Hope on the Inside

by Marie Bostwick

  Debby Harper stood up and read the Nativity story from the book of Luke. Mandy had heard it many times, every year while watching the Charlie Brown Christmas special. After a moment, she stopped listening and started wondering.

  Mandy wondered if Talia was awake yet. She wondered if she’d opened the present that Mandy had “bought” for her, courtesy of a charity that supplied gifts to the kids of inmates, saying they were from the parents. She’d asked them to get Talia a Barbie doll. Had they really done it? Did Talia like it? She wondered what it would feel like, next year, when she was able to pick out Talia’s present herself and pay for it with money she’d earned. She wondered how she was ever going to live through the months until her release. And if she would finish Talia’s quilt before she left.

  Though she wasn’t anxious to spend one more day on the inside than she had to, she really wanted to leave with a completed quilt to give to Talia. She and Talia wouldn’t have a home of their own right away. Until she could find a job and save money to rent an apartment, they’d have to stay with her parents. That was probably for the best. Talia had lived there for so long. She would need time to adjust to the change and to start seeing Mandy as a real mother, not just some lady she visited on odd Mondays. And Mandy would need time to adjust too. Life was different on the outside.

  Still, Mandy couldn’t wait until she and Talia became a real family, with a home of their own. It wouldn’t happen right away. But being able to walk through the gate, hold her daughter for as long as she wanted, and give Talia a quilt she’d made with her own hands would be a down payment on their life to come, her personal promise that someday they would be a family, complete in themselves, and never to be parted again.

  The reading was finished. Chaplain Nancy stood up and gave a very brief sermon on the subject of unpaid debts, a concept her audience understood only too well. Every woman in that room was there because she had incurred a debt and society demanded payment. That was the way of the world. But heaven wasn’t like that. And so, according to the chaplain, God came down to show what heaven was like, what He was like, and to pay humanity’s uncollectable debts, to serve the sentence of the guilty, invite them to dwell in his home as family, forever and ever. Amen.

  It was a good sermon and Mandy could just about believe it. But she wasn’t in heaven, was she? She was here on the inside, in prison, counting the days until her release even as she worried about what would happen after she was released. God was God, but people were people. They didn’t forgive so easily. Or forget. Not even after you’d paid your debts.

  Life was different on the outside.

  Would she be able to find a job? Even with a high school diploma in her hand, would anybody hire a twenty-six-year-old with a felony on her record and no real experience? Would her job pay enough for her to support Talia? Would she be able to find an apartment they could afford, in an area that was safe, and a landlord who was willing to rent to a felon?

  The sermon was over.

  Deedee bounced out of her chair so abruptly that Mandy, lost in a vortex of her increasingly anxious thoughts, jerked involuntarily. Hope shifted her eyes toward Mandy, looking concerned. Mandy pretended she didn’t notice, training her gaze to the front of the room where Deedee stood, hands folded primly in front of her. Deedee took a deep breath, opened her mouth, and then, without accompaniment, started to sing.

  The sweet, clear, rich, and beautiful sound that came from Deedee’s tiny body filled the room and took Mandy’s breath away. She had no idea that Deedee could sing, and especially not like that. The song she had chosen didn’t mention wise men, or stars, or herald angels, or anything about Christmas. But it was exactly right for the time and place.

  When Deedee got to the second verse, Mandy’s eyes began to flood.

  “Let not your heart be troubled,” His tender word I hear,

  And resting on His goodness, I lose my doubts and fears;

  Though by the path He leadeth, but one step I may see;

  His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me.”

  Mandy felt like Deedee was singing just to her, just for her, as if she somehow understood all the worries that had taken root inside her, the questions and doubts that kept her awake at night. But that wasn’t possible.

  Deedee was an amazing singer. However, she couldn’t possibly have known that this song, these words, were exactly what Mandy needed to hear right now. But someone must have.

  It was like what Hope said about the quilt Mandy wanted to make. She’d been attracted to one called Dove in the Window because of the name. That was what she felt like right now, a trapped bird, peering out the window to the world beyond, heart thrumming with fear and anticipation for that thrilling but terrifying moment when the window would open and she would fly free.

  But that quilt . . . it had so many pieces and looked so complicated. It was beautiful and she knew Talia would love it. But Mandy thought it was beyond her.

  Hope disagreed.

  “Before you talk yourself out of it, take a deep breath and listen, okay? The reason it looks hard is because you’re trying to take it all in at once. If you look closely, you’ll see that it’s based on one block, made in different sizes, and that the block is just squares, rectangles, and triangles, shapes you’ve already worked with. It’s just a matter of breaking it down, block by block, and not getting ahead of yourself. You can do this, Mandy. I’ll be there to help you at each step. Trust me. You won’t be in this alone.”

  Trust me. You won’t be in this alone.

  That’s what Hope had promised. And now, as Deedee sang, she was aware of a quiet presence, nothing she could see or hear, but the assurance it brought was palpable, as powerful and true as anything she’d ever experienced.

  The path ahead was steep and winding. She couldn’t see the end of it, but that was all right. She didn’t have to because she wasn’t alone. All she had to do was trust and take one step. Then the next. And the next. And the next.

  It would be all right. She wasn’t in this alone.

  The flood spilled over. Hot, cleansing tears, tears of relief, coursed down Mandy’s cheeks. She wasn’t the only one. All around her women were crying, crying from joy and not grief.

  When Deedee reached the final chorus, she lifted her arms and held out her hands. The moment she did, every woman in the room sprang to her feet, eagerly accepting the invitation, and joined in the song.

  “I sing because I’m happy. I sing because I’m free.

  For His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me.”

  They stood side by side and shoulder to shoulder and sang with one voice.

  They sang because they were happy. And free.

  In that moment, they were.

  Chapter 27

  Hope never met a holiday she didn’t love.

  Holidays were a perfect excuse to try out new crafts, decorating themes, and recipes. With a little thought and a dash of creativity, they were also an excellent means of teaching her kids or students about anything from astronomy to zoology and every topic in between without them realizing they were learning. Well, most of the time.

  The Bastille Day birthday party had been a big hit with the twins and their friends in the neighborhood. Her students at the high school had greeted her Pie Day party, celebrating both the pastry and the mathematical constant, with equal enthusiasm. However, her Groundhog Day party had been less successful. Even with the inclusion of the chocolate pudding cups sprinkled with cookie crumbs to represent dirt and topped with a teddy bear cookie to represent an emerging groundhog, the kids recognized it for what it was—a ham-handed attempt to teach the geography of Pennsylvania.

  Well, you couldn’t hit the ball out of the park every time. Some holidays had more material to work with than others. Hope loved them just the same, all of them.

  But none more than Christmas.

  That was why, even though she’d been diligent in winnowing down their possessions before moving from Port
land to Olympia, even getting rid of the spinning wheel that she’d always told herself she would learn to use but somehow never did, Hope absolutely refused to part with the Christmas decorations—all sixteen boxes of them.

  Even after she dragooned Rick and McKenzie into service as reluctant helpers, it had taken two full weekends to finish decorating the condo for Christmas.

  The display included six homemade, hand-ribboned wreaths, Hope’s extensive collection of snowmen, a sixteen-piece ceramic representation of a Dickensian village at Christmas, complete with Scrooge and Tiny Tim figurines, a tabletop crèche she had inherited from her mother, dozens of candles, three snow globes, two music boxes, and no fewer than eight Christmas trees.

  The largest fresh-cut trees, placed in the foyer and living room, were hung with ornaments of copper, gold, and chocolate brown and traditional red and green, respectively. The master bedroom tree was hung with a variety of glass balls that had been hand-painted by Hope’s mother. The tree in the guest room, currently occupied by McKenzie, was decorated with the ornaments the kids had made as children. Two live trees on the balcony, planted in enormous terra-cotta pots, sported silver spray-painted pinecones and so many strings of white lights that Rick had to go to the hardware store and buy extra extension cords. The guest bathroom and kitchen counter were home to two artificial tabletop trees.

  The kitchen tree was the most recent addition and Hope’s current favorite, decorated with child-sized teacups, cake pans, muffin tins, and tiny rolling pins she’d found at a secondhand store and which she and McKenzie had turned into ornaments with the aid of red ribbon and a hot glue gun. The tree was adorable, and the opportunity for crafty bonding with McKenzie was a plus for Hope and a good distraction for her daughter. Kenz was working hard to keep up a brave front, and seemed genuinely pleased to see her brothers, but, obviously, this wasn’t the happiest or easiest Christmas of her life. Hope was worried about her.

  Though the dinner guests weren’t due for an hour, Hope lit the candles, illuminated the trees, and started playing Liam’s carefully curated selection of Christmas carols on the stereo before sitting down at the kitchen island to finish making the fresh evergreen and holly arrangements for the table.

  Hope hummed along with a choral version of “The Holly and the Ivy” while she worked, stripping needles from the lower part of the cedar’s branches and then thrusting them into a block of floral foam.

  Everyone had still been asleep when she returned from the chapel service at the prison, the twins sharing the second guest room, Reed’s girlfriend, Pamela, sharing with McKenzie, and Liam sacked out on the sofa, snoring softly. Hope had plenty of time to brew coffee, put the breakfast casserole in the oven, slice fruit for a salad, and warm up Rick’s homemade coffeecake before the family began to stir.

  As was their tradition, they opened presents in their pajamas while enjoying coffee and cake, then got dressed and sat down to breakfast. The gifts weren’t as lavish as in former days; even with Hope working, they still had to keep an eye on the budget. But the boys seemed to appreciate the pajama pants she’d sewn for them and McKenzie really loved her three pairs of maternity pants.

  “Awesome!” she exclaimed, holding the light gray pants up against her bulging waistline. “All my others are getting crazy tight!”

  Rick, as was his tradition, gave everyone a book. But he’d surprised Hope with a sterling silver bangle bracelet with two blue glass beads and a silver heart charm. “Those are just to get you started,” Rick said. “I figured I could give you more charms for birthdays and anniversaries. You like it?”

  “I love it. It’s perfect,” she declared before slipping the bangle onto her wrist and then leaning forward to give him a kiss.

  “And I love my new sweater,” he said, looking down at the cable-patterned fisherman’s sweater Hope had knitted for him. “Must have taken you forever to make.”

  “I actually started it three years ago,” Hope admitted. “But then, you know me, I put it aside and got involved in something else. I found it again when I was unpacking.”

  “Good thing I lost enough weight so I can fit into it.” He laughed, giving her a peck on the lips.

  “And it’s a good thing that Pamela gave me this beautiful new yarn,” Hope said, nodding toward a bag filled with six skeins of beautifully soft turquoise-colored merino wool and then at Pamela, who was sitting on the sofa with Reed’s arm around her waist. “I was almost out.”

  “Oh, I doubt that.” Pamela laughed. “If you’re anything like my mom, you’ve got some extra stashed away here somewhere. She always says that there’s no such thing as too much yarn or too much chocolate.”

  “Your mom is a knitter?”

  “A knitter, a sewer, a baker, a crafter. She does everything. Like you,” Pamela said, then turned to Reed and gave him a smile.

  Hope smiled as well. They looked good together, those two. But her smile faded a bit as she noticed the shadow that briefly crossed McKenzie’s face. Poor Kenz. It couldn’t be easy for her, seeing the way Reed and Pamela looked at each other, the evidence of love written so clearly on their faces. Even so, she was doing her best to make Pamela feel welcome and not to let her own disappointments mar her brother’s happiness. Hope was proud of her.

  “Hey, Mom,” McKenzie said after the shadow passed, smiling so brightly that only Hope would have sensed what an effort this required. “Did you know that Pamela quilts? One of her pieces was accepted to a quilt show in California last year and won a ribbon.”

  “Uh-oh,” Liam said, shaking his head. “That does it. Pamela, I hope you like this family of ours. Because if you and Reed don’t get married, my mother is going to insist on adopting you.”

  Reed turned toward Pamela, grinned, and popped up his eyebrows.

  “You guys seem okay,” Pamela said, flushing crimson.

  “That’s just because you don’t know us that well yet,” Rory said, getting to his feet. “You don’t, for example, know that the Carpenter family plays a very vicious and highly competitive game of full-contact Monopoly every Christmas. Nor do you know that, every Christmas, my poor, pathetic twin loses. Badly.”

  “All right,” Reed said, hopping to his feet and clapping his hands together. “That does it, loser. Game on!”

  Hope started poking the holly branches into her table arrangement and chuckled as she thought about that Monopoly game. Predictably, Reed had lost and, happily, McKenzie had won. As McKenzie leapt up from the table to do a little victory dance, fanning fistfuls of fake currency in her opponents’ faces, Hope could tell she’d forgotten about Zach and the uncertainty of the future. At least for a little while.

  It was good that McKenzie was there, with them. Nothing made Hope as happy as having all her children under one roof, even if that roof wasn’t the one they’d gathered under for so many years. In spite of the changes, it was turning out to be a surprisingly good Christmas. Most surprising of all had been the chapel service at the prison.

  She’d only gone to be supportive of Nancy and Deedee. She never expected to find herself so moved by the experience. To start with, there was Deedee. Who knew she could sing like that? It just went to show you: If you dug below the surface, you discovered that people had all kinds of hidden talents.

  Another surprise was the way that the women got to their feet and joined in. They were so . . . “Transformed” was the only word Hope could think of to describe it. Tears and smiles and raw emotion were fully in evidence, even on the faces of the toughest, most hard-bitten inmates. The beautiful, almost angelic sound of their voices raised together gave her gooseflesh. She’d felt like she’d witnessed a miracle. Maybe she had.

  But, for Hope, the most moving part of the service came when Nancy, resplendent in her robe and embroidered stole, walked to the front of the room holding the gold saucer filled with Communion wafers and invited them all to partake.

  “Come to the table,” she said. “For all are welcome.”

  As Deedee
started the group off singing “Angels We Have Heard on High,” most of the women began filing forward to receive the bread. Hope hadn’t planned on going forward. But when it came time for the row to go up, Hope looked over at Mandy. Her eyes were dry now but still rimmed in red. In them, Hope saw a mixture of longing and uncertainty.

  Hope leaned closer. “Do you want to take Communion?”

  “I . . . I’ve never done it before. Do you know how it works?”

  “I do. But it’s been a long, long time. I haven’t been to church since my mother died.” Hope felt her throat tighten. She swallowed hard and looked into Mandy’s eyes. “Do you want me to go with you? We can do it together.”

  Mandy bit her lower lip, thinking for a moment.

  “Do you think it would be okay?”

  Hope could tell by the tremor in her voice and the look of yearning in her eyes that the question was more complicated than it appeared to be.

  “Yes,” she said, and took Mandy’s hand. “It’s like Nancy said. Everybody is welcome.”

  They’d gone forward together, taken the bread, and gone back to their seats. Such a simple thing. But it changed something inside Hope. Broke something. Built something.

  It was too soon to say what it meant. But when Hope came home, even before she began making breakfast, she took the sixteenth box from the closet, a box that had remained unopened for many years.

  Unwrapping the once-white tissue paper, now yellowed with time, she took out her mother’s crèche and placed it on a table.

  Rick, who had been taking a nap before the guests arrived, shuffled into the kitchen, yawning and stretching just as Hope was putting the completed centerpieces in the middle of the table.

  “People should be showing up pretty soon, right? You need any help? Where is everybody?”