Emma's Gift (27 page)

“Even Miss Hazel,” I added, not sure why I would bring her up.

“Wait'll you see what she sent,” Juanita said with a mischievous smile. “But that can wait till morning.”

TWENTY

Samuel

George was sick when he woke up, leaning over a bucket in a matter of minutes.

I sat up, not feeling particularly sympathetic. “Liquor doesn't agree with you, does it?”

“Shut up.”

Young Sam rolled over on the floor in front of the fireplace where he'd slept, took a quick look at us, and jumped up. “I'll feed the stock and start the milkin',” he said. “We got to get an early start 'cause they'll be waitin'.”

George wagged his head back and forth, still leaning down on the bucket. “I can't go.”

He was miserable, no question about that. But I wasn't about to give him a choice in the matter. “You have to go. If you can't even crawl, we're taking you. You promised them.”

I expected his argument, but he only shook his head sadly. “You think I'd do any good at all?”

“At least you'd show them you're willing to keep your word.”

He leaned over farther, and I thought he was going to heave again, but he didn't. “Dad blame it, you might hafta carry me, then. I'll go if you're s' all-fired sure they even want me.”

He'd have to see that for himself. “Did Joe take the Christmas candy with him?” I asked.

“I think so.”

“Well, be sure. And you said Wilametta was making something?”

“In a box. Unner the bed.”

He was looking almost green. So I went for him and pulled the box out of the bedroom. It was full of hand-knitted things. Mostly mittens.

“There's hats in there somewhere, for Willy an' Kirk,” he said. “Mittens 'nough for the rest. I guess we'll tell by the size.”

“She knew what they needed.”

“Yep,” George acknowledged. “Stayed up late doin' it too. Prob'ly oughta rested more.” He set the bucket down hard on the floor in front of him and ran his fingers through his tousled, dark hair. “You're hard, Wortham. But I unnerstand it.”

“Good. See if you can get your boots on.”

While George struggled with his boots, I went out to help Sam with the chores. The boy had been right. The sooner we got going, the better. It was just beginning to dawn; the kids would be waking up at the other house, and I didn't want to leave them wondering for long.

By the time we were done, George had stuffed all the mittens and hats into a canvas bag.

“Easier to carry,” he said, fumbling with his coat sleeve that had turned partially inside out.

“Thanks for thinking about it. Anything else we need to bring?”

He was quiet. I didn't really expect him to answer, except maybe in the negative. But he took hold of the back of a kitchen chair like he just needed to steady himself a minute and gestured toward the cupboard with his other hand.

“Jar a' candied cherries,” he said. “Your Juli's got the rest a' the 'gredients for cake, don't she?”

Rorey's cake. God bless you, George, for remembering. “Yes. It may not be the same, but—”

“I dunno where the recipe is. But we'll come up with somethin'. She'll unnerstand.”

I liked that he said “we.” That was the best thing I'd heard from him in days.

“Guess we oughta bring that ham we saved back for the purpose,” he added. “Don't need to leave ever'thin' on you all. The milk an' eggs too. Ain't no use for 'em here, an' them kids can't never get enough.”

In minutes we had everything together and started on our trek through the snow. The timber was colder than yesterday, at least while it was early, but George seemed to liven a little because of it. The sick look was leaving him as we walked, and he only had to lean against a tree once, thinking he had to lose something that never did come out.

“Don't know if I oughta give 'em these.” George gestured to the canvas sack of gifts. “May be too hard on 'em.”

We hadn't told Sam what was in the sack. He was standing there looking at us, but neither of us tried to explain.

“You've got to give them, George. That's what Wila wanted to do.”

“She woulda liked better to get store stuff,” he mused. “But there weren't no way for it.”

“Whole lot of the country's in the same shape as you on that.”

“Yeah, but I always been that way. Year after year, an' I can't buy hardly nothin'.”

“Looks like you may be better off than some then, just for knowing what to do.”

“Ah, Wortham! You always got some cheery kinda spin t' put on things?”

“Not always. But lately. Thank God.”

“You oughta be a preacher. I ain't never heard the like 'cept outta some preacher.”

“Well, maybe we're all called. In our own way.”

“Yeah,” George scoffed. “I'm called to feed hogs, I guess. Put bacon on the table.”

“Somebody's got to do it. That's honest work.”

He laughed. “An' I'm just fine, to hear you tell it.”

“I reckon it's up to you whether you're fine or not.”

He shook his head at me and didn't say anything else. Young Sam was quiet too, and we walked a long way with barely a word among us.

Lord,
I prayed,
let George treat his children right and not say or do anything too awfully dismal. God, let it be your day. Use our giving, though it is small, to show the greatness of your love.

TWENTY-ONE

Julia

Pastor, Juanita, and I had all slept downstairs, partly so we wouldn't wake the children as we went to bed, and partly to be sure that they woke us as they came down in the morning.

Robert was the first one. He came halfway down the stairs and stopped for a moment, just looking at the tree in the first dawn light from the window.

“Mom,” he said when he finally got closer. “Where'd all that stuff come from?”

It did look rather full beneath the little tree. With all the packages Pastor had wrapped in paper for me and everything they'd brought along, one might think we were rich indeed. I hoped the children would feel that way.

“I guess Pastor brought it all,” Robert concluded. “'Cept the stuff we made.” He knelt down a minute, inspecting the packages. But then he looked up at me with alarm. “Mom!” He checked himself and started to whisper. “The sled's in the barn. We were going to sand it better and grease the runners slick.”

“Don't worry about it. If that's all you have left to do, your father can show them when he gets here, and it won't take long to finish.”

Robert didn't say anything, didn't smile. He might've been looking for a sled-size package under the tree for him. I knew where it was, but I hadn't carried it in. Samuel could get that too, when he got here. And he would get here. Even if George didn't.

Franky was halfway down the stairs before any of us even heard him. Quiet as a mouse, he came the rest of the way down and sat cross-legged in front of the fire, just staring at us and the wonder of that tree.

Then the quiet was done. Harry, Willy, Rorey, and Berty all came thundering down the stairs at the same time, with Harry yelling war whoops all the way. “We get candy! We get candy!” he exclaimed. And then he stopped at the base of the steps and stared.

Kirk came clomping down the stairs, already in his boots and looking as tall as a man. “We got chores to think about,” he said.

But Berty was dancing back and forth in front of the tree. “Looky! Looky! Santa Claus gived the tree people a bunch a' purty balls t' play with!”

“Did they really come from Santa?” Rorey asked, her eyes wide. “I didn't think there was any Santa.”

“I'd say they came from Jesus,” Juanita told her. “Through Emma. She had them saved back for us.”

“Is there somethin' from Mama too?” Franky asked wistfully.

Sarah came hurrying down the stairs in her bare feet. And then Joe carrying Emma Grace, who surprisingly wasn't crying, though she hadn't been fed or changed yet.

“Where's Lizbeth?” Rorey asked.

“I'll get her!” Harry hollered and started for the stairs, but I grabbed him on his way by.

“Now, hold on. No need to hurry her if she's trying to rest. We won't open anything anyway until the chores are done, like Kirk says. And when Sam gets here.”

“Which Sam?” Sarah asked with a chuckle. “Daddy or Rorey's brother?”

“Both of them,” Rorey answered her. “And Pa too.”

“Hope there's somethin' under there for him,” Franky added. “Did you bring him somethin', Pastor Jones?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, we did.” The pastor was feeding the fire, and I got my bedding cleared out of the way in a hurry and went to put the turkey in the oven. I should've been up earlier, but it was no wonder I wasn't, as late as we'd worked.

“Ever have apple coffee bread?” Juanita asked me.

“I don't think so. Sure sounds good, though. We've still got apples down in the basement. They need to be used.”

“Don't worry about breakfast,” she said. “I'll make the coffee bread and…do you have sausage?”

“Yes. Some. Canned on the pantry shelf.”

“I'll make sausage pie then.”

I smiled at her. “Good having you here, Juanita.”

“Thank you. Can't really think where I'd rather be.”

I put the Post's big turkey in the oven, and Robert and Kirk went out to see to the animals. I could hear Pastor in the other room, reading to the kids again.

“Maybe you should check on Lizbeth,” Juanita suggested. “Is it like her to sleep later than the rest?”

“No. Not at all.” Juanita was right, I knew. Lizbeth was generally among the first up, along with the baby. Maybe coming down to face Christmas was a little much for her this morning. I wiped my hands on the nearest dishtowel, though there wasn't a thing on them. Lizbeth wouldn't have been able to sleep through all the racket the others caused. She was worrying, somehow I knew that, and I wasn't especially anxious to face her.

I got the baby's bottle and carried it to Joe in the sitting room. I knew he was glad I was going to check on Lizbeth, even though he didn't say anything.

“You gonna get Lizbeth?” Bert asked me, tugging at my dress.

Harry ran up behind him. “Oh, good! Tell her come see all the presents! I never see'd so many presents! Tell her come see!”

Both little boys tried to follow me, but I told them no. Berty, with a shake of his head, turned his attention back to the paper-wrapped packages, lifting up two and giving them a squeeze.

“Be careful with those,” Pastor admonished.

Harry gave one present a pat, then another one, and then started looking over the little name tags, trying to determine which might be for him. But of course, he didn't know.

I sighed, thinking what it must be like to be Lizbeth, left in charge of all these siblings, most of them so young. Maybe I wouldn't want to come down the stairs either.

I found her sitting on the edge of the bed springs Samuel and I generally slept on, since we were short a mattress. And I didn't know what to say. She was staring out the window at the sparkling white trees outside and didn't turn her head when I stepped into the room behind her.

“Lizbeth…”

I heard her sigh. “You need my help with somethin'?”

“No. It's not that. Juanita's making breakfast.”

“The baby ain't cryin'?”

“No. Everybody's fine.”

“That's good.” She hung her head for a moment.

“What about you, Lizbeth? Are you all right this morning?”

Finally she looked at me, and I could tell from her face that she'd been crying, though she somehow managed to squelch the tears before I got there. “What if he don't come, Mrs. Wortham? What are we gonna do?”

I sat beside her. “We'll eat Juanita's cooking and open presents, honey. Maybe we'll sing some songs with the pastor or something, and have a big dinner.”

“I don't mean that. I don't care about that. If Pa don't come, if he don't want us or he can't keep us, what are we gonna do? We can't stay here forever. You been better'n oughta already.”

“You can stay just as long as you need to stay. But I think he'll come. Your brother and my husband will find a way to convince him. I just believe they will.”

“But don't you see? That he need convincin'…that he ain't already been here all this time, or us over there…that's just what I'm meanin'! I don't wanna go off an' live with nobody else. Especially if we can't all go the same place. An' who's gonna take ten? Nobody would!” She shook her head. “Sam says he's old enough to be on his own. He says me an' him an' Joe an' Kirk can handle it, but he's foolin' hisself, Mrs. Wortham. We can't do it. I can't see no way we could, especially if we don't even got our home. An' that's up to Pa an' Albert Graham.”

I put my arm around her, and she didn't shrug it off.

“Why don't he want us?” she begged to know. “Why don't he wanna be around us?”

“It's not so much that he doesn't want to,” I tried to explain, hoping that my words were true. “He just doesn't know how to handle things yet without your mother. But he'll be all right soon.”

“What if he ain't? What if he gets worse? Can we stay here, Mrs. Wortham?”

I'd already told her they could. But I knew she was really asking for something else now. For more than a temporary refuge. “Honey, we just have to believe he won't get worse. He loved your mother so much. That's why it's hard. But he loves you too. He'll want you with him, where you belong.”

“I'm not so sure anymore,” she said quietly. “I ain't even sure if he'll keep on livin'.”