by Sarah Hualde
“It’s a huge undertaking,” He stated, guiding Kat to a comfy leather chair. “It’s not one that will be easy nor will it be easy on family life. It fills up the calendar the instant the season starts.”
“We homeschool. We work around crazy scheduling every day.”
Pastor Dean’s eyes were kind with a questioning and half-hidden sadness. Kat now understood the reason behind such emotions. “I’m aware you homeschool. A lot of our members do. What I’m suggesting is you take the next few days and consider it. Christmas is a season for family and reflection. I strongly believe a couple should undertake this task. One without school-age children.”
Challenge accepted. Kat heard her heart rebel but disregarded it. She was not only going to sign up for this mission, she would crush it!
“Not to worry. We’re good.”
“It’s not just our congregation involved. Many of the Church of Christ members attend and take part. Several school children from Bailey Elementary want to join the fun. You have to schedule around all the other seasonal Honey Pot activities.” Kat realized all these facts. She’d lived here for years. Her family helped with the pageant for the last three.
She scoffed at her naivety as she stood before the pageant committee. Discussions covering costuming, the history of Christmas, instrumental music, raged, and subsided. It was time to announce the stars of the play. Mary and Joseph. These customarily went to the planner’s children. Kat had the qualifying genders in her household. However, only one of them did not suffer from extreme stage fright. That left Mary, the coveted role. Out of hospitality and community, Kat set herself the goal of encouraging a girl from the Church of Christ to be Mary.
The girls lined up awaiting approval and hoping to make the cut. Flora watched, attentive to Kat’s distress. Each girl received a number, and each girl took turns explaining why she wanted the role.
Kat had taken Lydia’s advice and assigned the judging to a panel. Hobo Joe, Pastor Dean, Preacher Steve, from the C. O. C, Principal Diane from Bailey El, and Lydia who was late, made up the panel. Waiting for tardy Lydia, the girls all under the age of 11 shifted on their toes and whined in turn. One red-haired girl erupted into tears and exited the line in a whirlwind of arm flailing and sobs.
Flora tamed the rest of the crowd by handing out completed practice schedules and appropriate costuming. “Shouldn’t there be more angels?” One mother interjected. “I mean ten? It’s supposed to be a throng of angels rejoicing. Not a handful of angels.”
Angel roles went to the shy and the young. Most angels were freshly potty trained, and only half of them ever made it all the way down the aisle to stand before the shepherds. Kat felt Flora’s wince as her glance flickered her direction.
“Well, we only have ten costumes.”
“Make more. There are a lot of families with preschoolers. They all deserve to take part.”
“Fabric costs money. Costumes take time.” A tumble of boxes behind the baptismal overshadowed Flora’s soft-spoken consolation.
“What was that?” Lydia asked as she slid into her seat beside Pastor Dean. Her errand had drained her and made her jumpy.
Kat’s wicked stink eye at her tardiness calmed Lydia instead of shaming her. Stop with the drama. She chided herself and recalibrated her focus.
“The craft closet needs organizing.” Flora laughed, from across the room, then continued consoling the complaining mother.
“Can’t they wear bathrobes?” Kat cringed at the mother’s snarky suggestion.
✽✽✽
She recognized his gaze on her neck. The darkened theater wasn’t dark enough for her to hide inside. Her feet wouldn’t keep still. They twitched and shook, aching to run, but they had no place to go. She inched lower into her seat. A movie was such a good idea. Ivy purchased her matinee ticket and soaked in the theater’s warmth during the first feature. Halfway through the third showing, she noticed the lurker.
Investigating the theater, Ivy counted fifteen other patrons. Everyone was under 18 and either consumed with the plot or flirting with their date. None of them would be of any help. The crowd wasn’t large enough to blend into. Ivy felt the man behind her move up a section. Her stomach lurched as she swallowed a scream. Her nails clawed into the padded armrests.
A heated breath brushed her neck. She froze.
“Hey,” a voice whispered as someone slid into the seat beside her. Ivy shot from her place. Still two rows behind her, the stranger skulked. Everyone in the room stared at her.
“Sit down,” Emily Prior held her index finger to her lips. She smiled at her friend. Ivy settled back into her seat. Emily wrapped her arms around Ivy, hugging her.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I spotted you from the back and thought you’d like company.” A whoosh of relief in the form of an exaggerated exhale shoved itself from Ivy’s mouth. She fought the urge to toss herself in her friend’s lap and cry. Her wariness was making her friend nervous. She forced a smile and hugged the girl back.
“I’d love company.” Having a friend so close, soothed Ivy. She relaxed and rubbed her rumbling stomach. Emily shared her Milk Duds and soda. Ivy gratefully savored them, almost able to forget her troubles. Too soon, the comfort ended with the film, and Emily left with her ride.
Though she couldn’t see him, Ivy knew the watcher was still close by. She walked out with a group of teens and hurried to her car. The dark parking lot thinned as vehicles retreated to Main Street. Ivy turned the key to the V.W. with only noise and grinding in response. Snow drifted onto the car’s hood. Ivy shivered and pulled her jacket tighter across her chest. She turned the key again. Nothing. Ivy observed the last patron drive away as a shadow slithered across her windshield.
✽✽✽
It took two hours for Hannah Carson to be appointed the new Mary. The committee agreed instrumental music during the play would be fine, but there would be only Acappella during the singing of hymns. Communion would be offered in the prayer room for all those who wanted to partake but not forced upon those it may offend.
The same routine, cemented and agreed upon, making each party happy to take part without defying their personal beliefs. Molly’s Farm would donate ten bales of hay and the use of two sheep and one miniature horse, instead of a donkey. The only change was a minor one. Fifteen bath robed angels would grace the pageant, much to Kat’s torment. Her quilting cotton robes would wait for another year.
She locked up the church and sat in her minivan. Her children rode home with Thaddeus. He refused to allow the Christmas pageant to take over family life.
Kat was not as focused. Not even December yet, and she had ditched her children twice to work on the play. Her foot pounded. She popped some ibuprofen, followed by a shot of stale, cold coffee. Pain meds of any kind made her loopy, but she would be home long before these took effect. The roads were dark and wet.
Pulling away from the church building, she noted a light on the upper floor twinkling. She must have left a light on. Before she turned her car around the light shut off. Pastor Dean’s working late again.
CHAPTER 4
Ethan was away at work, getting last-minute paperwork sorted. Doing double duty, he planned to be on vacation a day earlier than scheduled. He wanted a day to “enjoy” his wife, he’d told Lydia as he left the house. Whatever that means. She couldn’t help pondering his words as she packed her carry-on luggage.
Getting everything organized early kept Lydia from snapping at everyone around her. She’d learned this as a young mother. At 19, with a one-month-old and a still newlywed husband, she planned a weekend away. A weekend she scrimped and saved for and then sabotaged by screeching at her husband on their anniversary, all because she packed her pre-baby swimsuit instead of her new one-piece.
Married life proved to suit her. Motherhood had adorned her like a crown, molding and shaping her into a strong woman of God. She learned humility and patience and true joy as she discovered the richness of the Father’
s love for her by loving a child of her own.
Becoming pregnant on their honeymoon had not been in their grand plans, but Ethan and Lydia had grown closer in comradery raising their daughter.
Now that Joan was out of the house, Lydia felt frumpy and ancient. Meanwhile, Ethan grew friskier and aged backward. A part of Lydia hoped empty-nester life would pull them together as partners and calm Ethan down. Another part envied his youthfulness and wished she could jump into his frivolity.
Using all the courage, she could scavenge from her teenage self, she tucked a secret into her husband’s luggage. A lacy blue nightie hid beneath Ethan’s favorite gray polo shirt. She shut and locked the suitcase before she could change her mind.
The house phone shrieked. Lydia startled as if someone would discover her shenanigans. The ringing continued as Lydia hurried downstairs to her kitchen, home to her business and landline.
“This is Lydia.” She greeted the caller, out of breath. Only breath replied. Lydia listened for the automated click, signaling a telemarketer’s computer was picking up the line. Instead, a male voice cursed at her before hanging up. Angry and bewildered, she replaced the phone and shook her head. “Kids,” Her mouth said out loud while her mind drove a familiar blue car around her own block.
Her next task, after packing, meant dropping off donations for Mission Youth House. Joan emailed a list of items for the charity to Lydia. In the same email, she’d explained her need to stay in Africa through Christmas. Her favorite black leather jacket sat atop the box, an omen of the heart changes happening to her little girl. God was on the move. It was a marvel to witness and a sadness not to take part in.
But Christmas was coming, and this Friday she’d be on her way to her baby’s side. Lydia scooped up the jacket and hugged it, taking in the fragrance of her missing joyful girl. She cried into the collar, just for a moment, prayed a blessing over its new owner to be and set it down. It would grace the shoulders of someone else’s daughter soon.
✽✽✽
The B.F.F. was loud with activity. Flora ironed costumes. Her children and Kat’s painted ornaments for the Senior Center, a tradition Joan took part in during previous seasons. Lydia beamed and toted her donations to the clothes pantry. She set the offerings on the appropriate shelf.
In a burst, two arms flung around her waist and smashed all the air from her gut. An involuntary yelp popped from her mouth before she identified her assailant.
“Oh, Jess.” She hugged the little girl and led her back to her mother.
“Lydia, I’m so happy you’re here. Wait, what are you doing here? You’re supposed to be getting ready for Africa.” Kat put down her clipboard and greeted her friend. Her energy revived Lydia. Kat just seemed younger. Her rushing about and volunteering and constant doing reminded Lydia of a twelve-year-old on a sugar high.
“I’m all packed and ready. I’m just doing last-minute chores. Three more days.” She almost shouted.
“We all miss Joan. I can’t imagine having my babies’ live oceans away. Though, sometimes I dream about it,” Kat spouted.
“You don’t mean that.” Lydia glimpsed Flora’s hands rub her belly as she remembered all the littles she’s hosted there.
“You never can tell.” A child shrieked, and another wailed. Kat inhaled and hobbled, as quickly as her injuries allowed, toward the fray.
Conversation over, Lydia squeezed Flora and the children, wishing them a Merry Christmas and promising them postcards during her absence. She’d miss her friends but couldn’t bear the thought of leaving Joan alone at Christmas. Her excitement swallowed up her paranoia. Christmas songs from the eighties shook her speakers as she sang along on her drive.
✽✽✽
Ethan arrived home, late, just as planned. He found Lydia on the floor of the bathroom rocking and whimpering, with mascara in all the wrong places. He dropped to his knees and embraced her. “Joan? Is Joan okay?”
Lydia poured herself into his strong arms and spoke between howling. “I lost my purse!” She pounded a fist into her thigh with one hand and shoved at her cheek with the other. “I’ve looked everywhere. Everywhere! I’ve torn through every suitcase, every closet, my car, the dumpster, everything. I retraced my steps. But I can’t find it.”
With a relieved exhalation, Ethan loosened his hold and stroked Lydia’s shaking shoulders. “Oh baby, is that all? I thought something was wrong. It will be okay.”
Recoiling, Lydia’s eyes launched poison barbs at her husband. He backed away from her. “Okay? No, it’s not okay!”
“It’s just a purse. You can get another one. No one’s hurt or sick. It’s fine.”
“No, Ethan,” She spat his name like a curse word. “It’s not just a purse. It’s my driver’s license and my passport.”
Reality struck harsh and stone-faced. “Your passport? What was your passport doing in your purse?” Ethan rose and paced around the master bathroom.
“I picked it up yesterday. It was still in my purse because my purse is going in my carry on.”
“It’s got to be somewhere.”
“I’ve looked everywhere, Ethan, everywhere.”
They relived Lydia’s day through the night. Unpacking and repacking every duffle bag and suitcase at least twice. They drove to the church, deconstructed the entire clothes pantry, and searched under every pew.
The couple didn’t want to surrender to the truth. Even standing outside 3 Alarm Coffee, waiting for its 6 am opening, they contemplated any remaining possibilities. Nothing spared them the inevitable. With three days left until take-off, Lydia had no way of getting a new identification and a passport before the trip.
Hobo Joe, set coffee before the somber couple. “Have a muffin, on me.” He placed the planetary sized pastry down and returned to the counter. Ethan offered a habitual thank you and squeezed his wife’s hand. He rubbed his thumb across her wedding band, staring at its glittering gem.
“Well, that’s it. I’m supposed to be at work in two hours.” With no tears left, Lydia nodded and rubbed at her reddened nose. Ethan’s voice cracked as he continued, “I’ll call Joan after work and explain we won’t be coming for Christmas.”
Ethan teetered on his bistro chair as Lydia whipped her hand out from under his. “What? No!”
“I’m not going without you. I’m not leaving you alone at Christmas.”
“Yes, yes, you are. We are not leaving our baby, in Africa, alone, for her first Christmas away from home. No, we’re not. You’re going.” Ethan’s eyebrows assumed their position of surrender. He would not fight after a night of panic and sleepless suspense.
Lydia was a diehard mama bear. She’d gnaw off her left arm to save her cub. There was no point explaining that her cub was now an adult. Not just an adult, a responsible, thriving adult who was pursuing her Savior through service.
Ethan predicted all Lydia would hear, no matter the logic of his argument, was the cry of their little girl. It wouldn’t be the voice of their 19-year-old missionary daughter on the day she went away to Africa. It would be the whimpering of their 9-year-old pigtailed princess the day she broke her arm trying to backflip from the monkey bars. There was no getting his point across.
“Okay.” He sighed, and Lydia forced a smile. “But I’m taking off work the rest of the week. Promise not to stay home alone all Christmas. And if you can, fly to Africa and meet me.” He hoped, with the stress off, Lydia would miraculously recall where she’d set her purse and the whole night would become a bad joke.
“Deal,” She agreed and kissed the top of her husband’s hand. The weary spouses split their consolatory muffin and returned to their empty nest.
CHAPTER 5
Shreds of correspondence showered the kitchen sink. Thaddeus was trying to support his wife, but the intent was failing. Kat steamed and steeped in frustration. She paced and scolded and shuddered.
“It’s no big deal. It’s just a test.” His wife’s response reflected her life before him, dark, rude, and abras
ive. He shushed her as politely as possible.
“The kids are outside,” she hollered. “It’s not like they listen, anyway. Obviously, by the scores on that.” Her judgmental index finger pointed toward the garbage disposal.
Against advice, Lydia’s, Flora’s, Thad’s and even her own, Kat signed her children up for a midterm progress assessment. Though she knew her kids weren’t the sharpest crayons in the box, she believed their test scores would ease all her worries.
The opposite had occurred. They were scoring a grade level under her expectations. She was failing them. Deep down, she knew she would. Who was she to start homeschooling her children? Please. This was one big farce, a failed experiment. With every bitter biting remark, she fumed and festered.
Thaddeus could not read her mind, but he knew his wife. She was her own worst bully. He knew with every struggle she blamed herself, her past, and her penchant for bad choices. He also knew better than to hold her when she was raging. His best bet was to call the fight, walk away, gather the kids, and drive them out for dinner.
The homeschool support meeting was in two hours. Kat needed that time to come down from this new disappointment. He wished she would call the whole meeting off, but he knew she’d squash the suggestion like a stinkbug. When she walked to their bedroom, he jotted a note on a post-it and rallied the children for a trip to Hamburger Hub.
✽✽✽
Flora always brought gluten-free banana bread. She brought it to every meeting. She placed it, sliced, next to the fruit platter that Kat donated. The plate of food sat awaiting consumers, but the fruit was missing. Gone, tray and all. Kat looked into the church refrigerator and shook her head. “Maybe you didn’t bring it in?”
“No, I put the tray right there. Right by the bread. Just like always.” Kat’s jaw crunched.