Emma's Gift (29 page)

George was quiet, watching everybody and looking especially somber. I went and sat beside him. “Merry Christmas, George. I didn't mean to be unpleasant earlier.”

He was watching Willy and Robert in the corner comparing scarves and each sneaking a piece of divinity when they thought no one was looking. Then Willy put his new knit cap on his head and left it there.

“They miss her,” George said. “I know they do. But they're all right. The church folks is done fine by 'em, an' I didn't even e'spect that.”

“We all care about you,” I said, hoping he understood that I really did mean
him
too.

“Uh-huh.” He turned to his food, still somber. There was something in his eyes I couldn't name, except to say that it worried me as much as anything I'd seen in him so far.

Juanita and Sarah were singing “Hark the Herald Angels Sing” by the time the rest of us were done eating. And George just sat cold as stone.

When we'd all finished breakfast, Juanita passed out the rest of the presents, starting with jars of mincemeat and peach preserves for George and for Juli and me. Then a basket full of the same candies the kids had already gotten. Then Juanita lifted one of two stacks of identical gifts, small rectangles with the only store-bought wrapping paper under the tree.

“Miss Hazel bought these,” Juanita said softly. “She said something about a legacy.”

Twelve Bibles. One for each child of both families, regardless of age. And in all of them, “In memory of Emma Graham” was written inside the front cover.

I didn't know what to think. It would never have occurred to me, even dreaming, that Hazel Sharpe would buy our children Christmas presents. But Juanita was handing me a small rectangle too. For Juli and me, a book from Pastor.
Pilgrim's Progress.

“In Des Moines about four years ago I gave them to graduating seniors,” Pastor told us. “I had four left.”

They gave George one too. But he set it down, barely looking at it. Instead he was watching Rorey now, who had her doll wrapped in her new scarf, rocking it just as vigorously as she could without tipping herself over.

“That dolly ain't gonna nap much thataway,” he said.

“Oh, Pa,” Rorey responded. “I'm playin' I'm the swing.” She kept right on rocking while Juli presented Pastor and Juanita with two gifts, to their obvious surprise.

“How could you manage?” Juanita asked. “You didn't even know we were going to be here.”

I wondered the same thing until I saw that the first gift was a box of cookies. And the second was Julia's cross that I'd carved for her from seasoned oak months ago.

“I hope you don't mind,” she whispered to me. “Didn't have time to ask you.”

“It was a fine idea,” I told her. “I'll make you another one.”

“It's wonderful,” Pastor said, looking at us both. “You don't have to do this.”

“We want to.”

Juli went right on from there and gave me a jar wrapped in a dishcloth and tied with a yarn bow. The strange, dark brown liquid almost made the jar look like it was brown glass.

“Walnut stain,” Juli explained. “It should work for wood. Or your boots.”

I smiled. I knew she'd stuffed the outer walnut hulls into a bag last fall, but I just thought they might be useful kindling. This was better. “Thank you.” I kissed her cheek and stood to my feet. “Now I've got some things to get outside.”

I saw the smile spread across Robert's face like sunshine. Pastor picked up the bundle of Christmas candy that George had bought and passed it all to him. Reluctantly George handed it out to his children as I pulled on my coat.

“Want to help me, Robert?”

“Yeah!” He jumped up with more enthusiasm than I could muster, and Julia smiled.

“Can I come too?” Sarah asked me.

“Sure. Why not?” I figured maybe it would be better to present these two with the sleds I'd made for them first and bring in only the one for the Hammonds.

“We got a lot this year,” Robert said when we were outside.

“Yes. You both need to write a letter soon and thank the church people. They've been more than generous.”

“We ain't done, though, are we Dad?”

I smiled a little, enjoying putting him off. “Well, no. We have to give the Hammonds their sled. And I have something for your mother too.”

“You do?” Sarah asked with her eyes wide. “You made something for Mommy?”

“A curio shelf. I've had it done for almost a month.”

“That's not what I meant,” Robert said in dismay. “Is there something else for me?”

Instead of going all the way to the barn, I stopped in front of the shed first, pulled the latch, and opened it wide.

“Wow,” Robert said.

Sarah said nothing at all. I pulled down the two sleds from the roof rafter and presented one to each of them.

“I knew it,” Robert said. “Can we sled today?”

“Maybe. After we give the Hammonds theirs. And I have to finish it a bit.”

Robert was looking over his sled front and back. “Thanks, Dad.”

Sarah nodded her head. “There's room for Rorey on mine. And our dolls too.”

Robert frowned at the mention of the girl. “Do you think they'll ever go home?”

“Yes. Maybe not tonight. But we'll see.”

“Their dad ain't happy to be here. Everybody else is thankful, at least. But not him.”

Not something I'd expect a child to notice on Christmas. But Robert was old enough to know.

“At least he's here, son. That's a start.” I pulled the gunnysack with Juli's shelf out of the corner and handed it to Sarah. “You want to carry it?”

“Yeah!”

“You can carry the other sled in if you want, Robert.”

“Okay. We gonna leave ours out here?”

“For now.”

Somehow just coming outside with me this way made my kids feel good, and they loved the idea of carrying the gifts in. “They'll think they're from us!” Sarah chuckled.

We made quite an entrance, me holding the doors, Robert dragging the big sled, and Sarah hopping up and down with the gunnysack, shouting “Santa's here! Santa's here!”

Everybody gathered around, and the Hammond boys were especially taken with the sled. Franky was fairly glowing. “I knew you could do it!”

“For us?” Willy asked, incredulous.

“For us?” Harry echoed.

“For you,” I said with a smile, but then I saw George hanging back from the others. And I knew down in my gut that I'd made a serious mistake.

“And this is for you, Mommy!” Sarah exclaimed, thrusting the gunnysack in Juli's direction.

She pulled out the shelf, looked it over front and back, and reached for my hand. “Sammy, it's beautiful.”

But I could barely acknowledge her. George had retreated even further, to a chair in the far corner of the room. He was watching Lizbeth with haunted eyes as she held the baby and shook a rattle that someone must've given her while we were outside.

He saw me looking at him and gave just a hint of a nod. “Merry Christmas,” he said, but his voice sounded hollow, soulless. Something like fear tensed inside of me.
He's going to kill himself. He's going to try.

I knew it as sure as I stood there, that that's what he'd been meaning all along. And what could we do? If he hadn't listened to a word any of us had said so far, how could we hope to stop him?

TWENTY-THREE

Julia

“This is too much,” Lizbeth was protesting over her gifts. “We ain't never had so much.”

Juanita put her arm around the girl. “Maybe you all are needing it this year. You think?”

“It's nice,” Lizbeth admitted. “You all been real nice. Still, I'd trade it all an' a whole lot more to have Mama here.”

“I would too, honey,” Juanita acknowledged. “She was a good lady.”

“Say,” Lizbeth said, seeming to brighten, “I was thinkin' we ain't never had Christmas away from home before, but we did! Right here one time! Emma had us over. We was littler then, an' she helped us act out Christmas. You remember that, Joey?”

Her brother nodded. “I was Joseph. You was Mary. An' Rorey got to be Jesus.”

“Nah,” Rorey shook her head. “I ain't never been Jesus.”

“You don't remember,” Joe informed her. “'Cause you was just a baby.”

“Then we oughta do it again!” Rorey exclaimed. “I wanna be Mary this time! Emma Gracie can be Jesus!”

“But she ain't a boy,” Harry pointed out.

“It's just for play,” Rorey told him, suddenly an expert. “An' I weren't a boy neither when I done it.”

“Then I wanna be Joseph,” Harry declared.

“Can we, Mrs. Wortham?” Rorey persisted.

Their enthusiasm surprised me. And I thought it a grand notion. With Emma all those years ago, it would've been a fine thing to see. “Sure, why not?” I'd noticed George sitting in the corner. Maybe seeing his kids at such a project would lift his spirits some.

“Put on a show for your father,” I told the kids. “It'll be fun. You two can be Mary and Joseph. Franky and Willy and Robert would make good wise men.”

“Huh-uh!” Willy protested.

“Mom,” Robert echoed his dismay. “We want to go sledding.”

“This won't take long, honey, and the younger ones want to. It won't hurt you to indulge them a little.”

“I wanna be Jozep!” Berty hollered.

“Honey, we need you to be a shepherd, to take care of all the sheep and goats and such.”

Berty smiled brightly. “Okay. That's importan' too, ain't it?”

“Yes. Very.”

“What about me?” Sarah asked. “What can I be?”

“An angel.”

Joe graciously volunteered to be Berty's herd of animals, and it was decided that Lizbeth becoming the manger would be the only way to keep “baby Jesus” lying still. It was a cute little show for George and Pastor and Juanita and the rest, and it lasted maybe all of ten minutes. By then, I could smell the turkey coming along and knew I'd better start in with the rest of our big meal, so I agreed to let all the kids go sledding with Samuel.

Samuel, however, didn't seem to want to go. I wasn't sure why not. But he agreed to put the finishing touches on the Hammond sled so the boys could all go.

“Won't you come?” Samuel asked George.

“Nah. I believe I'll set right here.”

“Want to sled with them, then, in a little bit?”

“Nope.”

“They'd like your company.”

“I'll be right here when they come in fer dinner.” He folded his arms and leaned back, and that was it about it. Samuel went on out, and every one of the kids but Lizbeth and the baby piled out of the house with him, leaving the place suddenly quiet.

“Don't you want to go?” Juanita asked Lizbeth. “I'll watch the baby.”

Lizbeth glanced at her father and shook her head. “They won't be out long. Not with a turkey comin' on.” She started singing to the baby, and from across the room I could see George's pained expression worsen. Lizbeth noticed too and abruptly stopped.

“Oh, I'm sorry, Pa. I wasn't thinkin'.” She looked up at me. “That was Mama's song. Her favorite.”

“Go on an' sing it,” George told her. “I always did like it too.”

So Lizbeth sang, looking unsure of herself. And before long, little Emma was sound asleep in her arms.

“You're good with that baby,” her father told her. “Like you was born to it.”

“Maybe I was, Pa. There's always been a baby 'round, 'long as I can remember.”

“I got somethin' special for you, girl.”

Lizbeth looked at her father in surprise, and he started fishing something small out of his pocket.

“Your mama tol' me to do this. I almost forgot it, but I got an obligation to fulfill.”

Lizbeth stepped closer, and he presented her with a shiny chain—a tiny gold locket.

“Gramma's necklace.” Lizbeth stared at her father, making no move to touch it. “Oh, Pa!”

“Your mama wanted you to have it. And it's right, on account a' you bein' the oldest girl.” He looked down for a minute, fishing in a pants pocket. “An' I need you to do me a favor.”

“What, Pa?”

He pulled out a pocket watch on a leather fob. “I want you to save this back an' give to your brother Sam. I'd do it m'self, but he prob'ly wouldn't take it just yet, on account a' he's sore at me.”

“But he'll get over that, Pa! 'Specially if you don't drink no more!” She stopped for a moment, gauging his reaction to such words. But his expression did not change. “Pa, there ain't no hurry.”

“It's Christmas,” he said. “An' besides, you two been right grown up 'bout all this. I oughta show you how's I 'preciate it.”

Lizbeth took the locket and the watch in her hands and stood there looking at them for a minute. Then she turned her eyes to her father. “We love you, Pa.”

“I know you do. An' I love every one a' you.” Then he suddenly lifted his voice. “Mrs. Wortham! Come put this on my girl an' see how grown-up an' purty she looks!”

I did as he said and quickly saw how worried she was. But she didn't say anything about that. “Thank you,” she murmured, reaching up with one hand to touch the delicate golden locket at her throat.

“I b'lieve you're purtier'n your mother was,” George said. “Oh, she was purty enough. She used to say, though, that she weren't built for lookin' at.”

“I'd like to see her right now,” Lizbeth said softly.

“So would I, girl. So would I.”

Pastor was picking up the scattered paper all over the sitting room and looking to be praying at the same time. Juanita had gone back to the kitchen and was working on fixings for dinner.