by Sarah Hualde
Sam took tender measure to prop up his mother’s wrapped foot and pad it with pillowed protection. Jess tucked herself into Kat’s side, pushing on her mom’s crutch bruised armpit. Kat didn’t even wince. She sunk into being home. She’d set it aside like an old dirty quilt, but home was the feeling she had been pandering after.
Near the start of movie number three, the kids were snoring on their mother’s lap. She, herself, drooled. Her head bent, awkwardly, against the back of the couch. Half asleep, muddled in a medication haze, Kat reveled over the Christmas baby. God’s sense of timing and humor astounded her.
“A baby,” She mumbled. Thad dozed beside her but still followed her thoughts. “God used a baby to ruin the pageant and stop my insanity. Breaking my foot wasn’t enough to hold me back. The flu outbreak didn’t even slow me down. But a baby, smack in the middle of my mess. Yup, that’s what it took.”
✽✽✽
The church building was shut down tightly for the weekend. Members of the B.F.F. joined the Church of Christ family until it reopened. Kat’s family was no exception. Too exhausted to attend class, the Millers drifted into services right after morning announcements. Not a single seat remained vacant. Jess and Sam plopped on the floor, beside Ever, Eden, and Eloise. Kevin rose from the back pew and offered his seat to Kat. She took it.
Communion took an entire half an hour. The trays had to be replenished twice. Preacher Steven invited Pastor Dean to lead the ending prayer and a blessing over the community. It was exhilarating to be part of such a unified group. Flora whispered to Kat, “A taste of Heaven.” For the first time, Kat felt her friend’s meaning.
CHAPTER 16
Lydia forgot how little sleep babies needed at one time. They might nap fourteen hours a day but never in a long chunk. Lydia was fond of her six to seven hours each night.
Bea demanded fresh feedings every one hundred and eighty minutes. Lydia timed it. Ten minutes before meltdown, she boiled the water, set a defrosted bag of breast milk on the counter, and replaced it with a frozen one in the fridge. Two minutes till she poured the milk into the bottle and tested its heat.
After that, she brewed a single serving of black coffee and poured it into a lidded cup. Like a Pavlovian response, the last spout of pressurized steam, married with the aroma of freshly ground beans, aroused the infant and made her mouth water in anticipation.
The baby’s cry rattled down the stairs. Even without the monitor strapped to her hip, Lydia knew naptime was over. She stumbled, sleepy, and steadfast up the steps to the waiting child. “I’m here, sweet Bea.” Lydia set her coffee on the bedside table before scooping the stretching parcel out of her Moses Basket. She cradled Bea while holding the small bottle.
Looking into the fresh pair of blue eyes, which searched her experienced brown ones, Lydia pondered the wild events of December. There were too many pieces of too many mysteries tangled in her mind. Who had taken her purse? Lydia was now nearly certain someone had stolen it, and she had not misplaced it. The missing money had been a partial clue, but she knew she had gone nowhere near the nursery since the Harvest Party in October.
Then there was the missing and returned Water Well Donations. Who would steal that much money, just to give it back three days later?
The Christmas Holidays brought out the best and worst in people. Greed and fear. Love and hope. Many thefts took place in the weeks before December 25th, all in the name of gift exchanges or hunger.
Some robberies were acts of convenience. People carried more cash around with them for Christmas shopping. Homes held newer, more expensive items than usual, items awaiting Santa’s delivery.
But in Honey Pot, all the thefts linked back to the B.F.F. building. No one she’d asked was experiencing the same number of crimes. Ms. Paula Lynd, once again, suffered the theft of her inflatable snow globe. However, if it were like the last five Christmases, the yard ornament would return on Christmas Eve along with a tiny tower of wrapped packages.
Lydia whispered all the odd happenings to her husband during their four am video call. She introduced Joan to Bea and relied on Ethan to explain the backstory.
“I don’t like it,” Ethan summarized. “I don’t like that I’m out of town and far away when all this is going on. Promise you won’t go digging around.” His wife promised, with a guilty hue in her eyes. Ethan read her expression and let it slide. Lydia left out the incident at Ivy’s stepfather’s. She would tell Ethan that part when he returned in late January.
“It’s not like I’m going anywhere, now. I’ve got a newborn to watch after. If I can help it, I’m not stepping outside this house until someone decides her future. There’s a stomach flu going around, and it’s colder than normal. I’m not risking Bea’s health while I’m accountable for her.”
She went on, spending much of their hour explaining the help she was receiving and her plans for Christmas Day. Ethan ended the call, satisfied that his imaginative wife would stay tucked in at home for a while longer. He wasn’t foolish enough to trust her past New Year’s Eve. Her curiosity was far too intense for her to control. And if her usual duo were available, they’d be egging on the situation before long. He’d need to head home earlier than expected.
Lydia flicked her laptop closed and coiled herself around the basket set in the center of her bed. Thirty minutes until second breakfast, she noted before slipping off in slumber.
✽✽✽
Kat and Flora brought a real meal to share with the spontaneous foster mother at 8 am. They spread it out before a thrashed Lydia. Lydia, without her mascara and lip balm, wasn’t much unlike Lydia with it. Just groggier.
“What did Ethan say,” Kat asked.
Lydia swigged a steamy sip of coffee. “He’s enchanted with Bea. He’s always loved, babies.” The scalding of her throat helped her awaken, and she decided the time was now. She would fill in her friends. “He’s worried and so am I.”
“This isn’t the first Safe Drop we’ve had in Honey Pot.” Flora passed out muffins and fruit and then shoved an entire honey bun in her mouth. Kat eyed her. Flora was like any other woman, susceptible to treats, but she was usually much more deliberate in choosing her vices. Nor did she, normally, wedge entire pastries in her mouth at one time.
Lydia sighed, summoning the energy for the flood of information that needed to come out. She detailed all her worries, and, in an hour, everyone was up to speed. Bea cried for her meal and Kat obliged with a bottle, giving Lydia a chance to shower. Flora cleared the dishes, took out the trash and switched a load of laundry.
The visitors left Lydia, slumbering on the couch and little Bea resting in her own bed.
✽✽✽
All was not lost, but it sure felt that way. Flora sat in the driver’s seat of her car, alone in the early morning darkness. Christmas was less than a week away, and she had nothing to offer her kiddos. Their traditions were on schedule. They shared a great number of memories and laughter to see them through the season. Having nothing to unwrap on Christmas morning, felt like a rip-off, even to a family that didn’t celebrate Santa.
She counted the cash in her Christmas envelope one more time, hoping the bills were stuck together. She knew better than to keep up the charade but couldn’t help it. The year had been slow, bills had been high, and the envelope was skinny. There were a couple little things she could purchase for each child, but the drive to Ashton to buy them would eat away at her meager savings.
After finding Bea and the flurry that followed, Pastor Dean neglected to pay her for the month’s cleaning. His memory would probably return with the New Year. Mrs. Hurley, Flora’s most recent client, donated so much milk Flora felt horrible to ask her for a paycheck. It was just going to be a lean Christmas. God will supply. She kept repeating in her heart. Though she knew it to be true, her emotions were being difficult.
“Thank you, Lord. Thank you that I can just be raw with you. No hiding. Thank you for hearing my heart and knowing how grateful I am, despite this moment
of worry.” She prayed and cried in patterns until she depleted all her tears and she was ready to brave the Ashton Christmas crowds.
Flora dwelt on thoughts of the new baby. How sad it was to spend your very first Christmas alone. She pondered the whereabouts of the mother and how she might have helped her. She wondered over how the mother entered the locked building. Kat stated all the doors were secured when she arrived to set up the pageant. Pastor Dean confirmed her account. Forced entry didn’t seem likely, and Little Bea didn’t materialize out of the air. How did she wind up on stage, sleeping in a prop?
Flora sat in confused contemplation. The sound of distant roosters waking their owners stirred her daydreaming, and Flora set her sights toward Ashton.
Target was not her favorite store, but it was the closest and cheapest store around. Walmart was fifteen miles further from Pottersville and in a neighborhood, sure to be elbow to elbow with shoppers. As she shoveled through the shelves and prayed for bargains, she recalled dropping Ivy off there just a few days ago. She looked for her face in every cluster of giggling girls. Every black hoodie drew her attention.
Two hours of shopping sucked the life out of Flora. There was no time to dawdle. Once again in her truck, she tossed back trail mix and a protein shake as the motor warmed up. The heat surged on, replacing the frost with fog. She used the fringe of her scarf to wipe a clear patch in the glass and noticed a bright blue business sign. Perpendicular to Target sat the office of Dr. Kon OB/GYN. She felt another item add itself to her imaginary to-do list.
✽✽✽
Phone calls interrupted Kat’s napping. She could no longer ignore them. Sam and Jess, sat on the edge of the couch, playing video games and watching their mom awaken.
“Finally,” Sam huffed. “That phone was driving me crazy.”
“We checked every call, but none of them were Daddy,” Jess added, handing Kat the annoying technological convenience. Kat ruffled Jess’ long dark hair and gazed at her beautiful children in thankful contemplation. Then with a sigh, she sat and scrolled through her missed calls.
Pastor Dean and Preacher Steven made up every other voicemail and text message. Kat fought off a panic attack. She inhaled one lingering breath and squeezed her children with affection before diving headlong into the messages. Her finger hovered above the call button when the cell screeched, and she tossed it across the couch.
✽✽✽
Flora took a moment to pray and re-center. Her eyes grew heavy, glazed and tired, complete with purple bags and mascara stains. She yanked a comb through her curly hair, creating a massive puff of frizz. She spritzed herself with oil, and quick flossed her teeth. One large swig of water and a mint later, Flora exited her truck.
“Hello,” Mrs. Hurley chimed and escorted her guest inside. They planted on the green couch as children swirled around them in a flurry. “I’ve only had time to pump a few bags. But the baby ate a little while ago, so I’m primed for at a couple more.”
“Take your time. I’m pooped.” Flora kicked off her sensible slip-on shoes and curled up on the couch, warming her feet under her flowing skirt. She rubbed her hands together and settled in for a visit. Mrs. Hurley made herbal tea for the mothers and collected her pump and supplies.
“Christmas is hard on everyone. Sad isn’t it,” Mrs. Hurley mused as she petted one young redhead as it sped past, whooping. “People can take the simplest of wonders and clutter it with drama and pressure. Why can’t we celebrate and be glad?”
“Good point,” Flora said as the warm tea bubbled up in her cold belly. It defrosted her from the inside out, up the spine and around the shoulders, making its way to her toes.
Mrs. Hurley connected the pump to its bag and the appropriate tubing and attached it to her breast, business-like, and beautiful. “So, what’s happening with the pageant?”
“Kat just called. The Church of Christ is hosting it. It will be much simpler but still a community gathering. “
“How’s Kat dealing with it?”
“She’s better than you’d think. Re-injuring herself made the whole thing a lot less urgent.”
“Finding a real baby in the manger, didn’t do it for her?” Mrs. Hurley chuckled and switched out bags. She sipped her tea before continuing. “How’s the baby doing?”
“She’s eating a lot. Thus, the pre-Christmas pick up.”
One once chortling child cried and screamed down the hallway, another rushed to console it. “Sh, the baby is sleeping.”
“Excuse me, Flora,” Mrs. Hurley set down her equipment and left to check on her children. Arguments waved, climaxed, and stilled. Flora listened, missing her own children. Unexpected tears dripped from her face. She swiped them away as the newest Hurley bawled through a monitor. “I’ll be back in a moment,” Mrs. Hurley called behind her as she walked further down the hallway.
The mother returned with her baby, now snuggly and silent. She passed her to Flora, who took the infant with eager arms. Mrs. Hurley went back to pumping. It went quicker and smoother with her newborn close by.
Two bags later, the smell of dinner and the nearness of her mother were too much for the baby to handle. Her nap came to a loud and desperate closing. She went from yawning to bawling in an instant. Mrs. Hurley shot to her feet, set the washables in the sink, and tossed the bags in the freezer, faster than Flora could transfer the hungry infant to her other arm.
“I’ve got her,” Mrs. H scooped up her baby and latched her before sitting.
Flora crossed her arms, straightening her back. Her chest ached at the contact. She rubbed at her pecks as inconspicuously as possible and was greeted by two mini puddles.
“You’ve got something happening there.” Mrs. Hurley scanned Flora’s shirt.
“Power of suggestion?” Flora reasoned.
“Are you sure about that?”
Flora surveyed the past months in her mind and decided to visit the clinic on her way home.
✽✽✽
Dr. Lawrence smiled at his friend. He and Flora often worked side by side. She never overstepped his authority but always stood by her beliefs. She’d been on his table for the same purpose multiple times in the last ten years. He hoped good news would mark up her file, soon.
The pee test lit up positive. Understanding Flora’s past pain, he knew she wouldn’t breathe easy until the baby survived its first twelve weeks in her womb, her personal safety zone. He geared up his sonogram machine and left Flora to converse it up with the only nurse on duty.
Devon was chatty, the perfect distraction for an eager and alarmed mother. He could hear them talking about the pageant, Kat’s broken foot, and future Christmas excitements. Dr. Lawrence let the ladies visit. He needed Flora to relax before gelling up her belly.
When the time was right, Devon joined them in the room. She held Flora’s hand as the doctor set up. Paper apron in place and goo applied, Dr. Lawrence slid the wand over Flora’s abdomen. Flora asked no questions and did her best not to look at the screen. She trusted Dr. Lawrence and wanted to know what was going on before she watched the present unfold.
The doctor started whistling an old hymn. Flora startled and could no longer restrain her curiosity. She looked at the screen and the familiar curves. Static, gray, and a steady beating heart greeted her tearful eyes. This baby was not just beginning. She was farther along then she’d counted.
“I think we’re nearly out of the first trimester. With your abnormal cycle, I can’t be positive. Come Christmas day, this baby should be out of the scary zone. But don’t stop praying. I know I won’t. Tell me about the last couple of months.”
Flora went over every detail she could recall. Her moodiness, her reoccurring flu symptoms, and her premature lactation that afternoon were all signs of this new grace. She failed at remaining unmoved or unattached. She already loved the creation growing inside of her. Devon cleaned off the jelly before leaving the room.
Flora sang and whispered to her belly. She praised and prayed, as she dressed.
The doctor and nurse could hear her jubilation, from the hallway. They joined hands and offered thanks to God for blessing their friend.
CHAPTER 17
The Millers arrived at the Community Caroling Event, later than planned. Intending to honor Kat, the Church of Christ dedicated the front row to the pageant director and her family. Kat’s foot required an entire pew to prop it up. She invited Thad to join the kids in the front as she claimed the back row.
Ms. Jacqui spotted her and sauntered over carrying a large gift bag. Kat straightened readying herself for the impending confrontation. The older lady huffed and plopped down a row ahead of Kat. She handed the gift bag to Kat with reluctance.
“For me?” Kat was stunned.
“Of course, it’s for you. Your name is on the tag, isn’t it?”
Giddy and choosing not to hide it, Kat blushed and beamed. Her palpable joy intimidated her antagonist and softened her. She didn’t allow her face to show her delight as Kat’s unwrapping revealed the quilt. Ms. Jacqui had worked weeks creating just for her.
“Oh, Ms. Jacqui, it’s lovely. Thank you, thank you, and thank you.” Hearing his wife’s exclamation, Thad turned to look back at her, thankful at her happiness. The handmade blanket was red and green in the theme and seasonal in spirit. There were sheep and angels and even a manger hidden in the prints. Kat hugged the gift to her chest before fluffing it open and covering her legs with it. Ms. Jacqui helped her straighten and stretch the quilt over her body and tuck it in around her feet. “This means so much. Thank you.”
The quilter waved a hand at her gratitude. “Oh, poo, we do one for every pageant director. It gives them something to remember their service. Though, I doubt anyone will forget this year.”