Till Morning Is Nigh (12 page)

“I love thee, Lord Jesus,” she sang, and then looked at me with her bright eyes shining. “I know the real Jesus is grown up in heaven, Mommy. But I like to pretend.”

I nodded.

Samuel smiled. “Not only in heaven,” he said softly. “But with us every day.”

“In our hearts,” Sarah added.

We prayed. Franky asked us to pray for their pa, and we did, though I knew that calling his absence to mind so strongly was painful.

“Do you think he’ll be here for Christmas?” Rorey asked solemnly.

“No,” Kirk answered immediately.

“There’s no way we can know right now,” Joe softened the words. “We can jus’ keep prayin’ for him.”

“I don’t think he cares about that,” Willy added cynically.

“Maybe not,” Joe acknowledged. “But God does.”

Franky nodded. Lizbeth too. And Berty took up singing all over again, rolling down from his chair to the floor with strains of “Away in a Manger” following him.

“I love thee, Lord Jesus . . .”

The words stuck in my mind. I remembered a Bible verse that said all things work together for good for those that love the Lord.

That’s us
, I prayed in my mind.
I don’t know about George, just like Joe said. But it certainly applies to his children. Work good for them, Lord God. And for Katie. It’s not her fault that her mother ran off chasing selfish dreams. Bless them, Father in heaven, each and every one of them. Bless all the dear children in thy tender care . . . They are in your care, Lord. I know it. Lighten our hearts. Make a way.

Samuel had been going back and forth to take care of chores at the Hammond farm every day now. The older boys were certainly capable, but he didn’t let them go alone, because he couldn’t be sure what they might find. I thought he was afraid George might come back drunk and out of his head. But he confessed to me when we were alone that he was troubled by dreams of George trying to hang himself again, with this time one of the boys to find him, and they were too late.

I tried to assure him that George wouldn’t do something like that. But how could we know for sure? This was the third full day since he’d left. Samuel had made a telephone call in town when he went for groceries, to let the uncle and the oldest Hammond boy know what was happening here, but he’d had to leave a message with a neighbor there, and we’d heard nothing more.

But just at twilight that Sunday evening, we heard a vehicle outside. The sound was enough to stir everyone. Some of the children were excited, thinking it might be their father. But others seemed as apprehensive as I felt. Ben Law might be bringing some word. Who could know? But it was the oldest Hammond boy coming in, without bothering to knock, just like his siblings. All of the Hammonds ran to greet him. We’d always called him young Sam, just to distinguish him from my husband. But he was hardly a child anymore at seventeen. Nothing animated the little Hammonds like Sam’s arrival. What a godsend! It lifted even my spirits to have him home.

He was all smiles and hugs for his brothers and sisters. It’d been a month since he’d gone to help his mother’s brother-in-law, but despite the kinship, that uncle just dropped him off and drove away without coming inside to see the rest of the children. I gathered that was his way of letting us know he’d answer the need here only by bringing Sam back, nothing more.

Sam didn’t ask any questions at all. He only slid his bag into the corner, hung up his coat, and then went into the sitting room to romp and tussle with Harry and Bert. It was good to have him back. Only when the younger children were in bed did he sit down with Samuel and Lizbeth and me to talk things over.

“When did Pa leave?”

“Thursday,” Samuel told him. “We know he got liquor, but not what happened or where he went after that.”

The big boy sighed and shook his head, glancing over at Lizbeth. “I hate to say it, but I ain’t sure we can count on him comin’ back.”

“We been prayin’,” Lizbeth maintained. “And we can sure hope.”

He didn’t acknowledge her words. “I’ve got a little money. Not much, but at least it’s somethin’. I almost stopped an’ got the Christmas candy, Lizbeth, but Uncle Billy didn’t wanna take the time.”

“You shouldn’t!” she protested. “Pa does that. Every year. That’s what he gets us, since we were little.”

Young Sam only sighed. “There’s just no tellin’ about this year.”

“It wouldn’t seem right, not comin’ from Pa.”

“Better than the little ones not havin’ it at all.”

Young Sam talked to us about what might come next for their family, and Samuel told him about our decision to help them, even if it meant taking them all in permanently.

“I ain’t far off from eighteen,” he told us. “We can make it if we hafta.”

I knew all of us felt drained by the time we went to bed. I rolled out a pair of quilts to make an extra bed for Sam on the sitting room floor. Lizbeth was teary, but I knew it was sadness more than sickness troubling her now. And like some mysterious little touch of grace, she was the one who found the baby Jesus under her covers that night.

Look Down from the Sky

T
he children who were well enough had school on Monday and Tuesday, and then they were out for the rest of the week. By then everyone was feeling better. Sunday’s snow was enough to cover everything generously, so on Wednesday afternoon, young Sam took his brothers sledding on the sleds Samuel had made last Christmas. I had thought that the little girls would want to go too, but they didn’t, so I had them help me make bread for the Posts and then start some cookies—a triple batch of snickerdoodles to begin with.

Despite the rich smells in the house when the sledders came back, there seemed to be a somber mood among them. I discovered later that they’d been far enough into the timber to come close to the site of their mother’s grave. They hadn’t gone there, but the snow, the cold, the barren trees—just like the day we’d buried her. It had been close enough to call it all back to mind. Wila Hammond and Emma Graham, gone together—it was a year ago last night. I knew at least some of the children realized that, and I wished I knew some comforting words to tell them.

I gave everybody the first cookies out of the oven and made cocoa to go with them. But the mood didn’t improve much despite how quickly the treats disappeared. Samuel and young Sam had already left to do the milking and other chores at the Hammond farm for that evening, and I was left with the rest of them all just sitting around.

“Let’s make the special Christmas cookies next,” I suggested. “The roll-out ones with all the nice shapes you like.”

“Trees,” said Berty.

“And candy canes,” Rorey added without much enthusiasm.

“And stars and angels,” Lizbeth continued more cheerily. “I think that’s a great idea.”

She worked valiantly at getting everyone involved. Mixing or rolling, stirring the red coloring into a bowl of sugar, or grinding nuts and chopping dates and candied cherries to decorate the tops.

We made quite a production team, though I knew there were really very few hearts in it today. Lizbeth carefully cut out triangles, laying one sideways atop another to make a star. Then she showed the little girls how to make angels with a triangle, a small circle, and a large circle cut in half for wings. They used tiny bits of cherry for the mouths and date pieces for eyes. Katie added hair of finely ground walnut bits.

I looked to see if Rorey’s angels were smiling today, but it wasn’t easy to tell. “Do they have cookies in heaven?” she suddenly asked me.

“I don’t know, honey,” I told her, almost afraid to answer.

“This one’s for Mama,” she said soberly. “Do you think we could put it out with a note on Christmas Eve? Maybe Santa could take it to her. Don’t he know the angels?”

I nearly choked up, and Lizbeth did, poor girl. But before either of us could speak, Kirk answered far too harshly, “Santa don’t know no angels! He ain’t even real! You can’t give no cookie to Mama.”

“I can too!” Rorey answered back, her eyes suddenly brimming. “On Christmas I can! Cause Mama said once anythin’ can happen on Christmas! It don’t matter what you say! It don’t even matter if Santa is real!”

I don’t know where in the world Kirk got such a mean streak, but the next thing he said seemed designed to tear at her. “I’m gonna eat that cookie. Soon as it’s baked.”

“No, you are not!” Rorey screamed. “It’s Mama’s!” In a fit of tears she flew off the chair where she’d been standing and rushed at him. I knew Rorey was one fiery little girl, but I’d had no idea she’d have no hesitation taking on a brother Kirk’s size. She beat at him good, and he shoved her. Lizbeth, Joe, and I all hurried to grab them both before things could get any further out of hand. Joe was the one that got hold of Kirk first, and what surprised me more than anything else was that Kirk took an actual swing at him. I wished to goodness Samuel were here.

“What’s the matter with you?” Joe demanded. “It don’t hurt nothin’ for a little kid to dream! Let her be!”

“It’s just dumb. It’s nothin’, an’ you know it! Do you think it’s gonna help anything?” Kirk yelled at him. “Do you? Mama’s dead! And Pa’s been ’bout the same as ever since! There ain’t no use pretendin’ otherwise!”

As if she understood far better than we realized, Emmie burst into tears. She wasn’t the only one. Katie and Sarah were soon crying too, along with Berty. Harry mashed the cookie he’d been working on into a squishy lump, and Willy set down the nut grinder and took off outside.

Robert followed Willy, grabbing both of their coats. I was so grateful he did. I had my hands full here. Rorey was still kicking and swinging, trying to get at Kirk. “You’re not gonna eat that cookie! You’re not!”

“Oh, hush,” he told her. “You’re just dumb.”

“No, she’s not,” Franky said. He looked so pale and drained all of a sudden. His silvery eyes were dark and pained. “She was just bein’ nice.”

“You’re dumber’n she is.”

“That’s enough!” Joe insisted, pulling Kirk toward the sitting room door. “What the devil’s the matter with you?”

“I’m sick of it!” Kirk answered. “I’m sick a’ pretendin’ everythin’s all right. It ain’t! Why can’t somebody just come out and say so?”

Joe dragged his brother into the other room, and I let them go, knowing there was nothing I could say right then that Kirk would want to hear. Lizbeth looked absolutely beaten. She drew in a deep breath and rested her hand on a chair back as if to steady herself.

“It is too Mama’s cookie!” Rorey kept right on arguing even though there was no longer anyone to argue with. She tried to pull away from me, but I was afraid to let her go. Lizbeth stirred herself to try and comfort Emmie and Bert. Franky, dutiful as a little soldier, put his arm around Harry as the smaller boy took another wad of dough and squished it soundlessly in his hand. Still Rorey struggled to pull away. I knelt and drew her into my arms.

“Rorey, sweetie,” I said gently. “It’s your mama’s cookie and nobody’s going to argue. Kirk’s just upset, that’s all. Sad and scared—”

“Scared?” she asked. Her eyes were angry, but her face was wet with tears.

“Yes. Big kids and grown-ups get scared sometimes when bad things happen. It’s pretty normal, and it’s okay. We just need to be patient with Kirk and try to understand. He misses your mama too. He just doesn’t know how to deal with everything right now.”

“Does he miss Pa?”

Her question made me cold inside. “Yes. I’m pretty sure he does.”

She struggled with the next words and almost couldn’t say them. “Is . . . is Pa dead too?”

Harry acted like he didn’t even hear us. Franky stayed beside him, but he was watching me, his eyes seeming all the more haunted. Sarah and Katie were watching me too, motionless, like they weren’t sure what to do. Berty spilled the bowl of red sugar, and Lizbeth took both of the younger ones into the bedroom and shut the door.

“I don’t think he is,” I answered Rorey plainly. “I hope not.”

“Why did he go away?”

“I’m not sure anyone can explain. Not well enough. Just that he’s so sad inside that he doesn’t know what to do.”

“He should come an’ eat supper with us,” she said with an easy logic I couldn’t deny. “He should help me make another cookie for Mama. And one for Emma Graham too. Will you help me?”

It was a rare moment for Rorey, and I knew it was an important one. “Of course I’ll help. You tell me what you want me to do.”

“We need angels,” she said solemnly. “Lots more angels.”

Sarah and Katie helped me cut out more triangles and big and little circles. Franky stayed at Harry’s side, letting him shape and then demolish the same couple of cookies over and over. We filled a cookie sheet with bare angel shapes and then started on another tray. I wasn’t sure anybody would be able to eat these cookies, but right then I didn’t care. Rorey needed angels. Maybe the rest of us did too. So angels we made. And once I figured out what it was that Kirk needed, I’d surely work on that too.

The bedroom door opened, and Berty came padding softly out in his sock feet. He helped me clean up the red sugar, and then he wanted to help decorate the tray of angels and I let him have his way. So did Rorey. She didn’t care if they had sugar on them or how much or what color. She didn’t care if they had eyes or mouths, so long as they were angels and no one touched the special one she’d designed for her mama.

Soon we were putting them in the oven and then pulling them out again to cool. Beside the stacks of snickerdoodles rose piles of Christmas angels.

Rorey surveyed our work and was satisfied. “I think Mama’s gonna look down from the sky and be happy. She still loves us.”

“Yes,” I agreed. “Of course she does.”

“Jesus look down from da sky too,” Berty added solemnly, and I gave him a nod and a little squeeze.

We must have made Samuel and young Sam wonder when they came back bringing the Hammonds’ milk again. Of course they wanted to get their hands in the cookies. Who wouldn’t after working hard out in the cold? But I directed them to the snickerdoodles. For now, I thought we’d better leave the angels alone. Until Rorey was ready. Maybe until she’d put up her mama’s and wanted to taste one herself.