Emma's Gift (28 page)

She started to turn from me and then sat stark still, her hands clutching tight at the quilt we were sitting on. “He said he'd make sure we get through Christmas. Then he asked me to help the other'uns remember him fond.”

George, how could you do such a thing? How could you burden this girl so?
“I'm sure he doesn't know what he's saying,” I heard myself tell her. But I knew she didn't believe me any more than I did. Whether George meant to give his children up to other homes or whether he meant something even worse, I didn't know. But I was shaken inside even thinking about it. And poor Lizbeth started crying in my arms.

“I tol' him we love him, Mrs. Wortham. I—I tol' him how glad we was to be with him. But I don't know if he even heard me. He—he jus' tol' me to be sure we thanked you for all the favors an' not cause you no trouble when we come back. First he just sit, an' then he started his drinkin' an' got real sore if anybody come close or made a sound. But I can't keep them kids quiet all the time! I jus' can't. I didn't know what to do but come back! And he was glad, Mrs. Wortham. When I told him we was leavin', he was glad!”

I only held her, knowing there was nothing else I could do until her tears were spent. And there was nothing I could say. But the anger seethed in me again at George, mixed with a concern for him and his children. How could he leave them? How could he think such thoughts? But I knew it would do no good to voice any of that. I just hoped George had been talking as plainly to Samuel as he had to Lizbeth. Maybe Samuel had already managed to straighten him out some. Maybe George would walk through the doorway in just a few minutes—sober, revived, and ready to be a father again.

Lord, let it be.

TWENTY-TWO

Samuel

Christmas Day. My mind was full thinking of the children as we made our way through the timber's remaining snow. George was in no hurry, judging by the way he walked, but young Sam kept moving so fast that he had to stop every little bit and wait for us to catch up. He had goat milk in one hand and cow milk in the other, and I had a few eggs, the ham, and Rorey's jar of cherries. George was carrying the sack of gifts. At least no one could say that he wasn't providing something with all this.

But I hadn't finished the sled. Oh, it was done enough to look like a sled. It was all put together. But it needed careful sanding and a good rub of the runners with axle grease. I'd show them what I made, and maybe they wouldn't mind waiting the time it'd take to finish the job right. Juli'd worked so hard getting every last one of the Hammonds something special. Maybe it would help them just to know we cared enough to try.

George stopped for a minute and swung his sack down to the ground. “What if they don't need me over there?”

“You're talking foolishness, George. Of course they need you. You're their father.”

“Yeah.” He shook his head. “But they been makin' it fine.”

“They've been surviving, George. One day at a time. That's about all.”

“Your wife made some good sugar cookies. The little boys was happy 'bout that.”

“I'm glad. Juli's trying to do her best with the situation.”

“But you're good with kids, Wortham. Both of you are.”

I didn't want to hear any of that again. “Pick up the sack, George. Let's go. They're waiting.”

Young Sam glanced back at me for a minute and then at his father and then trudged ahead of us through the trees.

“You gotta stop talking like that,” I admonished George. “You're worrying your boy, and it's not right.”

“Talkin' like what?”

“Like you're not needed. Like you're thinking to just let us deal with it instead of facing things for yourself.”

George shook his head again. “He knows how it is.”

He seemed cold when he said it, cold as the drifting snow blowing around us. “I'm not so sure you know how it is,” I told him.

But he just picked up his sack and started moving again, keeping just ahead of me and not saying another word. We reached the edge of Emma's pasture fence before long, with the barn just ahead of it and the house beyond that. Just seeing the place was like a weight lifted somehow. But another weight remained. How would George conduct himself? How would the children be at this most precious of holidays, without their mother's arms?

As we came along the side of the barn, I noticed a little red-and-black sleigh in the yard not far from the house. But who might've come? It wasn't Barrett Post's sleigh or Covey Mueller's wagon contraption. I couldn't figure who else would venture out on Christmas.

Quiet as the cat, Kirk came out of the barn almost in front of us. He stopped for a moment with the milk pail in his hands and looked at his father. “This cow's almost dry,” he finally said.

“Happens this time a' year,” George replied immediately. “Don't worry 'bout it. We brought milk an' eggs from over t' home.”

Kirk stood in an awkward silence, as if knowing there should be other words between them. Why they couldn't seem to say anything else to each other, I didn't know. George just looked away toward the toolshed. He ought to have hugged his boy, I thought. He ought to have told him he was glad to be here.

“Appreciate you doing chores,” I told Kirk just to cover up the silence. “Everything done?”

“Yes, sir. Robert was out a minute ago.” He turned toward the house. “Pastor's here. They spent the night.”

“Well,” George drawled out, “can be thankful he was here and not with us. Don't s'pose he'd a' been too pleased at me submittin' to a little drink like I done.”

“He knows about it,” Kirk said.

“Might espect he would, boy. You'd tell him, wouldn't you?”

“It weren't me. I ain't likely to go tellin' anybody but you what I think.”

George almost laughed. “Well, Merry Christmas anyway, Kirk Howard. Ain't too pleased with your pa at the moment, are you?”

Kirk looked suddenly sunk. “At least you come. I'm glad for that.” He turned away from us, and I knew George had hurt him, talking the way he had. If Kirk was disappointed, if he was dismayed by his father, he had a right to be. But he didn't need chided for it when we were supposed to be having a holiday.

Kirk went on toward the house, and after one glance back, young Sam was right behind him. But George just stood there.

“Are you coming?” I asked, far from patiently.

“I didn't know Pastor would be here.”

“I didn't either. It's nice of him, though. I expect he knew it would be a difficult time.”

“Ain't no easier with him here!”

“No harder either. Come on.”

“He don't unnerstand. He thinks we oughta go right on praisin' the Lord like nothin's happened.”

“Well, it might help you feel better about things, just acknowledging that God's still with you, George. That he's good and hasn't changed.”

“I told you you sounded like a preacher! An' I ain't 'specially needin' to hear it!” He slung the sack over his shoulder. “Let's get this over with.”

I almost objected to that statement of his. When it comes to your children, you don't just get it over with. You go on with them because that's what a father does. But at least he was headed to the house now.

We were only to the base of the porch steps when the door came swinging open.

“Pa! Pa! Come see the tree!” Harry came rushing out on the porch in his stocking feet, followed closely by Berty saying, “Looky! Looky!”

The rest of them hung back, not approaching George even when he stamped his boots off and came in the house. I set George's ham and the eggs and Rorey's cherries on the table and wondered if I should go straight back out to get the sleds.

Juli hugged me. “Thank God you've come so early,” she whispered. “Wait'll you see what Pastor and Juanita brought us.”

Juanita was busy cooking, but she turned to greet me merrily. “Be just a little while before breakfast. Do you think the children might want to go ahead and open a present or two?”

She made it sound as if there were surely more than that, but I was still surprised when I stepped foot in the sitting room. A tree with the finest little glass ornaments and some very nice handmade ones. And scads of presents underneath. Enough for an army.

George was standing there with one boy on each side of him, just looking at that tree and then the wall of paper angels. “You do purty well, Mrs. Wortham, not havin' a lot a' cash on hand.”

“Oh, most of that the pastor brought out from the church folks,” she said quickly.

“Can we open somethin'?” Harry was asking. “Huh? Can we?”

“I—I brought somethin' more,” George said and stepped forward to set his sack beside the tree. “They ain't all wrapped individual, though.”

“I thought we already brung the candy,” Willy said.

“This here's from your mama.”

Everybody was quiet for a minute. Pastor stood up. And from the bottom stair step where she'd been sitting, Lizbeth stepped forward to the tree and fished around till she found one certain package. With her face all red and her hair pulling out of its braid every which way, she turned around and handed her father the gift. “This is from Mama too. For you.”

I thought he'd turn tail and run. He looked like he might. But he just sunk down to sit on the floor next to Rorey. “Guess I better open it, then,” he said weakly. “You all get somethin' to open too.”

“Mama's first,” Franky said.

George nodded. “Ain't no more'n fit.” He reached for the sack and pulled the whole pile out on his lap at once. Mittens, bright red and warm as anyone could ask for. There was a pair for every child except Willy and Kirk. For them, Wila had knitted two blue-green caps.

“These is nice,” Rorey said and immediately started crying.

Nobody said anything. Lizbeth leaned and kissed her sister's forehead. Little Emma Grace threw one of her tiny mittens on the floor and commenced chewing on the other. Franky lifted his to his cheek and just rested his head against their softness.

Knowing the need at such a moment, Pastor quietly said a prayer, brief and gentle. George pulled the paper off the package Lizbeth had given him and stopped as the cloth lay revealed on his lap.

“What is it, Pa?” Rorey asked.

“Appears to be a vest, true enough,” he said. “Don't know when she managed to stitch this together.”

“Clear last October, Pa,” Lizbeth said. “When you was harvestin'. She done the boys's caps then too, but I didn't know where she put 'em.”

“Well. She was a fine one. That she was.” George looked around for a moment at all the faces in the room and then settled his eyes on the tree. “I reckon we got a lot more ground to cover, thanks to the good pastor and the Worthams. Might as well start in.”

Some of the children put their mittens aside, but Rorey put hers on, and Franky stuffed his carefully inside his shirt. Every child, even Robert and Sarah, had a package from the church ladies: a multicolored scarf, every one of them different.

“Pretty,” Sarah said, reaching to find her mother's hand. “When are we gonna open the stuff you made?”

“Oh, we will,” Juli told her. “Be patient.”

There were twelve little bundles all tied up with dainty ribbon—fudge, divinity, and little nut clusters of some kind. Homemade candy for each of the children, except the pastor gave Emma Grace's to George.

“Oh! Oh!” Berty exclaimed and popped a piece in his mouth before anyone could stop him.

“Not no more,” Lizbeth told him sternly. “Not till after breakfast.”

“Look what a bunch a' presents is still left,” Rorey told her sister.

“Yes,” Lizbeth agreed. “Seems like folks outdone theirselves.”

With Juli's help, Pastor distributed the things she'd come up with. Young Sam's fine hat that made him look like a grown man, and one for Robert, just like he'd hoped to have. Gloves for Willy, ties for Joey and Kirk. And a tie for George, who shook his head and said she shouldn't have. Robert's old shirt was a little big on Franky but looked all right. The little boys were so delighted with their cloth balls that they soon had them soaring past our heads or rolling around our feet. And Rorey couldn't do anything when she saw her new doll except hug it and whisper, “Oh, she's the bestest little baby.” Our Sarah was just as pleased with a new dress for her Bessie and ran immediately to get the doll and try it on her.

With her own package untouched on her lap, Lizbeth opened Emma Grace's little dress and gently fingered the fabric. “It's beautiful.”

“Emma's handiwork,” Juli said softly.

And then Lizbeth opened her own. She sat for a moment as if transfixed by the soft pink cloth and the delicate lace collar. Tears started running down her cheeks. “Oh, Mrs. Wortham. Mrs. Wortham, I never had somethin' so nice.”

Juanita poked her head in with a smile. “Maybe we should go ahead and eat,” she suggested. “Since everything's done and hot. We can finish the rest afterward.”

Slowly, everybody got up, surprisingly quiet, as though awed by all there was to see.

But I found myself thinking of the day we first met George, when we rode in his wagon that was headed into town with a pig's head for a widow lady.

“You two's bound to come better'n ordinary friends,”
Emma had insisted once.
“You's called to be brothers.”

Called. Maybe she was right. Maybe I should've been praying all the time I'd been here that the Lord touch George, help him, prosper him somehow. Emma'd had confidence for him, even if nobody else had. She'd wanted me to have it too. And she'd be happy today, seeing how many people had lent a hand.

The kitchen smelled of bread and sausage and roasting turkey. Kids came after their plates more eagerly than usual, but there was nowhere near enough room at our table, so most of them took their food back into the other room and sat on the floor. George's ham was sitting on the counter now, to be served along with Mr. Post's turkey later that day.