by Leisha Kelly
I walked that mile faster than I’d ever walked it, or so it seemed to me, seething the way I was inside. How could he do this? Bad enough the way he’d already been, but to pour drink on top of it! No wonder Juli was angry at him! No wonder his boys hadn’t trusted him! But was Sam part of the problem in this? It was hard to believe.
I saw somebody moving around in the farmyard when I first approached and thought it was George, as big as he was. But it was young Sam, pacing around like he wasn’t sure what to do with himself. For a moment I wondered if he might have been drinking too.
“What’d you come for?” he shouted. “Ain’t no use you comin’! Might as well go to Mr. Post’s an’ get him to haul all the kids he can to Dearing! Mrs. Gray might take some of ’em, an’ Mrs. Pratt, an’ Pastor hisself, one or two apiece maybe, and if you’d—”
“Sam.” I wasn’t sure what I’d say to him, but it was clear how distressed he was. Crying, the tears surely cold against his angry, red face.
“He hit me,” he said, “an’ shoved me out the door an’ tol’ me to go with the rest of ’em, not to stay around him no more.” He looked toward the house, the pain and something almost like hatred suddenly vicious in his eyes. “I oughta kill him. Oughta trounce him good.”
Oh, how right Lizbeth had been. “Sam, none of that will help him. I expect he even knows he deserves it, but it wouldn’t do nothing but make things worse. Did he ask you to bring him a bottle yesterday?”
“Me? You think I’d do it? You think I’d help him go stinkin’ crazy even if he did ask me?”
“No. I just—”
“He used to beat us. When Mama was off anywhere or outside or anything, he’d be drinkin’ an’ cut loose on us afore long. But she slugged him good one day, and I oughta do the same thing—”
“But it was her getting him to church that stopped the drinking, wasn’t it?”
“Maybe so. But she slugged him first. Made him go.”
“Your father gave his heart to God, didn’t he?”
“We thought so.”
“He did. I know. And it’ll be God to get him through this. Will you believe that with me?”
He was shaking. “I don’t know. I don’t know if nothin’ll get us through.”
I put my hand on his shoulder. “It doesn’t seem so, when you’re in the middle of things, but he’s here with us. He’s going to help your father and all of you. Trust him, all right?”
“You don’t know what it’s like.”
“No. Not with your mother dying, I don’t. But I know about the drinking part of it. My father would come home violent, till one night he left us altogether. My mother drank too, and soon got us a stepfather as bad as she was. I pretty much learned to stay out of their way. But your father’s different. He already knows better, down inside somewhere. He knows God cares.”
Young Sam was quiet, looking down at his snowy boots.
“Will you go inside with me and talk to him?” I asked.
“He don’ wanna talk to me no more. He done tol’ me that.”
“It’s not up to him. Nothing’s up to him right now. Not until he gets himself straightened out.”
George was at the table. We kicked the snow off our boots, shut the door behind us, and took off our coats before he even looked up.
“Get out.”
He was drunk. I knew from the way he was sitting, the way his words came out, before I even got close enough to see his eyes.
“I thought you were going to give the kids Christmas.”
“I will. I’ll be there.”
“Uh-huh. Do you think this is what they needed? To see you like this and come running back, scared of what you might do? What is that, George? What are you trying to do?”
He slapped his hands down on the table and then his head down on them. “I didn’t mean to scare nobody.” He looked like he was going to cry.
Young Sam stood and stared at him, clearly surprised that he wasn’t raging.
“Where’s your bottle, George?”
He looked up at me, shaking his head. “I—I finished it. I chucked it out the window.”
“Got another one?”
He shook his head. “You wantin’ a drink or aimin’ to take it from me?”
“Where is it, George?”
“I’m gonna need it. I—I ain’t meanin’ to be drinkin’ all the time now. Jus’—jus’ fer a day or two. I done told you I couldn’t handle it. Ever’body knows that. Can’t nobody expect me to—”
“People expect you to care for your children, George. I expect you to.”
I moved for the cupboards, and he jumped up. “What’re you—”
“Just looking for your bottle. Where’d you get it?”
“Frank Cafey brung it after you left yesterday. He unnerstands me. He knows what I was a-needin’ to manage with all them kids, jus’ lookin’ in their sorry faces.”
“Frank doesn’t know anything. But he’ll know soon enough not to be spreading his poison like this. You know better, George. You know exactly what Wilametta would want from you.”
He sunk back down in his seat as if I’d hit him. “I know. I know. But I can’t. I can’t do it. I ain’t able—”
“Where’s the bottle, George? For Wilametta’s sake.” I opened one cupboard, then another, and then found it in the third. Some cloudy-looking home brew in a quart jar sticking up behind the tea and baking soda. It didn’t take me long to have it open and poured into the remains of Lizbeth’s filthy dishwater.
“Wait a minute! Wait!”
“I’m doing you a favor. Maybe you’ll sober up and be in some kind of decent shape by tomorrow.”
“I hate you, Sam Wortham.”
“No, you don’t. You don’t know what you think right now.” I lifted the soupy dishpan and handed it to Sam. “Dump it outside for me.”
The boy’s eyes were fairly glowing with appreciation. He moved to the door quickly, avoiding his father’s reaching hand trying to catch him by one arm.
“I wasn’t meanin’ to be drunk, now you know that,” George blubbered. “I was just—”
“I don’t want to hear it right now. I’ll be talking to Frank Cafey and letting him know that if you decide to defy the law and all rational sense it may be your business, but if he gets himself involved in it again he’ll have me and your boys to face.”
“You’re a hard one, you’re hard…”
Something about those words kindled the rage in me. “You’re the hard one, George Hammond! If you’d been looking at your children’s faces when they came back over to us today! Lizbeth and Kirk and Joey looking like they hadn’t a hope in this world. You’ve given them nothing to stand on. You’re their father, for God’s sake—”
“Shut up! Just shut up! Leave me alone.”
“No. I’m sorry if I seem hard to you. I know you’re grieving, but you’re going to do right by those kids so far as it’s in my power to see that you do! I’m staying right here until you sober up, and then you’re coming home with me, like it or not, to give them a decent Christmas. If we have to trounce you like your boy said, that’s the way it’s going to be.”
NINETEEN
Julia
I wasn’t sure I could break the gloom off everybody this time. Even the younger children who’d gone playing were more solemn than usual, sensing what the older ones felt. Rorey stood grimly upbraiding Sarah’s doll for some nameless infraction, and Harry and Bert were crawling up the staircase on their knees, in retreat from some unseen foe.
Lizbeth, who’d carried a cloth bag in addition to the baby, now sat with the bag between her feet. She leaned forward in the old kitchen chair and started to cry.
“Oh, shoot.” Kirk got up and moved away from her, clear to the other room where he wouldn’t have to see. But Joe scooted his chair up close, and I wondered if I should leave them alone or try to help him comfort her.
“I thought we’d make it,” she said. “I thought we could do it, almost the same,
if he was the same.”
“We’ll make it,” Joe told her. “Without him if we hafta.”
“Look what I brought,” she cried, opening the sack at her feet. “Look!”
Joe didn’t look. “We’ll give the kids their candy in the morning. An’ if Pa don’t want his present, that’s his business. Maybe he can’t even think about Mama right now.”
“Maybe that’s why he don’t hardly look at us.”
“The Posts sent a turkey,” I said, hoping it would cheer her. “Lots of fixings for the rest of the meal too. It’s for you, only they brought it here when they found out you’d be here.”
“We’s a pity to ’em all, I guess.”
“Oh, Lizbeth, they care about you.”
“You was right the other day, tellin’ the preacher it ain’t fair. Pa don’t want us, Mrs. Wortham. He plain don’t want us, an’ I ain’t sure God does neither.”
“Lizbeth…”
But what could I say? My words had done this to her heart, just as much as her father’s behavior had. God forgive me. I know you love them. You love us all.
“Lizbeth, I’m so sorry I said what I did. I was just feeling overwhelmed, that’s all. Your mother was absolutely sure of God’s love, I know she was, and she would want you to be. He’s going to provide for you. He’s going to work everything out all right.”
“You have a mama?” Her words sounded like an accusation.
“In heaven,” I said. “Years ago. She passed on when I was five.”
She looked up at me, startled. “I didn’t know that.”
“Not something I talk about much.”
She was looking at me differently. Like maybe she thought I understood at least a little of what they were going through. “Did you stay with your pa after that?”
“Not much. He was gone a lot. And then he died when I was nine.”
She sniffed and wiped at her eyes. “What did you do?”
“Stayed with Grandma Pearl. And she was wonderful. She taught me about faith and shared so much.”
“We ain’t got a grandma. They’s both gone.”
“But God will work out something wonderful for you. I know he will. Don’t give up on your father, honey. He’s going through a rough time.”
“So are we. But I don’t see him studyin’ on that none, Mrs. Wortham. Maybe he’d like to be gone off like your pa was.”
“I don’t think so. Give him time.”
She shook her head. “Ain’t got nothin’ but time, I guess. But that don’t help matters.” She stood up. “Ain’t doin’ squat jus’ sittin’. I’ll help you fix on somethin’ if you want. Mighty sorry to trouble you for the holiday an’ not have nothin’ to give none a’ you all. You been so kind.”
“You’re a wonderful help, Lizbeth. That’s enough.”
Sarah was singing in the next room, faintly at first, and then louder. “Hark the herald angels sing…”
Nobody else joined in.
“I make good stuffing,” Lizbeth told me. “If you got bread enough, I could cut it to dry for crumbs. That’s somethin’ we oughta have done ahead.”
“Let’s make some more bread then,” I agreed. “To make sure we have enough.”
We were occupied at that, Sarah still singing, when somebody knocked on the door. I wondered who in the world it could be. Not Samuel. He wouldn’t knock.
Kirk opened the door for me, and Pastor and Juanita stood there on the porch, their arms full of packages.
“Julia, honey,” Juanita said right away, “I hope you don’t mind the intrusion.”
“Oh, come in! Goodness! You’re never an intrusion. You’re welcome. Come in!”
“It’s just too far to get up to our families in Iowa this year, and we wanted to spend some more time with you tonight anyway, if it’s all right.”
“Oh, yes,” I assured them, feeling relieved. Maybe with Pastor here, with Juanita here, I could get us through this holiday. “Can you stay over till tomorrow?”
“Well…” Pastor looked at Juanita, and she looked at him, and they both nodded at the same time. “If you want us to.”
Harry had run up and taken Juanita’s hand. “I know a secret,” he chuckled, trying to pull her into the sitting room.
“Harry, let her get her coat off,” I scolded, hurrying up to take the big cloth bag she was holding.
“Something for the kids,” she whispered.
“God bless you,” I said. Oh, God was good in the most amazing of ways! We had a feast, courtesy of the Posts, and Barrett Post was even thinking on God. Now here were these dear souls bearing gifts when their presence alone was gift enough right now. Bad as we hurt, and even though I’d been handling it all so poorly, God was trying extra hard just to let us know he was here with us. I hoped the kids noticed, especially Lizbeth.
Lizbeth noticed that Juanita had brought presents. “Why? Pastor Jones, why’d you come out? I don’t recall no other pastor comin’ out Christmas Eve.”
It was hard to remember that Pastor Jones hadn’t been in the Dearing area much longer than we had. He seemed such a natural part of the surroundings.
“We wanted you to know how much we care for you,” he said. “And not just us. The things we brought are from other members of your church family, in town.” He set his two bundles on the table. “Would you mind me unhitching the horse and finding a place in the barn—”
“I can do that,” Kirk offered immediately. He took Willy with him to see to the chore.
Pastor started unbuttoning his coat, and I looked out the window, knowing that he and Juanita didn’t own any horses. Charlie Hunter’s sleigh was sitting in the lane, with the same strong mare he’d used to bring out Miss Hazel. Bless him, Lord. What would we do without the dear friends you give us!
“We made cookies for you,” Lizbeth told the pastor timidly.
“Well, that sounds good right now. With coffee, if you have some.”
“Yes, sir.” She whirled around automatically, all set to get it for him, and then turned to me with a funny sort of look. “Oh. Oh, Mrs. Wortham, do you have coffee made?”
“Let’s get him a fresh pot. I’ll do it.”
For a minute there, she almost seemed embarrassed, like she’d forgotten this wasn’t her own home. Strangely enough, I was kind of glad about it. I wanted her to feel at home here.
I soon heard Juanita’s easy laughter from the next room, along with Harry’s. And then she was singing with Sarah and prompting the others to join in, something I couldn’t have done.
Pastor was sitting at the table, enjoying the cookies Lizbeth had hurriedly set before him while I made the coffee.
“Got a tree?” he asked me.
I shook my head. “No, I forgot. We talked about it. And then I forgot all over again.”
“It isn’t necessary,” Pastor said. “We just had a few things to put under it, that’s all. But we can set them wherever you like.”
“I know where there’s a tree,” Joe said. “In the timber. Not too awful big.”
“Where’s Samuel?” Pastor asked me.
“With George.”
He nodded but didn’t comment. Instead, thankfully, he turned to Joe. “You want to get that tree?”
“I don’t much care, but some a’ the younger ones might get a kick outta havin’ it.”
Pastor’s eyes suddenly glistened. “Julia, would you mind me taking an ax and some of the children and getting us a tree?”
“No. No, I don’t mind.” How could I possibly mind? This is what I’d wanted—for Christmas to absorb us enough to find a little happiness, something good to remember.
Before he’d even had a chance at the coffee, Pastor got up and asked how many of the children wanted to go walking into the timber after that tree. And he ended up taking six of the eleven children in the house. Joey and Harry and Bert and Rorey and Sarah. Franky didn’t want to go, but I talked him into it. Robert would’ve gone if it was his father, and I tried to get him to go anyw
ay, but he chose to stay with Willy and Kirk, who’d just come in and declined to go back out again. Lizbeth and the baby stayed too, which was about what I’d expected.
Juanita had barely gotten her coat off but put it right back on again when she saw how many youngsters her husband would have on his hands.
“Let’s make snow angels,” she suggested while struggling to help wiggly little Bert with his buttons. “It won’t be dark for a while yet, and it’s a little warmer again today.”
“We should make some in a circle,” Franky suggested. “All around Mama’s grave.”
I wasn’t sure how Pastor would handle that one. And maybe he wasn’t sure either, because he didn’t answer right away. Instead, they all went trooping out the door, some looking excited and some still uncertain. But thank God for Pastor and Juanita! Bless them! They would know how to make this Christmas as close to a celebration as possible under the circumstances, and that was what Wila and Emma would’ve wanted.
“Why don’t you go on and join them?” I suggested to Kirk. “You can help Pastor with the little ones.”
“Joe can do that.” He looked out the window with a frown.
“But it wouldn’t hurt you to be a part of it.”
“Wouldn’t help me none neither, that I can see.”
“Kirk—” But I stopped. What right did I have to insist? Robert and Willy were already starting a checkers game. Lizbeth had gone back to cutting the leftover corn bread into cubes. Maybe I should just leave him alone. But he was looking so…lost.
“Why don’t I spread a blanket on the sitting-room floor for Emma Grace,” I suggested. “And bring her some cups and spoons to play with. Would you mind keeping an eye on her so she doesn’t scoot too far?”
“I guess.”
He was far from pleased, but at least he didn’t argue. After I got them situated, I went back to the kitchen, trying to figure in my head how much stuffing we’d need if Pastor and his wife stayed for Christmas dinner, which I dearly hoped they would.
“Sure glad we made them cookies,” Lizbeth said. “With Pastor here an’ bringin’ us things, wouldn’t be right not to give ’em somethin’. We can heap a plate up. Too bad we ain’t got more’n that.”