“So, Dad, how do you plan to turn this can’t into a can and make Mr. Lafferty happy?”
“The only way to make a can out of this situation was to persuade the DA to dismiss the case. DAs don’t usually dismiss a case if they have evidence and can prove their case, and he has the evidence and could prove it. That meant my only chance was to let him know that Mr. Lafferty would be a reluctant witness. It took a bit of convincing, but the DA thought better of it and dropped the case. I persuaded him that the parents of these boys would make amends with Mr. Lafferty and they’d also make certain these boys were disciplined for their actions.”
“Yeah for Dad! You turned that can’t into a can, and you made Mr. Lafferty happy and all those boys and their parents.”
“I saved myself some time, and I saved the taxpayers some money. And in case you’re wondering, there’s no more club on campus that requires boys to do stupid, destructive things in the name of bravery. You get that, Jackson?”
“Yes, sir. Do you know how Derrick and Wendell are?”
“I heard today Wendell’s back home. It’ll be a while before Derrick sees the outside of a hospital. Two more surgeries to go on his leg.”
I drank a glass of milk and headed upstairs, where I showered, dressed for bed, and sat at my desk watching my sign-language DVD. I searched to learn the signs for go, tell, mountain, over, hills, everywhere, Jesus, born. I practiced them over and over. “Go, Tell It on the Mountain” was H’s favorite song, and it had to be perfect.
I crawled into bed and began to think of that room, and I remembered another song. If Piper could dance her way across that room and she didn’t even know Mr. Lafferty, and if the whole choir could sing, and they didn’t know him, then I would sing him a song all by myself in his language. I can, and I will.
I pulled out the brown bag from under the bed and finished the rest of a granny square. Eight minutes and lights were out. I think I hummed the song softly until I fell asleep.
Mom opened the lid to the box on the counter. “The sewing ladies at church finished the costumes. Grancie picked them up at church yesterday and brought them out this afternoon. Want to see?”
“Oh, yes. Did she bring the crown?” I remembered she’d said the crown would really be something.
“Well, let’s see.” Mom folded back the lid. “Here it is, right on top.” She lifted it carefully out of the box and set it down.
I ran my hand over the metal and the jewels. “Wow, Grancie was right. This is no cardboard crown with glitter. Let’s see the costumes.” Robby will look like a real prince with this crown.
“Mr. Hornsby helped us with the crown. He was there when Grancie and I were out at Emerald Crest baking cookies with Mrs. Schumacher. He heard us talking about making the costumes and that we were having some trouble coming up with a crown that wasn’t cardboard. He volunteered, said there was copper sheeting in the studio that would work. And when we left, we had the beginnings of a crown.”
“Looks like Grancie got busy with her glue gun and velvet and these fake emeralds and rubies.”
“Yes, and I think she had a lot of fun.”
“I know. She likes making things. You know, Mom, I like Mr. Hornsby. Dad says he’s a good man. And I like it that Mr. Lafferty is not out there all alone and he has somebody besides Mrs. Schumacher looking out for him.”
“Your dad’s right, and I think Mr. Hornsby will be with Mr. Lafferty a very long time. He works hard, and he’ll take care of that property and Mr. Lafferty. And the good news is that Mrs. Schumacher is selling her house to him in a way that he can afford it. It will be his family’s very first home. And she’s moving into Emerald Crest this week.”
“Does that mean that the Hornsbys will be in their new house before Christmas?”
“I think so. Your dad’s handling the paperwork to make it happen. Mrs. Schumacher is leaving most everything that’s in the house. She doesn’t need it, and the Hornsbys don’t have very much.”
“This should be a great Christmas for his family.” I tried to move the box lid so I could see more.
“For certain it will be a good Christmas for them.” Mom lifted the folded costumes out of the box. “Look, no striped bathrobes or old towels. These are real costumes. And look what the sewing ladies made for the girls to wear. Each one has a shawl and a sash to match. And they’re all different.”
I couldn’t see over the box lid. “What about the costume for the Prince? Do you see it? It’s supposed to be purple.”
“Do you mean this one?” Mom pulled out a purple toga with a lighter purple sash trimmed in gold ribbon.
“That has to be it. Robby will look nice in that.”
“Robby?” Mom glared at me. “Look nice?”
“Robby’s the Prince, Mom. He’s supposed to look nice.”
Mom raised her eyebrows. “Oh, we certainly want Robby the Prince to look nice.” She folded the costume and put it back in the box. “How’s your song coming?”
“Fine, I think. Mrs. Wilson will play for me, and I can sing it. But it’s not easy signing and singing.” Even just talking about it, my hands started moving. I had been practicing so much I could hardly keep my hands still anymore.
“Don’t you just sign the words? That should come easy for you.”
“Oh, no. It’s not like that, Mom. It’s not real American Sign Language just to sign every word I sing. That would be like signing English, and that’s not American Sign Language. Mrs. Walker said I had to understand the song and think about what it meant, and I had to sign the concepts.”
“I get it. That’s way more difficult.”
I waved my arms in the air over my head. “Really way more difficult.” Then I stood still. “It’s like communicating in three languages. I’m singing English words and signing American Sign Language, and then there’s the whole music thing. That’s like a language too.”
Mom curled a ringlet of my hair around her finger. “Glad it’s you, kid, and not me. But I have faith. You can do it.”
“I think I could do it in my sleep.”
Mom picked up the box to move it to the laundry room. “Maybe Robby, the look-nice-Prince, will think you’re pretty special singing and signing.”
I turned so Mom couldn’t see me. My face was getting hot, and that Russell streak down my forehead had to be turning red. “Maybe not.”
“Oh, Julia, I know it will be a beautiful moment, and Mr. Lafferty will be so moved and so appreciative. And then there’s the whole play thing that you wrote just for him.”
I remembered the set, and the subject needed changing. “I almost forgot. Did Dad and G-Pa finish the mountain?”
Mom was back in the kitchen by then. “G-Pa was supposed to pick it up today. He and your dad cut it out of plywood, and G-Pa got one of his retired friends who is an artist to paint it. But G-Pa thought the King of the High Mountain might need a stool to stand on, so they built a ladder-like stool for the back of the mountain.”
“I hope they can get it through the front door.”
“Not to worry. It’s not that big. But you did name it the High Mountain, and they wanted the playwright to be happy.”
“Can we use it Wednesday for our last rehearsal?”
“Grancie told G-Pa to take it to the church and leave it in the M&M room.”
“Fantastic. It’s all coming together, Mom.”
Jackson built a fire after supper and turned on television. I didn’t think that boy ever studied anything but a game. Mom joined me at the table by the window. “Are you sure this is what you want to do?”
I had the scissors, pen, glitter glue, the hole puncher, white paper, and gold ribbon all out in front of me. “Yes, ma’am. It’s important. Grancie gave me the idea.”
“And how many do we need to make?”
“Well, at first it was only going to be eleven for the kids singing. But now I think it needs to be for everybody there. Grancie said that would be a special touch and everyone would have a re
membrance of this evening to take home with them.”
Dad came in from his office and walked over to the table. “What are you making?”
I handed him the script to the play. “There’s a part in the play when the King of the High Mountain’s son gives everyone a beautiful invitation. We’re making the invitation. And then the Prince will hand out something special for everyone in the room. Grancie said this was going to be a special moment, and everybody needed a keepsake to help them to remember it.”
“Your grancie’s like that. She’s memorialized things as long as I can remember. My first report card, the cat having kittens, family trips—if we did it, Grancie made it special. Most folks do that kind of thing with photos, but she does it with her pen and paper and poetry.”
Dad read Grancie’s poem and then through my script. “This is good, Julia. Now I know why you needed a mountain. So how many of these keepsakes are you making?”
“I think about sixty will do.” I started counting sheets of paper.
“Sixty? I thought you said about twenty-five when you started this.”
“But we have more. Mrs. Wilson sent out a letter about the surprise party, and now all the parents want to come and bring their other children. Then there’s Mrs. Schumacher, and I’m inviting Mr. Hornsby and his family.”
“You sure you have enough glitter glue?” Dad chuckled.
“Maybe not. But we’re writing the messages and punching holes for the ribbon tonight.”
Dad tapped his finger on the table. Mom was a hand-wringer, but Dad tapped when he was thinking. “Jackson, turn off that television and turn on the Christmas music to loud, and get yourself over here. We have a family project, and Mom and Julia need our help.”
Jackson didn’t like it much to begin with, but we had a good time around the table. Dad divided it up so that each of us made fifteen invitations. “Let’s at least get all these written first, and then you can decorate them, Julia. I don’t think Jackson and I would be very good at that. But now, hole-punching? Jackson, that’ll give your muscles a good workout. Just think—sixty repetitions.”
I wrote the first message and passed it to Jackson. He copied it and passed it on to Dad and then to Mom. Before long, we were into writing. Mom, being her cautious self, said, “You should read every word when you finish. This is an important message, and there should be no mistakes. And in your best printing, Jackson.”
“Yes, these are Grancie’s words. Best get them right.”
While we wrote, we listened to “O Little Town of Bethlehem” and “Away in a Manger” and all the carols that Dad liked. Sometimes we talked, and sometimes we sang along, but we all copied Grancie’s words.
MEMORIES OF HOLY NIGHTS
Silent days, but a holy night—that moment in time when the world was made right,
When God came near in the mire and manger,
Breath of heaven, to the world a stranger, yet hope for us all.
Stars blazed, angels praised, a mother gazed into the face of God.
’Twas a moment in time when life was reborn.
’Twas a holy night.
Silent days, but a holy night—a moment in time when the world seemed right,
When the King of the High Mountain came near in the music and mime,
Child messengers for such a time, as joy-bringers to us all.
Bells rang, children sang, hearts were changed with the return of Christmas.
’Twas a moment in time when memories were reborn.
’Twas a holy night.
After a little while, Mom got up and came back with a basket of popcorn and cups of hot apple cider. In less than a couple of hours, we were done. Invitations all written, all punched, and all with one gold ribbon tied in the corner. I looked at that stack of folded cards, and I looked at that three-inch tube of glitter glue. Dad was right. I didn’t have enough, but maybe Grancie’s poem didn’t really need glitter. Maybe it was just right as it was.
Dad stood up and cracked his knuckles. “Well, this evening didn’t turn out the way I planned. It turned out better. Jackson, turn off the music and turn on the game. Maybe we can catch the last quarter.”
Mom helped me clear and clean the table. I put all the cards in a box, taped it shut, and took it to the laundry room with the box of costumes. “Thanks, everybody. I’m going upstairs.”
Mom asked, “To bed or to practice?”
I needed to finish one more round of crocheting to put the second lap quilt together. Jesus, forgive me for this fib, but it’s for another good reason. “I might practice signing for a little while, then I’ll be under those warm covers and out with the lights.” I hugged Mom, kissed her cheek, and thanked her for helping. I hugged Dad too and waved goodnight to Jackson. “No need to come up. I’ve had my goodnight hugs.”
Grancie was right about a lot of things, and she was right about crocheting being a good time to think, especially when I was crocheting the edging and didn’t have to count. I had plenty to think about. A lot of things had started when I met Mr. Lafferty. He became my friend, and he was teaching me sign language and bird carving, and he took me with him to sit under the chestnut oaks to feed the birds. He will be so surprised when we all show up to bring him a party.
Single crochet, slip stitch, single crochet, slip stitch. I thought about the party and the beautiful room and all the people. It was going to be something—much more than I first imagined. And so many people had gotten involved to help. Mom and Dad, Mrs. Wilson, Piper and her mom, Grancie and G-Pa, and Mrs. Schumacher and Mr. Hornsby. And then there were the ladies who’d made the costumes and G-Pa’s friend who painted the mountain. And tonight even Jackson had helped. Lots of people had worked on this party, and most of them didn’t even know why. But when it was all over and they found out, they would be glad for what they’d done to help.
But not all the things that had happened were good. There were the broken windows and the boys getting into trouble and Derrick getting hurt bad. But even with that, Mr. Hornsby had gotten a good job and a new house, and Mrs. Schumacher was able to move back to Emerald Crest.
Grancie was so right about moments that change everything, like the moment I’d met Mr. Lafferty and the moment Derrick fell into the cave and got hurt. Those moments had changed things for lots of people. Derrick didn’t know when he picked up one rock that it would change his life and affect his whole family. And when those boys decided to break windows to prove themselves, they didn’t know it would change Mr. Hornsby’s life too. Now Mr. Hornsby had a good job and a house, and neither Mrs. Schumacher nor Mr. Lafferty would be living alone ever again.
I was glad something good had come out of what those boys did even though they didn’t know it. There was a lot I didn’t know too, but I hoped something good would come out of this surprise Christmas party.
As soon as I walked into the library, I saw Mr. Lafferty, but no wood-carving tools or feathers were on the table. Today he had on a heavy jacket, his plaid tam, and a blanket over his legs and one around his shoulders. He turned his laptop around to show me what he’d typed. Not a day for carving. The white-crowned sparrows are back. Come quietly with me. Then H put on his gloves and rolled out of the room and down the hall to the garden room.
He didn’t stop until he came to a pile of brush near the end of the brick path. The brush looked like someone had put it there on purpose, and there was a small stool nearby. He pointed at the stool and then at me. I sat down on the stool, and he stopped right next to me. He reached beside him in his chair and pulled out a can. He poured birdseed onto the ground and the brick path and then into his gloved hand. He nodded to me.
I held my hand out for the seed. There was no need for him to instruct. I just watched him and did what he did. I was glad the wind wasn’t blowing and there was no snow on the ground. From where we sat, I could see the glass windows in the garden room, and the lamp in the library window where Dad sat at the desk in the corner with his computer. Mrs. Schumacher was
to my left in the kitchen, rolling something out on the marble-topped island.
It didn’t seem long before I heard a whir in the brush beside us. I didn’t move. Neither did H. Three medium-sized birds alighted on the brush. They had brownish wings and gray bellies, and they beat their wings and then settled down. When they were still, I saw the white crown, almost like a tuft of white hair with black lines outlining it. I knew this was the bird H was looking for—the white-crowned sparrow.
It was not a long wait before they hopped from the brush onto the ground and began eating the seeds H had put there. They didn’t stay long and flew away. The excitement of their arrival was over. But even when they flew, H didn’t move a muscle.
Neither did I. I moved nothing but my eyes in the quiet, and I saw the windows in the great living room at the other end of the house. In the silence, I closed my eyes and daydreamed about the light and the joy that would fill that room on Sunday afternoon. I was imagining when I heard it—the birdsong sounded like birdie, birdie, birdie. And then there was silence. I waited and didn’t even want to breathe. There it was again, but different, more like cheer, cheer, cheer.
H looked at me, pointed upward at birds flying over, smiled big, and brushed his hands together to get rid of the birdseed. Then he pulled out another can. I did exactly what he did and held out my hand. He poured kernels of sunflower seeds in my hand and then into his and put the can away.
Then he again sat like a statue. I couldn’t really see his face because he was beside me, but I felt his stillness and his excitement. I slowly turned my head and froze. We waited. The birdie, birdie, birdie sound was behind us now. Then I felt the whir. The reddest cardinal I’d ever seen flew right over my shoulder and landed in H’s hand. The male cardinal picked up a seed. I could hear it when he cracked it with his beak. Then another whir over my shoulder. But this time, the female alighted in my hand and picked up a seed. She was so light that I wouldn’t have known she was there if I weren’t looking or hadn’t felt the breeze her wings created. I didn’t think I could stay still.
Silent Days, Holy Night Page 18