A Nantucket Christmas (14 page)

Maybe his mommy would be glad he had left.

Pooh slipped and slid along next to Maddox as he walked down the middle of the street. Plows and sanders had come through, so this road was clear, although snow continued to fall, turning to ice as it landed.

Still, Maddox was walking toward the center of town, which blazed with lights, providing a sort of warmth in his heart. By the time he got to the restaurant, the group of people were getting into cars and driving away, so he kept on walking, hands in his pocket, twisting his mouth around as he pondered what to do.

The bookstore was open. He saw people moving around inside.

“Come on, Pooh,” he said, reaching way up for the handle on the door.

They stepped into a pool of summer. Merriment, chatter, and delicious warm air. Maddox stood by the door a moment, just savoring the heat, aware of his dog leaning on his ankle.

“We’re closing!” someone called out.

Adults, all of them very tall, crowded and jostled to get to the counter with their last-minute purchases. One of them trod on Pooh’s foot. Pooh yipped in surprise. The tall man glowered down at Maddox.

“Does that animal bite?”

“No,” Maddox began. “We need—”

But the man turned away, moving up in line. A woman with boots like his mommy wore, with long pointed dagger-like heels, stepped near Pooh, who cowered closer to Maddox.

Dismayed, Maddox picked Pooh up in his arms, pushed the door open, and went back outside. He didn’t want Pooh to get stabbed in the foot. He plodded down the street, lugging Pooh in his arms.

A sudden melancholy fell over him. By now his daddy should be running down the street, yelling for him, calling, “Come back, Maddox! We’ll let you keep the dog!”

His stomach growled. His arms hurt. He set Pooh down on the icy sidewalk. Pooh tilted his head questioningly.

“I’m hungry, Pooh, and I’ll bet you are, too.” Maddox sniffed the air. No smells lured him forward.

He didn’t know where to go or what to do. He’d run away full of pride and courage and filled with a sense of adventure. Now he knew he was only a cold, hungry, helpless boy.

His boy paused on the corner. Not the smartest thing to do, Pooh thought, because the wind howled so fiercely it almost knocked Maddox over. When they were walking, their momentum carried them forward into the wind, or the wind pushed them along, but standing made Pooh shudder with cold.

He was so hungry he wanted to whimper with misery. Yet he was so overjoyed that Maddox had taken him that his misery was offset. Mostly. His belly still rumbled and complained, as if it hadn’t yet received the news of his good luck.

He peered up at the boy’s face, searching for a clue to his mood. Where would they go next? The boy, although young and small, was a human, with access to doors in many warm places. He was smart and resourceful, too. After all, he’d built that warm fort.

Pooh allowed himself a moment—since Maddox was still standing there like a lump—to puzzle over the mysterious ways of humans. He knew they couldn’t be trusted; Cota Collins and her family had taught him that. He had been so sure that she loved him that he hadn’t even known she could
stop
loving him. Perhaps, somehow, the fault was his.

But he believed Maddox loved him. Maddox had taken him. Maddox was with him now. And Maddox was certainly lovable, such a smart, valiant boy whose plump fingers were magnificent at scratching behind Pooh’s ears.

The mystery was: Why were all those humans so terrible to each other? In the midst of this black, frightening night, they were inside a warm, bright house with the swooningly good aromas of delicious food all around them. They had a
family,
and for a moment a memory flickered in Pooh’s mind, of a time when he was new, snuggling with a bunch of other squirming puppies, being licked by his mother, who looked just like him and smelled of warm milk. He remembered how his eyes opened more every day, how he wobbled around the cardboard box, learning his legs, clumsily stumbling into the other puppies—he remembered his brothers’ and sisters’ sharp tiny teeth! How they had rough-and-tumbled with one another, play-growling and snapping and pouncing.

He remembered how they were released out into the yard one spring morning when the grass was fragrant and the sun fell benevolently on his back. The world surprised him, it was so enormous and bright. He would run back to his mother, to be sure she was still there, then trot back to play with his siblings.

One day, Cota came. She had picked him up, hugged him to her chest, stroked his fur, whispered lovingly into his ear.

He’d never seen his siblings or his mommy again. He’d entirely lost the trail of their odor.

Would Maddox leave him, too?

His boy’s words broke into his thoughts. “Look, Pooh. We can get warm.” Maddox marched bravely forward, slipping on the occasional icy patch, lifting his feet high over drifts that had avoided the shopkeepers’ shovels.

Pooh struggled along behind, leaping, sliding, trotting, limping—ice had frozen between his toes, slicing the pads of his paws.

They progressed up the sidewalk, their way lighted by the small twinkling Christmas trees, toward the giant tree at the top of Main, the one in front of the brick building. Even this mammoth evergreen swayed from the force of the wind.

“Here!” Maddox shouted.

Snow blew into his eyes. Pooh blinked, then saw it. In front of the wide white Methodist church, on the snow-covered front lawn, stood a funny structure: a three-sided shed golden with light. A spotlight was aimed at it, making the interior blaze, and on top of the shed was another light in the shape of a star.

Inside were people and a donkey. Pooh lifted his lip to growl a warning, but as they got nearer, he realized something was off about the other creatures. They weren’t the right size. They didn’t smell. Ah, they were statues. A father, a mother, a baby in a cradle, and the donkey.

But on the floor of the shed was real straw. Thick, golden straw.

Pooh felt himself lifted up into Maddox’s arms. The boy shoved through the snow and into the shed. They were warmer immediately, from the spotlight.

“We’ll stay here,” Maddox told Pooh. The boy wriggled down at the back of the shed, holding Pooh close to his stomach, and used his hand to rake straw over their legs and torsos.

Warmer and warmer. The wind buffeted the sides of the shed, but it stood firm.

“We’ll be safe here,” Maddox assured Pooh.

Pooh yipped once, lightly, in agreement. He arched his head so he could lick Maddox’s hands, which were red with cold.

“We’ll rest and keep warm while I think what to do next,” Maddox decided.

Pooh snuggled as close to the boy as he could. The wonderful warmth made him drowsy. But the hunger cramping his belly kept him awake.

The living room was toasty. Nicole added logs to the fire and stirred it with the poker. The Christmas tree lights threw off a bit of heat, and of course the furnace was on.

Kennedy and her baby girl were ensconced on the sofa, covered and wrapped with blankets. Katya was performing the unthinkable: Down on her hands and knees, she crawled around the floor, picking up walnuts and replacing them in the bronze bowl.

Nicole gathered up the pile of bloodstained towels. “I’ll get these into the washing machine.”

“Oh, thank you, Nicole,” Kennedy said. “I don’t want Maddox to be frightened when he comes in and sees so much blood.”

Katya frowned. “The carpet is still stained. Plus, it reeks.” Suddenly, her legs buckled and she sat down, hard, on the floor. Her face was white. Her eyes were wide, her pupils dilated.

“Mommy?” Kennedy asked. “Are you okay?”

Katya said, “You had a baby.” Tilting her face up toward Nicole, she gasped, “My God. What would we have done if you hadn’t been here? Nicole, how can I ever thank you? I’m so grateful.” She raised her hands to her face. Her shoulders shook. She made a noise that in any other woman would be considered blubbering.

Nicole bent over and wrapped her arms around Katya. “You’re in shock. Let’s get you in a chair. Come on, right here, where you can see Kennedy and the baby. You would have been fine without me,” she assured Katya. “It’s all very dramatic, isn’t it?” She helped Katya stand on her shaking legs and stagger into a chair.

“Thank you, Nicole.” Katya gripped Nicole’s arm. “Truly. Thank you. I am full of admiration.”

“You’re welcome. I’m glad to be part of it all.” She could tell that this was getting to be a bit more sentimental than Katya could easily deal with. “I’ll be right back.”

She left the room, lugging the heavy soggy towels. Even after a washing, they would be pretty much shot for normal use. She’d keep them in the mudroom for people to wipe off their shoes. She dumped them into the washing machine, added detergent, and turned the dial.

Then she leaned against the quietly humming machine, relaxed, and prayed. She prayed with gratitude for this new healthy baby, for Kennedy’s quick and relatively painless labor and birthing, and she sent selfish words of thankfulness that everything had gone so well with Nicole at the receiving end. If anything had gone wrong, and things could have, Nicole would have been blamed. She would have blamed herself. She was always filled with both anticipation and anxiety when a mother gave birth, but this had been an extraordinary situation. Now she was completely out of gas. She could lie down right there on the mudroom floor and take a snooze.

Instead, she went into the kitchen to brew fresh pots of coffee and hot chocolate.

First, Maddox just lay there, catching his breath, allowing the warmth to sink into his body like melted butter on toast. (Cinnamon toast would be excellent right now.)

He’d never been so cold before, and the cold had made him frightened and confused. Standing on the street corner with the wind shoving him in the back like a giant saying
Go away, you’re not wanted here,
he’d wished with all his heart to hear his father call him, to hear running footsteps, to be swept up into loving arms. He’d stood there, waiting, listening, hoping … and no one came.

His mother had warned him. “Don’t leave my side,” she always said when they were in a store. “Don’t leave the yard on your own. It’s easy to get lost.”

He had disobeyed her. His mommy often said, “
Now
look what happened!” when he’d done something wrong.

Now
look what happened.

Out in the freezing dark, he’d been scared, shaking with cold and fright. Here, nestled in the sweet-smelling straw with Pooh’s tiny body snuggled next to him, Maddox’s spirits lifted. Even though there was no wall in front, it was still like being in a house. There was light from the spotlight. There were other people, too, kind of. Even if they were only statues, he felt less alone.

One problem: no food. Of course there wasn’t any food, the statues of Mary, Joseph, and baby Jesus didn’t require food.

He scrabbled in his pants pockets to see if he had any candy canes left, even a broken piece. But no. He’d eaten every bite. Hugging Pooh to him, he realized the dog was probably hungry, too. Pooh was so skinny. But what a good, loyal, friend! Maddox would
never
throw Pooh out into the cold night.

So he couldn’t go home. Could he? If he went back, would they allow him to keep Pooh in the house just for a while?

If he tried, could he find his way back? He thought so. Granddad’s house was right up the street from the big brick Jared Coffin House, and that wasn’t far away, was it?

Next to him, Pooh began to snore, a sweet rumbling sound that made Maddox grin. Relaxing into the straw, he realized he was awfully tired from all that running and carrying Pooh. Being warm made him drowsy.

A stick of straw poked his ear. He moved his head, trying to get comfortable, and sort of sat up, and sort of scanned the streets outside in case his daddy was out there looking for him.

The street was empty, except for the blowing snow.

His lower lip quivered. Tears filled his eyes. Sadness filled his heart. Snot filled his nose—unattractive, his mommy usually told him. He couldn’t help it, though. He was scared.

The baby slept, but Kennedy was a bubbling emotional geyser threatening to erupt momentarily.

She had a daughter. Joy!

Then terror blasted through her.
Maddox
. Her little boy.

Maddox had run away because she had been horrid to him. Shame, anguish, mommy guilt of the most torturous kind.

She’d given birth without James present. Heartbreak, disappointment, more guilt—couldn’t she have waited?

Her mother had been present. Nicole had been helpful. Okay, more than helpful. Nicole had taken charge and conducted the entire chaotic mess with as much expertise as anyone could wish for. She had been an angel of kindness. More guilt, because Kennedy had been such a beast to Nicole.

Her mother was on the floor again with more towels, soaking up the natural but still rather gruesome muck of childbirth. That in itself—her mother performing manual labor—filled Kennedy with incredulity. Katya did not enjoy housework. Never had. But Katya was humming a Christmas carol, and she looked exultant. Kennedy was confused.

Most of all, where was Maddox? Shouldn’t her father and James have found her child and brought him back? She didn’t want her son to believe that she’d blithely forgotten about him, or worse, tossed him away—“You’re a bad boy!”—then lay down and gotten herself another child. Her heart wrung with worry. She was glad to have a daughter, but so frightened for Maddox.

Was this family life at its most basic? A cauldron of constantly changing sensations? Kennedy was stunned to realize that she’d been in labor all day without realizing it because she’d been so overwhelmed with intense and often ungenerous emotions. How had her own mother maneuvered through family life so serenely, like a sailboat on a windless sea? How would Kennedy survive her own family life, especially if she was as self-centered and myopic as she’d been with little Maddox?

Her sweet little boy, her darling child, with his giggle, his innocence, his wide-eyed trust in his mommy. Her heart broke when she thought of the radiant confidence on his face when he watched her. She knew she’d been cranky with him lately, restless and uncomfortable in her own body. She’d tried to explain that to him, but how could a four-year-old possibly comprehend the discomfort of a pregnant woman? She’d been mad to think he could. She’d been awful to call him a bad boy. She’d been so out of her mind she hadn’t even realized she was in labor.