Till Morning Is Nigh (15 page)

No one seemed to know what to say. Samuel had been right to worry. It was a miracle that George had made it home.

“What stopped you, Pa?” Joe asked in a voice that barely sounded like himself, his blue-gray eyes shining wet in the lamplight.

“You’re gonna think it sounds crazy,” George confessed. “I—I couldn’t stop thinkin’ ’bout you an’ Christmas an’ all. Was on my way to the bridge. But I went—I went past a big ol’ church. Doggone if it weren’t the pertiest choir in there I ever heard in my life. All kids too, singing loud enough to hear ’em clear out to the street. I couldn’t stand it for thinking a’ you back here. I couldn’t go on an’ do nothin’ like I’d thought, an’ leave all a’ you wonderin’. That promise I made was near to eatin’ me up inside.” He glanced over at Samuel. “About—’bout bein’ here for m’ little ones.”

“I’m glad,” Samuel told him.

“So am I,” Joe echoed softly. “I’m real glad you come back, Pa. You made the right choice.”

Lizbeth took her father’s hand, silent tears streaming down her cheeks. Kirk and Willy sat like stone, staring at George but not saying a word. It was young Sam who spoke up next, his voice far quieter than usual.

“I hope it’s settled in your mind, Pa. We need you here, with your family. We need you sober. It’ll be all right. We made it a whole year now, Pa, an’ we can keep goin’. You can keep on. You’re strong. I know you are, or you wouldn’t a’ made it home.”

“It weren’t easy,” George stammered. “Didn’t have much money lef’, barely enough for the Christmas candy. But— but I had to get it. Couldn’t go no farther without findin’ me a candy store. But then I was scared I’d never get back in time. Couldn’t find no long ride. Six or eight folks took me partway. Must a’ all thought I was crazy, tryin’ to hurry ’em down the road in the snow. Last one let me out at the corner by Mueller’s field, an’ I run. It like to give me a heart attack that there weren’t nobody here, till I figured maybe you was gone to church. Couldn’t do nothin’ but wait. Lordy, it was so good hearin’ your voices again, seein’ you all lookin’ at me . . .”

He leaned his head down in a sob, and I thanked the Lord for touching his heart. Lizbeth kissed his cheek and hugged him. Joe put his arm around him. The others still seemed distant, a little unforgiving, or maybe just uncertain of what to expect now.

Finally Kirk asked a question that could not have been a surprise to anyone. “Why’d you go in the first place, Pa? Maybe us older ones’d make it without you if we had to. But the little kids, Pa—you ’bout broke their hearts. They need you awful bad. An’ you knowed that all along.”

George looked at his son and answered more honestly than I expected. “Sometimes what I knows gets lost in a fog, boy. Weren’t mindful a’ them when I lef’. Was only thinkin’ ’bout bein’ done with the strain a’ missin’ your mama.”

“There ain’t no bein’ done with that,” Kirk replied flatly. “Not for none of us. But you bein’ the pa, you oughta be man enough to be here an’ do what you can.”

George was silent for a moment. I wondered how he’d react. I could almost picture the sobs coming to an abrupt end, replaced by bitter, callous words. But George only bowed his head again. His words were slow and quiet.

“I know it, boy. I know. My pa used to tell me things like that. I oughta be man enough. For this or the other thin’. Funny, though, I never could be. Not man enough for him.”

“Pa,” Lizbeth said in surprise, “Grandpa Hammond’s been gone a lotta years now—”

“I know it. But I still hear his voice sometimes, tellin’ me I can’t do it. I can’t manage to get nothin’ right . . . there ain’t hardly no use t’ tryin’ . . .”

Something shook inside me, hearing such words from George. I’d had no idea what his father had been like. I’d never heard much of anything about his parents at all. But these words were so familiar. Didn’t George realize the way he passed them on, especially to Franky, who needed his encouragement so badly?

“All you gotta listen to is the present need,” young Sam told him. “An’ just do what you gotta do. Grandpa ain’t ’round no more. You ain’t answerin’ to him.”

George nodded.

“We love you, Pa,” Lizbeth whispered.

“I know, girl,” George answered her. Silence hung over everyone, and I felt that it was space just made for George to affirm how much he loved them too. But he didn’t say it. His head still bowed, he mumbled barely loudly enough to be heard. “Tomorrow’s Christmas. You’all oughta get some sleep.”

“In a little while,” Lizbeth said softly.

But young Sam stood up. “Prob’ly a good idea.”

“I’m sorry,” George said to them again. “I know I ain’t never got much to give—”

“You bein’ here’s a gift,” Lizbeth answered him. “Especially this Christmas.”

“You got a good heart, girl,” George said then. “Like your mama.”

Lizbeth only nodded, the tears still plain in her eyes. George pulled himself slowly to his feet, and she embraced him. Young Sam followed her lead, but the other boys hung back. And before long, they were all on their way to bed.

Samuel and I lingered in the quiet after they’d turned in. “Thank the good Lord,” he whispered to me.

I reached for his hand. “Amen.”

It was hard to know what I was feeling inside. A jumble of thoughts and concerns. A strange mix of feelings toward George, especially. I was still bitterly distrusting of him in a way, knowing he’d shown us and his children precious little stability in the past. But I was also heartsick just thinking about him having a father so much like himself, who’d torn him down the way he so often tore down Franky. And he didn’t even see it.
Dear God, open his eyes. Help him be a tenderhearted father, even if he had no decent example. Father God, you can be his example, always loving, merciful, and kind.

Samuel and I finished wrapping our gifts in the butcher paper I’d saved back for the purpose. Then we kissed and went to change for bed. I was just pulling on my nightgown when I heard Berty stirring again in the darkness like he’d done before.

But this time George was close by, on the bed we’d made for him beside the Christmas tree, and he was the one to respond to Berty’s cries.

“Stay by my cradle, Pa,” I heard the little boy plead.

“Cradle, huh?” George answered. “Didn’t think I had no baby boys no more.”

“That’s any kin’ a’ bed,” Berty explained. “The song says so.”

“What song?”

Quietly, in the blackness of night, Berty sang “Away in a Manger” to his father. And George let him sing. It seemed like an answered prayer. I snuggled under the covers with Samuel and smiled.

Till Morning Is Nigh

M
orning. Christmas. With thirteen children in the house and George among us again. We brought out the presents, and I was so happy to see the smiling faces. George was pleased with the hankies I’d made him. Samuel stunned me by presenting me with a little end table I’d had no idea he was making. And then I had the chance to surprise him with the shirt I’d sewn and hid since harvest when he’d worked so many late hours.

Katie loved her cloth baby doll, and Sarah and Rorey loved the dresses for theirs. They started playing “Christmas” with them right away, and Emmie toddled over to join them with her soft little teddy bear cuddled in her arms. Franky loved the hammer and boards and was ready to start a project immediately. Willy and Robert were just as anxious to go fishing, despite the cold. Even the older children seemed satisfied with their gifts.

I put the turkey in the oven and made cinnamon rolls for breakfast. Then we got the sitting room cleaned up and thought we were pretty much done with Christmas doings besides the happy rest of the day enjoying the dinner to come and one another. But at about 11:30 in the morning we heard a vehicle outside. Pastor and Juanita Jones, bustling in like last year, each of them with an armload. They must have left right after church to come out our way.

Pastor was genuinely surprised to see George but so happy he dropped the bag he was carrying to embrace him.

“Praise the Lord! Praise the Lord!” he exclaimed and then quoted from the story of the prodigal son. “What was dead is alive again. What was lost is found.”

They brought a whole sack of sweaters, one for each child. Plus candy canes, divinity, three pies, and a sack of oranges.

“How could you afford all this?”

“We didn’t,” Juanita told me. “The whole church contributed.”

They hugged everybody. We hugged them. They had only meant to deliver the gifts this time and not stay, but I talked them into joining us for Christmas dinner. Sarah, Franky, and the rest acted out the Christmas story with our paper cone manger scene all over again, and the pastor loved it. He credited me with the ingenuity of the whole thing, but I let him know it was Franky’s original idea and then it had grown from there.

Katie came back to clinging at my side. Any time I sat down, she was right on my lap, leaning into me, hugging at my neck. I didn’t mind, even when I was in the middle of everything else. After dinner she finally got up the nerve to ask me what must have been working in her mind for quite awhile.

“Mommy’s not gonna come, is she? She’s never coming back to see me.”

“I don’t know about never,” I said. “I can’t imagine her being able to live without seeing you again. But it doesn’t look like she’ll be here today, sweetie. There’s no reason to expect it.”

I thought she might cry again. But she didn’t.

“If Sarah is my always sister, will you be my always mama?”

“If you want me to.”

“I do.”

I kissed her forehead. “Then we’re family, just like I told you. Always and forever.”

She seemed satisfied. She climbed down and went to play with her doll and the other girls again. Juanita smiled at me. “I don’t know how you do it.”

“I don’t,” I said softly. “Whatever you think I’m accomplishing, I really can’t manage at all. Nothing but the good Lord could have gotten me through this holiday.”

“Do you miss Emma?” she asked me.

Dear Emma, who’d given us this farm, introduced us to the Hammonds and our church family, and impacted my life with her wonderful seeds of faith. “Of course. And my mother and father. And Grandma Pearl, and Mrs. Hammond. I even miss Hazel Sharpe in some funny way.”

Juanita smiled. “Snippety old Hazel. I loved her too.”

It was such a happy Christmas. George had cleaned up and was downright pleasant all day long. None of the children fought or carried on at each other. Much. And I felt so completely blessed, when we’d had next to nothing, for God to make a way for a beautiful Christmas despite all our tears.

We sang carols after dinner while the pastor and Juanita were still there. “Joy to the World.” “O Little Town of Bethlehem.” “O Come, All Ye Faithful.” And of course, “Silent Night” and Berty’s favorite, “Away in a Manger.”

“Till morning is nigh . . .” he sang out as loudly as he could, holding each note a little longer than it was meant to be held. “What’s that mean, anyway?”

“Till the morning comes upon us,” the pastor explained. “And the darkness is gone away. I believe that whole line is a prayer for the Lord to be with us through all the tough times, till the final morning when he takes us home, like the last verse says.”

I’m not sure Berty understood that, but he seemed to accept it well enough whether he understood or not. He grabbed the paper Jesus, lifted him high, and went twirling around the house, singing at the top of his lungs.

“I love thee, Lor’ Jesus! Look down fwom da sky! An’ stay by my cradle till morning is nigh!”

Merry Christmas, Berty. And Franky, Sarah, Katie, Lizbeth, and all the rest. Merry Christmas, George. But especially—Merry Christmas, Jesus. Happy Birthday.

“Be near us, Lord Jesus, we ask thee to stay. Close by us forever, and love us, I pray. Bless all the dear children in thy tender care. And take us to heaven to live with thee there.”

For Christmases past and present, for your comfort in the time of trial, your salvation, your wonderful promises, and especially for your presence with us as we walk the path of life, we thank you, Lord God. Stay by our cradle. Till morning is nigh.

Amen.

Grandma’s Apple Fruit Bread

2 ½ cups flour	3 eggs
1½ cups sugar	cups cold coffee
½ teaspoon salt	1½ cups raisins
1½ teaspoons baking soda	1½ cups chopped apple
1½ teaspoons cinnamon	1 cup chopped nuts
½ cup lard (or shortening)

Sift dry ingredients and blend with lard (or shortening). Add unbeaten eggs and beat well. Flour the fruits and nuts before adding. Add coffee alternately with fruit and nuts and stir well. Bake in 2 large loaf pans (greased) at 350 degrees for about 1 hour.

Variation: To make Grandma’s Apple Fruit Cake, add 1 teaspoon ground cloves, ½ cup candied cherries, and
cup candied citron. Can also substitute pears for half or more of the apples. Good for family and company.