A Shiloh Christmas

by Phyllis Reynolds Naylor

  “Nothing like that,” I say. And then I get this awful feeling Doc thinks I’m talking about my own family. That Dad and Ma are mistreating us.

  “Just that this family’s new in the community, see, and . . . maybe the father’s so strict—got punishments for the least little thing—and you’re the only one who knows how much they cry.” I reach for the next ornament before it’s ready.

  Doc takes his time finding a hook for it. Then he says, “Well, if I was just a friend of the family, I think I might try to find out who their doctor was and let him know. And then, if I was the doctor, I’d do my best to treat the whole family—find a good counselor who could help them out, if I wasn’t able to do the job myself. And, of course, I’d be grateful to the person who let me know about it, because doctors can’t always tell just by looking at a sore throat or an earache what other kinds of aches go on in a family.”

  “That’s . . . good to know,” I say. And I take the little ceramic angel and put her up near the top of the tree.

  Last week of school before Christmas vacation. I come home on Wednesday, Shiloh at the bus stop to meet me, and when I get to the house, I find Dara Lynn and Becky and Ruthie sitting on the rug playing cards. One nice thing about Dara Lynn, she includes Becky a lot in her play, even when she brings Ruthie home with her. Somethin’ strange about it, though—their fingers are doing the card dropping, but their eyes are on Ma and me. Becky’s kneeling beside them holding Tangerine, face all serious. These girls are up to something, that’s for sure. Wonder if they’d been trying to dress up my dog again before I got here.

  “What you guys playing?” I ask as I put down my backpack and hang up my jacket.

  Dara Lynn looks down at the cards like she don’t even know. “Hearts,” she says.

  “No! It’s Crazy Eights!” says Ruthie, and she gives Dara Lynn a look.

  Ma’s got her little portable sewing machine on the table, working on some red and green place mats, snowflake pattern.

  “Ruthie here for dinner?” I ask as I check the refrigerator for something to eat.

  “No, her mom took Rachel shopping, so she came home with Dara Lynn. Usually Judith calls me first, but I guess she forgot. Everybody’s so busy getting ready for Christmas,” Ma says.

  I hold out a bowl of something yellow. “This vanilla pudding? Can I have it?”

  “No, it’s chicken gravy, Marty,” Ma says, laughing. “You’ll find some sliced ham in the bin below.”

  I get out crackers and the ham and take them to the other side of the table, then spread out my math homework. Every little thing I do, I got three pair of eyes on me.

  “You guys want a snack?” I ask the girls. Three heads shake no. So I eat what’s before me and work out the first two problems. When I look up again, Dara Lynn’s slowly putting the cards back in the box and Ruthie’s on her knees, head on the couch, holding her stomach.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  “Ruthie’s got a tummy ache,” says Becky, letting the cat go and crawling over to pat Ruthie on the back.

  Ma stops the sewing machine and looks up. “Aren’t you feeling well, Ruthie?” she asks.

  “Just a stomach ache,” says Dara Lynn quickly.

  I get up to pour me a glass of milk, and I see the telephone dangling by its cord.

  “Hey!” I say. “Who left the phone off the hook?”

  Ma looks around. “For heaven’s sake! Dara Lynn, did you leave it like that?”

  Dara Lynn and Becky both snap to attention, but Ruthie stays buried in the couch.

  “Maybe I bumped it accidentally,” says Dara Lynn.

  Ma stares at it. “No wonder I haven’t heard from Judith.” And then to Dara Lynn, “You’ve got to be more careful.” But she studies the girls some more, then gets up and goes over to sit on the couch beside Ruthie.

  “Sweetheart,” Ma says, stroking her head. “Does your mom know you’re here?”

  Dara Lynn and Ruthie don’t make a sound, but Becky shakes her head.

  Ma looks directly at Dara Lynn. “Dara Lynn, did you leave that phone off the hook on purpose?”

  Becky’s nodding her head yes.

  And suddenly Ruthie raises up and buries her head in Ma’s lap, and Dara Lynn says, “Mom, could Ruthie live here for a while?”

  “What?” says Ma.

  Ruthie’s shoulders are shaking, and Ma forgets all about those place mats she was sewing.

  The phone rings, and now all three girls are crying.

  “Ruthie, did you come home with Dara Lynn without telling your mom?” asks Ma. Ruthie cries harder. I got me a whole drama going on right here in the living room and don’t even have to buy a ticket.

  “I’d better get that,” says Ma, and slides Ruthie’s head off her lap. I lift up the phone and hand it to Ma.

  “Yes, Judith,” she says, after listening a bit, “she’s here. . . . Yes. . . . I know, your line was busy too.”

  Dara Lynn’s eyes open wide, and Ma turns away.

  “Oh, you know how forgetful the girls are when they get to talking. . . . Isn’t that the truth! . . . Well, the driver must have misunderstood, though Dara Lynn could talk a chicken out of an egg. . . .”

  Dara Lynn’s mouth pops open.

  “No, Ray’s not here either, but couldn’t you let Ruthie stay for dinner, and Ray will take her home later? . . . Oh . . . Oh, for goodness’ sake . . . Of course, he’s right here. . . .” And suddenly Ma’s handing me the phone.

  How did I get into this? I’ve only been home twenty minutes.

  “Hello?” I say.

  Mrs. Dawes’s voice is either frantic or exasperated, I can’t tell. “Marty, I don’t know what’s going on today, but neither of my daughters made it home. Was Rachel on the bus with you?”

  My heart starts beating a little faster. “Yes, ma’am, she was,” I say.

  “Did she get off at our stop?”

  I’m trying to remember. Only two people get off at the road where Rachel lives, and it’s a five-minute walk to get to the Dawes’s house from there. One or two houses and a field to pass by. Still, if Rachel got off there, she’d have been home way long before this.

  “I think so,” I say, but not real sure. “I think Jennie Harris gets off there too.”

  “I know. I’ve tried her number, but no one answers.”

  I’m trying to think of where she was sitting on the bus—where I was sitting. I was behind two of the guys on the basketball team, listening to them talk about a game.

  “Well . . . ,” says Mrs. Dawes. “I’ll try another one of her friends. Jacob’s making sick rounds this afternoon. I don’t know when he’ll be home. I’d come for Ruthie myself, but I want to stay near the phone in case Rachel calls. I appreciate you keeping Ruthie there till Jacob can pick her up.”

  Everybody’s staring at me when I hang up the phone.

  “She says Rachel didn’t come home either,” I tell Ma.

  Ruthie is crying real hard now, a kind of choking crying, and Ma looks around the room. “Does anybody know what’s going on?” she asks.

  But Dara Lynn’s still staring at Ma. “You told a lie!” she says.

  Ma looks sheepish. “I . . . I guess I did. I didn’t want to blame Ruthie!”

  “But you blamed me!” Dara Lynn’s downright triumphant. Caught her own ma in a lie.

  “I’m sorry, Dara Lynn. I was flustered,” says Ma. Then, “Does anyone know where Rachel went?”

  “Rachel ran away,” says Becky.

  fifteen

  JUDD TRAVERS KNOCKS AT THE door just then.

  I open it for him. “Don’t ask me to explain nothing,” I say, as he looks around the room at the tear-streaked faces.

  “I . . . uh . . . found one of your hens down by the road there,” he says to Ma. “I put her back, but I think I see where they’re getting out. If you’ve got some extra fencing, I’ll see if I can fix it.”

  “Thanks, Judd, but right now we’ve got a missing girl, and I can�
�t think straight,” says Ma.

  “And Ruthie’s got a tummy ache,” Becky tells him.

  Judd studies Ruthie, head on the couch. “She need a doctor? Can I drive you somewhere?” he asks Ma.

  “No, but Ruthie—she’s the preacher’s daughter—wasn’t supposed to come here, and her sister Rachel didn’t get home, and Ray’s not home yet, and the preacher’s out making his rounds, and Mrs. Dawes and I are going a little bit crazy.”

  Judd nods and starts to leave. Then turns around, hand still on the doorknob. “Rachel’s the older girl, right?”

  “Yes,” says Ma.

  “I seen a girl going in the side door of the church when I was on my way here. Didn’t pay it all that much attention, and I wouldn’t know if it was her or not. Eleven or twelve years old, maybe?”

  Now Ma turns to the girls again, and you can tell by her face there’s going to be no more guessing games. “Do any of you know where Rachel was going?”

  All three heads shake in unison, even Becky’s.

  “How far is Rachel’s bus stop from the church, Marty?” Ma asks. “Could she have walked it?”

  “A mile, maybe.”

  “Judd, could you and Marty check that out? I don’t want to get Judith’s hopes up if Rachel’s not there, but I don’t know of anything going on at the church this afternoon. If she just wanted to get away, think things over, maybe she went there.”

  I agree it’s possible, but knowing Rachel, seems to me that’s about the last place she’d run to.

  It’s another twenty minutes to the church. No cars in the parking lot—been cleared of snow for over a week now. Front door’s kept locked when there’s nothin’ going on, but side door’s usually open during the day—somebody wants to come in, practice playing a hymn or just pray, they can.

  Judd parks the pickup, and we open the side door and step into the little room next to the pulpit. No lights on, so when we go into the sanctuary, looks more like evening than afternoon.

  Right away, though, I see that somebody’s been here. Hymnbooks are scattered all around the platform in front—thrown, some of ’em, it looks like—and the pulpit itself is knocked over. I know it’s not raccoons.

  And then we hear a shuffling sound, and turn to see Rachel standing between the pews near the back. I think she sees Judd first, though, cause she gives a little gasp. Then she sees me.

  “Hey, Rachel?” I call out.

  She sits down hard and don’t answer, her back straight as a rifle. When we get about five rows away from her, she says, “I’m not going home!”

  I can tell that Judd’s going to let me do the talking, seeing as how they never met.

  “Okay,” I say. “Didn’t want to take you there. Just wanted to make sure you’re all right. This here’s Judd Travers.”

  She studies him curiously. Probably heard the same stories about him everyone else has heard. She don’t say hello. Only, “How did you know where I was?”

  “Judd saw you go in the church but didn’t know you were missing. Just found out, and Ma asked us to ride here, make sure you were okay.” I’m pushing it, I know, but I add, “Might could bring you a pillow and some supper, if you want.”

  Judd figures this is going to be a long conversation, so he sits down in a pew two rows in front of her, half-turned, with one arm slung along the back. Rachel don’t answer.

  Finally she says, “Does my dad know where I am?”

  “I don’t think so. We didn’t even tell your ma.”

  “Good. I hope he worries his heart out, though I doubt it.”

  I sit down on the other side of the aisle, and we listen to a car go by on the road outside. When nobody talks for a while, Rachel says, “The only thing I worry about is Ruthie. They’re probably giving her the third degree.”

  “Naw,” I say. “She’s at our house. She come home with Dara Lynn, and your ma’s been looking for her.”

  “She’s at your place?” Rachel asks, surprised.

  “Yeah. Scared to go home without you.”

  Rachel lets out her breath. “She knew I was going to run away. I told her this morning, so she wouldn’t think I’d been in an accident or something. I said not to tell anybody.”

  “She didn’t. Not for a long while. But when your ma called . . . it’s hard to keep that a secret when you’re only seven,” I say.

  I can tell there’s so much anger boiling up inside Rachel she can hardly hold back. Leaking out every which way. “I wanted to go to Ashley’s house, but you can’t take a different bus home without a note from your parents. And I’m not going home!” she says again. She stares down at her lap. “When I got off the bus this afternoon, I’d forgotten my mittens, and my hands were freezing. The only public building remotely close was the church, so I came here just to get warm.”

  Judd looks around the dim sanctuary. Only a couple of exit lights are lit. “Must be pretty strong to knock that pulpit over by yourself,” he says.

  “Wasn’t so hard,” says Rachel defiantly. She finds a hymnbook on the back of the seat in front of her. Must have missed that one. Picks it up and tosses it down the pew.

  “That’s what I think of my dad!” she says, and her voice trembles, she wants it to or not. “You can’t ever please him, no matter what!” And then, after a minute or two, she asks, “Did you ever run away?”

  Don’t know who she’s talking to, ’cause she don’t look at either one of us.

  But Judd surprises me when he’s the one who answers. “Lots of times,” he says. “Only I never had a place to go to, so always came home again, knowing a beating was waiting for me when I got there.”

  “Oh!” says Rachel, little quick breath.

  “I was the youngest in my family,” Judd says. “Three older brothers and one sister. One by one they all left, soon as they could. One took the car, one took my dad’s shotgun and rifles, and the other two . . . I guess they took what money they could get their hands on. And there I was by myself with my dad. Ma had died when I was fourteen or so. Fifteen, maybe it was.”

  “You just . . . kept taking the beatings?” Rachel asks.

  Strange they’re carrying on a conversation without looking at each other. But it works.

  “Oh, I had a plan, and that’s the only thing kept me going,” Judd tells her. “Friend of mine gives me his old rowboat. Moving away, don’t want to take it with him. And since I got no car, no money, my plan was to fix up that rowboat, all the places it might leak, and get it down as far as Friendly, to the Ohio River, and that’s the way I was going to clear out. Like that kid in the book . . . you know the one . . . Huck?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “Huckleberry Finn.”

  “That’s the one. I got maps from the gas station, got my route all planned. . . .” Judd chuckles a little. “Going to take all the food in the refrigerator with me, all I can stow away, and when that’s gone, I’ll fish. You sure get some weird ideas when you’re fifteen.

  “And then,” says Judd, “our house caught fire, and a week later my dad died of a heart attack.” He shakes his head a little. “Not a single one of my brothers come back to bury him. My sister came to bring me some money, but Dad owned the piece of land we were living on, and nobody else wanted it, so it was turned over to me. I stayed, and finally bought my own trailer, and then some dogs.”

  “Wow,” says Rachel. She looks at me, so I guess I’m supposed to say something.

  “I never ran away, but I thought about it,” I tell her. “It was when Ma discovered I was hiding a dog up in the woods. I begged her not to tell Dad, and got her to agree to wait till the next day at least. She only said yes when I promised I wouldn’t run away with him.”

  Judd’s looking at me funny, and then I realize that’s a part of the Shiloh story he don’t know.

  “That was a dog you wanted to keep?” Rachel asks.

  “Yeah,” I say. “And . . . finally . . . they said I could.” No need to tell the full story right now.

  For a long
while, none of us says anything. And then Rachel says, “So it looks like I’m just stuck, doesn’t it?”

  But Judd says, “Don’t keep you from makin’ plans. Only thing that kept me from bein’ crazy while I was living at home was workin’ on that rowboat. Planning it all out in my mind how I was going to make my escape. Dad would be in that house, drinkin’, raving mad, I’d just go back in the woods there and do some more scraping, filling up holes in the rowboat.”

  “Too bad I don’t have a rowboat,” Rachel says, and her voice has a sting to it.

  “Don’t have to have a boat, girl. Your folks are probably planning to send you to college, aren’t they? You can be out of the house then.”

  “That’s six years off!” Rachel cries.

  “Not too early to start collecting catalogs and applications and stuff, though,” I tell her.

  “My dad would see everything I get through the mail. He’d want to pick the college,” says Rachel.

  “Get them through the school counselor, then,” I tell her. I don’t know a whole lot about the counselor, but I’d listened to her talk during orientation that first day of school. “Try to get a scholarship to the one you like best.”

  Judd’s nodding his head. “It’ll be your escape, same as the rowboat was for me. You can look through those catalogs or whatever and dream, and let me tell you, I had some big dreams. Just turned out I never needed to use ’em.”

  Nobody says anything for a while. I can see it’s almost dark outside. Finally I tell Rachel, “Ruthie claims she has a stomach ache. You want to come back to my house? Maybe she’d feel better if she saw you.”

  Rachel thinks it over. “If we go straight to your house and not mine,” she says.

  “That’s where I’m headed,” says Judd. “But maybe we better put things to rights here before we go.”

  And Rachel starts picking up the hymnbooks.

  We get home, and Judd says he’s going to work on that chicken wire to make sure the hens don’t get out again. So Rachel follows me into the house, and we’re only in there about one minute before Dad gets home. He walks in to see Ruthie hugging Rachel and Ma saying, “Thank goodness!” And Becky and Dara Lynn begging Ma, can they stay for dinner?