Till Morning Is Nigh

by Leisha Kelly

  “Are we gonna make sheep?” Harry asked.

  “We need sheep,” Berty immediately agreed.

  “Oh, brother,” Willy commented from behind me. “You guys get all carried away kinda stupid.”

  “No criticizing,” I warned him. “I’m glad for us to get carried away in a little Christmas fun.”

  Lizbeth suddenly smiled just a tiny smile, the first I’d seen from her all day. But she didn’t say a word.

  “We can try to make sheep tomorrow,” I told the little boys. “But that could be quite a challenge.”

  “I think one tube for the body, with legs glued on,” Robert suggested. “And another tube for the head.”

  “Can we try it?” Harry wanted to know.

  “Tomorrow,” I repeated. “It’s time for bed.”

  “But Daddy isn’t home,” Sarah protested.

  Her words hung in silence for a moment. I saw the same angry uncertainty in Kirk’s eyes and a painfully weary sadness in Lizbeth’s.

  “It’ll be all right,” I told them all. “He’ll be home soon.”

  “Where is he?” Sarah persisted, and oh, I wished she hadn’t.

  “He’s out looking for our pa,” Willy said bluntly. “Who knows when he’ll be back.”

  “Soon,” Franky repeated my promise, but he suddenly looked scared.

  “It’ll be all right,” I said again, not sure what else to tell them. “Come on, now. Everyone to bed.”

  Without a word, Lizbeth took Emmie and her little cup to the rocker.

  “I wish we could have a story,” Sarah said sadly.

  I sighed, not wanting what had become a wonderfully uplifting evening to end on such a gloomy note. “Get the Bible storybook. I’ll read to you about the birth of Jesus. It’ll go right along with what we were doing.”

  Immediately, Berty started singing again. “Lidda Lor’ Jesus as’eep on da hay! I know the story, Mommy!”

  It jarred me terribly when he called me that. He was the only one of the Hammonds who ever did. He was so young. I hoped he wasn’t already losing the memory of his mama. Somehow I couldn’t bring myself to correct him and remind everyone again, though I knew the word had probably jarred his older siblings as much as it did me. “There’s more to the story than the song, Berty. Everybody lie down or have a seat around the davenport and you’ll see.”

  I read until little eyes were heavy and most of the story was done. “Let’s finish later,” I said softly. “Time for bed now.”

  “But we should finish the story now!” protested Harry, who seemed back to his old self again, not wanting to go to bed.

  “It’s good to leave a little for another time.”

  “Maybe for Christmas Eve,” Sarah suggested. “Like baby Jesus. Can we read the rest the same night Jesus comes?”

  I wasn’t completely sure what she meant. “If you want me to read the Christmas story on Christmas Eve, that’s all right with me. But off to bed now.”

  Sarah and Katie both gave me kisses and started for the stairs. Robert, Willy, and Kirk reluctantly followed them. Franky lingered only long enough to thank me for letting everybody work on the manger scene. And then I helped Joe settle Berty, Harry, and Rorey while Lizbeth rocked a squirmy Emmie to sleep on her lap. I made the rounds of every room, making sure all the children had adequate covers, and kissing my own and any of the others that I knew would appreciate it. Finally, when all of the lamps and candles were blown out but one and the house had grown quiet, I made my way to the kitchen and looked out a window, wondering where Samuel was right now and what, if anything, he’d found out about George.

  Despite the children feeling better and the mostly happy evening we’d spent, I felt so torn, so tense inside that I could hardly hold back tears. Samuel should be home by now. What could be keeping him? Whatever it was couldn’t be good.

  Staring out across the cold darkness made me feel lonely, even with twelve children in the house. What would be next for the Hammonds? And even for us? Lord God, we need you this Christmas.

  I let the curtain fall back to its place at the window and turned around slowly, wondering if Samuel would be home at all tonight, and what it meant if he wasn’t. The single candle I’d left on the table shed enough light for me to see the shepherds and angels waiting on our “Bethlehem” table. Katie’s little angel was the only one turned toward me, and I could see a hint of her features but not enough to discern the tiny tear I knew was there. Oh, God, did your angels cry? Did you, on the night your son was born? What a gift! What a precious yet mind-wrenching gift you gave.

  I turned from the table toward the bedroom doorway, letting a few stubborn tears cascade slowly down. And out of the blackness, Berty’s quiet, sleepy voice came floating.

  “The lidda Lor’ Jesus . . . as’eep on da hay . . .”

  The Cattle Are Lowing

  Some time in the night I heard the back door open and shut quietly. I slipped from between the covers, knowing it would be Samuel, and he would be hungry and cold by now. He was still by the door, pulling off his boots, when I entered the kitchen. I was on my way to the cupboard drawer to get a match when he took hold of my arm.

  “Julia.”

  Just my name. Nothing else. I turned toward him, and he pulled me into his arms. He felt so awfully cold, like ice. I hugged him, felt his deep intake of breath, and he held me tight to his chest, still not saying anything more.

  “What’s wrong?” I couldn’t wait. The silence felt like knives inside me. Was George still missing? Or dead?

  “Juli, I’m sorry to be so long.”

  “Did you find him?”

  “No. I tried. I wanted to come home hours ago, but I couldn’t seem to let it go. Not after last year . . .”

  I understood and reached my hand to his head. Samuel had found George back then, had stopped him when he’d been about to hang himself. All these Hammond children would have been fatherless then, if Samuel hadn’t tried so hard for George’s sake. And now I knew he was feeling broken, to have to come home alone.

  “Surely he’s all right. Just getting foolishly drunk someplace trying to forget—”

  “I looked. Everywhere Ben and I could think he might have gone to find liquor or anything else.”

  “Ben Law?” The sheriff. Samuel was awfully worried to have called for his help. And rightfully so. “Surely George wouldn’t do anything too stupid—”

  “Suddenly leaving like this was stupid enough,” Samuel replied. “Who knows what else he might do? He’s been by Fraley’s. And he got two quarts of Buck’s home brew. That’s enough to fell an ox. Who knows the shape he’s in now?”

  I squeezed him, petted his hair. “Honey, maybe he’ll just sleep it off and then go home.”

  “We checked by there. Several times. Ben said he’d keep on checking, but there was nothing else I could do.”

  “There isn’t. George is a grown man.”

  “Not really, Julia. I guess I’ve known that all along. I think Emma did too. That’s why she wanted me to watch for him, and us to look out for his children. She knew he’s no older than Franky inside somehow, maybe not even that old.”

  “Oh, Sammy.”

  “I’m serious. George is not all right, honey. I’m not sure he ever has been.”

  “But there’s nothing else you can do. Not tonight. Please. Come and get some rest.”

  “What are we going to do?”

  “He’ll be home. It’ll be all right.”

  He was quiet for a moment, and I felt his heart thundering in his chest as I held him. Samuel cared so deeply, so completely. I hoped there was some way George Hammond could understand what a gift it was to have such a friend. I’d thought he’d understood last year. He’d seemed to, to recover, to be grateful for life even, and the blessings God had given him and his children in enabling them to carry on.

  But this was December, and George was thinking too much, remembering too much, about the bad things. Maybe Samuel was right. Maybe he was li
ke a child somehow, unable to face all the responsibilities that went with being a father to so many. But despite such thinking, I recognized a touch of anger in me about it all. He was not a child. He was a man. With ten precious children who still needed him dearly. Despite the grief, despite the personal anguish, I could not help feeling that it was also a dreadful dose of selfishness that had him forgetting that his children were bound to be struggling too, and would struggle even more if they knew of his reckless, thoughtless behavior.

  “Are you hungry?” I asked Samuel, trying to push the bitter thoughts from my mind.

  “Yes. But I don’t feel like eating.”

  “Let me make you a sandwich, honey. Please. Do you want me to warm up the soup and dumplings?”

  “No. We should just go to bed. I don’t want to wake the children. Is Harry feeling better?”

  “Yes. They all seemed to improve. The doctor’s medicine helped, I think, plus the rest. And getting their mind off things.”

  He suddenly kissed me.

  “You kept them occupied, didn’t you? Juli, you’re so good with children. If . . . if he doesn’t come back—”

  “He will. Surely he will.”

  Samuel took a deep breath and pulled me with him toward a chair. “But if he doesn’t . . .”

  I felt like I was shaking inside. “What would you want?”

  “These kids already look to us. Even the doctor and the school look to us, Julia, because they already know we’re the ones making decisions. George just doesn’t—”

  “Maybe you’re right. Maybe he can’t.”

  He swallowed hard, struggled with the words. “But the kids lean on us. They’re comfortable with us, mostly. And you know their relatives can’t take them, at least not all of them together.”

  “And you would?” I asked, tears springing to my eyes. “If you would. Can you imagine how they’d feel if we didn’t? If they lost us too?”

  “Oh, Sammy. This is just talk. They’re not losing anyone. Surely—”

  “But I needed to talk to you about this. Even if George does get home, we need to look at it. They’ve been staying with George, coming back and forth. We’ve seen so much of them, but I’ve still been trying to pretend like we’re two separate families and we can just send them all home when we want and be by ourselves. Now I just don’t know. I think we need to keep in the middle of things. Keep seeing to them, even more, if they’re going to stay together.

  And you know they need to. They want to.”

  “George’s been all right up to now—”

  “Not all right enough.”

  I let those words rest for a moment as I got up to light a candle and get him something to eat. I needed to soak in what he was telling me. I needed to decide whether my heart was willing to accept what he seemed to be asking of me. I’d already accepted the Hammond children. They were so much a part of our lives now that a day when we didn’t see them seemed strange. But Samuel wanted to commit to more. At least in our hearts, in case the day should ever come when we were all they had left.

  “Yes,” I told him quietly. “If something were to happen to George, the children should be together.” I turned back toward him. “They would need us to be steady, to be here for them just as much. And more than we are now. I would be willing to take them all in, if it ever has to be. And I’m willing too, to do what we need to do to make sure their needs are met, even when they have their father with them.”

  Samuel stood up and wrapped his arms around me. “Thank you.”

  “I’m just glad they still have their father. And I pray he’s safe and in his right mind for Christmas and way before.”

  “Me too.”

  “Is just cheese all right on your sandwich?”

  “Oh, Juli. I love you.”

  I never did get his sandwich made. Off somewhere in the house, we heard a clunk and the soft, muffled sound of a child’s voice. Samuel started in that direction, and I lit a candle and followed him. Harry had fallen off the edge of the mattress onto the hardwood floor and was mumbling something incoherent in his sleep. Gently, Samuel lifted him onto the mattress again.

  “Julia, he’s burning up with fever.”

  I leaned close to touch his forehead. The poor child was sweaty hot, even though the room had gotten cool as the fire faded. He needed more of the medicine, but I hated to wake him. Samuel still had one hand on the boy’s arm and his head bowed. Praying. What a blessing I had in Samuel. God, thank you. Heal Harry. And any of the others if they are still sick.

  Emmie was snuggled close beside Lizbeth, her little arm sprawled almost over Lizbeth’s face. She was warm too, but not so warm as Harry. Berty felt fine. Rorey was nearly as warm as Emmie. But they all slept soundly, comfortably, while Harry was tossing and turning. I was about to ask Samuel if he thought it would be wise to wake the boy to get medicine down him when I heard the soft sound of footsteps on the stairs.

  It was the middle of the night. I was so startled, I spun around. Was another child sick?

  “Mommy?” Sarah’s quiet voice reached across the room.

  “Yes, honey, I’m here.”

  “I got woked up ’cause Katie’s crying.”

  Oh no. I turned to Samuel. “If you can stay close for Harry, I’ll go.”

  In the candle’s light, I saw his nod, and then I took Sarah’s hand and climbed the stairs with her.

  “Mommy, she don’t talk to me when I asked her what was wrong. Is she sick too?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe she’s not awake.”

  Apprehensive, I walked Sarah back to her room. Katie was curled on the bed next to the wall, holding her pillow against her chest and sobbing.

  “Katie?”

  I thought she may have quieted, just a little, but I wasn’t sure.

  “Honey, are you awake?”

  A nod. Barely perceivable. I set the candle on the nightstand and eased onto the bed. Sarah climbed up beside me.

  “Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

  She shook her head, tried to stop crying, but without much success. I reached to take her into my arms, and supportive little Sarah placed her hand tenderly on my shoulder.

  “Mommy,” Katie whispered.

  “Were you dreaming about her again?”

  The tears seemed to increase. “I wish you were my mommy.”

  What could I tell her? None of us had known what to do with a situation like Katie’s. Her mother was still out there, somewhere. Alive and able to care for her child. Just unwilling. And yet she’d signed nothing, she’d told no one that she was truly willing to give her up. I petted the girl’s hair. Katie had won my heart from the very first day. We had no way of knowing what her mother would do, or whether she’d ever show up again. But as far as I was concerned, Katie was ours. And everyone else seemed to want that too.

  “It’s okay, sweetie. You belong with us, and that isn’t going to change.”

  Katie clung to me, her face and the front of her wavy locks already wet with tears. “But will Mommy come for Christmas?”

  “Honey, I really don’t know. I don’t think so. We’ve heard nothing at all.”

  “Why doesn’t she want to see me?”

  She climbed up higher into my lap, pulling on my neck so hard it hurt. And then she seemed to be struggling for a full breath over the tears.

  “I don’t know,” I told her. “I can’t imagine. She’s just thinking of herself right now, and what she wants to do.”

  “And her . . . boyfriends,” Katie added. “She thinks about boyfriends.”

  “Maybe so.”

  “But she . . . she doesn’t love me . . .”

  I held her tight, rocked her a little. By the candle’s light I could see Sarah’s eyes now brimming with tears. “Katie, we love you,” she said quietly. “I want you to be my always sister.”

  “We do love you,” I agreed. “You’re a very big part of our hearts now.”

  Katie struggled against the tears, wiping one chee
k against the sleeve of my flannel nightgown. “Mommy used to sing to me . . . at Christmas. That was the only time she ever did sing just . . . just for me.”

  “What did she sing?”

  “‘S-silent Night.’ She said her grandma used to sing it to her.”

  “I’m glad you have that good memory. I’m glad your mother has that good memory too.”

  “Can you sing it for me sometime?”

  I almost choked with tears myself. How could a mother willingly walk off and leave her child? Would she think of her, now that it was December, whenever she heard that song? Would she wish she had her little girl with her to sing it to again? For Katie’s sake, I wasn’t really sure if I hoped so. Katie didn’t seem sure either.

  “Yes, I can sing it for you. Would you like to hear it now?”

  She nodded.

  “It’s so late. If you’re feeling better now, we should all try to get some sleep. Would you lie down again? You and Sarah both, and I’ll sing to you. And don’t worry. We will always be your family, Katie. No matter what happens, that will never change.”

  She seemed to relax, climbed back under the covers, and lay her head again on her pillow. Sarah stretched out beside her, and I covered and kissed them both. “You’re my good girls,” I told them. “Close your eyes.”

  Katie wiped her eyes with the corner of a blanket, and then Sarah took hold of her hand. They both closed their eyes obediently, almost at the same time. I closed mine for a moment too.

  “Silent night, holy night . . .”

  I sang softly so I wouldn’t waken anyone else, and the hush in the house seemed almost dreamlike.

  “All is calm, all is bright, ’round yon virgin mother and child . . .”

  Katie reached her free hand forward to take hold of mine. I smiled.

  “Holy infant so tender and mild. Sleep in heavenly peace . . . sleep in heavenly peace.”

  In a few moments, their breaths were as steady and peaceful as the song. I leaned, kissed their foreheads, and started to get up, sure they were both asleep.