by Rita Kano
Sue Bell buried her head against Shirley’s shoulder.
“Are you okay, baby?” asked Nash.
Sue Bell snuggled in closer to Shirley.
“Okay, then, let’s take a look at that old tree.”
“Watch your step,” said Luke, “even with the headlights on, a gator can look like a dried up old log.”
“I know that, Luke. Appreciate your concern just the same, though,” said Nash.
About twenty yards in, the giant, old tree came into view. Their footsteps stopped and all heads turned to Sue Bell.
Nash looked at Sue Bell and then at Shirley.
Shirley looked back with the same question she saw in Nash’s eyes pushing through the swelling numbness in her throat.
Shirley shoved through the wall of hesitation. “Sue Bell? Is this where you saw Martha Ann, sweetheart?”
Sue Bell covered her mouth with two balled up fists. “Lizzie’s not here is she Grandpa?”
“No, sugar baby, and she’s not going to be. Miss Shirley, you and Sue Bell stay here, I’ll hang the plaque on the tree.”
“I’d like to help with that, Nash,” said Luke. “If you don’t have no objection.”
“Not at all, Luke.”
After hanging the plaque, the two men returned to the spot where Shirley and Sue Bell waited.
“It’s done,” said Nash.
No sooner had Nash spoken the words when a rush of warm wind pushed against the four of them and raced up and through the boughs of the old Elm tree, like a whirling whistle. Then above the tree, a light burst out of nowhere as bright as a ray of noonday sun and… and then the light, in full view of eyes of disbelief and wonder, took on a form of beauty beyond words. In another flash, the image disappeared.
Luke pushed his hat back. “I didn’t see anything. So, don’t even ask. Don’t … even … ask.” He repeated like staking out fence posts.
“Wasn’t planning to,” replied Nash.
Luke turned on his heels and headed off in the direction of his truck.
“What was that?” asked Shirley.
“I don’t have the slightest notion,” answered Nash.
“It was an angel,” said Sue Bell. “She has red hair and her name is Glory. The angel told me Lizzie’s coming home.”
“Did…” Nash reached for Shirley’s hand, “Sue Bell, did the angel say when?”
“Real soon, Grandpa. She said Lizzie will be home Christmas morning.”
Nash, Shirley and Sue Bell arrived back at the house and found Arlene sitting in a porch rocking chair, watching Joe kick at gravel as he paced up and down the driveway.
Sue Bell ran to her mama as soon as the truck door opened.
Nash stepped out and then Shirley.
“What you got to say for yourself this time?” snapped Joe at Nash. “What the heck were you thinking going off with Sue Bell without a word to Arlene and me? Ain’t you learned nothing? What kind of cockamamie explanation you got this time?”
“Now ain’t the time, Joe,” said Nash, with his jaw set firm.
Shirley braced for a confrontation, but Joe, after thrusting his own jaw forward, backed off.
“Let’s go, Arlene,” Joe called out. “Sue Bell’s fine. The rest of what I’ve got to say can wait until daylight.”
Arlene walked past her papa with a stare so full of piss she could have snuffed out hell’s fire.
As the Lovett’s old Chevy headed down the rutted dirt road, its headlights bounced in the treetops.
Nash and Shirley stood on the porch side by side, hand in hand, breathing in air filled with the sweet taste of hope, as the first flakes of a Christmas snow began to fall.
Chapter 23
Silver Bells and Angels
Three days later, slivers of Christmas morning sun stabbed through scattered clouds and shone through the top half of a hanging tree. The thick swamp air, set aglow by narrow golden rays, gave the magical impression of melting upwards. Patches of snow cradled in the v-shaped bare branches had already begun to dribble down the sunny side of the trunk. Today, however, no pale, cold body lay sprawled beneath the sheltering branches. No footprints pushed down the snow leading up to the tree where a plaque was hung on a sturdy, low branch.
On one side of the plaque were the Native American symbols found carved into Sadie Redding’s tombstone … a diamond, a star and a giant bird. The diamond shape represented the wind that gives all our children life. The four-pointed star signified the resurrection of a hero of the past. And the Thunderbird, a Sioux symbol for the guardian of truth, proudly boasted the death of a curse and the restoration of young man’s honor.
On the other side of the plaque were the words Shirley asked Nash to engrave. They read:
Long lay the world
In sin and error pining,
Till he appeared
And the soul felt its worth
Christmas morning:
Nash and Shirley were on their way to Arlene and Joe’s house for Christmas morning breakfast. Most of the broken bridges between the four of them had been repaired. Nash wasn’t too sure how long the patches would last, but for now their world was cordial, which was a far sight better than it had been.
They both held their breath as Nash turned the truck into the driveway. If Sue Bell’s angel, Glory, was real, there’d be a red haired girl with skin the color of buttermilk pudding waking up in her bed with a ragdoll named Abigail.
Arlene and Joe greeted them at the door.
“Is she here?” asked Nash.
“We ain’t had the nerve to look, yet,” answered Joe.
“Where is Sue Bell?” asked Shirley.
“Still asleep,” said Arlene. “Papa… I’m afraid. What if Lizzie ain’t here?”
Only two doors away, Lizzie woke up in her bed with the earthy taste of Passion Flower tea on her tongue. Briefly she struggled against the stupor induced by the tea used by her captors to befuddle the memory of being taken away by strangers. Morning light turned the cloudy memories to a bad dream. In a matter of minutes her bare feet pattered across the worn, flower pattern, linoleum rug into a room where logs in the fireplace crackled and soothed the chill of the early air, along with the intoxicated hearts of her parents, her grandpa, and Miss Shirley.
“Mama! Daddy!” she shouted. “Is it Christmas morning?”
Hugs and wonder filled the country home and repeated when Sue Bell came running in.
On the mantelpiece sat a blue Mason jar between pine branches and two pinecones. The blue Mason jar will be there every Christmas Day hereafter, filled with Martha Ann’s favorite candy, Silver Bells.
Sue Bell doesn’t need the Mason jar any more. She wears purple eyeglasses to see crickets, bees, wild pansies, boll weevils and tobacco worms; all the tiny joys in life that had disappeared from her world. Although, Martha Ann was still missing, Sue Bell prayed every night to a red haired angel named Glory that she would come home too.
There, in that simple room of a modest country home, eyes shone brighter than the star atop the eight-foot tall Christmas tree as a little girl counted a dozen presents tagged with her name… Lizzie. Among them was a mysterious gift no one in the family would admit to placing there … a charm bracelet from which dangled three symbols … a diamond, a star and a thunderbird. The Merry Christmas tag was signed, Grandma Sadie.
Lizzie and her sister, Sue Bell, tore through the colorful paper of all the presents under the tree except one. The best and most precious present wasn’t wrapped in red and green Santa Claus paper or tied with a shiny gold ribbon. The gift Lizzie and Sue Bell unwrapped was a long and happy life in rooms warmed by steady flames and hearts mended by the touch of angels.
The End
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