Till Morning Is Nigh (8 page)

“Which one’s biggest?” Harry wanted to know. “A really fat shepherd?”

“Or an angel big as the sky,” Sarah supposed.

“Nothin’s that big,” Rorey contradicted again.

“I didn’t mean really.” Sarah shook her head. “It’s just a saying.”

Kirk and Willy finished one checker game and started another. I thought maybe Robert or Joe might want to play the winner of their first game and leave us to our paper creations, but neither of them said a word about it. Robert helped Berty paste a paper-tube head while Joe was helping Harry. Franky cut a few more rectangles to size. Sarah thought it might be easier to color on the faces before they were pasted, so she started adding eyes and merry smiles to a couple of Franky’s rectangles. Katie claimed one too and said she wanted to make shiny angel faces. And Rorey seemed to be following their example. But soon Sarah was expressing dismay at Rorey’s work.

“Why’s that one frownin’?”

“’Cause he don’t feel like smilin’, that’s why.”

Sarah set her Crayola down and faced Rorey with a huff. “But everybody’s happy about Jesus being born!”

“This here’s a scared shepherd. ’Cause the angels showed up so sudden. He got startled out a’ his bad dream, an’ now he’s wonderin’ what’s goin’ on.”

I looked Rorey’s way and drew a quick breath. I hadn’t expected anything like this, and somehow I felt that she was telling us something.

“That’s not in the Christmas story!” Sarah continued her protest.

“It could be!” Rorey argued. “How do you know? Maybe there was a shepherd sleepin’. How would you feel if you was sleepin’ outside someplace, an’ then a bunch a’ folks in the sky started yellin’ all of a sudden?”

“Excited, that’s how I’d feel.” Sarah pouted. “Mommy, tell Rorey the shepherds isn’t supposed to frown.”

“Honey,” I tried to calm her. “It won’t hurt to let Rorey make one the way she wants. It’d be perfectly understandable for a shepherd under the circumstances to feel unsettled and a little afraid. Remember that the angel told them to fear not. It must have been pretty startling to see the angels there.”

Rorey smiled, and I was glad to have even a little reason to back her up and not scold her for once. It seemed something of a miracle that she’d decided to participate in our little project, and I certainly didn’t want her discouraged.

Sarah was not very pleased with me, however. “Well . . . okay. But all the shepherds shouldn’t be frownin’. ’Cause some is thrilled. And none of the angels would frown. Not even one.”

“I think that’s right,” agreed Lizbeth, who was holding a sheet of paper in place while Emmie scribbled over it in purple and green.

Rorey ignored them both and worked quietly for a while on her frowning shepherd. But then she took up another paper rectangle and drew another frowning face.

“Mommy!” Sarah protested as soon as she saw. “Look! Look what that Rorey did again! We told her only one frowny shepherd!”

“This here’s a angel,” Rorey said calmly and proceeded to draw teardrops dripping from one eye.

“Mommy!” Sarah looked like she could cry. “I want a happy manger scene!”

Lord have mercy! I was about to take both girls aside when Katie’s quiet voice stopped me before I could speak.

“I unnerstand why an angel would be sad.”

“Why?” I had to ask her, hoping that all this talk wasn’t going to turn everyone’s minds back to our grief and troubles.

Katie looked so small, and almost scared to have attention suddenly shifted onto her. “Didn’t Jesus used to live with the angels in heaven?”

“Yes, honey. And he came to earth to save us.”

“But maybe a angel is sad ’cause Jesus wouldn’t be there now, so he wouldn’t get to see him for a long time.”

Franky suddenly nodded. “Maybe he even knew that Jesus was gonna die. Maybe the angel was sad about that too.”

I might have expected such thoughts from him. Franky was often thinking and putting ideas together in surprisingly deep ways for his age. But little Katie? And Rorey?

“I must admit,” I told them, “it does sound understandable. There may have been both tears and smiles in heaven on that day. But mostly smiles. I’m sure Sarah’s right. It’s okay, Rorey, to have one frightened shepherd, and one angel that’s thinking about the sad parts of Jesus’s life. But his birth was a joyous time, and a reason to celebrate— then as much as it is now. He left heaven and endured sad things to set us free. And now he’s in heaven again, and there’s no reason not to rejoice.”

Rorey kept on drawing tears. “Does that mean you don’t want no more’n two frowny faces?”

“I think two is all right among all the smiles,” I told her gently. “But two is enough.”

Beside me, Katie hung her head and covered her paper rectangle with one hand. “What’s the matter?” I asked her. “Can I see?”

Slowly, without a word, Katie slid her hand away from her angel face. There in the corner of one eye, above a radiant orange smile, was a tiny blue tear.

She sniffed. “Do you want me to throw it away?”

“No. What a pretty happy face. Sometimes I cry a little when I’m happy.”

“You do?”

I put my arm around her shoulders. “Sometimes joy gets so big you feel it’s just running over inside you. And the tears come out, but it’s still joy. That’s another reason for an angel to cry, I guess.”

Katie smiled. “My angel really is happy. About Jesus.”

“That’s good then,” Sarah pronounced.

Rorey spent the rest of her time coloring an entire sheet of paper yellow to be cut in shreds for hay, so there was no more conflict over her interpretation of shepherd and angel faces. Katie and Sarah started pasting, and I held the little paper tubes in place until they would hold on their own. It was getting later now, and I was ready to start children on their way to bed, but Harry and Bert didn’t think it would be right to leave so many cone people without their heads attached. So we glued all the parts together and started picking them up to set them in a safe place to dry.

“They all live in Bethlehem,” Sarah said. “So we get to pick a place to be Bethlehem, right?”

“The kitchen table’s the safest place with plenty of room,” I suggested. “So none of them get stepped on overnight.”

“Then the table is Bethlehem!” Sarah declared with excitement.

“That’s okay,” Franky agreed. “But they don’t really all live there. Joseph and Mary was just on the way for a while. An’ the kings come to visit ’em from far off.”

That was innocent enough information, and I doubt he could have imagined what he was starting.

“Oh!” Sarah started looking around. “Mommy, Joseph and Mary aren’t ready to be in Bethlehem! Baby Jesus isn’t here yet, and it’s not Christmas Eve.”

I shook my head, surprised that she seemed to be taking all this so seriously. “Honey, we’re just setting these up out of the way so you all can go to bed.”

“Can we put Mary and Joseph someplace else? Please?”

“Sarah—”

“And the kings,” Berty joined her. “They’s far off.”

How could I argue? “All right. Whichever ones are Mary and Joseph, set them over on the cupboard.”

“And the kings!” Berty repeated. “The kings!”

“How about the pantry shelf?” Robert suggested. He had a twinkle in his eye like his father’s, and I knew he was enjoying the younger children’s flight of fancy.

“Fine,” I told them. “Take the kings to the pantry.”

“Hey. That’s even east,” Franky announced to us. I was surprised he knew that, but I probably shouldn’t have been. He’d surely heard someone talking about the directions out here, and he usually remembered what he heard.

Lizbeth and Harry moved Mary and Joseph to the cupboard. Robert took three more of the cone figures away, and Sarah climbed on a chair and examined the rest. “Yep, these are shepherds and angels. Franky, is it okay for the shepherds and angels to be in Bethlehem already?”

He nodded. “The shepherds must live ’round there ’cause they gots their sheep grazin’ close by. An’ the angels is prob’ly gettin’ things ready.”

Sarah smiled. “Then let’s move the shepherds over here.” She scooted a couple of cone figures to the left. “Then the angels can stay here with Rorey’s hay. They’re trying to figure out how we can make the manger bed tomorrow.”

“Are we gonna make sheep?” Harry asked.

“We need sheep,” Berty immediately agreed.

“Oh, brother,” Willy commented from behind me. “You guys get all carried away kinda stupid.”

“No criticizing,” I warned him. “I’m glad for us to get carried away in a little Christmas fun.”

Lizbeth suddenly smiled just a tiny smile, the first I’d seen from her all day. But she didn’t say a word.

“We can try to make sheep tomorrow,” I told the little boys. “But that could be quite a challenge.”

“I think one tube for the body, with legs glued on,” Robert suggested. “And another tube for the head.”

“Can we try it?” Harry wanted to know.

“Tomorrow,” I repeated. “It’s time for bed.”

“But Daddy isn’t home,” Sarah protested.

Her words hung in silence for a moment. I saw the same angry uncertainty in Kirk’s eyes and a painfully weary sadness in Lizbeth’s.

“It’ll be all right,” I told them all. “He’ll be home soon.”

“Where is he?” Sarah persisted, and oh, I wished she hadn’t.

“He’s out looking for our pa,” Willy said bluntly. “Who knows when he’ll be back.”

“Soon,” Franky repeated my promise, but he suddenly looked scared.

“It’ll be all right,” I said again, not sure what else to tell them. “Come on, now. Everyone to bed.”

Without a word, Lizbeth took Emmie and her little cup to the rocker.

“I wish we could have a story,” Sarah said sadly.

I sighed, not wanting what had become a wonderfully uplifting evening to end on such a gloomy note. “Get the Bible storybook. I’ll read to you about the birth of Jesus. It’ll go right along with what we were doing.”

Immediately, Berty started singing again. “Lidda Lor’ Jesus as’eep on da hay! I know the story, Mommy!”

It jarred me terribly when he called me that. He was the only one of the Hammonds who ever did. He was so young. I hoped he wasn’t already losing the memory of his mama. Somehow I couldn’t bring myself to correct him and remind everyone again, though I knew the word had probably jarred his older siblings as much as it did me. “There’s more to the story than the song, Berty. Everybody lie down or have a seat around the davenport and you’ll see.”

I read until little eyes were heavy and most of the story was done. “Let’s finish later,” I said softly. “Time for bed now.”

“But we should finish the story now!” protested Harry, who seemed back to his old self again, not wanting to go to bed.

“It’s good to leave a little for another time.”

“Maybe for Christmas Eve,” Sarah suggested. “Like baby Jesus. Can we read the rest the same night Jesus comes?”

I wasn’t completely sure what she meant. “If you want me to read the Christmas story on Christmas Eve, that’s all right with me. But off to bed now.”

Sarah and Katie both gave me kisses and started for the stairs. Robert, Willy, and Kirk reluctantly followed them. Franky lingered only long enough to thank me for letting everybody work on the manger scene. And then I helped Joe settle Berty, Harry, and Rorey while Lizbeth rocked a squirmy Emmie to sleep on her lap. I made the rounds of every room, making sure all the children had adequate covers, and kissing my own and any of the others that I knew would appreciate it. Finally, when all of the lamps and candles were blown out but one and the house had grown quiet, I made my way to the kitchen and looked out a window, wondering where Samuel was right now and what, if anything, he’d found out about George.

Despite the children feeling better and the mostly happy evening we’d spent, I felt so torn, so tense inside that I could hardly hold back tears. Samuel should be home by now. What could be keeping him? Whatever it was couldn’t be good.

Staring out across the cold darkness made me feel lonely, even with twelve children in the house. What would be next for the Hammonds? And even for us?
Lord God, we need you this Christmas.

I let the curtain fall back to its place at the window and turned around slowly, wondering if Samuel would be home at all tonight, and what it meant if he wasn’t. The single candle I’d left on the table shed enough light for me to see the shepherds and angels waiting on our “Bethlehem” table. Katie’s little angel was the only one turned toward me, and I could see a hint of her features but not enough to discern the tiny tear I knew was there.
Oh, God, did your angels cry? Did you, on the night your son was born? What a gift! What a precious yet mind-wrenching gift you gave.

I turned from the table toward the bedroom doorway, letting a few stubborn tears cascade slowly down. And out of the blackness, Berty’s quiet, sleepy voice came floating.

“The lidda Lor’ Jesus . . . as’eep on da hay . . .”

The Cattle Are Lowing

S
ome time in the night I heard the back door open and shut quietly. I slipped from between the covers, knowing it would be Samuel, and he would be hungry and cold by now. He was still by the door, pulling off his boots, when I entered the kitchen. I was on my way to the cupboard drawer to get a match when he took hold of my arm.

“Julia.”

Just my name. Nothing else. I turned toward him, and he pulled me into his arms. He felt so awfully cold, like ice. I hugged him, felt his deep intake of breath, and he held me tight to his chest, still not saying anything more.

“What’s wrong?” I couldn’t wait. The silence felt like knives inside me. Was George still missing? Or dead?

“Juli, I’m sorry to be so long.”

“Did you find him?”

“No. I tried. I wanted to come home hours ago, but I couldn’t seem to let it go. Not after last year . . .”

I understood and reached my hand to his head. Samuel had found George back then, had stopped him when he’d been about to hang himself. All these Hammond children would have been fatherless then, if Samuel hadn’t tried so hard for George’s sake. And now I knew he was feeling broken, to have to come home alone.

“Surely he’s all right. Just getting foolishly drunk someplace trying to forget—”