The Christmas Portrait (3 page)

When we got to the top of the rock where Mama liked to sit, the sun was warm, and Mama just started singing the Irish folk songs Grandpa liked. And then right in the middle of one, she stopped and stared into the water and got real quiet like. I tried to hum to her, but then Mama started talking to me about life being like that stream. “Sometimes life's calm like that pool of deep water around the bend, and sometimes it's rough like the white-water upstream, but it's always headed somewhere, Kate,” she said. “It's always headed somewhere. But no matter how rough or calm the water, there are always the solid rocks underneath just getting smoother as the years go by.”

Mama took my hand and held it with both of hers, but she didn't look at me like she usually did when she asked me a question. She was still looking at the water. “Kate, your life is going to get like the upstream white water for a while. You might not know which way you're going, and you might think you can't keep your head above the water, but you have smooth, solid stones underneath you, girl. You just remember that. Do you know what those stones are?”

When Mama talked like that, I felt the sadness squeezing me so much I couldn't breathe. I shook my head, but Mama wasn't looking at me.

“Katherine Joy, do you know what's going to keep your head up and keep you going somewhere?”

“You, Mama. You'll keep my head up.” I was glad Mama wasn't looking at me so she wouldn't have to see my teary eyes. If she had seen me, I would have just told her it was that Kentucky breeze making my eyes water.

“No, Kate. I won't be here to hold your head up.” Mama let go of my hand and pulled her sweater around her tighter. Then she pointed to the water's edge. “You think you can climb down there and pick up three smooth stones?”

“Yes, Mama. You want more than three? I can get 'em for you.” I would have done anything to make Mama happy.

“Three will do it.”

I scooted down from the top of the big rock to the edge of the creek, and I looked around until I found three smooth stones about the size of Granny's prize chicken eggs. I had to put two of them in my jeans pocket so I could climb back up to the top where Mama was sitting.

She took them from my hand. “Oh, good, you found three beauties. Now I want you to remember what I'm telling you, Kate. These are to remind you of the things that'll keep your head above water when I'm gone.”

She handed me one of the rocks. “This rock is your faith. I taught you to pray when you were learning to talk. Praying is talking to God. Faith's depending on Him. You already know how to do that, and you just keep doing it, my sweet daughter, even when you don't feel like it, or you don't want to, or it doesn't make a dab of sense.”

Then she handed me the second rock. “This rock is your family. You have your daddy and Granny Grace and Aunt Susannah and your little brother. They'll take good care of you, but you must remember life's going to get rough for them too, and you're one of their rocks. So sometimes, you'll have to be strong for them. You'll be the lady of the house when I go to heaven, so you'll have to help Chesler grow up, and you'll have to take care of your daddy and remind him of the things he might forget.”

I wanted to scream, “I can't do that, Mama. I don't want to do it. You have to stay.” But something stopped me before I said it out loud.

“And this final rock is for forever. Forever, Kate. Remember, life as we know it here on this planet is not all there is. There are things we cannot see here, but they are real. So you live and love knowing it's forever. Think you can remember all that?” That's when Mama looked at me.

I slowly repeated the words. “Faith, family, and forever. I won't forget, Mama.”

She smiled and squeezed my hand. And that night after supper, she helped me paint the words on those rocks. Faith. Family. Forever.

Mama didn't make it to see the leaves change colors. She went to heaven in September not long after Chesler's birthday. She had been sleeping mostly for about two days. Granny was always on one side of the bed holding Mama's hand, and Daddy was on the other. They didn't talk much, but Daddy had Mama's favorite music playing, and the birds were singing outside.

It was in the middle of the night. Daddy came to my room and said it was time for me to say good-bye to Mama. He got Chesler up too. I went to their room and lay down beside Mama so I could feel her hair. Chesler didn't want to, so Granny held him in her lap. I tried to sing to Mama, but I couldn't. She woke up a little and whispered something. Granny must have understood because she held Chesler next to Mama's face. That was one time he was sweet. He kissed Mama on the cheek, and then he said the strangest thing. He said, “Good night, Mama. See you in the morning.”

Mama smiled a little when Chesler said that, then she turned her head to me and said, “Give me your hand, Kate.”

I found Mama's hand under the cover. It was warm and soft, and she squeezed my hand just a little bit. Then she whispered, “I'll always and forever love you, my sweet Katherine Joy.”

“I'll always love you too, Mama.”

Mama got quiet after that. Then she squeezed my hand a little bit more and whispered so soft, “Always remember what I taught you, Kate. Faith, family, and forever.” Then Mama looked straight at Daddy sitting right behind me on the bed, and it was like her eyes just froze on him. Her hand wasn't holding mine anymore, but I was holding hers like I was the last thing to tie her to this earth.

Daddy sat there looking at Mama. He was sitting still like her too. Then he got up and took me by the shoulders. “Kate, I want you and Chesler to go with Granny now.”

I didn't want to leave, but Granny said Daddy needed time alone with Mama. I turned around at the door. Daddy was kneeling on the floor, holding Mama and crying into her long, red hair.

Everything changed that night Mama went to heaven and Daddy cried so hard. Sometimes it seemed like it was just last night, and sometimes it seemed like about a million years ago. But now it was almost Christmas, and I didn't know how to think about Christmas without Mama.

Daddy was at the table with Chesler while I washed the dishes again. I didn't mind though because I could think about Mama. The redbird was in the cedar tree. She sat there looking at me, doing what redbirds do, tweeting and pecking at the tree limb. She flapped her wings every now and then and shook the snow off the branches. I wondered if she wanted to be inside this warm house with me, my daddy, and my brother. If Mama were here, she'd be singing the redbird song. I could almost hear Mama. “Be careful about rinsing out the sink so your daddy won't be looking at dried-up spaghetti sauce in the morning, and put away the dishrag like I taught you.” Mama liked clean. The redbird flew away when I turned out the light over the sink.

I looked at Daddy sitting there with his long arm around Chesler, and I remembered how Mama used to look up at Daddy because he was so tall, and she talked about his broad shoulders and how he made her feel safe. Mama said Daddy was the handsomest man she ever saw with his brown eyes and high cheekbones.

I missed hearing Mama say things like that, and I knew Daddy did too. But he didn't have much time to be sad with all the things Mama left on his list, like helping Chesler do his reading assignments. Chesler could sing better than anybody except Mama, but he couldn't read too well yet. Daddy sat next to him listening to him read his rhyming words while he opened and stacked the mail.

Somebody sent Daddy a letter asking for money, and they sent address labels. Daddy handed the labels to me as he kind of mumbled, “Kate, maybe you would like these.”

I sure did. They had redbirds on them. I figured Daddy didn't want them because Mama's name was on the labels too, and her address was in heaven now. I cut the pictures of the redbirds off the labels and stuck some on my pink notebook. I saved some for later.

When Chesler finished reading, Daddy said, “Let's make hot chocolate and play Skip-Bo. Nothing much to watch on TV tonight.”

Daddy thought if he put chocolate milk in the microwave, it came out hot chocolate. I wished Mama had made a list about that. She heated milk, and melted chocolate and sugar on the stove, and put marshmallows on top. Mama knew how to do everything, and she made everything special, even a cup of hot chocolate. Daddy did things differently, but he was trying.

After Skip-Bo and hot chocolate Daddy helped Chesler with his bath and tucked him in bed. Then the bathroom was all mine. I got to stay up until nine thirty and read because I was going on eleven.

Right after Mama went to heaven, Daddy wasn't too good at doing bedtime. Some nights he would forget and not come to my room until after ten. I reminded him that Mama thought sleep was important for growing children. Daddy said, “If you can remember sleep's so important, why don't you remember to turn the light out at nine-thirty?”

Then I said exactly what Mama would have said if she were standing with her hands on her hips right here in this room. “John Chesler Harding, I don't think we're communicating.”

When I said that, Daddy smiled a little. He hasn't missed too many nights since that conversation, and he was right on time tonight. He sat down on the bed, and I put my book away. “Kate, have you been practicing your lines for the Christmas pageant at church?”

“Yes, sir, two weeks left, and I already got them memorized.” I didn't get a big part in the play this year. Pastor Simmons probably thought I might be too sad. But anyway, I knew my four lines, and I would be singing with the choir.

“What about your brother? You think he's ready too?”

“He can sing that solo backward, but he's gonna look funny in that sheep costume.” Our choir teacher knew that would be a good part for Chesler. “Let's see, if Chesler's a little sheep and you're his daddy, that makes you . . .?”

“That makes me a ram.”

“And Mama?”

“Well, then Mama would be an ewe.”

That sounded weird, and I must have looked puzzled because then Daddy said, “Not you, y-o-u, but ewe, e-w-e.”

I had to think about that a little. “Sure am glad he's not a little goat, then you'd just be an old goat.” I was always trying to think of ways to make Daddy smile again.

He laughed a little bit. “Do you remember last year's Christmas pageant?”

“Sure, I remember.” Last year when I was nine, I was the angel. Mama made me a whole costume, wings and halo too. I didn't know it then, but now I knew what gossamer was.

Granny Grace said to Mama, “That angel costume has to be of gossamer. Katherine Joy Harding will not wear a king-sized, white pillowcase with holes cut out for her head and arms. It must be gossamer.”

Mama made a white dress with more layers than Aunt Susannah Hope's chocolate layer cake, and Daddy bent coat hangers to look like angel wings and a halo so Mama could cover it with gossamer. I didn't think there was anything Mama and Granny Grace couldn't do with a glue gun.

I got a rash two days before the pageant. Mama said, “Kate, I told you not to eat all those strawberries. Rash or no rash, you're putting on that angel costume, and you're going to recite the second chapter of Luke in front of the whole church.” Mama was backstage with me at the pageant and just before it was time for me to say my part, she whispered in my ear, “Remember, Kate, angels never scratch.”

Remembering all that made me and Daddy smile a little. “I wish Mama was here this year to hear my lines and to hear Chesler sing.”

“I wish she was here too, Kate. I wish she was here all the time.”

Before he said good night he told me he had to go in early for a meeting so Granny Grace would be here to get us ready for school. He kissed me on my head and went to the door. Then he did what he always did, turned around and said, “Little peep?”

And I said, “I know, no more peep from me.” He turned out my light and closed the door.

It was quiet tonight, so quiet I thought I heard the snow falling. Some nights when it was quiet, I could hear Daddy down the hall, sitting in Mama's rocking chair in the sewing room. The floor creaked when he rocked, and I could hear him crying. He missed Mama so much, but I thought he cried too, because he was a paramedic, and he took care of people, but he couldn't make Mama better. He took care of Chesler when he got the fishhook caught in his leg and when he smashed his finger in the car door. Chesler kept Daddy busy with his accidents, but Daddy said cancer wasn't like having an accident.

Some nights I could hear Chesler crying, and I tried to get to his room before Daddy heard him because it made Daddy so sad. I would just lie down by Chesler, and we'd sing the songs Mama would sing quietly until he went to sleep. Mama had said I had to be their rock sometimes.