Cracks in the Sidewalk

by Bette Lee Crosby

  A stream of tears started to come from Claire’s eyes. “Those children are all we have left of Elizabeth. We’ve got to find them.”

  “We will,” Charlie promised. “We will.” He put his arm around her and together they left the office, both of them hunched over with sadness draped across their shoulders.

  Searching

  For two weeks Claire remained in bed. In the morning she’d wake, remember she’d lost her grandchildren along with Elizabeth, and then drop back onto the pillow.

  “Why bother?” she’d moan. “There’s nothing to get up for.”

  The telephone went unanswered, uncollected mail jammed the mailbox, a thick layer of dust settled on tabletops, and Charlie went back to eating his dinner at the diner.

  On Sunday he tried to coax her into going to church.

  “The Lord’s not interested in hearing from me,” she said and turned toward the wall. When Charlie argued such a thing wasn’t true, she rattled off a list of prayers that hadn’t been answered.

  “What about those? If He was listening, would He have let me lose Liz and then lose my grandbabies too?”

  Charlie tried to remind her the Lord moves in ways we don’t always understand, but Claire’s ears closed tighter than her eyes. Finally he went to church alone.

  “Where’s Claire?” Pastor Tom asked. Charlie simply said she didn’t feel well.

  Mildred sauntered over. Mildred had known Claire since grade school, knew Claire inside and out, better perhaps than Charlie.

  “Is Claire still home feeling sorry for herself?”

  Charlie gave a sheepish grin. “She’s a bit under the weather.”

  “Baloney! She’s not sick. She’s just feeling sorry for herself. I stopped by three times last week, but she wouldn’t open the door. I’m her best friend, and she won’t open the door!”

  With a weary nod of his head, Charlie sighed. “It’s not you, Mildred. Claire won’t talk to anyone these days. She’s crawled into a shell and she—”

  “She doesn’t need you feeling sorry for her, what she needs is somebody to drag her butt out of that bed!”

  “As depressed as she is, I hardly think it would help for me—”

  “Well, I’d do it if she’d open the door!”

  When Charlie left for work Monday morning, the front door of the McDermott house was left unlocked.

  Shortly after ten o’clock, Claire heard the doorbell chime but she remained in bed and tugged the covers up around her ears. The chime rang a second time and then a third. After that she heard the front door open and footsteps tromp up the stairs.

  Fear slid through Claire’s chest as she nervously called out, “Who’s there?”

  “Me,” Mildred said, barreling through the bedroom door.

  “How did you—”

  “The door was open, so I figured you must’ve left it open for me.”

  “As you can see, I’m not up to having company.” Claire dropped her head back onto the pile of pillows.

  “What I see is a woman feeling sorry for herself for no good reason.”

  “I have a reason,” Claire said defensively, then launched into the story of how Jeffrey had disappeared, taking her grandchildren with him.

  “And you figure staying in bed is better than looking for them?” Mildred asked sarcastically.

  “Did you not hear what I said?” Claire replied. “No one knows where they’ve gone!”

  Mildred plopped down on the bed. “And you’re willing to accept that without looking any further?”

  “Where else can I look?”

  “David’s in first grade, so try checking the school. Ask some of the neighbors. You said Jeffrey had a girlfriend, try finding her. Go see Jeffrey’s parents. Anything is better than lying here like a lump. You’re so busy feeling sorry for yourself you haven’t thought about anybody else. What if the kids are someplace they don’t want to be? What if they’re waiting for Grandma to find them?”

  When Claire gave no answer Mildred said, “I guess they’ll have to keep waiting, because Grandma is busy wallowing in self-pity!”

  “I am not,” Claire argued.

  “Then prove it. Get out of that bed.”

  “I told you, I’m not well.”

  “Okay, I’ll take you to the doctor.”

  “I’m not that sick.”

  “Then get dressed, and we’ll start trying to find those kids!”

  The thought of finding her missing grandchildren pried Claire from the bed. Then the two old friends set off on a mission.

  Their first stop was David’s elementary school where the records clerk assured them she had no knowledge of the children’s whereabouts.

  “Mister Caruthers picked up David’s records himself,” she said. “He didn’t give any indication of what school David would be transferring to.”

  “If you hear anything—” Claire said.

  “I doubt we will,” the clerk replied, “and even if we did, that information is restricted. The law prohibits our releasing it to just anybody.”

  “I’m not anybody, I’m his grandmother!”

  “That may be,” the clerk replied, “but if Mister Caruthers wanted you to know where David is, I think he would have told you.”

  After leaving the clerk, Claire and Mildred went in search of room 208 where Carolyn Platt taught first grade.

  “We miss having David in our class,” she cooed. “How is he doing in his new school?”

  “I wish I knew,” Claire replied sadly. “Our son-in-law has taken all three of the children and disappeared.”

  “Disappeared?”

  “Completely. No forwarding address, nothing.” Claire’s eyes began to grow teary. “I was wondering if David ever mentioned where they were going.”

  “No, he didn’t,” Carolyn said sympathetically. “As a matter of fact, his father pulled him out of class one day and that was that. I never even had the opportunity to say goodbye.”

  That evening Claire telephoned Jeffrey’s parents in Florida.

  “I understand your loyalty to your son,” she explained, “but I’m not looking to cause trouble. I’m only interested in seeing my grandchildren and—”

  Before she could mention helping Jeffrey with any financial problems, the irate Emma Caruthers began screaming in her ear.

  “How dare you! What audacity! You have some nerve asking for my help after all the hateful things your family has done to my boy!”

  “We’ve never done—”

  “Don’t think you can lie to me! Jeffrey’s told me all about you and that miserly husband of yours!”

  “I’m afraid you’ve been misinformed, Charlie actually helped Jeffrey to—”

  “To drive him out of business! That’s what he helped do!”

  “Maybe we can make things right with Jeffrey,” Claire said, sounding conciliatory. “If you could just give me his new address—”

  Emma screamed, “Hell will freeze over first!”

  ~ ~ ~

  No stone was left unturned in the search for the Caruthers family. Charlie spoke with banking associates and fellow members of the Chamber of Commerce, tactfully inquiring whether anyone had heard from Jeffrey or knew of his whereabouts. The answer was always a shake of the head. Claire and Mildred bundled themselves in sweaters and tromped up and down the streets questioning neighbors and conversing with children at play in hopes of finding David and Kimberly’s new address.

  Shortly after Thanksgiving the weather became blustery, playgrounds emptied out, and the last vestige of leaves disappeared from trees, but still there was no word of David, Kimberly, or Christian. When the frosty winds of December drove everyone inside Claire made telephone calls. She called the children’s dentist, their pediatrician, even a children’s wear shop on the far side of Union, but the answer was always the same. No one, it seemed, knew anything. The family had simply vanished.

  Although Claire grew teary-eyed at the mere mention of grandchildren she clung to a threa
d of hope and followed every imaginable lead, none of which proved successful.

  Then on a day when the wind rattled windows and upended garbage cans Louise Farley, a frail wisp of a woman well into her eighties, came knocking at the door.

  “What are you doing out in this weather?” Claire said as she tugged the tiny woman inside.

  “I came to ask a favor,” Louise said in spurts, trying to catch her breath.

  Claire took hold of her arm. “First sit down and have a cup of tea. You’ve no business being out in this weather.”

  Still shivering, Louise said, “This isn’t so bad. In Minnesota over Thanksgiving it was so cold my bones nearly froze.”

  “Minnesota?” Claire said. “What in the world were you doing in Minnesota?”

  “Visiting my sister, Clovis. Minnesota’s a nice enough place but way too cold for the likes of me.” Louise wrapped her bony fingers around the steaming cup of tea. “When you and Charlie go out there be sure to bring plenty of warm clothes, because you’re gonna need them!”

  Claire laughed. “Oh, I doubt we’ll be going to Minnesota.”

  “You’re not planning to visit the grandchildren?”

  “You mean our grandchildren?” Claire asked.

  “Yes,” Louise answered, “David, Kimberly, and the little one—what’s his name?”

  “Christian.”

  “Yes, that’s it, Christian.”

  Claire felt her heart jump. “You know where they live?”

  “Not really. But they were at the Minnesota State fair when I saw Clovis in the fall, so I’d guess somewhere in Southern Minnesota or maybe Wisconsin.”

  Claire gasped. “You’ve seen them?”

  “Not since September.”

  “Where?”

  “The Minnesota State Fair,” Louise repeated. “It’s quite an event. There’s livestock shows, a big Ferris wheel, kiddie rides, and every kind of food imaginable, even fried cheese. Can you believe—”

  “You saw Liz’s kids? Our grandchildren?” Claire asked again.

  “Oh, yes. They were there, all three of them. They were with their daddy and some girl who looked to be half his age. David, he saw me before I saw him. He started waving and calling out ‘Hi, Miss Louise,’ but that girl yanked him and Kimberly away before I got a chance to talk to them.” The old woman’s face wrinkled with disdain. “That girl looked like a trashy sort.”

  Claire peppered Louise with question after question but got few answers. Yes, she had seen the kids. Yes, they all looked well. No, she hadn’t had an opportunity to talk to them. No, she hadn’t trailed them back to wherever they were living.

  “It never dawned on me to do that; I didn’t know they’d gone missing.”

  After nearly two hours of questioning, Louise finally got to the favor she’d come to ask about. “I was hoping you’d be willing to help me with my Sunday school class for the next six weeks.”

  Caught up in the euphoria of good news, Claire answered, “Sure.”

  ~ ~ ~

  That night Claire told Charlie of the conversation.

  “Now that we know they’re in Minnesota, we can get a private investigator to find them,” Claire said.

  Although he argued that trying to find five people who lived somewhere in the state of Minnesota or perhaps Wisconsin was like searching for a needle in a haystack, Charlie finally agreed to hire an investigator.

  “But even if we get Jeffrey’s address, it doesn’t mean he’ll allow us to visit the kids.”

  Claire didn’t want to consider such a negative train of thought, so for the remainder of the month she happily planned their reunion with the children.

  A Partridge in a Pear Tree

  When Claire arrived at the church on Sunday morning, the last thing she expected to see was a room full of noisy kindergartners, twenty-seven in all. When Louise asked for Sunday School help, Claire had envisioned a class of adults like the Bible study she’d attended five years ago. She’d never considered that a woman in her eighties would teach children.

  “I don’t know if I can handle this many kids,” she whispered in her friend’s ear.

  “Of course you can,” Louise answered, then she shoved a tub of crayons toward Claire and told her to put a handful in the center of each table. “Mix them up so there’s an assortment of colors on each table.”

  Louise turned to the whirlwind of kids who were talking, laughing, chasing one another, and, in one case, crouching beneath the table, and she clapped her hands—once, twice, slight pause, then three quick claps. Suddenly the noise stopped, and the children repeated the clapping pattern. Clap, clap, pause, clap, clap, clap. Once the room got quiet, Louise asked in a thin, delicate voice, “What time is it?”

  Claire glanced at her watch, but a chorus of little voices shouted, “Learning time!”

  With no word of direction, the children scurried toward the center of the room and sat on the floor. The only exception was the boy from beneath the table. He sat apart from the group, head hanging low and his back pushed against the wall.

  Claire went and squatted beside the boy. “You look awfully sad,” she whispered.

  He nodded almost imperceptibly but kept his chin tucked to his chest.

  “I’m sorry you’re feeling sad,” she said sympathetically. “Maybe if you tell me your name, I could do something.”

  “Adam.”

  “Well, Adam, do you want to tell me what’s wrong?”

  He kept his eyes focused on the floor and shrugged.

  Claire wrapped her arm around the lad’s shoulder. “If you tell me the problem, maybe I can fix it.”

  “My shoe’s untied.”

  Claire squeezed his shoulder. “Well, that’s easy enough to fix.”

  He pulled his right foot from beneath his leg, and she saw a brown shoelace flopping loose on both ends. Claire tightened the laces and looped the two loose ends into a bow.

  Adam lifted his head and smiled.

  “How about we go listen to the rest of Miss Louise’s story?”

  Adam nodded.

  When Claire stood he took hold of her hand, and when he lowered himself into the crowd of his classmates he tugged her down alongside of him.

  ~ ~ ~

  After the story there was a prayer and another round of clapping, then Louise announced it was time for pageant practice.

  “Yea!” the chorus echoed gleefully.

  “Can I be the partridge?” a voice called out.

  “No, Brenda,” Louise answered, “Sara is the partridge. You’re a French hen.”

  “Why does Sara get—”

  “Because she’s smaller and the tree platform is only big enough for a very small person.” Louise motioned to a group of boys. “Calling Birds, over here.”

  Adam still clung to Claire when Louise wriggled a finger at him. “You’re a Turtle Dove. You should be next to Tommy.” Adam slid his hand from Claire’s and moved to stand alongside a dark-haired boy with round glasses.

  “Okay,” Louise said. “Now, everyone, stay with your group.” She waved toward Claire. “You take the partridge, turtle doves, French hens, and calling birds. I’ll get the rest.”

  “Take them where?”

  “You don’t take them anywhere.” Louise chuckled. “Just teach them their parts of the song.”

  Claire stood there slightly petrified.

  “It’s easy,” Louise assured her. “We start with the partridge sitting in the tree and she sings the first verse, then the turtle doves come on stage and they sing the second verse, and so on. Everybody joins in on the chorus.”

  “Okay,” Claire answered nervously. She turned to the group in front of her. “Do you all know the song?”

  The partridge nodded as did two hens, one calling bird, and one turtle dove. The remainder shook their heads.

  “Well,” she said, remembering how she’d once taught the refrain to Elizabeth, “this song is actually a story. It tells about all the wonderful Christmas presents
a man bought for his true love. On each day of the Christmas season, he gave her a very special gift.”

  “Was he a prince?” someone asked.

  “He might have been,” Claire answered. “On the very first day, he gave his love a partridge in a pear tree. Sara, that’s you. The pageant opens with you sitting in the tree and you get to sing, ‘On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me, a partridge in a pear tree.’”

  “By myself?” a wide-eyed Sara asked.

  “Yes, won’t that be fun?”

  Sara twisted her face into displeasure.

  “How about we’ll sing together until you get comfortable with doing it?”

  “What if I never get comfortable?”

  “Then the night of the pageant I’ll hide behind the tree and sing along with you.”

  Sara smiled. “Really?”

  “Cross my heart.”

  Once Sara began singing things moved along smoothly. The two calling birds added some wing-flapping to their verse and one of the French hens got the hiccups, which caused a lot of giggling. After what seemed like minutes, Louise repeated her clapping routine and announced that the dress rehearsal would be at seven o’clock on Tuesday evening.

  “You’ll need to try on your costumes, so be on time!” She turned to Claire. “You too.”

  “Me? But I’m temporary. I’m only helping out.”

  “You’re directing the first four days of Christmas.”

  Claire hadn’t planned on directing anything, especially a bunch of kindergartners with stage fright, but when she looked down and saw Adam beaming up at her, she answered, “Okay.”

  ~ ~ ~

  That afternoon Claire plopped down in Charlie’s recliner and gave a sigh of relief. “I’m glad this is temporary,” she said.

  “Why?”

  Claire thought about it but found she didn’t have an answer. True, the time flew by, which was generally a sign a person was enjoying themselves, but she’d come away with an odd sense of sadness. It felt as if the hole in her heart left by the loss of their grandchildren had somehow grown larger. And singing that song, turning it into a story as she had with Elizabeth, brought back so many memories.