Till Morning Is Nigh (3 page)

Rorey got up for lunch, feeling some better. She even ate a tiny amount and seemed to have no trouble holding it down. And her fever was gone. Emmie, on the other hand, was just as restless, feverish, and fussy as she was when they’d first gotten here that morning.

“Do you need me to go and get the doctor?” Samuel asked.

It wasn’t easy to answer. “I hate to call him out here. I really do. But maybe we should, just to be safe.” I could feel my eyes suddenly teary, and I got up to fetch Samuel a second cup of coffee, mostly so I could turn away from the children for a moment.

Bitter memories rushed over me like a flood. Of Wila and dear old Emma both sick. And me in my helplessness stranded with them at the Hammonds’ in a snowstorm while the oldest Hammond boy, Sam, was missing for hours trying to get through to the doctor. Oh, how I hated the thought of someone sick in the winter again! I even hated winter now. I’d never, ever felt the barren coldness of it so much before.

“I’ll check on George and borrow one of his horses,” Samuel told me.

“Mr. Post’s truck would be faster getting to town,” I suggested, “if he’d let us borrow it again.”

I turned back around with Samuel’s coffee, and he was looking at me with a tender concern. “He probably would, under the circumstances. I hate to ask, but I believe he’d understand. I’ll go there first and then get George on the way back from town. He ought to be here when the doctor comes.”

I didn’t like to see him leave again, and yet at the same time, I was relieved with the thought of having the doctor’s opinion. Emmie being sick was scaring me, even though it didn’t seem to be anything serious. Just the idea made me tense inside, and the longer it went on—even just part of this one day—the worse I felt. God help us. It’s so foolish to overreact!

I knew it would be quite awhile before Samuel got back. We didn’t have a vehicle, except the old tractor, or any horses of our own. Samuel would have to walk a mile and a half over to the Posts, then drive eight miles into town, and then stop and get George besides. Rorey and Franky helped me clear the table, but they were both very solemn. Maybe the doctor being called was enough to bother them too. Emmie wailed in my arms and refused my every attempt to get any medicine tea down her. I moved to the rocker in the sitting room, trying to console her. And Berty, who’d gotten quiet only toward the end of lunch, suddenly crowded onto my lap with her and lay his head against my shoulder.

“Hurts,” he whispered.

“What hurts?”

“Dat ear I got,” he proclaimed, without pointing to either one. “Hurts inside.”

For a moment I thought this could be nothing more than a ploy for sympathy because Emmie’d had so much of my attention today. But then I noticed the tears in his big brown eyes, and I felt like crying too. Another child ill. And every single one of the others surely exposed! How many more would be sick before this was done?

Little Lord Jesus

I
had to do something to get the children’s minds off sickness. It was bad enough that they knew we were fetching the doctor. I didn’t want them dwelling on it. I didn’t want them scared. So even though Emmie and Berty were feeling far from perky, I tried my best to interest them all in singing a song with me. I thought Berty’s Christmas carol would be a good choice, but Rorey was not in the mood to cooperate.

“Do we have to sing that?”

“I suppose we could sing a different song. How about ‘Silent Night’?”

“I don’t wanna sing,” Rorey complained. “Pa says Christmas won’t never be the same without Mama. So it won’t be no good this year. He says people just gave us stuff last year because they felt sorry for us.”

“Our church family brought food and gifts because they love all of you,” I told her. “But if they aren’t able to do that this year, it’s because times are hard, not because they love you any less. And Christmas isn’t about the presents anyway.”

She crossed her arms and huffed at me a little. “Pa said you’d prob’ly try to act cheerful an’ all—like ever’thin’s dandy, but he’d ruther jus’ skip holidays if he could.”

“He spoke like that right in front of all of you?”

She shrugged. “Not all, I guess. I think Berty an’ Emmie was sleepin’ then.”

I had to sigh. No wonder the Hammond kids had all seemed so glum. What they must be hearing all the time! I’d been far too reluctant to face the holidays myself. We couldn’t go on like this. These children shouldn’t go through any more days carrying around such gloomy thoughts instead of Christmas joy. “You know what?” I answered Rorey brightly. “It’s high time we got into the Christmas spirit around here. We have decorating to do, and so much baking. We’re going to have to get started this very day.”

Berty looked at me with a tiny smile, but Rorey turned her head and stared out the window. “Kirk says not even you can make things right without Mama, Mrs. Wortham. Not at Christmas.”

I sighed. “Probably not. But the Lord can still bless all of us, and we can do our best to honor him in this season. Besides,” I tried to entice her, “we can have a little fun. You like cookies, don’t you? We’ll need to make a lot of cookies. Shaped like candy canes and trees and stars like last year.”

“An’ angels,” Franky added.

“Yes. And I’ll need lots of help.”

Rorey didn’t look convinced. She crossed her arms and stared at me. “Sarah can help when she gets home.”

“What are you going to be doing?” I asked gently.

“I’ll jus’ watch. Maybe. Anyhow, I dunno if I can even eat no cookies nohow. Maybe my tummy’ll get sick all over again.”

“I think you’re going to be fine. And you might decide to help. You might as well if you’re going to be close enough to watch us. Which kind of cookie is your favorite?”

She frowned, but she didn’t hesitate to give me an answer. “The candy canes, ’cause you gots to use red sugar. You still got any red sugar?”

“I have plenty of red coloring,” I told her, though I knew very well that we’d be sorely in need of sugar before long. I had so hoped that Mr. Post would be able to pay Samuel even just a few cents today. But if there was no other way, perhaps we could take a few eggs into the grocer in trade. The Lord would provide. My grandma Pearl and dear old Emma Graham had told me that so many times. And I’d told others the same thing and seen the Lord provide for us over and over. There was certainly no reason to doubt that he would continue to do so. And yet, the uncertainty was like a little gnawing beast inside me. We had no way to get any money, no way to get anything at all besides what we already had on this farm right now. I’d felt so blessed over the fall to be able to can some food for the winter and give to a family in town who had an even more desperate circumstance than we did. But since the weather had turned cold, I’d begun to feel pinched and empty, stretched and afraid.

I couldn’t show it. It wasn’t right even to feel the way I did. I knew God was faithful. He’d always been faithful. But as Emmie tugged her ear and cried again, I felt a quivering angst. Was I just fooling myself? How could we make the holiday bright for all these kids, in addition to our own? When their own father was the gloomiest one of the bunch? It was too much.

I thought of the Scripture that said to take no thought for what we would eat or drink or what we would have to wear, because God who takes care of the birds would even more provide for us. I was sure that in these depression times there were many across the country who were questioning that. But the words must be true. Somehow.

“We make cookies today?” Berty asked hopefully.

“We’ll see. Let me rock Emmie a little and see if I can’t get her to nap. Then maybe we’ll get started.”

Emmie protested, and Berty’s squirming didn’t help matters a bit. I tried to sing again, just a little, but Rorey interrupted me, her voice suddenly stark and cold.

“It’s snowing.”

With those words, a thousand crazy worries swirled through my mind. About Samuel on his way to the Posts on foot. And the children soon to be walking home from school. And me here alone with sick children. The first snow of the season, and it had to come today.

It’s just flurries
, I tried to reassure myself.
Rorey’s probably just seeing a few lonely flakes floating down, and maybe that’ll be all there is to it. It won’t be like last year. No one will get stranded. No one will be left wondering all night if young Sam Hammond had been able to get through the storm to town and the doctor.

Franky went to the window, and his assessment jarred me. “It’s really coming down, Mrs. Wortham.”

I heard the fear in Franky’s voice and knew that his thoughts were surely not far from mine. But this was silly. This was not last year. Everything would be fine.

“Maybe you’ll all be able to go sledding tomorrow,” I suggested, hoping I sounded as cheerful and encouraging as I wanted to.

“I don’t like snow,” Rorey lamented. “I wish it would never snow again.”

She was pouty, and it could only be because she was worried too. I knew that she’d liked snow once. Before her mother died, she’d liked sledding, snowmen, and especially snowball fights. But we all seemed shaken off our foundations right now, even though I’d thought we were managing so well.

“Will Mr. Wortham be able t’ get to town an’ back if this keeps up?” Franky asked, and the simple voicing of such a fear made me feel terribly small.

“Of course,” I assured everyone. “It isn’t far to the Posts, and they’ll help once he gets there.”

“I sure hope it quits pretty soon,” Franky continued. “I wouldn’t want Pa gettin’ snowed in over t’ home alone.”

I stared at him, unable to answer. Somehow I had to draw him from the window, draw his mind, and Rorey’s, away from such worries. “Franky, Rorey, do you think you can take a chair over to the closet and pull the Christmas box down for me?”

Franky turned. “The Christmas box? A’ready? Before Sarah gets home? She likes the Christmas box best of anybody.”

“I know. And she’ll have plenty of time with what’s inside once she gets home. But there’s no reason we can’t start and give them a little surprise when they get here.”

Franky smiled, which made me feel somehow warmer. He went to drag a chair toward the front closet, and Rorey followed him reluctantly. Together they managed to lift the box down from its shelf, carry it across the room in my direction, and then plunk it down on the floor. Berty immediately climbed down from my lap to join them. Even Emmie started squirming and reaching. So I moved to the floor with her, and we all took a look.

There were the little yarn people that the pastor’s wife had made with the children last year. Several yards of red and green paper chain. And the big, bright buttons we’d strung on extra yarn and used for ornaments. An egg box full of Emma’s precious ornament balls I quickly took from Berty’s hands and set behind me. And then I claimed the beautiful little glass nativity set that had been our gift from Pastor and Juanita and rose to put it on the mantel immediately, unwilling to take the chance of it getting broken. Besides those things, there wasn’t much more in the box. Only the paper star Rorey and Sarah had made for our tree and the cutout angels and nativity characters the children had drawn to decorate the sitting room wall. We hadn’t had any other decorations last year except real greenery cut from the timber, a popcorn garland, and the holiday cookies I hoped to be able to duplicate.

Rorey picked up one of the paper cutout figures, looking far from enthused. “Are we gonna put up the same paper angels an’ stuff?”

“We could. But I think it would be even more fun to make new ones, or at least add some more if you really like these.”

“I like dat baby Jesus,” Berty informed us.

“I don’t,” Rorey answered immediately. “Franky made it too big. Bigger even than Mary.”

“I was younger then,” Franky acknowledged. “I can do better this year.”

Rorey frowned at him. “I think somebody else should draw Jesus.”

“Okay,” he agreed. “You can.”

“I don’t want to.” She pouted again.

I couldn’t help wondering if she was still feeling poorly and that was what had her so out of sorts. But Rorey could be difficult on a good day—not always badly behaved but a little hard to work with regardless.

Emmie grabbed for a yarn figure, and I let her have one of the biggest, hoping she wouldn’t chew it to bits. But she only clutched it in her fist and snuggled into my shoulder, her little face still damp with tears. I kissed her forehead. Still so warm.

“Franky, will you please bring me Emmie’s water?”

I wondered after I asked it why I hadn’t called on Rorey to hop up and fetch it for me. She had an easier time getting up and across the house than Franky did with his limp. But Franky was here so often. I was more used to asking things of him. And Rorey wasn’t feeling her best today. I thought maybe I ought to coax her back to bed for a while.

Rorey shoved aside the paper cutouts Berty was stacking in front of her and picked up one of the button ornaments. “What are we gonna do with this other stuff? We ain’t got no tree for ’em. Not yet anyhow. Is the pastor comin’ over to cut one like last year?”

“No. At least I don’t think so. He was just being an extra blessing last year because we were so busy with . . . with everything. I suppose we’ll take care of that ourselves this year. Eventually.”

“Maybe tomorrow,” she said. “Whad’ya think?”

I looked over at her, hoping to see a new spark of enthusiasm for the venture, but she was as straight-faced as ever.

“We can talk to Mr. Wortham about it later,” I suggested. “He and Robert, and maybe your big brothers, would love the chore of cutting us a tree.”

“Can I cut a twee?” Bert asked.

“Perhaps you can help when the time comes. We’ll see.”

“Well, whad’ya want this stuff out for now then?” Rorey persisted. “They ain’t gonna get the tree right now.”

I sighed. “You’re right. But I thought we could set out a few things, like the nativity scene on the mantel there, because they look so nice, and to get people in the right mood.”

Franky brought Emmie’s drink at the same time that Rorey scowled and tossed her button ornament back into the box. “I don’t think this stuff gives people a good mood! It just makes us remembery.”