by Dan Walsh
“Say, Pa. You know what day tomorrow is, right?”
“Yes, I do, Willy.”
“It’s Christmas Eve, Pa. Means just one more day, then Christmas.”
“I know, son. Let’s keep moving. We ain’t got time for you to be stoppin’ and lookin’ in all these store windows.”
And Ezra didn’t need reminding of all the other things he couldn’t afford for his family.
“Okay, Pa.”
Sadness had descended with the setting sun on the Collins’s home this night.
Katherine had just gotten off the phone with the police captain and had to inform Mr. Collins and Mrs. Fortini that all the homes within the search area with telephones had been contacted, and no one had taken in a little boy.
It was as if Patrick had simply vanished.
The only sliver of hope that remained was that Patrick might have been taken in by the forty or so homes in the neighborhood that didn’t have telephones. The captain said his men had the lists made up and planned to go knocking on all these doors first thing tomorrow morning, even though it was Christmas Eve. He still spoke with confidence about finding Patrick.
But where could he have gone?
She looked away from the window at the wooden soldier centered on the coffee table. Katherine had to admit, the elder Collins was a gifted artist. The level of detail in both the wood carving and paint was astonishing. This soldier was worthy of a shelf in any museum or gallery she had ever seen. When he had come down from the attic an hour ago and set it down on the table, he just said, “This should do it.”
It really did seem like something had changed inside him. Comparing how harsh he’d been since the night she first met him, then seeing the look on his face after learning Patrick had disappeared . . . She couldn’t hate him anymore. He was clearly as upset, if not more, than she was.
He had now resumed a slouched position in his chair, staring blankly at the wall like yesterday. Mrs. Fortini was busying herself in the kitchen, making them all some dinner. Katherine could tell she was bothered by the lack of news, but not shaken. Katherine thought it must be nice to have a place like that to go to in your mind, to have faith. She, however, was a realist. She’d found it better, especially since taking this job, to keep her expectations low, since life consistently met them, and rarely exceeded them. But with Patrick, she couldn’t let her heart give up hope. They had to find him. He had to be all right.
“Who’s ready for dinner?” Mrs. Fortini called from the dining room. “I made you spaghetti and my world-famous meatballs. I think we need spaghetti on a night like this.” She walked back into the kitchen.
“I’d love some spaghetti,” Katherine replied, not sure if she could even eat anything right now. “Mr. Collins . . . ready for dinner?” He didn’t move. She tapped him on the shoulder. “Want some spaghetti?”
“Huh . . . spaghetti?”
He looked up, but it was as if his eyes looked past her. She saw such despair in those eyes, such deep sadness. “Maybe some good cooking will cheer us up.”
He sat up. “I guess so.” He glanced over at the wooden soldier on the table, then at the front door. He buried his face in his hands, but just for a moment, then stood up. “I’ll be right there.”
Katherine obliged and walked toward the dining room without him but looked back at him over her shoulder. He walked over to the wooden soldier and picked it up. He held it about chest high, turning it once on its side as if to catch its profile, then set it back on the table facing the front door. He walked to the front window and parted the curtains slightly. She sat down at the table as Mrs. Fortini came out with some rolls.
“What’s he doing?” she whispered.
“I don’t know,” said Katherine.
“Poor man.”
Collins turned around, and they both quickly looked at each other.
“Okay, let’s eat,” he said as he walked into the dining room.
“Anything I can help you with, Mrs. Fortini?” Katherine asked.
“Maybe just pour us each a nice glass of Chianti. Is that okay, Ian? I brought a bottle with me when we came over this afternoon.”
“I like a good Chianti with spaghetti,” he said as he sat down.
Once the food and bread were dished out and the wine glasses filled, Collins said, “Okay if I say grace tonight?”
It surprised Katherine but clearly shocked Mrs. Fortini. “Fine, Ian. That would be just fine.”
After Collins prayed, he took a large helping of spaghetti and meatballs from Mrs. Fortini. He was glad he remembered the right words to pray; it had been awhile. He didn’t fully understand what had come over him, but he definitely felt something shifting inside. It actually seemed to happen as he held the wooden soldier in his hands.
He’d been so busy working on it the last twenty-four hours, and prior to that could only connect it to a myriad of conflict- ing emotions. He’d never allowed himself to see the wooden soldier for what it was, or what it represented. Here was a man taking charge of a situation in the midst of great peril, giving no thought to his own life or safety. A man doing his duty. A Collins always does his duty. Somehow getting clear on this got through to him just now. He couldn’t just sit there anymore wallowing in doubt and this paralyzing fear. He had a job to do. His job was to keep focused and prepared for Patrick’s return. It was pointless to let his mind dwell on the hopeless scenario that Patrick was lost to him for good.
So they didn’t find him today. They would keep looking tomorrow. And if not tomorrow, then the day after that, and the day after that. But it was his duty to make sure they did find Patrick and that he was ready to care for Patrick properly when he did return.
“Another roll, Mrs. Fortini, if you please.”
Thirty-Six
It was Christmas Eve morning.
Ezra Jeffries’s two boys had come running in to wake him early, just to make sure he knew. He was sitting down now at their little wooden table in the kitchen, drinking a cup of coffee with Ruby, still in her robe, watching his boys and Patrick play marbles on the living room floor.
Last night when Ezra got home, Patrick took the news pretty good about him not getting through to the government lady. He let Ruby do the telling, and by the time she through explaining things to Patrick, he not only didn’t cry, he was smilin’ like it wasn’t bad news at all.
Now Ezra was thinking other thoughts about the plan they came up with, sitting here with his coffee, watching the boys play, hoping by the end of the day he wasn’t gonna get beat up or, worse, thrown in jail. He didn’t tell Ruby about what he feared, but he knew a little bit more about how white folks could get when they saw a black man doing something they didn’t understand. Like walking around with a white boy in a white neighborhood, a boy who been lost out in the snow a couple of days.
But the plan called for Ezra bringing Patrick back home himself, since there didn’t seem to be any other way to connect with this government lady named Townsend. Ruby had to promise Patrick they wouldn’t bring him back to the grandpa but to some nice lady who lived next door.
“Say, Patrick,” said Ezra, “I think it be time to start getting ready for our walk.”
“Can’t we finish our game, Pa?” said Willy. “Just a few more minutes?”
“Afraid not, son. We got a long walk to get him back, and the snow still blockin’ the whole way. And I want to get back home myself before dark. We got our own things to do tonight, remember? What night is it?”
“Christmas Eve!” both boys shouted.
“That’s right. So you turn him loose and let him get ready.”
After Patrick got dressed and bundled up, Ezra hugged his boys and gave Ruby a kiss, hoping badly he would be back in her arms by the end of this day. His boys and Patrick hugged each other like they already best friends. Kids got it so easy that way, he thought. “Okay, Patrick, let’s be goin’, now.”
As they made their way out to the street, Patrick immediately took hold of
Ezra’s hand. There weren’t too many people out walking around, but they were all colored folk, and he wasn’t too worried about the stares he’d be getting in this neighborhood. It was plenty cold, but the wind was mild. The snow hadn’t melted none, but the folks already out and about had created a narrow path for them to walk in most places.
“Say, Patrick, I need to tell you something before we get to Clifton Avenue, the road where Hodgins’s Grocery is. You say you know how to get home from there, right?”
“I’m pretty sure. It’s only a block or so from there. I don’t know the road names, but I think I can find the way.”
Ezra wished he could narrow things down. Didn’t want to be asking white folk for directions once he got near Hodgins’s. “Anything more you remember about the street your grandpa lives on?”
“You said we weren’t going there.”
“I know. But that Italian lady’s on the same street, right?”
“Yes.”
“You remember anything more about it, the street? Any little stores on the corner, or fire stations nearby?”
Patrick thought a moment, then said, “There’s a big cemetery nearby, with a big stone wall. Mrs. Fortini took me there and lifted me up to see the graves.”
“Well, that might help.” But Ezra knew Allingdale had four big cemeteries nearby, going in different directions once he got to Hodgins’s. That could make for an awful lot of extra walkin’ till they found the right one. “Anything you remember about this cemetery? See a name at the place you go in?”
“We didn’t actually go inside. But I remember one thing.”
“What?”
“The graves didn’t have any crosses.”
“No crosses?”
“They had stars.”
“Stars?”
“I didn’t know what they were, but Mrs. Fortini told me. She said they were stars of David. For Jewish people.”
“Ah,” said Ezra. Now this made sense. “That have to be Mount Lebanon, then. I know right where that is.”
“You do?”
“Yes, I do. You think you know the way if I get you to that stone wall?”
“Sure I do. Mrs. Fortini’s house is right around the corner from there.”
At the rate they were going, Ezra thought they might get there in just over an hour. “Well, here’s the part I got to tell you about.” He stopped and bent down to talk to Patrick face-to-face. “Once we get to Clifton Avenue, the street with Hodgins’s Grocery, I’m gonna have to hide you in my coat and carry you the rest of the way.”
“You are? I can walk. Am I going too slow?”
“You doin’ just fine. It’s just . . . how can I explain this. You see, some people won’t like seeing me walking with you in that neighborhood, might think . . . well, they might think I was doing something wrong.”
“Why?”
How could he explain this? “See, Patrick, some white folks get nervous they see a black man walking with a white boy that don’t belong to him. And I’m figurin’ a lot of folks might be out looking for you, since you been gone here now two days. I wanna get you all the way to your Italian lady friend’s place with no trouble. You understand what I’m saying?”
“I think so. My mom told me a little bit about this.”
“That’s a good boy. I’ll just put you in my coat and button you up, just like the other night I brung you home. And I’ll get you to that stone wall by the cemetery and you can pop your head up and we’ll be right close to where you belong. That okay?”
“Sure. I don’t mind.”
They started walking again. Ezra felt a whole lot better now about Ruby’s plan.
It was just after lunchtime at the Collins house.
Although there wasn’t any positive news yet about Patrick, Katherine was relieved the search teams did arrive after daybreak as promised. The men had been out looking ever since, contacting all the homes without telephones in the search area. By now, they were several blocks from Collins’s home. Only two officers were left outside, stationed at the edge of the driveway.
The police captain told them this morning that the men had decided to split the five-thousand-dollar reward evenly between everyone involved in the search. Each man would still receive several hundred dollars’ cash.
At the moment, she was so bored she was actually looking at pictures in one of Collins’s fishing magazines. A few minutes ago, she’d called her office again. No one had answered, so at least she wasn’t in trouble with Bernie Krebb.
Christmas music was playing on the radio, which helped to ease her nerves. Mrs. Fortini had suggested they turn it on a few hours ago, and Collins didn’t protest. He’d gone back up into the attic about ten minutes ago. She wasn’t sure why; the wooden soldier was all finished, sitting on the coffee table facing the front door.
The quiet was broken by someone coming down both sets of stairs. She looked up in time to see Collins carrying a large box. “Okay, ladies, I’ve got a job for you.”
Mrs. Fortini came in from the kitchen as he walked into the dining room and set the box on the table. “What is this?” she asked. “Why, Ian . . .”
Katherine walked in behind him as he opened the flaps. It was filled with Christmas decorations and ornaments.
“It’s Christmas Eve,” he said. “It’s time we set these out. You ladies mind?”
“Mind?” said Mrs. Fortini. “Ian, I don’t know what to say. Ida would be so happy to see this. What’s gotten into you?”
Katherine saw a tear well up in his left eye. He blinked it away, then simply said, “This is long overdue.”
“I’ll help,” Katherine said, “but you better take the lead, Mrs. Fortini. I don’t have much decorating experience.”
“What do you want us to do with the tree decorations?” Mrs. Fortini asked.
“Just set them out for now. Need to get a tree first.”
“Where are you going to get a tree now in all this snow?”
“I’ve learned something over the last few days,” he said. “Money talks.” He walked into the kitchen, picked up the telephone, and dialed the number the police captain had left on a notepad.
“Captain, this is Ian Collins. I know there isn’t any more news. I’m calling to ask a special favor. Could you ask one of your men if they’d stop by somewhere and pick up a Christmas tree for me, bring it over this afternoon? I’m not picky. There’s an extra twenty dollars in it for whoever comes. You will? Thank you. I’ll be looking for him then. Good-bye.”
Katherine couldn’t believe what she was hearing or seeing. Christmas music, Christmas decorations, and now a Christmas tree? And instead of an angry, irritating old man, Collins was almost . . . pleasant. Whatever was happening to him, she was glad. Although, she realized it might make it difficult to follow through with her plans once they found Patrick. If these changes in Collins became permanent, that is.
“This might be a good time to give you one other thing to hang up,” Mrs. Fortini announced, pulling something out of her purse. It was one of those patriotic cloth stars you hang up in your front window, to let people know you have a loved one in the war.
Collins looked at it for a moment, then he actually smiled. “Mrs. Fortini . . . I don’t know what to say.”
“You could say thank you.”
“Thank you,” he said and took it from her, then walked into the living room toward the front window. “I’ll put it up right now.”
“And Ian,” she said. “Notice the color of the star. It’s blue, not gold.”
“I noticed,” he said.
Thirty-Seven
Ezra didn’t think he’d ever been this scared. He was making his way down Clifton Ave. now. Most the stores were still closed, either from the holiday or the snow. But there were more people out than he cared to see, all of them white round these parts. Even spotted three policemen in the space of two blocks. Felt like everybody was looking at him much too long, starin’ at his belly. Hoped they just thought he was
a big fat black man out on some errand. Tried not to look anyone in the eye as they walked by.
Patrick seemed fine under his coat, holding on tight. At one point, he even said, “This is fun.” Kids had it so easy that way. He passed the alley beside Hodgins’s Grocery. Looked like the boxes were still there just the way he left them. Maybe he should stop back there after dropping Patrick off.
Just up ahead was Bartram Avenue, the road the cemetery was on. Mostly houses on that road, less people. Once he got there, he’d let Patrick pop his head up, see if he knew where he was.
“Almost there, Patrick. I’m turnin’ now on that road with the cemetery. Just a few more blocks, son. You doin’ just fine.”
Katherine couldn’t believe the transformation that had taken place in Collins’s home over the last few hours. Mrs. Fortini had worked wonders with the things they’d found in the box. A policeman had dropped off a decent-looking tree about thirty minutes ago. Collins had just finished hanging the lights. Quite a few were broken or burned out, but no one cared. She couldn’t believe it, but the house was now ready for Christmas Eve.
The only thing missing was a little boy.
Katherine tried not to worry, but it would be dark in a few hours, and there was still no word about Patrick. At the last report, the captain said they had only twelve houses left to check. He’d said something about working on some new leads, but she was sure he said that just to ease their fears.
“Cheer up, Katherine,” Mrs. Fortini said. “Don’t give up hope.”
Ezra was there now, right beside that stone wall. He saw gravestones of all shapes and sizes, as far as the eye could see. Sure enough, no crosses. But plenty of stars. He looked up and down the street. So far so good. Just a few folk down the road a bit. Kids, mostly, making a snow fort. He walked to the first intersection, remembered Patrick saying it was right around the corner. As he got to it, he read the street sign. “Say, Patrick. Chestnut Street, that sound familiar?”