The Little Sparrows

by Al Lacy

  Traynor shook his head slowly. “Not yet. I’m hoping and praying that there will be by morning. I’m going to leave now, and let you ladies get some sleep.”

  When the doctor was gone, Ellen put an arm around Emma as she stood over her daughter’s bed. “Let’s have prayer first, Emma.”

  At dawn on Sunday morning, Emma awakened to see Ellen rising from her cot. Jody’s mother had experienced only short snatches of sleep during the night. Her eyes were red and bleary with fatigue as she looked up at Ellen. “Emma, Jody’s still unconscious. I’m going to the house to make breakfast. You just lie here and rest. I’ll be back with a tray for you in a little while.”

  When Ellen had left the room, Emma rose from the cot and made her way to the washroom. She washed her face, tidied her hair as well as possible, and tried to smooth some of the wrinkles out of her pale yellow cotton dress.

  Upon entering Jody’s room once again, Emma found Dr. Traynor listening to Jody’s heartbeat with a stethoscope. Ellen had a breakfast tray on the cart in front of Emma’s chair.

  Ellen smiled at Emma. “Come, dear. Eat your breakfast.”

  Emma thanked her for the breakfast, then sat down on the chair. The strong coffee helped to revive her. While eating, she kept an eye on the doctor, who was checking Jody’s pulse with Ellen at his side. When he finished with the pulse, he bent low over her and pushed the eyelids open.

  Emma cringed when she caught sight of her daughter’s glazed eyes, which seemed to stare into nothingness. The doctor held the eyes open for several minutes while studying them carefully. When he let them close, his shoulders stiffened.

  Ellen looked up into his gray face. Before she could whisper a question, Emma said, “What is it, Doctor? What’s wrong?”

  The doctor turned slowly. “She’s gone into a coma, Emma.”

  Emma blinked. “A coma? I … I’ve heard of people being in comas, but I don’t really understand. What does that mean?”

  At that instant there was a tap on the door, and when it opened, Joyce Adams appeared. “Dr. Traynor, Mr. Claiborne is here. Pastor and Mrs. Forbes are with him, as well as Betty and her parents.”

  “All right, Joyce. Tell them I’ll be out in a few minutes. I’m going to put a fresh bandage on Jody’s head, then I’ll bring Emma with me.”

  Joyce nodded, and was gone.

  Dr. Traynor put kind eyes on Emma. “I’ll wait to explain about the coma when I can tell you, Sam, and your friends at the same time.”

  Emma was squeezing her hands together until the knuckles were shiny white. “Does this mean she is going to die?”

  The doctor shook his head. “Not necessarily, Emma. Many people who slip into comas come back out of them. Let me change this bandage, and we’ll go out and talk to Sam and the others. Ellen will stay here with Jody.”

  A few minutes had passed when the doctor and Emma left the room and went out to the office and the waiting area.

  Sam saw the uneasy look in their eyes. He rushed to Emma and took her hand. “Is it bad?”

  She looked up into his face, which was haggard from loss of sleep. Concern was etched in every line. “I’m not sure exactly, dear. Dr. Traynor is going to explain it.”

  Sam nodded, then kissed her pale cheek. “Did you rest at all?”

  “I … well, I snatched a few winks here and there.”

  The doctor spoke to Pastor Dan Forbes and Clara, Mike and Natalie Houston, as well as Betty. All were his patients, and he knew them well. They all sat down in the waiting area, and Dr. Traynor sat down facing them.

  “I just did an examination on Jody. I was so hoping that she would regain consciousness by this morning, but it’s worse. I told Emma before we came out here that Jody is now in a coma.”

  Sam’s features were pinched and gray. “Tell us what this means, Doctor. I, at least, know very little about comas.”

  Dr. Traynor adjusted himself on the chair. “A coma is a deep state of unconsciousness from which a person cannot be aroused even by stimuli that would give them pain. If they’re just unconscious, they can be stimulated to consciousness if physical pain is induced. Sometimes even cold water splashed in their face will bring them around. They also will respond to certain commands. But a person in a coma does not respond to any kind of command.

  “I don’t want to frighten you, but I must be honest about this. Coma is the result of damage to the brain stem or the cerebrum, or both. The cerebrum is that part of the brain that contains higher nervous centers than the stem. This damage can be from a blow to the head—which Jody had—or by cardiac arrest, stroke, shock, or hemorrhage.”

  Emma was taken aback at the doctor’s words. Clara and Sam both tightened their grip on her hands.

  “Let me tell you this. Medical science is constantly learning more about coma. They now know that there are various depths of coma, which medical researchers in Switzerland have recently discovered. The nature of the injury determines the depth of the coma. Survival and prognosis depend on the extent of the damage. Sometimes it is very difficult to say whether a person will come out of the coma—and one day awaken—or will die in that state.”

  Pastor Dan Forbes leaned forward on his chair. “Doctor, in your opinion, what are Jody’s chances of coming out of the coma?”

  Traynor wiped a palm over his face. “Pastor, I can only guess. We physicians read the depth of the coma mostly by studying the eyes of the patient. The heartbeat and the pulse can tell us a lot, but it’s the eyes that tell us the most. I dealt with comas as an army doctor in the Civil War, and my experience in this realm tells me that Jody’s chances of awakening are not good.”

  Emma gasped.

  Sam stiffened.

  The doctor took a deep, shaky breath. “I wish I could be more optimistic, but based on my experiences in dealing with soldiers in comas, I must come to this conclusion: Jody’s eyes don’t look good at all. The percentage of people as deep as she is, of ever coming out of it, is very small.” Tears misted his eyes. “I’m sorry I can’t give you more hope.”

  Sam pulled Emma’s head tight against his chest and held it there as she began to drop silent tears.

  Pastor Forbes said, “We must bathe Jody in prayer.”

  Traynor nodded. “Yes, Pastor. Only God can bring Jody back to her parents and friends, if this is His will. He … He may want her in heaven with Him.”

  “The only way we can pray in this matter,” said the pastor, “is that the Lord will do whatever will bring Him the most glory.”

  The doctor nodded his agreement, then turned to Sam and Emma. “My experience with comas has taught me that the patient can be kept alive for a matter of a few weeks by feeding them broth and giving them water. Most coma patients will swallow whatever liquid is put in their mouth. If Jody does this, her chances of coming out of it are better.”

  Emma lifted her head from Sam’s chest and drew a shuddering breath. “Doctor, how often should Jody be fed the broth?”

  “Five or six times a day, since only small amounts can be given at a time. She should be given water at least a dozen times a day.” He added quickly, “It will be best if Jody is kept here at the clinic so the other doctor or one of the nurses can keep watch on her at all times.”

  Emma nodded. “Doctor, I know the nurses can’t stay up all night, and neither can either of you doctors. I will have Sam bring me into town every evening so I can stay with Jody all night and give her water and broth during that time. I’ll catch my own sleep during the daytime.”

  Clara Forbes spoke up. “Emma, that will still be too much for you. An every-night vigil could put you down. I’ll alternate nights with you.”

  “Tell you what,” said Natalie Houston, “I’ll take my turn too. Let’s make it every third night intervals.”

  Betty shook her head. “Every fourth night. I’ll do my part. School’s out next week, so I’ll be able to do it, starting next Thursday.”

  Emma’s eyes were misty. “Thank you, Clara. Thank you, Natal
ie. Thank you, Betty. I appreciate your willingness to help, and the sacrifice it’s going to be on the part of each of you to do so. God bless you.”

  Clara took hold of Emma’s hand. “We wouldn’t have it any other way, dear. That’s what Christian friends are for. When one of our own is hurting, we should do everything we can to ease that pain. And always remember, Emma: God’s grace can make our peace greater than our pain.”

  Emma squeezed her hand. “Thank you for reminding me, Clara. You are so right. We have a wonderful God whose grace is immeasurable and whose way is always best.”

  “Amen,” said Pastor Dan Forbes. “I’ll get more volunteers from among the ladies in the church to stay with Jody at night. Then no one will get worn down by it.”

  “I appreciate your willingness to do that, Pastor,” said Emma.

  Dr. Traynor turned to Dan Forbes. “If you don’t get enough help from the ladies in your church, Pastor, I’ll try to get some of the ladies in our church to help.”

  Forbes nodded. “I appreciate that, Doctor, more than I can tell you. But I think we’ll get enough help from among our ladies. If not, though, I’ll let you know.”

  “You do that.”

  “You can count on it. Dr. Traynor?”

  “Yes?”

  “Would it be all right if all of us go into Jody’s room to pray over her?”

  “Certainly. Let’s go.”

  John Traynor led the group into the room where Jody Claiborne lay in a coma.

  The eyes of the Forbeses and the Houstons were fixed on Jody as they drew up to the bed. Betty leaned down and kissed Jody’s forehead. “I love you, Jody. Please come back to us.”

  This brought tears to every eye.

  Pastor Forbes said, “Let’s make a circle around the bed and join hands. You too, Dr. Traynor. We want you in on this.”

  When the circle was formed, Pastor Forbes led in prayer, asking the Lord to leave Jody in this world with her family and friends unless He could get more glory to His name by taking her home.

  When he finished praying, Sam Claiborne turned to him. “Pastor, I know you understand that Emma and I feel we should stay here with Jody, so we won’t be in church today.”

  Forbes smiled. “Of course I understand, Sam. The Lord understands, too.”

  In Manhattan, New York, on Monday, May 25, Josie Holden arrived at the tenement house from school at 3:45 in the afternoon. When she stepped into the foyer, the landlord and his wife—both in their early sixties—were in conversation with a couple Josie did not know.

  Myrtle Bailey said, “Hello, Josie. I’d like to introduce you to Mr. and Mrs. Claxton. They’ll be moving into apartment 22, just down the hall from you. Mr. and Mrs. Claxton, this is Josie Holden. She and her father live in apartment 28.”

  Josie adjusted the small pack that bore her schoolbooks and curtsied. “I’m glad to meet you.”

  The Claxtons both smiled, and the lady asked, “How old are you, dear?”

  “I’m twelve, ma’am.”

  Frank Bailey chuckled. “And let me tell you, Mrs. Claxton, this little gal is quite the tomboy. She can throw a baseball as far and as straight as any boy in this neighborhood.”

  Mrs. Claxtons smile widened. “Really?”

  “Really,” said Bailey. “And she’s quite the wrestler, too. She can pin almost every boy in the neighborhood who’s her age or older.”

  Josie’s face tinted. “Now, Mr. Bailey, I can only pin the boys who are my age, or some of them who are thirteen or fourteen. But not those who are fifteen or older.”

  Mr. Claxton laughed. “Well, Miss Josie Holden, remind me to stay on your good side. I’m only fourteen!”

  Josie laughed, as did the others. Then looking at the Baileys, she said, “Well, I need to get upstairs to the apartment. Since Papa doesn’t get home from work till six o’clock, I don’t need to start supper for another hour and a half. So after I put my books away, I’m going down to the playground. The boys are about to start a baseball game.”

  “Well, far be it from us to keep you from that game!” Bailey said.

  Josie told the Claxtons she was glad to meet them, then hurried up the stairs.

  Five minutes later, when she came back downstairs, the Baileys and the Claxtons were no longer in the vestibule. She ran down Canal Street to the next block where the neighborhood boys had two team captains who were choosing boys to be on their respective teams.

  When one of them spotted Josie coming across the playground toward them, he said he wanted her on his team. The other captain immediately argued, saying he wanted Josie on his team. Josie laughed and waited while one of the captains flipped a coin. The team leader who had called tails won the toss, and Josie joined his team.

  The game was over shortly before it was time for Josie to go home and start supper. The team she had played on had won the game. Her teammates—all boys—cheered her because on offense, she had knocked two home runs, and on defense, she had helped make a double play.

  The boys on her team were still cheering her when she headed down the street toward home.

  As Josie drew near the tenement, she saw Frank Bailey talking to a well-dressed man. She did not recognize him. Myrtle was standing with them.

  On the front steps of the tenement house, Frank Bailey glanced up the street. “Here she comes.”

  Myrtle’s face pinched. “Oh, I wish this horrible accident hadn’t happened. Poor little thing. What’s she going to do?”

  Bailey shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  Josie was smiling as she neared the porch steps, and since the eyes of all three were on her, she smiled at the Baileys. “Guess what! My team won!”

  Frank cleared his throat. “Uh … Josie, this gentleman is here to talk to you.”

  Puzzlement etched itself on the girl’s features as she looked up at the stranger.

  His face was pale as he said, “Josie, I’m Wash Roebling.”

  “Oh, you’re my papa’s boss at the Roebling Construction Company.”

  Roebling’s throat tightened, and while he was trying to speak, Myrtle stepped up beside Josie and put an arm around her. Josie glanced at Myrtle, then looked back at her father’s employer.

  Roebling cleared his throat and swallowed hard. “Josie, there was an accident on the construction site at the Brooklyn Bridge just after two o’clock. Your—your father fell from a scaffold, and—and, well, he was killed.”

  Josie’s mouth fell open and her eyes widened. She shook her head in disbelief. “No! It can’t be! Not my papa! He can’t be dead. No! No-o-o!” Her voice went into a wail. “No-o-o! It isn’t so-o-o!”

  She burst into tears, and her knees gave way. Myrtle held onto her, keeping her from falling.

  “Oh, Mrs. Bailey, what am I going to do? There was only Papa and me!” Josie’s voice raised hysterically. “What is going to happen to me? I’m only twelve years old! I have no one!”

  Myrtle held her close, saying only, “There, there, honey.”

  While Myrtle attempted to calm the grieving child, her husband looked at Wash Roebling and said, “Curtis was to pay this week’s rent when he came home today. He always paid us on Mondays. I … I’ve got to rent the apartment to someone else as soon as possible.”

  Roebling reached into his pocket and took out a wad of currency that was folded under a money clip. “How much is the rent?”

  “Three dollars a week.”

  Roebling took out six one-dollar bills and handed them to him. “This will take care of the rent for last week and next week. After that, you’ll have to decide what to do about the girl.”

  Josie had observed the transaction. Sniffling, she said, “Thank you, Mr. Roebling.”

  “I’m glad to do it, Josie. And I’m very sorry about what happened to your father. He was a good worker, and I’ll miss him. I … I told Mr. and Mrs. Bailey what funeral home picked up your father’s body.”

  Josie wiped tears. “So there will be a funeral for Papa?”

/>   “My company will pay for the coffin, the burial plot, the digging of the grave, and the burial, but not embalming or a funeral service. His body will be buried at the cemetery on 116th Street, which is the least expensive on Manhattan Island. I will see to it that an inexpensive grave marker is put on the grave.”

  Josie nodded. “Thank you, sir.”

  “You’re welcome. I informed the Baileys that the body will be buried yet today.”

  When Wash Roebling had gone, the Baileys took Josie into their apartment and tried to comfort her. When her emotions had settled some, Frank said, “Now, honey, when the rent runs out this coming Monday, I’ll have to rent the apartment to someone else. I’ll need you to clean up the apartment before you move out. You must take your father’s belongings, as well as your own.”

  Josie was too upset to attend school during the following week. She stayed in the apartment, spending a great deal of time weeping over the loss of her father and the fear of what was going to happen to her. The Baileys had explained that they were in no position to take her into their home. They had brought up that an orphanage would be good if she could find one that had room for her.

  Josie had heard much about New York City’s overcrowded orphanages. She knew about the colonies of children who lived on the streets and decided she had no choice but to join them.

  When Monday came after long days of grieving over her father and dreading her move to the streets, Josie steeled herself for the pain she would feel when she walked out of the apartment she had shared with her father. Going to her bedroom, she stood at the door and ran her gaze over the room. Reaching down inside herself, she found the courage she knew was there and brought it as a cloak around her.

  “I can do whatever I have to. Papa taught me well, and I won’t disappoint him.”

  She went to the bed, knelt down, and pulled out a small satchel.

  Placing it on the bed, she filled it with dresses, underclothes, and a spare pair of shoes. She also stuffed in her winter coat. Though it was now May, she knew how severe the Manhattan winters were.

  With this done, Josie took her father’s clothing and shoes out of his closet and placed them on the bed. Tears welled up in her eyes as she looked at them. Ejecting a sob, she picked up a wad of shirts and pressed them to her face, soaking them with her tears.