A Redbird Christmas (16 page)

“What happened?” asked Frances.

“Well, the main problem is, she’s not progressing. If anything she seems to be getting worse. We’ve done everything we can, but it’s almost as if she’s lost her will to get better, and without that, all the medicine and therapy in the world is not going to help.”

“Oh, no, what can we do?”

“At this point, for you people to spend what you are spending to keep her here is a waste, so I’m recommending that you take her home for a while, give her a rest.”

Oswald said, surprised, “Is she ready to leave?”

“No, physically she is not ready; she needs much more therapy if she is going to improve beyond the point where she is today. I don’t like to release a patient who is not fully healed, but in this case it seems Patsy no longer cares about improving . . . and she was doing so well. Do you have any idea what might have caused this?”

Frances looked at Oswald and then at the doctor. “I think she’s just heartbroken over that bird.”

“Are you talking about the bird in the picture she has?” asked the doctor.

Oswald said, “Yes, it was a little crippled redbird.”

He brightened a little. “Well, maybe a visit with him could cheer her up. We can try, at least. Is there any way we could get the bird here?”

“No,” said Oswald. “That’s the problem. The bird died.”

“Oh, I see,” said Dr. Glickman. “And you told her?”

Frances said, “No, we were afraid to tell her the truth so we lied and told her a veterinarian fixed him and he flew away. I wish we hadn’t but we did.”

Oswald said, “We didn’t know what else to do.”

Dr. Glickman looked at the two distraught people across the desk. “Don’t be too hard on yourselves. At least for the time being she can still think he’s alive somewhere. That’s something for her to hang on to. Then maybe after some time passes she’ll get over it and we can get her back up here and finish what we started.”

“How much time?” asked Frances.

Dr. Glickman shook his head. “Not much, I’m afraid. My concern is that without continuing therapy the muscles will weaken, the leg will start to move back into the old position, and all our work will have been for nothing. Let’s hope we can get her back right after Christmas.”

Patsy, looking thinner than the last time they saw her, was so excited when they told her she was going home she could hardly wait to leave. Amelia was sorry to see her go but helped get her packed up. As they wheeled her out to the car, Amelia waved goodbye and hoped Patsy would be back, but she wondered if she would ever see her again.

Patsy chattered happily to her picture of Jack all the way to Lost River, and Oswald and Frances both felt terrible.

When she got home she was still weak and could not walk very far. She had to stay inside most of the time. Everybody did everything they could to cheer her up, but all she wanted to do was look for Jack. Frances tried to reason with her. “Darling, Jack is probably way off somewhere, busy with his own family, and he might not ever come back.”

But Patsy would not be convinced. “Mr. Campbell says if you want something really really bad it will happen, and I want to see Jack really really bad.”

Patsy woke up each day thinking she would see him and was disappointed when she didn’t, but she did not say so. On the days it rained, she sat in her room looking out the window hoping to get a glimpse of him. Frances could not tell her the truth. Dr. Glickman said it was good to have hope, even if it was only false hope. Christmas was coming and Frances was hoping for something as well: She was hoping that Christmas would be a distraction for Patsy and help get the bird off her mind once and for all. She told Mildred, “This will be Patsy’s first Christmas with us, and I don’t care what anybody says, I’m going to spoil her to death.” Day after day Claude came up the river and delivered Christmas packages for Patsy sent from every store that had a catalog. Stuffed animals, books, games, and clothes arrived every day, and Mildred, who did some sewing occasionally, was busy making a dozen monkey-sock dolls for her bed.

Three days before Christmas, after the Mystery Tree had been decorated, Dottie called and said, “Frances, I need to see you right away.” Frances walked into the post office and Dottie, looking grim, handed her a letter she had just pulled out of the letters-to-Santa-Claus box. Frances recognized the childish scrawl immediately.

Deer Santa Klause,

Please let me see Jack. I am sacred he is hurt. I do not want any presents. I have been a good girle I poromise. I am living at Mrs. Cleveaton’s now. It is the blue hose by the post offiec.

Love your firend Patsy

The first Christmas Eve dinner at the community hall with her own child was not as happy as Frances had imagined. There was a pall on the entire evening. When Santa called her child up to receive her present it would not be the
one
thing she wanted most in the world. What was so heartbreaking for Frances and Oswald as well was that she wanted something that neither of them could give her.

Even the tree lighting that year was a bust. When Butch flipped the switch, there was a brief flare, a pop, and then nothing. When they left, Butch was still trying to fix it. But despite the tree fiasco, Patsy was cheerful on the way home. She didn’t tell anyone, but she believed with all her heart that she was going to see Jack tomorrow and she could hardly wait. She fell asleep with his picture in her hand.

Another Christmas

C
HRISTMAS MORNING, PATSY
woke up early and came in the kitchen already dressed for the day, so excited that she told Frances, “I’m going to see Jack today, I know I will!”

Frances winced. “Now, honey, don’t get your heart too set on it, you don’t know that he’s not off somewhere with his own family. Don’t you want to open your presents? It’s Christmas morning!”

“Can I do it later? After I’ve seen Jack?”

“But, sweetheart, you’re supposed to open them on Christmas morning. If I had that many presents I just couldn’t wait another minute. Mildred is coming up here to see you later. Besides, I don’t think you’re strong enough yet to be out all by yourself.” But Patsy was not listening, and as soon as she ate her breakfast she was out the door with her presents left unopened.

When Mildred arrived, Frances was alone in the living room looking upset and worried.

“Where’s Patsy?”

“She’s gone off looking for Jack. She left here an hour ago saying she was sure she was going to see him today.”

“Oh, no. Somebody’s got to tell her the truth; you can’t let that little girl wander around all day thinking she’s going to see that bird.”

“Well, if you want to break her heart on Christmas, go ahead. I can’t. We should have done it sooner. But I just thought she’d get over it. Forget about him.”

Mildred went to the window and looked out. “Ohh . . . there she is, over in Betty’s backyard. I’ll tell you, Frances, this is the worst Christmas I can ever remember. This is what we get for lying. I’ll never do it again.” She turned around and looked at Frances with some alarm. “If she ever finds out what we did she’s going to grow up and hate us. She’ll be scarred for life! Maybe she’ll turn out to be a criminal. She could flip out and come back someday and murder us all in our beds for this, and it will be all our fault.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Mildred, you’ve got to stop reading those trashy novels. Things are bad enough as it is without you making them worse.”

But even the day seemed sad. The sky was gloomy and overcast. The usual Christmas blue skies and sunshine had deserted them.

Next door, Oswald sat in his room thinking about what an odd concept time was and how it never seemed to be just right. There was either too much of it or never enough. Before his doctor’s prognosis, time had been just a round circle ticking on his wrist to check now and then, to see if he was late or early. Looking back on his life now, it seemed most of his time had been spent waiting for something to happen. As a kid, waiting to be adopted. Waiting to grow up. Waiting to get over some cold or for some broken bone to heal. Waiting to meet the right girl, find the right profession, find a little happiness, some reason to live, until his time was up. Now the waiting was over and he had never found one thing he had been looking for until he found painting, and it had come too late. Somebody had sure handed him the short stick in life. And this year, probably his last, Patsy, just as he had, was also waiting for something that was never going to happen. He had watched her from his window walking around in the yard, looking for a dead bird she was never going to see, and it made him mad. This kid was going to have her heart broken. He was one thing, he was tough, but she didn’t deserve it. He sat looking at the painting he had worked on all year, of Patsy and Jack on their birthday. He had wanted to give it to her for Christmas, but again it was too late. She didn’t want a picture, she wanted to see the real Jack, and he wanted to get drunk. He knew all the dangers of picking up that first drink but he didn’t care. He couldn’t bear the pain of having to watch Patsy grow up and realize that nothing is real. There is no God. No Santa Claus. No happy endings. Things die. Nothing lasts.

And there was not a damn thing he could do to spare her from any of it. Even if there had been a God, that morning he wanted to punch Him in His great big liar’s nose.

That afternoon Oswald hitchhiked over to Lillian, walked into the VFW bar, and took a stool next to a man in a John Deere cap drinking a Budweiser. Sitting in the dark room full of cigarette smoke and the smell of stale beer and the sound of the jukebox playing bad music, he began to feel that old familiar feeling. He was back where he should be. He was finally home.

He motioned to the bartender. “I’ll have a Bud, and give my friend here one on me.”

The guy said, “Well thanks, buddy. Merry Christmas.”

Oswald Campbell said, “Merry Christmas to you too, buddy.”

Frances had waited all day for Patsy to come home. By four-thirty that afternoon, when it was just starting to get dark, she gave up waiting, went out to look for her, and finally found her in the woods behind the store. The store was closed on Christmas Day but with great effort, Patsy had somehow managed to make it all the way up there, thinking that this is where Jack might be.

“Honey, you need to come on home now. You’re not strong enough yet to be out this long. It’s turned chilly, and you don’t even have a sweater on. You know the doctor doesn’t want you to catch cold.”

But Patsy would not give up. She wanted to keep looking as long as there was even a little daylight left. “Can’t I stay out just a little bit longer? Please?”

Frances could not bear to make her come in. “All right, just a little while. But put this on for me.” Frances took off her pink sweater, put it on Patsy, and buttoned it up. “I want you home by dark. Do you hear me?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You still have your presents to open. Have you forgotten that?”

“No, ma’am.”

She looked so small and frail, standing there in the pink sweater down to her knees, that Frances almost burst into tears on the way home.

Mildred was right. This was the worst Christmas she had ever been through in her life.

About an hour later, Frances heard Patsy coming up the steps and greeted her at the door. She had turned on all the Christmas lights and had hot chocolate and cookies ready for her. “Well,
here
you are. Santa Claus has left you a whole bunch of things, you better come in and see what they are. Won’t that be fun?” Frances had hoped that the presents would cheer her up, and Patsy tried her best to act surprised and happy at each gift she opened. But Frances could see that nothing, not the dolls, the stuffed animals, the games, or the new clothes, could mask her disappointment. For Patsy, the thing that really mattered was that Christmas had come and was almost gone, and she had not seen Jack.

That evening, after Patsy was in bed, the phone rang. It was Betty Kitchen.

“How’s Patsy doing?”

“Terrible I’m afraid.”

“Well, I figured as much. Is Mr. Campbell there?”

“No. I haven’t seen him all day. Why?”

“He didn’t come in for his Christmas dinner so I wondered if he was over there with you. You know it’s not like him to miss a meal.”

A little after midnight, Oswald had finally passed out and fallen off the bar stool. It was 12:45
A.M.
when Betty woke up to the sound of loud knocking. She came out of her closet, put on a robe, and went to the door. The good Samaritan in the John Deere cap had Oswald slung over his shoulder. He tipped his cap and said, “Sorry to disturb you, ma’am, but I’m afraid he’s had a little too much Christmas cheer. Where do you want him?”

Betty had never seen Oswald take a drink before, but having dealt with many a drunk in her day she said, “Bring him on in, no need to drag him upstairs tonight. Put him in my bed and I’ll deal with him tomorrow.”

The man, who had obviously had a snootful of booze himself, walked into the closet and deposited Oswald on her bed. “Merry Christmas, and to all a good night,” he said as he left. Betty took Oswald’s shoes off, covered him up, and shut the door. She tiptoed upstairs, went into the spare bedroom down the hall, and got in bed, thinking to herself that this had been the worst Christmas she ever remembered. Patsy had had her heart broken, her mother had eaten almost all the wax fruit out of the bowl on the dining room table, and now her boarder had come home dead drunk.

Good God, what next? she wondered.

Betty did not have much time before she found out. At around 5:45
A.M
. the next morning the screaming started. Betty’s mother, Miss Alma, was standing in the hall in her nightgown screaming for her daughter at the top of her lungs. “Betty! Betty! Get up! Get up! My camellias are flying off the bushes. Help! Betty!”

Betty woke up and heard her mother carrying on out in the hall, but she was so tired—she had not slept well—so she lay there hoping her mother would give up and wander back to bed. But no luck. The old lady continued to run back and forth in and out of her room, yelling about her camellias. Finally poor Betty got up, went down the hall, and tried to calm her mother down. “OK, Mother, it’s all right. Go back to bed. There’s nothing wrong, you just had a bad dream.”

But the old lady would not be calmed. She grabbed Betty by the wrist and pulled her to her room and pointed out the window and screamed, “Look! Look, there they go! Go get them!”

Betty sighed. “Come on, Mother, calm down, you are going to wake Mr. Campbell. Let’s just get back in bed.”

Miss Alma continued to point out the window. “Look, look, look!” she said, jumping up and down.

“OK, Mother,” Betty said, and, just to appease her, walked over and looked out and could hardly believe what she saw. At almost exactly the same time in the house next door, Patsy sat up in bed and screamed for Frances. “Mrs. Cleverdon! Mrs. Cleverdon!”

Her screaming startled Frances and she came running to the room. When she opened the door she saw Patsy, her eyes wide with excitement, jumping up and down at the open window. “I saw him, I just saw Jack! He was here! I knew he would come!”

“Where did you see him?”

“Here. He landed right here on my windowsill and blinked at me. I know it was him. He came back!”

Frances went over and looked out the window and she too could not believe what she saw. It almost took her breath away. Although it was just beginning to get light outside, she could see that the entire yard and all the trees
were completely covered with snow!

Everywhere she looked, for as far as she could see, was absolutely white, until all of a sudden she saw a flash of a powerful, incredible red streak by the window, then two, then four. When she leaned out and looked down, she saw that the ground was filled with big red camellias that must have fallen off the bushes. It was not until she saw one fly away that she realized that the whole yard was alive with redbirds!

By this time Betty Kitchen was running down the stairs, her large arms flailing in the air, yelling, “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, get up, Mr. Campbell!”

Oswald opened his eyes and sat up in the small dark closet, and immediately hit his head on a shelf. He didn’t know where he was or how he got there and with all the yelling and screaming he was not sure if he had died and gone to hell or what. Just then Betty jerked the closet door open and yelled, “It’s
snowing
!”

Pretty soon, people up and down the street were out in their yards, in various stages of undress, screaming and hollering, jumping up and down, and pointing at all the redbirds that continued to swarm up and down the street. There were hundreds of redbirds, in flocks of twenty or thirty, sitting in trees and flying around the bushes. With his head ringing with pain from a hangover and having just hit his head, Oswald struggled to get his shoes back on. When he finally walked out he was further startled. He had walked out of a pitch-black closet into a blindingly white world just in time to see a flock of redbirds fly by.

What a sight. It was still snowing big soft white flakes, and as he stood in the street it was as if he were standing inside one of those paperweights that had just been turned upside down. He didn’t know if he was still drunk or not but he suddenly felt like he was inside a picture of some fairyland that could have been an illustration for a children’s book. The Spanish moss, now covered with snow, looked like long white beards hanging down from the trees. As soon as she saw Oswald, Patsy went up to him and took his hand and—with her face flushed and her eyes shining—said, “I
saw
him, Mr. Campbell. He came back just like you said he would if I wished hard enough. He came right to my window and blinked at me. Look,” she said, and pointed to the birds. “There are all his friends. I just knew he’d come back!”

He looked up as a flock landed in the tree above and shook snow down on the two of them.

At that moment Oswald was not sure if he had died and gone to heaven, but if by any chance he was still alive he swore to God he would never take another drink as long as he lived.

Oh, what a morning!

Betty ran in, called her friend Elizabeth Shivers over in Lillian, and said excitedly, “Can you believe it? Have you ever seen anything like it in your life?”

“What?” she said.

“The snow, look out the window! And we’re full of redbirds. Are you?”