A Season of Change

by Lynette Sowell

  Natalie headed for the elevator and braced herself for the atmosphere awaiting her in the ward. If they lived in a perfect world, no one would be in the hospital at Christmas. No one would be sick. They’d all have their Norman Rockwell scenes around dining room tables, and moms and dads would yawn over their ham or turkey after staying up late putting together toys. Kids would giggle around Christmas trees and then pass out like the little boy in A Christmas Story, clutching his zeppelin. But not these kids in the pediatrics wing.

  Natalie was used to nontraditional Christmases, and some of the children she was about to visit were, too. Chronic illness and severe injuries didn’t take holidays.

  But Christmas, Natalie had learned over the years, could come anywhere. Natalie didn’t put up a tree or send cards, although she was fond of the Christmas music classics. Dad always played them when they were on the road with the Circus Du Monde. He and Mom would dance to “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree” on Christmas night, wherever they were, and then Dad would hit the makeshift dance floor with Natalie.

  Then they’d turn out all the lights and light one candle as Dad read the Christmas story from a Gideon Bible he’d swiped from a hotel somewhere. She never understood how the baby Jesus story related to dancing around a Christmas tree. Even now, the side-by-side secular and religious traditions sometimes didn’t mesh well to her. But she discovered she loved the Christmas Eve candlelight service at church. It was there for the first time, three Christmases ago, the realization that God really loved her—Natalie Anne Bennett—hit her with full force. She’d spent the last two years figuring out what that meant, and how she ought to respond with her life.

  Which meant she didn’t need the Christmas tree or dozens of presents. What she needed was right here, hallways of children and their families waiting for a little joy. It was her way to give back in one of the best ways she knew.

  Her throat caught at her own Christmas memories, and she took a deep breath as she pushed the button for the elevator. Bittersweet emotions didn’t fit with what she was about to do. Clowns weren’t supposed to be bittersweet.

  Natalie took the elevator to the main pediatrics floor and checked in at the reception desk with the charge nurse who today wore a Santa cap. Multicolored twinkle lights flashed along the aqua blue counter.

  “Hey, Miss Fran. Merry Christmas.” She made her best clown’s face for the nurse and held up an orange from her bag.

  “Merry Christmas to you, too, Natalie.” With a big smile on her dark face, the woman rounded the counter and gave Natalie a hug that threatened to crack her ribs. Natalie was careful not to get makeup on the nurse’s scrubs. “Why are you here today? You should be with friends, or family.”

  “Same reason as you,” Natalie replied. “For the kids.”

  “Ha, you’re not gettin’ paid double time today.” Fran chuckled as she took the orange, returning to the other side of the counter. She tucked the orange next to a stack of files beside a computer monitor. “’Course, I’m not missing out, either. My Tonya’s going to have the ham done by the time I get off tonight. And sweet potato soufflé, just like I taught her to make it.”

  “Sounds yummy. So, who do we have that needs a little cheer? Anything special I should know?”

  “We have a new patient, just moved to the floor from ICU. 304. I think she could use some extra cheering up today. You might want to start with her and her family.” An alert chime sounded at a console behind the counter. “Gotta run, sweet pea. See you in a bit.”

  Natalie called out, “See you,” as Fran hit overdrive toward the room with a light flashing above the door. Natalie made her way to room 304.

  People in less-than-festive clothing, women in long dresses, plain primary colors, wearing white head coverings, and a few men with beards, dark trousers and some in matching dark vests, clustered inside the sitting room. Amish, waiting their turn to visit someone. She made a clown’s smile at them all and waved as she passed them in her rainbow striped clown suit and flaming red wig with long braids.

  Natalie entered the hospital room with brisk steps and skidded to a stop. The little girl, the new patient Fran mentioned, lay on the bed, whispering something to her bearded father, who touched her head gently. Her right leg was in traction and a monitor flashed the girl’s vital signs. Poor kid. Natalie definitely should have brought a chocolate bar.

  Her father looked in Natalie’s direction and stiffened. He stood. His blue eyes looked troubled. And like the people in the waiting room, he wore the classic dark pants of the Amish with a white shirt and suspenders.

  “Hello.” Natalie tried to stay in character. “I’m Bubbles the Clown, and I wanted to visit and cheer you up today, and wish you a Merry Christmas.” She almost let her words falter at seeing the expression on the father’s face. Did the Amish even celebrate Christmas? She probably ought to focus more on entertaining the little girl and forget mentioning the holiday anymore.

  The father was tall, with sandy brown hair and beard, blue eyes, and a dark expression. The beard lent some age to his face, but Natalie figured he might be about her age, or maybe about thirty or so. A young woman next to him wore a dark blue dress with a white apron. She whispered to the man who stood beside the girl’s father. Brothers, Natalie guessed, by the shape of their noses and eyes.

  One bearded man in the corner wore dark trousers and a tropical print shirt, along with suspenders. Now that was something you didn’t see every day. She tried not to stare at him, like the rest of them stared at her.

  “Jacob,” said the older brother. “It won’t hurt for the children to laugh for a few minutes. Come on in, Miss, uh, Bubbles.”

  A small boy sat in the chair in the corner, his skinny legs tucked under his chin. “Can you juggle?” He had a bit of a singsong tone to his voice, with almost a German accent. He reminded her of a mouse, with his guarded expression and a hint of mischief in his round brown eyes. His thick brown hair sprouted a bowl cut that ended at his ears.

  “Yes, I can,” Natalie replied. She set her tie-dyed tote bag on the floor and snatched out three small rubber balls. “It’s not so hard. See? Start with one ball.”

  The boy sat up straighter, then shifted to the edge of the cushioned seat. His eyes followed the journey as Natalie circulated the balls from one hand, to the air, then to the other hand.

  “I wish I could do that,” came a quiet voice from the bed. The little girl, older than her brother, shifted on the mattress. Pain shadowed her blue eyes.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Rebecca.”

  “Well, Rebecca, I bet you could learn, quick as anything, after you get better.” Natalie stopped the balls, ending up with two in her left hand and one in her right. “It takes practice, but if you stick with it, you’ll likely be better than I am someday.”

  “Thank you for coming to visit today,” said the young woman in the blue dress. She didn’t seem much older than Natalie. “My name’s Katie Miller, and this is my husband Ephraim, and my brother-in-law Jacob. It’s nice of you to visit on a holiday.” Katie offered her hand, which Natalie shook.

  “I’m Zeke,” came a little voice from the chair. The little tyke with the big eyes and long legs smiled at her.

  “Hi, Zeke, and Katie, and all the Miller family. It’s nice to meet you, although I’m sorry it’s here in the hospital, especially on Christmas day,” Natalie replied. Katie. That had been her mother’s name. But by the time Natalie had come around, she’d gone by Kat for several years.

  “Gotte has a purpose in our being here,” Jacob Miller said, and stroked his daughter’s head. “I’m thankful He spared her life.”

  Natalie nodded. This wasn’t her usual cheer-me-up visit. The kids had smiled at the juggling. “I brought you a present.” She went to fetch her bag of oranges.

  “How did you know to bring me a present, if you didn’t know I was going to be here?” asked Rebecca.

  “I knew some special kids would be here, and they s
hould get oranges from the tree in my yard.” Natalie drew two oranges out of the bag, and set the bag on the bed near Rebecca’s feet. She gave the fruit a quick juggle, then presented one to Zeke and one to Rebecca.

  “My mammi and daadi have grapefruit trees in their yard,” said Rebecca. Her small hands massaged the pebbly surface of the orange. “But I like oranges better.”

  “Say thank you,” reminded their father.

  “Thank you.” Rebecca smiled at Jacob, then Natalie.

  What a tightly knit family. Natalie found she couldn’t keep in character today. What was it about this family? She knew part of the answer lay at home, in a box her father had shipped to her just in time for Christmas. Too bad FedEx was so efficient. The box could have arrived after Christmas, and it would have been fine with her.

  The orange slipped from Rebecca’s grasp, tumbling onto the blanket. Rebecca’s hands shook in a frenzy. Her head snapped back, her limbs stiffened. The vital signs monitor went crazy with beeps and alarms.

  “Fran!” Natalie darted from the room and onto the floor. “She’s seizing!”

  The nurse was already flying around the desk, her bulky form moving with uncanny speed. Natalie had seen this before. She darted to the side to let Fran in. Another nurse dialed a pager.

  The Millers joined Natalie in the hallway, and little Zeke was already sobbing. “My ’Becca.”

  Natalie squatted and touched his shoulder. “She’s exactly where she needs to be right now, sweetie. She’s being taken care of.” Although she could make no promises for what lay ahead for the little girl.

  “You’re right,” said Jacob Miller. He pulled Zeke closer to him. “We must find the others and let them know. We were taking turns, visiting her today.”

  The family filed toward the waiting room and left Rebecca to the doctor’s care. Jacob, however, cast a worried glance at his daughter, then at Natalie. His look of sorrow pierced her heart.

  Katie Miller glanced at Natalie. “We are going to go pray for Rebecca. Will you join us?”

  Natalie nodded. “Of course.” She ought to go to another room, and let this family do what they felt they must. But she followed them anyway.

  When she entered the waiting room, the television set was off and the dark-clothed people were standing. A few of the women, about her age, wore pastel-colored dresses.

  She bowed her head as they did, and one of the older men began to speak in another language. German, or Dutch, she figured. She didn’t know the words, but felt the power and sincerity behind them.

  Dear God, please guide the doctors. Take care of little Rebecca. I don’t know what’s wrong with her, but You do. Work through these gifted people who are caring for her now, Natalie prayed silently.

  A warm, small hand slipped into hers and squeezed. Zeke Miller looked up at her with his mouse-eyes. Natalie squeezed back.

  2

  Natalie slapped her phone shut. She should have skipped checking her voice mail before going to Grace and Todd’s house for dessert. After the incident at the hospital with little Rebecca Miller, her whole afternoon slid south. Way south. She’d left the waiting room not long after the final “Amen” had been said on Rebecca’s behalf. She promised to come visit them again, at which Zeke beamed.

  It wasn’t that she hadn’t witnessed a medical crisis or two while visiting children at the hospital before. She’d witnessed parents in tears, parents in denial, and angry parents who would rather curse God than pray for or believe in any type of divine intervention.

  But this calm acceptance of what had happened to Rebecca rattled Natalie to her core. She’d glimpsed a flicker of fear and sorrow in Jacob Miller’s eyes before he glanced away from her. So there was emotion, deep emotion inside that outward bravado. Was it bravado she glimpsed with him, or was he practicing something he knew he ought to feel, but didn’t?

  She ended up checking her voice mail after leaving the hospital. Dad had called from Los Angeles, where he lived with wife number two and their perfect children. One was stepmother Judy’s daughter from her first marriage, and one was Natalie’s little brother, Dad’s longed-for son. She’d only seen him once and he was still young enough to carry a sippy cup. Natalie tried not to remember Judy was only five years her elder.

  “Nat! It’s Dad. Wanted to tell you hi and Merry Christmas. Hope you enjoy the gift card. I figured you could use it for, whatever comes in handy. And the stuff from your mom? I . . . well, I figured now was as good a time as any for you to have it. Hang on—” Squeals in the background punctuated his call, then laughter. “I still miss her, Kid, even though we couldn’t stand being in the same room the last few years before, well, you know. We’re going to toast Kat Bennett here today, and hope you will, too. Talk to you soon. Call me.”

  From that long verbal run, it sounded like Dad had already been toasting Mom, the day, and his favorite football team, probably with the help of a pitcher of mimosas that Judy had made that morning as the kids tore into their mountain of gifts. Dad had never been one for traditions, not while he and Mom and Natalie were on the road traveling.

  It looked like the North Pole had transplanted itself onto the Montgomerys’ front yard. She hurried past a leering inflated snowman in the yard, and up to the house covered with flashing lights. She stopped before knocking on the front door. She’d forgotten Grace and Todd’s gift. Again. And if she went home, she knew she wouldn’t venture out again.

  Natalie rang the doorbell, and found herself swept inside by Grace, with a pair of Chihuahuas yapping around their ankles.

  “You made it!” Bracelets clinked on Grace’s wrist as she wrapped Natalie in a hug. “Burrito! Queso! Quit that. Honestly, these dogs. I’m going to call Animal Control before New Year’s and have the beasts picked up and deposited on some other sorry family’s doorstep.”

  “Ha.” Natalie moved to pet one of the dogs. “You’d sooner ask for your arm to be removed than rid yourselves of these little guys.” The dog, Queso or Burrito, she couldn’t tell, gave her a friendly lick for once and then tore off along the hardwood floor with his brother, yapping about Natalie’s arrival.

  “True, true.” Grace turned and gestured away from the entry. “I just made a pot of decaf. Don’t tell Todd. He thinks it’s regular.”

  Natalie laughed as Grace slipped an arm around her shoulders. “It’s been quite the afternoon at the hospital. Normally it doesn’t wear me out like this. I almost didn’t come over, but I didn’t want to sit home tonight.”

  “What happened? Is it because it’s Christmas?”

  They entered the great room, a sprawling combination of kitchen, living, and dining room looking out on an inlet of coast. Natalie wished she could afford a place like this. Good for Grace and Todd, investing in their Bird Key home while they strutted the high wire before retiring to open Pathway to the Stars Circus School. Authoring a best-selling tell-all of the circus life had netted Grace a superb nest egg.

  And Natalie’s own solo career was over before it really even began.

  “No, it’s not because it’s Christmas. I met a family today. The little girl had just gotten out of ICU, and then she started having a seizure.” Natalie shook her head. “Poor thing. Her family’s Amish.”

  “Is that a bad thing, being Amish?” Grace took out a pair of mugs covered with holly and poured them both a cup.

  “No, no.” Natalie accepted the cup from Grace. “I meant, poor thing about the seizure. She’s probably scared. Her little brother was, for sure. Even the father, but I think he masked that pretty well.”

  “What about her mother?” Grace slid the creamer across the granite island in Natalie’s direction.

  “Um, I didn’t see if a mother was there. Or not.” Her thoughts drifted back to Jacob Miller, hovering over his daughter, his firm resolve to stay strong reflected in his blue eyes. No mother there at the bedside. Natalie wasn’t so sure about her own mothering instincts, but she knew for sure if it were her child, she’d be glued to her bedsid
e day and night until she was released from the hospital.

  “Hmm . . .” Grace’s expression narrowed. “Okay. So this family got to you. It’s all right. It shows how much you care. And you are definitely good with kids, for sure.”

  Natalie nodded. “Thanks. I do care. I admit I really miss my classes during winter break.”

  “Yes, I almost wish we’d kept the academy open this week, but it’s useless to have classes with families on vacation.” Grace poured cream into her coffee.

  Natalie took a long sip of the coffee. “The time off will be good. By the way, I forgot your gift again. At this rate it’ll make a good New Year’s gift.”

  “Or save it for Valentine’s Day.” Grace laughed. “Hold on just a second.” She left the kitchen island, and crossed the great room to the nearest floor-to-ceiling window where a glittering tree stood, covered in white lights. She picked up a gift-wrapped flat rectangle topped with a flaming red bow.

  “Wow, now I feel bad.” Yes, she’d make certain, next trip out, she’d give Grace and Todd their gift.

  “Piffle. No worries.” Grace brought the long wrapped gift back to Natalie and set it on the granite. “I hope you like it. I searched high and low for the right size.”

  Natalie plucked the bow from the package and tore off the first corner of the wrapping paper. A picture frame. Good. She’d been horrible about accumulating pictures over the years, probably because her parents didn’t have many photos, or the photos they did have were in storage, or long gone.

  Yes, the picture frame was a long rectangle of eight by ten prints, six of them. The first was of Natalie and her parents under the big top of Circus du Monde. Natalie touched the glass.

  “I remember this one . . . I always loved that outfit.” A pink leotard, with a matching ruffled skirt. But the cape. Oh, she’d loved the cape edged with sequins. She’d been five years old in that photo.

  “I . . . it took some searching through the circus archives,” came Grace’s soothing voice, as if from a distance. “I hope you don’t mind. The three of you looked so happy.”