalog. Stuffed animals, books, games, and clothes arrived every day, and Mildred, who did some sewing occasionally, was busy making a dozen monkey-sock dolls for her bed.
Three days before Christmas, after the Mystery Tree had been decorated, Dottie called and said, “Frances, I need to see you right away.” Frances walked into the post office and Dottie, looking grim, handed her a letter she had just pulled out of the letters-to-Santa-Claus box. Frances recognized the childish scrawl immediately.
Deer Santa Klause,
Please let me see Jack. I am sacred he is hurt. I do not want any presents. I have been a good girle I poromise. I am living at Mrs. Cleveaton’s now. It is the blue hose by the post offiec.
Love your firend Patsy
The first Christmas Eve dinner at the community hall with her own child was not as happy as Frances had imagined. There was a pall on the entire evening. When Santa called her child up to receive her present it would not be the one thing she wanted most in the world. What was so heartbreaking for Frances and Oswald as well was that she wanted something that neither of them could give her.
Even the tree lighting that year was a bust. When Butch flipped the switch, there was a brief flare, a pop, and then nothing. When they left, Butch was still trying to fix it. But despite the tree fiasco, Patsy was cheerful on the way home. She didn’t tell anyone, but she believed with all her heart that she was going to see Jack tomorrow and she could hardly wait. She fell asleep with his picture in her hand.
Another Christmas
CHRISTMAS MORNING, PATSY woke up early and came in the kitchen already dressed for the day, so excited that she told Frances, “I’m going to see Jack today, I know I will!”
Frances winced. “Now, honey, don’t get your heart too set on it, you don’t know that he’s not off somewhere with his own family. Don’t you want to open your presents? It’s Christmas morning!”
“Can I do it later? After I’ve seen Jack?”
“But, sweetheart, you’re supposed to open them on Christmas morning. If I had that many presents I just couldn’t wait another minute. Mildred is coming up here to see you later. Besides, I don’t think you’re strong enough yet to be out all by yourself.” But Patsy was not listening, and as soon as she ate her breakfast she was out the door with her presents left unopened.
When Mildred arrived, Frances was alone in the living room looking upset and worried.
“Where’s Patsy?”
“She’s gone off looking for Jack. She left here an hour ago saying she was sure she was going to see him today.”
“Oh, no. Somebody’s got to tell her the truth; you can’t let that little girl wander around all day thinking she’s going to see that bird.”
“Well, if you want to break her heart on Christmas, go ahead. I can’t. We should have done it sooner. But I just thought she’d get over it. Forget about him.”
Mildred went to the window and looked out. “Ohh . . . there she is, over in Betty’s backyard. I’ll tell you, Frances, this is the worst Christmas I can ever remember. This is what we get for lying. I’ll never do it again.” She turned around and looked at Frances with some alarm. “If she ever finds out what we did she’s going to grow up and hate us. She’ll be scarred for life! Maybe she’ll turn out to be a criminal. She could flip out and come back someday and murder us all in our beds for this, and it will be all our fault.”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Mildred, you’ve got to stop reading those trashy novels. Things are bad enough as it is without you making them worse.”
But even the day seemed sad. The sky was gloomy and overcast. The usual Christmas blue skies and sunshine had deserted them.
Next door, Oswald sat in his room thinking about what an odd concept time was and how it never seemed to be just right. There was either too much of it or never enough. Before his doctor’s prognosis, time had been just a round circle ticking on his wrist to check now and then, to see if he was late or early. Looking back on his life now, it seemed most of his time had been spent waiting for something to happen. As a kid, waiting to be adopted. Waiting to grow up. Waiting to get over some cold or for some broken bone to heal. Waiting to meet the right girl, find the right profession, find a little happiness, some reason to live, until his time was up. Now the waiting was over and he had never found one thing he had been looking for until he found painting, and it had come too late. Somebody had sure handed him the short stick in life. And this year, probably his last, Patsy, just as he had, was also waiting for something that was never going to happen. He had watched her from his window walking around in the yard, looking for a dead bird she was never going to see, and it made him mad. This kid was going to have her heart broken. He was one thing, he was tough, but she didn’t deserve it. He sat looking at the painting he had worked on all year, of Patsy and Jack on their birthday. He had wanted to give it to her for Christmas, but again it was too late. She didn’t want a picture, she wanted to see the real Jack, and he wanted to get drunk. He knew all the dangers of picking up that first drink but he didn’t care. He couldn’t bear the pain of having to watch Patsy grow up and realize that nothing is real. There is no God. No Santa Claus. No happy endings. Things die. Nothing lasts.
And there was not a damn thing he could do to spare her from any of it. Even if there had been a God, that morning he wanted to punch Him in His great big liar’s nose.
That afternoon Oswald hitchhiked over to Lillian, walked into the VFW bar, and took a stool next to a man in a John Deere cap drinking a Budweiser. Sitting in the dark room full of cigarette smoke and the smell of stale beer and the sound of the jukebox playing bad music, he began to feel that old familiar feeling. He was back where he should be. He was finally home.
He motioned to the bartender. “I’ll have a Bud, and give my friend here one on me.”
The guy said, “Well thanks, buddy. Merry Christmas.”
Oswald Campbell said, “Merry Christmas to you too, buddy.”
Frances had waited all day for Patsy to come home. By four-thirty that afternoon, when it was just starting to get dark, she gave up waiting, went out to look for her, and finally found her in the woods behind the store. The store was closed on Christmas Day but with great effort, Patsy had somehow managed to make
it all the way up there, thinking that this is where Jack might be.
“Honey, you need to come on home now. You’re not strong enough yet to be out this long. It’s turned chilly, and you don’t even have a sweater on. You know the doctor doesn’t want you to catch cold.”
But Patsy would not give up. She wanted to keep looking as long as there was even a little daylight left. “Can’t I stay out just a little bit longer? Please?”
Frances could not bear to make her come in. “All right, just a little while. But put this on for me.” Frances took off her pink sweater, put it on Patsy, and buttoned it up. “I want you home by dark. Do you hear me?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You still have your presents to open. Have you forgotten that?”
“No, ma’am.”
She looked so small and frail, standing there in the pink sweater down to her knees, that Frances almost burst into tears on the way home.
Mildred was right. This was the worst Christmas she had ever been through in her life.
About an hour later, Frances heard Patsy coming up the steps and greeted her at the door. She had turned on all the Christmas lights and had hot chocolate and cookies ready for her. “Well, here you are. Santa Claus has left you a whole bunch of things, you better come in and see what they are. Won’t that be fun?” Frances had hoped that the presents would cheer her up, and Patsy tried her best to act surprised and happy at each gift she opened. But Frances could see that nothing, not the dolls, the stuffed animals, the games, or the new clothes, could mask her disappointment. For Patsy, the thing that really mattered was that Christmas had come and was almost gone, and she had not seen Jack.
