Till Morning Is Nigh (11 page)

“I want my own doll,” she moaned.

I’d thought of that, and a change of clothes for all of them, but I’d forgotten to mention it to Samuel before he left. He thought of it now.

“Maybe I should take Joe with me into town,” he said. “We wouldn’t be long. And we can stop at their house and get a change of clothes and a few things.”

“Can I come ’stead a’ Joe?” Kirk asked immediately. “He’s better with helpin’ the little kids. I ain’t no good at that.”

Samuel was quiet for a moment, probably considering how Kirk would feel if they happened to find his father over there, or if they continued to find no sign. But Kirk already knew almost as much as Joe did. And he was almost as old. “All right,” Samuel agreed. “Ask Lizbeth what all you’ll need from over there.”

Kirk made a face. “How long you think we’ll be stayin’ here?”

“I really don’t know,” Samuel answered.

“We could all go home without Pa.”

But Samuel shook his head. “No. I’m sorry. You can’t.”

“Lizbeth is sick,” Joe reminded him. “And she ain’t no grown-up. Us neither. Jus’ let it go. It wouldn’t be right over t’ home right now.”

Kirk was solemn, but he said nothing more. Lizbeth was lying down again, her fever coming and going in waves. But she gave him a list of what she thought he ought to bring. It was short. I thought that must mean she was hopeful, and I prayed George would come home today.

I made a grocery list for Samuel with the most important things on top in case they were unable to get everything. Surely the grocer would accept our milk and eggs, though we couldn’t spare a large quantity of either. We’d taken some in to him once before. I could only hope he would also take Samuel’s cedar box, but I had no idea how he would judge its value.

When they had left I diced onion for the soup pot and tried to come up with ways to engage the children in something just as engrossing as the paper manger scene. But I wasn’t sure there was anything I could do to capture Willy’s interest. At least he seemed to like Robert’s company. Harry was feeling enough better to be restless. And Berty only sat in the chair a couple of minutes. At first I thought he must have gotten up because he was feeling better already, but I soon discovered that he’d gone in to snuggle on the mattress with Lizbeth. The little fellow was soon asleep at her side, fevering the way Emmie had been.

The day seemed to go that way, with Harry, Berty, and Emmie feeling better and then worse again alternately. Lizbeth got up and tried to act like she was fine, but I could tell she really wasn’t feeling herself. Rorey stayed quietly out of sorts and to herself. I was glad when Samuel and Kirk got back with her very own doll. She seemed to perk up a little then.

They hadn’t been able to get everything from the store, but what they did bring was a blessing. Especially the sugar. The grocer had wanted the cedar box and the eggs, but he couldn’t use the milk because he already had so much. We’d not been the only farm family to bring some in to him. Samuel kissed me. He seemed relieved to be able to bring me groceries, but Kirk was very quiet. Ben Law had seen them in town and had stopped to talk for a moment. There was still no sign of George.

Where could he have gone in this cold, without a horse or vehicle? Why would he think that taking off this way would help anything at all? Surely he would still be carrying his miserable feelings right along with him, wherever he was. And he certainly wasn’t making his children very happy.

I fed everybody that felt like eating, and then Samuel started working on the radio. It hadn’t worked well for a couple of months, but he thought he knew what might help. Franky stopped working on sheep to watch him, but Sarah’s obsession with the paper nativity hadn’t faded. She worked on head coverings for Mary and Joseph, and an extra big star pasted to a long paper tube to stand up behind the manger scene on Christmas Eve.

“Where did you leave the baby Jesus?” I asked her, not wanting Franky’s handiwork to get lost or crumpled underfoot in this full house of ours.

“In heaven,” she answered me with a smile. “Upstairs.”

“Up off the floor, I hope.”

“He’s on my dresser.”

But when she went to get him later because she wanted to add stripes to his blanket, she couldn’t find the little figure. She looked on the dresser, under it, behind it, and all around. But she wasn’t upset. “He isn’t born yet,” she told me again. “He’ll be here in time for Christmas Eve.”

Somebody had moved him, of course. But I didn’t tell her anything more. It’d turn up, or we’d have to make another one.

That night, Samuel had the radio in order enough for us to listen to a couple of shows all the way through. That brought even the big boys’ attention. I popped popcorn, and we all sat in the living room and enjoyed the Mystery Theater, and then Russell Bartlett and his Merry Christmas Band. Everybody seemed to be doing better by then, with no one else showing any sign of being sick. Praise the Lord for that.

The next day was Saturday. Only eight days to Christmas. Franky and Sarah decided that the pantry wasn’t far enough east for the wise men, and the cupboard was too close to the table to be Nazareth. So the wise men were moved to the far east corner of the sitting room, and Mary and Joseph were moved to the chest of drawers just inside the door to our bedroom.

“When do they leave for Bethlehem?” Sarah asked.

“Prob’ly tomorrow,” Franky said importantly. “Then we can move ’em a little closer every day.”

They worked together at producing some sheep for the shepherds, finally using skinny paper tubes for the legs. It took awhile to get the paste to hold, but finally the funny-looking little sheep could stand up on their own. Lizbeth helped them use a little cotton for the sides, and I was glad that I’d saved back a piece in a drawer. I helped them use the same design, only a little bigger, to make cattle. Two, because Harry insisted we couldn’t have only one.

That afternoon, baby Jesus turned up in Robert’s room, though none of the big boys admitted to moving it. Sarah was delighted that the baby’d been found. But she still maintained that he couldn’t possibly stay with the other figures yet where he’d be easier to keep track of. She took the little thing back to her room, holding it in her hands as though they were a rocking cradle, and taking up Berty’s song.

“The little Lord Jesus, no crying he makes . . .”

“He don’t cry ’cause he’s happy ’bout Christmas,” Berty decided.

And I agreed. But despite the cheer in the younger children, I could sense an increasing heaviness among the older ones. I felt it in myself too. The closer we got to Christmas, the more they would all think of their mother. And, of course, their father too.
Blast it all, George Hammond! Where are you?

Katie was extra clingy to me, and spooked easily when she heard a noise outside. I wasn’t sure how to make her feel more at ease. Tucking the children in that night was difficult. We’d been carrying on so well, and yet a solemnity seemed to be settling over us. Emmie cried herself to sleep. Berty pouted a bit and asked about his pa. Willy had gotten downright cranky. By the time I got everyone to sleep, I was completely exhausted, and yet I knew I couldn’t rest my head yet.

Samuel and I both stayed up late, working on gifts for the children. I was making Sarah and Rorey doll dresses, and a doll of her own for Katie so she could play along with them. Samuel was bending some stiff wire tonight, making fishhooks for Robert and Willy, who took the opportunity to fish whenever they could, regardless of the weather. We knew they’d like them. They’d had only one hook apiece before. One broken at the tip, and one rusty.

I’d already finished the blouse for Lizbeth by now, reworking one that had belonged to an elderly woman from our church. I had decided to make handkerchiefs for Kirk and Joe, and a tie for their older brother. Samuel had begun a little wooden truck for Berty with thread-spool wheels. And a bunch of clothespin soldiers for Harry. But I hadn’t even started a gift for Emmie, and neither of us knew what to do for Franky. We had so little time left.

I felt like I could drop by the time we finally stopped to get ready for bed. But I took the time to walk through the house, checking on the children and praying. Somehow I felt almost lost, like all my efforts could not possibly be enough, and the holiday would end up dreadfully sad despite everything.
Oh, Lord God, be with us. Be with me.

Wearily, I went on to bed, glad for the opportunity to rest my head on the soft pillow, even though the bed itself wasn’t such a comfort with the mattress pulled off and lying in the next room. But tonight I knew I was too tired to care much about that. I figured I’d be asleep almost instantly. But my foot sliding beneath the sheets seemed to find something that didn’t belong. Reaching down with one hand I found what felt like a roll of paper. Thankfully, Samuel hadn’t blown out the candle yet, or I might have crumpled it without thinking. In the dim light, I could see what it was. Franky’s little paper baby Jesus. How he’d gotten in our bed, I might never know.

I Love Thee, Lord Jesus

T
he next day was Sunday, and I’d thought we’d go to church, but it was snowing again, Rorey still wasn’t feeling well, and now Joe seemed to be coming down with a touch of the flu too. Lizbeth said she was fine, but I wondered. Emmie was doing better than she had been, but she still felt a little warm. Samuel and I decided it was best to keep everybody home.

I was sitting at the table, listing the things I’d like to bake for us and for the Posts when Lizbeth suggested that we make something for our pastor and his wife too.

“They was so good to us last year, and they don’t have much.”

She was right. We had shared cookies with them before, so I had an extra incentive to make plenty again. But that didn’t have to be all. A loose button on my sleeve sparked an idea that turned out to be a way to keep a few restless children occupied again.

I got out the button jar. I didn’t even have to say anything; just the sound of me dumping them on the table brought curious children to see what I was up to. So I sat and showed them how to thread through more than one of a button’s holes so the fronts would stand out. Enough of them strung in a line would make a bright and distinctive necklace for the pastor’s wife. Katie loved it.

So did Sarah. “Can we make one for our teacher too?”

I happily agreed. But since Katie, Rorey, Sarah, and Bert were all working on separate strands, we were definitely going to have extra. Lizbeth sat and helped them when their little fingers had trouble with small holes, and she sorted the buttons by size and color too, encouraging the younger children to use nice combinations instead of just haphazardly threading at random. They’d have some nice necklaces when they were finished.

I asked Robert if he and Willy could make a gift for the pastor. I’d seen a nice Bible bookmark once, made of several strips of colored ribbon to mark more than one page at a time. I thought perhaps we could come up with our own design. Willy wasn’t at all happy with the idea. Me sitting them down with pieces of ribbon seemed to insult him, but Robert liked the challenge. Eventually, Willy and Kirk went outside to bring in firewood, and Robert worked on an idea with Franky instead of Willy at his side.

I had five different colors of ribbon, so they cut a piece the same length from each color and decided to use an empty thread spool to hold them all together at one end. The ribbons all went through the hole and were knotted together on both sides of the spool so it would stay in place. That was simple and easy but not good enough for those boys. Franky suggested notching the edges of the little wooden spool and carving a cross into the side of it. Robert pulled out his pocketknife and started right away.

“Can I make one for Mr. Wortham?” Franky whispered to me. I was happy to agree and got him another little spool.

I’d thought Harry had been with Joe in the sitting room while most of this was going on, but when I checked on him and his napping baby sister, I found the little boy on the stairway tumbling a paper wise man down the steps.

“Harry, be careful with those.”

“They’s goin’ down the mountain.”

Surely he was the one who had been moving the paper Jesus. I asked him, but he didn’t own to it. He sent another wise man rolling down and then suddenly looked at me with his dark eyes full of question.

“Do we live here now?”

“You’re staying with us,” I answered vaguely. “I hope that’s all right with you.”

“What’s Pa doin’?”

How I wished I knew! It wasn’t easy to answer. “Right this minute, I’m not sure. Maybe he’s thinking to have some lunch like we should.”

“Is he comin’ over for lunch?”

“He’s welcome,” I answered, rescuing the two wise men I could reach and turning away. “Will you bring the other wise man down from the mountain?” I asked him. “Then you can help me wash potatoes.”

“Oh boy! Can I use the big washtub again?”

I’d let him and Bert do that once before, and I knew very well I was in for a mess, but I didn’t care. Somehow it seemed worth it to let them have fun helping me. So I spread out towels next to the kitchen stove and set the washtub on top of them. I dipped in only about an inch of water and gave Harry all the potatoes I thought we’d use. Berty climbed down from his place stringing buttons to help in this delightful project. The potatoes soon became sailing ships, sharks, and whales, and they were all sloshed through the water enough to get any remaining garden dirt off them easily.

Samuel led us in Bible reading after lunch, because it just seemed right since we hadn’t been to church. It seemed natural to sing too, like we did at church, so I led a hymn.

“Can we sing a Christmas carol too?” Sarah asked.

I chose “Silent Night,” mostly for Katie’s benefit, but Berty wasn’t about to let the opportunity go by to sing his favorite, so I let him lead us in “Away in a Manger” too. We’d just begun the second verse when Sarah suddenly jumped up and ran for the stairs.

“I forgot! Jesus is with us at church!”

I wasn’t sure how I felt about her taking that little paper figure so seriously, but when she came down the stairs cradling it carefully in her hand and still singing, my eyes filled with tears.