The Yada Yada Prayer Group Gets Decked Out (6 page)

“ . . . go on downstairs, Edesa,” Rev. Handley was saying as I came up. “I'll wait here for Josh and keep an eye out for any late guests. I'm sure he'll find her.”

“No, no, Reverend Liz. You are the hostess for this Thanks-giving Day. Gracie and I can wait—oh.
Hola,
Jodi.”

“What's going on?” I asked.

Edesa shrugged. “Carmelita went out a few hours ago to buy some diapers for the baby, asked if I would take care of her till she got back.” She nuzzled the baby and smiled. “Who could say no?
La bebé es tan preciosa.”
The dark-eyed baby waved a fist and grabbed a lock of Edesa's hair, cooing happily. But Edesa's frown returned. “But it's been three hours, and she is still not back. Josh went out to look for her—oh!”

The front door opened, and Josh came in . . . alone.

THANKSGIVING DINNER AT Manna House was a merry affair, in spite of the dire circumstances that had brought most of the cur-rent residents. Neil seemed reluctant to leave the TV—another Thanksgiving Day game was already in play—but he dutifully trailed Amanda to the table, with several adoring little boys hang-ing on his arms who had discovered he played
college football
. Laughter, tales of Thanksgiving dinners past, and hauling little ones out from under the tables were punctuated by second and third trips to the food tables.

We did more than eat. As paper plates were cleared and coffee was perking to go with the desserts—I noticed a run on Florida's sweet potato pies—Rev. Handley encouraged people to share their thanksgivings on this day. I watched Neil as women whose lives had been totally disrupted by the recent hurricane gave thanks to God.

“ . . . that all my children are with me today, alive and safe.” “I'm thankful to be at Manna House. It's the nicest place we've stayed yet.”

“I'm just thankful to be
alive
. Some of my neighbors didn't make it.”

Even little voices piped up. “I got to ride in a helicopter!” . . . “I'm thankful for my mommy. She held onta me when the big wind came.” . . . “A nice lady in Houston gave me this teddy bear.”

Three o'clock came and went and Neil was still at the table.

But by the time the tables had been cleared, trash bags taken out to the alley bins, leftovers bagged, and good-byes said, Carmelita had still not returned.

5

I
worried all the way home. “Shouldn't they call the police? I mean, a missing mother . . . ”

“Edesa said they don't want to do that yet,” Amanda Ipiped up from the second seat. “The police would take the baby to DCFS, and she'll end up who-knows-where in a foster home.”

“But isn't that what foster homes are for? Maybe it would be a good thing. More stability than little Gracie has now.”

“I think they're trying to buy a little time,” Denny said. “Josh said Edesa would really like to help Carmelita and doesn't want to give up yet.”

But if Carmelita has abandoned her baby . . .

I stared out the passenger-side window at the last vestiges of yesterday's snow melting off store awnings and gathering into puddles on the sidewalks and in the street.
Okay, Lord, I realize I'm
stewing instead of praying. Please bring Carmelita back to Manna
House. That baby needs her mother. Wherever she is, Lord, keep her safe.
Give Manna House wisdom about what to do . . .

We pulled into our garage about four-thirty. Neil had been quiet on the way home. “Sorry you missed your game,” I said, feeling a twinge of compassion for the oversize freshman, still just a kid, miles from home, who was at the mercy of our family schedule.

“It's okay. Mind if I catch the second half?”

Denny grinned as he unlocked the back door. “My plan exactly.”

THE PHONE RANG later that evening just as we settled down to a big bowl of popcorn, soft drinks, and the latest card game making the rounds of the dorms at U of I. I was tickled when Amanda said she'd teach us how to play Phase 10. It'd been a long time since we'd played games as a family—though it wasn't exactly “family” with Neil shuffling cards and making up the fourth player.

Huh,
I thought, jumping up for the phone.
Would Josh have come
home to spend the holidays if we hadn't given away his bedroom all
week?

“Mom?” Josh's voice sang in my ear, as if he knew I'd been thinking about him. “Just wanted to let you guys know that Carmelita showed up about an hour ago.”

“Josh! That's wonderful.” I turned and gave a thumbs-up to the others at the dining room table. “Is she okay?”

“Mm. Not really. She's high on something. But at least she came back. Edesa's going to take care of the baby until she sobers up.”

“I thought Manna House kicked people out if they used drugs.” For two seconds, all I heard was silence on the other end. Then, “Yeah. That's the rule. But there's Gracie to think of. Reverend Handley is going to help Carmelita enroll in a detox program tomorrow. Maybe they'll find one that'll take both Carmelita and the baby.”

“Okay, hon. Thanks for letting us know. We'll keep praying for her and the baby.” I hung up the phone and went back to the table. “Guess you all heard that Carmelita came back. High on something.” I picked up my hand of cards—then laid them down again. “I said we'd pray for her and the baby. Let's do it now, okay?”

I hesitated a nanosecond, and then held out my hands to Amanda and Neil on either side of me. Neil looked bewildered but saw that the rest of us were joining hands and did likewise. I closed my eyes to help me focus on our prayers, not on what our guest might be thinking.

IT SNOWED AGAIN the next day—mere flurries—but Amanda begged her dad to take us all to the Walker Bros. Pancake House in Wilmette. “And we gotta do Gulliver's tomorrow night. I told Neil about Chicago's great pizza.” Both restaurants were family favorites—not just for the great food, but for the museum quality and quantity of the stained glass at Walker Bros., and the statuary
and old-fashioned “gas” lamps at Gulliver's.

“Hey. How deep do you think my pockets are?” Denny protested. “Tell you what. I'll treat for Walker Bros.; you and Neil can go out to Gulliver's on your own dime.”

I winced. He was practically sending them on a
date
. But I had to laugh when I later discovered that Amanda invited the teen girls she was working with on the Advent candle dance to go with them to Gulliver's after their practice Saturday afternoon.

Poor Neil.

Of course, that meant Denny and I were without a car on a Saturday night. We'd both put in several hours the past two days grading papers or, in Denny's case, ironing out glitches in West Rogers High's soccer and baseball schedules for spring. But I used the time to get out our box of Christmas decorations and set up the Advent candle wreath we used during the four weeks leading up to Christmas Day.

Denny came back from a sunset run along the lake and grinned when he saw the box of Christmas decorations on the dining room table. He pulled out a DVD from his sweatshirt pocket. “Then I guess you won't mind me getting a jump-start on the holidays with this.” He waggled the DVD in my face—the 1951 version of
A Christmas Carol
with Alastair Sim as Scrooge. “My favorite. I waited too long last year, and it was never in stock.”

NEIL SEEMED TONGUE-TIED when we arrived at SouledOut Community Church the next morning. Whether it was the fact that the church was just a large storefront in the new Howard Street Mall—though roomy and bright, with a bank of windows facing the mall and colorful walls—or whether it was our multi-hued congregation, I couldn't tell. Josh and Edesa came in soon after us, walking from the Howard Street el station. Since they had gotten engaged, they often alternated Sundays between SouledOut and Edesa's congregation,
Iglesia del Espirito Santo,
on the west side. Sometimes they each attended their own churches, especially since Josh often helped with SouledOut's youth outreach.

“Good to see you both,” I murmured, giving them each a hug. “I enjoyed Thanksgiving at Manna House, but I kind of missed just having some family time with the two of you—not to mention that we had no turkey leftovers this year.” I rolled my eyes to keep it light.

“Anytime you want turkey leftovers, Mom, just stick a bird in the oven and I'll—oh. Hey there, Neil.” Josh shook Neil's hand, then swiveled his head. “Is Amanda dancing this morning? Edesa wouldn't let us miss it.”

“Not sure. She's been teaching a group of young teen girls to do the dance . . . guess we'll see. Want to sit with us?”

“Si.”
Edesa beamed. “I want to see
mi hermana
dance.”

Mi hermana. “My sister.”
Amanda had always been crazy about Edesa, ever since Edesa had tutored her in freshman Spanish. She was going to love having Edesa as a “big sister.”
Huh. Sister.
That's what we called each other in Yada Yada. As much as I loved Edesa, I wasn't sure I wanted to exchange the relationship of being “sister” for
mother-in-law.

Instead of the usual call to worship by the worship leader, someone flicked the lights and then turned them off to quiet the congregation, and the last ones standing found seats. And instead of the band launching into the usual rousing praise song, Oscar Frost picked up his saxophone and began a slow rendition of the Advent hymn “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel.”

A small table at the front held a large evergreen wreath lying flat. Embedded in the greenery were three purple pillar candles and one pink one. In the middle stood a white pillar candle. One of the African-American teenagers—she looked about fourteen, but the praise team had already used her for some get-down gospel solos—stood off to the side and sang majestically:

O come, O come, Emmanuel,

And ransom captive Israel . . .

At the same time, eight teenage girls stepped in time to the music down the two aisles that divided the congregation—four down each aisle—a mix of skin colors and body types, from slender to chunky, tall and short. Each one carried a lit taper candle. They were dressed alike, in black silky skirts that hung to midcalf, matching silky white blouses, black tights, and black ballet slippers. Disappointed, I realized Amanda was not one of the eight girls. But of course it had to be that way; she was going back to school this afternoon.
Bless her, Father, for being willing to pass the torch.

. . .
That mourns in lonely exile here . . .

The eight girls fanned out as they reached the front, hiding their bowed faces in the crook of one arm.

. . .
Until the Son of God appears . . .

The girls now held their candles out in front of them, faces lift-ing up with expectant joy.

Rejoice! Rejoice!—

Many in the congregation, as if on cue, joined in on the refrain, helping to swell the music. The dancers reached upward with their lighted candles and moved in a lovely circle around the table with the Advent wreath.

—Emmanuel

Shall come to thee, O Israel!

Two of the dancers moved to the table and tipped their candles toward one of the purple pillars, lighting the first candle. And as the last notes of the saxophone drifted away, all the girls blew out their tapers.

Someone down the row was blowing his nose. I peeked around Denny.

It was Neil.

THE VANLOAD OF college students picked up Amanda and Neil from SouledOut even before the worship service was over. Denny and I slipped out of the service with them and got their duffel bags from the back of our minivan, transferred them to the other car, and said our good-byes. Josh and Edesa slipped out too.

“Bye, big brother.” Amanda gave Josh a hug. “Don't do any-thing I wouldn't do.”

“Ha. That gives me a lot of leeway, squirt.” He turned to Neil and shook hands. “Good luck on the gridiron.”

Neil nodded. He shook our hands. “Thanks, Mr. and Mrs. Baxter. Really appreciate you putting me up for Thanksgiving.” He waved and climbed into the van.

“Call when you get there,” I told Amanda as I hugged her. “Just want to know you got back safely.”

“Don't worry, Mom. See you in a few weeks!” Amanda finished her round of hugs and popped into the car. The side door slid closed and the van drove out of the shopping center and turned down Howard Street toward Sheridan Road.

The four of us went back inside SouledOut. Worship was still going on. But I dreaded going back to our empty house. Maybe Josh and Edesa could come by for lunch . . . but eventually I knew they'd leave too. I felt my throat tighten and tears threatened to muddy my makeup.

Did my parents blubber like this when I went back to school after holidays? My two brothers had already left home; I was the baby of the family and tired of having strict parents looking over my shoulder. I couldn't wait to fly out of the nest. I knew my par-ents missed me; they always said so. But I'd never really thought of how “missing” actually
felt
—like one's own soul had flown away.