She heard a hammer.
Were those people two doors down pounding something today of all days,
Christmas Eve? Eight of them crowded
into a two-bedroom apartment, one of four carved out of what had been a lovely
old house.
The
pounding began again. Not hammering at
all. Someone knocking on her kitchen
door. It had been so long since she’d heard that sound she’d not recognized it.
Putting
down the teacup, she placed her hands on the table and pushed herself up. Just now eight o’clock, too early for her
joints to have smoothed out enough to walk with ease.
At the door
stood a pretty, slender black girl, very pregnant. Beside her, holding her hand, was a girl of
about three in a shiny red coat and knitted hat. She looked up expectantly.
The young
woman spoke.“Mrs. Martin, my car won’t start.
Could I use your phone to call my brother? “
Therese
Martin blinked. Didn’t all these young
people carry cell phones? Was this a
trick?
As if
reading her thoughts, the woman said, “I left my cell phone at work.”
“Mama, I’m
cold,” the little girl said.
Therese opened the door. “It’s
there by the microwave on the wall, uh...”
“Ruth. Ruth Hennwood. Thank you so much.” She dialed and listened as the phone
rang. No answer. She hung up.
“He’s
already left for work. If you don’t mind
I’ll try my aunt.”
Therese
nodded.
Ruth hung
up again. Now Therese saw that worry
creased her face.
Therese
softened. “Would you like a cup of
tea? Then you might try her again.”
“I can’t,
I’m going to be late to work. I could
catch the bus, but I won’t be able to drop Opal off at day care.”
“Well,
dear, I’d offer to keep her here but I have ten women coming for a Christmas
lunch and I’m afraid … .” She let her voice trail off to allow the girl to reach
her own conclusion as to how impossible it would be to have a three-year old
around all day.
Therese could hear Saundra Dixon, saccharin-voiced,
ice-eyed. “Oh, Therese, isn’t it wonderful that you took the poor little
thing. My, how times have changed. I
remember the colored maid we used to have watching me while Mother went out in
the afternoon. Of course it’ll mean a
little extra money for you.” Then she’d
look around the shabby living room and smile.
Ruth broke in, “Oh, no, Mrs.
Martin, I couldn’t do that. I’ll call work and tell them I’m sick.”
Therese
thought of the Lincoln Town Car in the garage.
She’d not driven it since August, when she’d pulled out of a parking
space at CVS and almost hit one of the bag boys at Marsh Supermarket. Since then
she’d walked to Dillman’s on Central Avenue with her folding shopping cart.
Abruptly she
took the keys off the hook by the refrigerator.
“Here – go right through the door there into the garage. The car needs to be driven before it expires
from disuse.”
Ruth looked
surprised, but took the keys. Moments
later Therese watched the old boat backing slowly out of the driveway. Across the street four dark-skinned men also
watched as the car turned the corner.
What were they – Mexican? Middle
Eastern?
Therese
sighed. How the street had changed! When she and Ed had moved here it was the
most enviable address in town, with a lovely view of Sunset Park, where, in the
summer, she could hear children in the pool from her kitchen. She remembered the very first Christmas lunch
she’d hosted for the Methodist Women’s Circles.
Nearly seventy women came, toured the new house, and sat down to the
lunch she’d had catered by The Clock.
Theirs was
not the first house on Withe Row. That
had been the Davis home, a lovely white-columned affair built by an Armco
vice-president for his wife, a
Virginia socialite.
Where had they gone? Therese
couldn’t remember. It had passed through
several hands before it’s reincarnation as Towne Apartments, where the men
outside now resided.
She hoped
they would go inside before her friends arrived. Her friends.
Were these women really her friends?
When did she see them, or talk to them other than to say hello after
church or at the few functions a year the Women’s Circles sponsored? But then, people were very busy these
days. There was little time for
socializing, even among women of her age.
Snow began
to fall around ten, just as Therese placed the crystal candleholders alongside
the centerpiece on the table. The pink
glow in the sky that had haloed Ruth Hennwood and her little girl earlier had
turned to pewter. The fat flakes covered
the hedge in minutes. Therese frowned,
thinking she might have to shovel the front walk.
At eleven,
Saundra Dixon called. “Oh, Therese, it’s
a blizzard out there! I’m so sorry but I
don’t think I can come for lunch. I
don’t believe I can get out of my driveway, and if I did I’d be scared to death
driving back if this keeps up. I’m
so-o-o sorry.” Saundra’s voice was a
high-pitched singsong. It was hard to tell if she was nearly hysterical or
simply amplifying her little speech to increase its veracity.
Uncharitable
of me to think that way, Therese thought as she put down the phone.
Well, with
Saundra out of the picture, the group might be more relaxed. Saundra’s dictates about everything from food
to fashion ruled the group of women, at least as long as she was present.
But by
11:30 all but two of the women had phoned to say they were afraid to come out
in the deepening snow. The last two were
in nursing homes and were dependent for transportation on other members of the
group. Doubtless they’d call as well
when it became clear that the outing was cancelled and there’d be no escape
from the warren of overstuffed rooms and constantly running televisions.
The
casserole would keep, though it would take her more than a week to finish
it. She cast a rueful eye at her
Christmas cake, a magnificent red velvet with coconut icing and little silver
decorations.
But a few
minutes later, looking out the front window sipping a cup of tea, she was
surprised to discover that she felt not disappointment or sadness, but
peace.
She and Ed
had often sat quietly like this on snowy days.
He’d build a roaring fire in the fireplace and they’d sit side by side,
watching first the fire, then the snow falling outside. When they did speak their voices were low and
mild. Only after darkness descended and
the streetlights flickered on did they disturb the mood, she rising to make
dinner, he to attend the fire.
The stroke
that claimed Ed came on a hot August day more than five years ago. He’d gone to Woodside Cemetery and cut the
grass on Blake’s grave. Blake, their
only child, had been killed in Vietnam.
Ed had visited the grave regularly from the start, even in the early
days when she could not face it, could not believe it.
Gradually
she had worked through part of her grief, though much of it would cling to her
always. Ed, too, she knew. So she’d gone with him most times he visited
the cemetery, but on that hot morning she’d asked him to wait until sundown
when it was cooler, and he said he wanted to go ahead.
He’d come
home and gone up to take a shower. She
heard the water running, then the thud, and ran to him. By the time the ambulance arrived, he was
gone.
She’d never thought of selling the big
old house, though it was far more space than she needed. She’d refused to close off rooms even to save
on the heating bills. What little cleaning
they required was still well within her ability.
“Oh,
Therese, I’m telling you those condos out at The Woods on Riverview are so
cute,” Saundra Dixon had said.
Yes, of
course they were, and maybe in time, but not now. Too much living had gone on at 12 Withe Row,
and somehow, Therese felt, there was more living to be done here.
By
midafternoon, the snow was nearly a foot deep.
When she saw the old Towne Car she was surprised. She’d forgotten about loaning her car to Ruth
Hennwood. It stopped in the street,
unable of course to negotiate the driveway.
Really, so few cars had traveled the street that the snow was nearly as
deep there.
Ruth, her
coat unfastened over her pregnancy, carried Opal, trying her footing carefully
with every step.
Therese
held the door open, and took Opal in her own arms.
“Here, let
me help you get those shoes and socks off,” she told Ruth. “I’ll find you some dry socks.” She sat Opal on a kitchen chair and untied
Ruth’s soggy athletic shoes.
Someone was
knocking at the door again. Opening it,
Therese saw two of the men who had been on the street earlier.
“The
car…”one of them said hesitantly.
“We will
shovel the driveway and bring it in for you,” said the other.
“I can’t….”
Therese began, and then stopped. She had
started to say, “I can’t pay you.” But
the dignity in their stance, the fierce pride in their faces stopped her. She finished, “thank you enough.”
They took
the shovel from the garage and part of a bag of salt and began work.
Therese
turned around to find Ruth standing barefoot on the heat register. She’d forgotten about the socks, and now she
hurried off to find them.
Returning
to the kitchen she found Opal smiling and talking on Ruth’s recovered cell
phone. “I love you, too, Daddy. Merry Christmas.” Still smiling, the little
girl flipped the phone shut.
“My
husband’s in Iraq. He’d hoped to be home
in time for the baby, but his tour was extended,” Ruth said.
Therese was
glad Ruth was bent over pulling on the socks.
She didn’t want Ruth to see her flaming face. She’d assumed the young woman wasn’t married,
another in a string of uncharitable thoughts, she thought. And what if she had been? What had she
become, Therese wondered – one of those stereotypical grumpy old ladies?
The sound
of stamping boots brought her to the door again.
“We’re
finished, Mrs. Martin.”
“Come
in. I’m sorry, I don’t know your
names.” She hadn’t bothered to find out
when they moved in. She’d just counted
the eight dark men from behind the drapes and pursed her lips. Yet they knew her name.
“I am
Miguel Ramirez,” said the taller man, the one with the mustache.
“I am
Gabriel Gonzales,” said the other.
“Two
angels,” Therese said. “Yes, two
angels. Please come in.”
The kitchen
was full now, and warm. The savory smell
of the recently baked casserole lingered in the air.
“I’ll make
hot chocolate,” Therese said. “Opal,
would you like to help?
Opal looked
up, eyes shining. “Yes. Can I mix the cocoa and the sugar? Mommy always lets me.”
“Of
course. My little boy used to do
that.”
Ten minutes
later they sat in companionable silence around the kitchen table drinking the
hot sweet chocolate.
“May I have
some more, Mama?” Opal held out her cup.
“Just a
little, honey. You don’t want to be
awake too long tonight. Santa’s coming –
remember?”
“Oh, Mama,
I couldn’t forget that.”
Again
Therese was brought sharply back to reality.
This was Christmas Eve!
She
couldn’t let these people go their separate ways now, just as dusk was falling,
and leave her to this empty house. There
was so much life here now, and she wanted to hold onto it.
“I have
this casserole,” she began. They all
looked at her.
“What I
mean to say is, I have plenty of food for dinner. And it’s Christmas Eve. Won’t you all stay for dinner?”
Miguel
looked at Gabriel.
Therese
said, “Of course you will want to invite your friends – the others you live
with, I mean.”
Gabriel
spoke. “They are our brothers and
uncles.”
“Ask them
to come, please.”
They went
out, and Ruth stood up. Something
flickered in her face.
“Are you
all right?” Therese asked.
“Yes, it’s
just that I think my water broke,” Ruth said.
“Do you
want to go to the hospital?”
“No, it’s
too soon. They’d send me home. But I’ll
call Dr. Davis.”
After
answering a few questions, Ruth hung up.
“He told me to come to the hospital when they’re five minutes apart.”
Therese
felt amazingly lighthearted. A
baby! There would be a baby, right
here. Then she felt foolish. Of course it wouldn’t be here. This was a fluke, brought on by weather and
circumstance. Tomorrow everything would
be back to normal.
But
tomorrow was Christmas, the day of great miracles. A day filled with hope and promise.
Miguel and
Gabriel returned with the other men and began introductions. They all seemed to know Ruth and Opal.
Shooing the
men out of the now-overflowing kitchen into the living room, Therese set them
the task of getting firewood from the stack alongside the garage and building a
fire in the fireplace.
Soon the
fire blazed. The men talked softly in
Spanish. One took the photograph of
Therese and Ed with Blake, taken at Christmastime when Blake was seven, from
the mantle, looked at it, then placed it back among the pine and holly
decorations.
In the
dining room the table remained set with the Christmas china and red
tablecloth. Just as it should be,
Therese thought.
At dinner,
Miguel poured the wine, Opal passed the bread, and Ruth told Therese in a low
voice that yes, she would eat, though lightly, because she’d need her strength.
WMUB played
in the background, a program of old carols.
The cake, with what Opal called “snow icing” brought “oohs” and “aahs”
around the table, and a “yum” from Opal.
Around nine
the salt trucks crunched along the Row.
The men surprised Therese by clearing the table and loading the
dishwasher. They left, smiling and
formally thanking Therese. It was so
simple, really, she thought. Getting to
know people. Sharing the things we have
in common. Why had she thought so much
of their differences?
Miguel remained, insisting on
bringing in more wood for the fire. Therese opened the door to the garage from
the kitchen so he’d not have so far to walk in the deepening snow.
As she turned back into the kitchen
she saw Ruth gripping the door facing on the opposite side of the room.
“It’s started then?” Therese asked.
“Yes, I think so.”
“Is it early?”
“Only by a week, though Dr. Davis
said it could be any time now. I should
go home now. I need to get someone to
take care of Opal and get my brother to take me to the hospital.”
“Where’s your mother?” Therese
asked.
“She’s dead – three years now. My dad died ten years ago. It’s just my brother and me. And of course my two aunts.”
“Would you like to call them from
here? Then I could go over and get your
things. I can’t let you go out in that
deep snow.” It would be nearly to her
knees now.
Ruth’s brother said he would come,
and he’d take Opal to their Aunt Dena’s.
Therese donned boots, coat and a
knitted hat, and Ruth handed her the key to the apartment. The overnight bag was in her closet.
“And Mrs. Martin, could I ask one
more thing?”
“Of course, and my name’s Therese,
dear.”
Ruth shot a look at Opal, drifting
off to sleep, apparently, on the sofa. She lowered her voice. “On the top shelf of the closet – Opal’s
presents – in two big shopping bags – would you mind? Mike can take them to
Aunt Dena’s.”
Therese grinned and whispered, “I can’t imagine anything better than playing
Santa Claus.”
It took Therese nearly fifteen
minutes to traverse the hundred or so feet to the apartment house, placing one
booted foot firmly in the snow, extricating the other, and placing it just as
carefully a few inches beyond.
Once inside the neat apartment,
though, she had no trouble finding the items in Ruth’s closet. She tucked the small overnight bag under her
arm and carried a shopping bag, full of brightly wrapped packages, in each
hand.
She made her way carefully down the
front steps and, head down, nearly walked into Gabriel.
“Mrs. Martin, we saw you from the
window. Let me help you. Are Mrs. Hennwood and her little girl
alright?”
Therese told Miguel what was
happening. They moved more easily now
with him holding the shopping bags and supporting her elbow as she trudged once
more through the snow.
Opening the door quietly so they
wouldn’t wake the sleeping child, Therese and Gabriel found Ruth pacing back
and forth through the kitchen and dining room.
“It helps to walk,” she said.
Sliding the shopping bags inside
the hall closet so Opal wouldn’t see them before Ruth’s brother put them in the
car, Therese removed her things and took Gabriel’s jacket.
“Well, let’s have a cup of tea
while we wait.” Therese put the kettle
on.
She reached for the box of tea bags
just as the phone rang.
It was Mike. She handed Ruth the phone, and saw the anxious
look that came over her face.
When she hung up Ruth said, “He
can’t get out of his driveway.”
She began pacing again, stopping to
grasp the back of a chair in the dining room as a contraction began.
“We still have my car. Gabriel, can you drive?” She knew none of the men owned a car.
“Yes.”
“Well, it’s settled then. Opal can stay here with me. Let me get her bed ready and we’ll tuck her
in now.” She left to go upstairs before
Ruth could protest.
Blake’s room, now the guest room
though she’d never in all those years had a guest, was next to hers. Very
little of Blake’s things had remained once he’d left for college, then
Vietnam. That had made it easier,
somehow, a couple of years after his death, to paint the room a cheerful
yellow. She’d told herself at the time
that if he’d come home with his wife, a wife he was never to have, of course,
they would have liked to sleep in this room.
Quickly she made up the bed with
clean sheets and added an extra blanket before pulling up the comforter, then
folded the corner back and plumped the pillow.
Finally, she closed the curtains and plugged in a small nightlight.
Downstairs, Ruth was no longer
pacing. She’d gone into the living room
and was lying in Ed’s old recliner.
“How far apart now?” Therese whispered.
“I think about ten minutes.”
Therese lifted Opal and carried her
upstairs. There was something so restful
about holding a sleeping child, she thought as she looked at Opal’s face. Opal’s lips were slightly parted, her brow
smooth, her dark lashes like tiny fans.
At the landing, she kissed the
small cheek.
Carefully she lowered the child
onto the bed, and removed her clothing down to the knit top with a reindeer
printed on it and Dora underwear.
Covering her, she kissed her again, on the forehead this time, and went
out.
Gabriel sat in the kitchen, alert
but not moving. The living room had now become the women’s sanctum.
Therese began timing the
contractions. Seven minutes apart. Dr. Davis may have said five minutes, but he
probably wasn’t thinking about the snow.
The hospital was only blocks away, of course, but Therese felt Ruth
should be on the safe side. Besides,
didn’t admissions take awhile? She
couldn’t remember, though things had probably changed quite a lot.
She got the car keys for Gabriel,
telling him to pull the car out and warm it up and she would help get Ruth in
the passenger seat. Once at the
hospital, she assured Gabriel, there would be plenty of help.
He left, but returned almost
immediately. “Two flat tires,” he said
simply.
The air momentarily went out of
Therese, too, but she quickly recovered.
“We’ll call the ambulance, then.”
A moan arose from the living
room. “Nooo,” Ruth said. “Our insurance won’t pay for it and I can’t
afford it.”
“But dear…” Therese began.
“No, I’m sorry, Mrs. Martin, but
you don’t know what it’s like. How they
look at you. Like you’re taking
advantage or something, trying to get something free. My baby is not starting out in this world
with people looking down on him.”
Therese knelt beside her and
squeezed her hand. “It’s just that I’m
afraid I don’t know how else we’re going to get you to the hospital,” she said.
“I’ll walk. It’s not far.”
“That’s impossible.”
Ruth laughed briefly. “Maybe Santa can pick me up on his rounds and
put me in his sleigh and drop me off at the hospital.”
Sleigh. Sled. Therese thought. Blake’s old sled was still in the
garage. It was big enough, she
thought. It just might work, for such a
short distance.
She found the sled, took it through
the front garage door, and tested the rope.
Still strong.
Inside, she sat with Gabriel and
told him the plan. To his credit, he
didn’t argue or question. He rose to go.
She found the hot water bottle,
filled it, brought blankets, a sweater, and two pairs of sweat pants.
Gabriel and Miguel, along with two
other young men, returned.
Sweat covered Ruth’s forehead now,
and Therese added two towels to the pile beside the recliner.
She began explaining her proposal
to Ruth. She would be dressed warmly,
and could lie down on the sled if she felt like it, or sit up, holding her
knees if she could. The men would pull
the sled. If they went around to the
back yard and through the gate out to Central Avenue, the trip should take not
more than fifteen minutes.
To Therese’s relief, Ruth
agreed. Therese helped her put on the
extra layers of clothing, then walked with her through the garage to the sled,
where the four men now waited.
“Call me when you get there,”
Therese instructed, tucking a piece of paper with her phone number into Ruth’s
purse.
“Oh, I almost forgot.” She ran back inside, returning with the
overnight bag, propping it behind Ruth’s back like a pillow.
They started off, moving smoothly
around the garage and through the backyard.
It was cold, but not so bitterly cold as to be dangerous, Therese
thought.
Only when they were out of sight
did she allow herself to think what kind of reception they’d receive at the
hospital. It had been a preposterous idea, but for the life of her Therese
could not think how she could have gotten Ruth to the hospital any other way
without violating her dignity.
Dignity! Four men pulling an old sled with a woman on
it, and in full labor, at the door of the maternity ward!
As she stood in the cold wondering
what she had done, church bells began to ring.
Midnight. Christmas. St. John’s would be celebrating midnight
mass. Right now, her church, Christ, and
many others all over town were worshiping on this holiest of nights. She’d planned to attend services.
But that was long ago, in another
world. A dry, paper-thin, pale world
ago.
She pictured the look on the
hospital staff’s faces as Ruth and the men arrived. What had she been thinking - what could be
less dignified than that?
What indeed, said a small voice
inside. Perhaps the birth of the Savior
in a barn, to a young girl in a very awkward situation with a bewildered
husband.
She listened until the last bell
had died away, then hurried inside.
There was much to do. Opal’s presents must be placed under the
tree. She’d need to prepare breakfast
for the men. And she’d wait, eagerly,
for a most important telephone call.
