The Unfinished Gift (24 page)

Katherine had a hard time imagining God would do anything out of the ordinary to help that old man. “I wish I felt as secure about this as you.”

Mrs. Fortini just smiled. “Here you go.”

She set a nice plate of scrambled eggs and toast in front of her. That and the coffee did seem to quiet her nerves. “Maybe I better call the office, let them know what’s happened.”

“You could,” said Mrs. Fortini, “but the radio said the whole town is pretty much shut down from the storm. Tell you what you could do, if you have the energy, that is.”

“Anything.”

“I’ve got a snow shovel in the basement. Maybe after you eat, could you make a small path between here and next door? Just wide enough for our feet. I’d like to check in on Mr. Collins if we could.”

What a sweet woman, Katherine thought. When she thought of Collins, the best she could manage was a momentary suppression of rage. “I’d be happy to do that, Mrs. Fortini. The eggs are wonderful, by the way.”

“Glad you like them.”

“I hope we hear something soon. I don’t know if I can make it through a whole day without knowing where Patrick is, if he’s doing all right.”

“Well, let me turn on the radio and see if that helps. They’re supposed to be playing Christmas music all day. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve, you know.”

Thirty-Four

“I think he’s waking up.”

“Is he?”

“I think so. Hey, little boy, you okay?”

Patrick felt very strange. He heard a pleasant woman’s voice but didn’t recognize it. He tried to focus, but nothing looked familiar. “Where am I?”

“You’re at our place,” the woman said. “You had a terrible time last night. You remember anything?”

Patrick looked up into the smiling face of a colored woman. Beside her was a big colored man, smiling just as much. Then he heard some giggles.

“You boys stay back,” the man said. “Give him some space, now.”

Patrick looked to the left of the woman and saw two little colored boys, one about his age, the other a little older. “What’s your name?” the older boy asked.

“Patrick. Patrick Collins.”

“I told you he looked Irish,” the man said.

“Oh, Ezra. Like you so smart,” the woman said. “Over half the folks where you found him be Irish. You hungry,

Patrick? We let you sleep till you get up on your own. It’s past lunchtime, but we saved you some food.”

Patrick looked around. It looked like the living room of his apartment on Clark Street, only smaller. And there were no rugs on the floor, and the furniture looked much older and worn. “I guess so,” he answered. But he wasn’t sure what colored folks ate. He had never met any before. His mom had told him about them, how some people treated them badly because they were different. But she said they were just people like us, and God loves everyone the same.

“You want to go outside and play?” the boy his age asked. “Snowed all last night. We could make a snowman.”

Patrick loved making snowmen. “I guess so.”

“Now, you wait a little while,” the woman said to the boy. “Let’s let Patrick have a few minutes to eat and get situated.”

“But it’ll get dark in just a few hours,” the boy said.

“Mind your mama,” said the man. “Say, Patrick, how you come to be in that alley last night, by Hodgins’s Grocery? Don’t you got any kin?”

“They must be worried something awful,” the woman said.

Patrick didn’t want to talk about it. He looked up at the woman. “What’s your name?”

“Me? I’m Ruby, and this here is Ezra, my husband. Over there is Joseph, and Willy, our oldest.”

“Do you have a last name?”

She laughed. “It’s Jeffries.”

“How did I get here, Mrs. Jeffries?”

“I brung you here last night,” Ezra said. “Found you in that alley. Look like you were half dead. You remember how you got there?”

“I was waiting for a bus, but it never came. Then it got so cold. All the stores were closed. The alley was the only place I could go.”

“You don’t have a home?” Mrs. Jeffries asked.

Patrick hesitated, trying to think of what to say. “I guess I was running away.”

“Why?” Mr. Jeffries asked. “And on a night like that, of all nights.”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, whatever the problem is, I’m sure your mama must be worried sick about now. She won’t know if you dead or alive, I expect.”

Patrick started to cry, he couldn’t help it. “My mom is already dead,” he said. “In a car wreck, a week ago.”

“Oh my Lord.”

“What about your daddy?” asked Mr. Jeffries.

“He’s away at the war; people are trying to find him.” Then Patrick remembered the telegram and started crying even harder. “But he’s missing. They don’t even know where he is,” he said through his tears.

“My, my,” Mrs. Jeffries said. She wrapped her arms around his head and drew him near. “You go ahead and cry if you need to, Patrick. I expect I’d be crying myself if I were you. Have half a mind to join you.”

“But where you staying?” asked Mr. Jeffries. “Somebody must have been lookin’ after you.”

Patrick heard him but didn’t want to answer. He’d rather stay here with the Jeffries than go back to his grandfather’s. Then he remembered the card Miss Townsend had given him. “I don’t want to go back to where I was staying. But there’s a nice government lady we could call. She was the one I was trying to see last night. Could we call her now? Her name’s Miss Townsend.”

Both of them made a sad face. “I wish we could,” said Mrs. Jeffries, “but we don’t have a telephone.”

“We’re gettin’ one soon,” Mr. Jeffries said, “but we just moved up a few months ago from the Carolinas.”

Mrs. Jeffries gave him a funny look. “Maybe we could call down at the store on the corner, though. Do you know her number?”

“It’s on a card in my coat pocket.”

“I don’t know, Ruby. All that snow, I’m thinking no stores be open today. Maybe for a few days.”

“I know someone’s got a phone,” said Willy. “A boy I was playing with on the next block. His folks got one.”

“How you know that?”

“He asked if we had one, said he wanted to call me after the storm, see if we could come out and play.”

“You know where he lives?” asked Mr. Jeffries.

“Yep. Right where. Just the next block over.”

Mr. Jeffries looked at Mrs. Jeffries. “We could do that then, Ruby. Me and Willy can go right now, while the boy eats and gets situated.”

“Can’t I go too?” Patrick asked.

“I think you better stay here,” said Mrs. Jeffries. “You had quite a time last night. I don’t want you catching a cold.”

“Besides,” said Mr. Jeffries, “she ain’t gonna be able to come get you, anyway. The streets all snowed in, and the plows don’t come here till they go everywhere else. I just want to let this lady know where you are and that you’re all right.”

“I sure wish I could talk to her,” said Patrick.

“You will, probably tomorrow,” said Mrs. Jeffries. “Get you warmed up and well fed today, and they can bring you back to that telephone tomorrow, let you call her yourself.”

“That would be great.”

“Does that mean he can go outside and play with me?” asked Joseph. “Since Willy’s going with Pa?”

“We’ll see about that,” said Mrs. Jeffries. “Let’s let Patrick eat, and see how things go after that.”

Patrick didn’t know what to make of all this. All he knew was that he already felt much better here than he had the whole time at his grandfather’s. And Miss Townsend would know where he was in a little while, and maybe tomorrow he would see her. He knew once she heard all that happened, she would take him away from his grandfather for good.

Maybe he could even live with her.

Thirty-Five

Ezra hated coming back home to Ruby with more bad news. Willy didn’t mind it a bit. Kids always have it easy like that. Their minds just skip to the next thing, so easy to see the bright side.

Took almost forty minutes to get to Willy’s friend’s place, the snow being so high. He told them this little white boy’s sad story, and they were happy to let him use their phone. He called this Miss Townsend from that card, and let it ring till the operator said he gotta hang up. Nobody answered, either at the office number or the number she wrote on back. He waited a whole hour, called four different times, just so Ruby and Patrick would know he did his best. But nobody ever answered.

He had to get back now, before it get completely dark.

Now it was even colder than before. About the only consolation was he and Willy could walk through the same path in the snow they’d made getting here. But now, he just gonna walk forty more minutes in the cold, just to say it was all a waste of time.

“Say, Pa. You know what day tomorrow is, right?”

“Yes, I do, Willy.”

“It’s Christmas Eve, Pa. Means just one more day, then Christmas.”

“I know, son. Let’s keep moving. We ain’t got time for you to be stoppin’ and lookin’ in all these store windows.”

And Ezra didn’t need reminding of all the other things he couldn’t afford for his family.

“Okay, Pa.”

Sadness had descended with the setting sun on the Collins’s home this night.

Katherine had just gotten off the phone with the police captain and had to inform Mr. Collins and Mrs. Fortini that all the homes within the search area with telephones had been contacted, and no one had taken in a little boy.

It was as if Patrick had simply vanished.

The only sliver of hope that remained was that Patrick might have been taken in by the forty or so homes in the neighborhood that didn’t have telephones. The captain said his men had the lists made up and planned to go knocking on all these doors first thing tomorrow morning, even though it was Christmas Eve. He still spoke with confidence about finding Patrick.

But where could he have gone?

She looked away from the window at the wooden soldier centered on the coffee table. Katherine had to admit, the elder Collins was a gifted artist. The level of detail in both the wood carving and paint was astonishing. This soldier was worthy of a shelf in any museum or gallery she had ever seen. When he had come down from the attic an hour ago and set it down on the table, he just said, “This should do it.”

It really did seem like something had changed inside him. Comparing how harsh he’d been since the night she first met him, then seeing the look on his face after learning Patrick had disappeared . . . She couldn’t hate him anymore. He was clearly as upset, if not more, than she was.

He had now resumed a slouched position in his chair, staring blankly at the wall like yesterday. Mrs. Fortini was busying herself in the kitchen, making them all some dinner. Katherine could tell she was bothered by the lack of news, but not shaken. Katherine thought it must be nice to have a place like that to go to in your mind, to have faith. She, however, was a realist. She’d found it better, especially since taking this job, to keep her expectations low, since life consistently met them, and rarely exceeded them. But with Patrick, she couldn’t let her heart give up hope. They had to find him. He had to be all right.

“Who’s ready for dinner?” Mrs. Fortini called from the dining room. “I made you spaghetti and my world-famous meatballs. I think we need spaghetti on a night like this.” She walked back into the kitchen.

“I’d love some spaghetti,” Katherine replied, not sure if she could even eat anything right now. “Mr. Collins . . . ready for dinner?” He didn’t move. She tapped him on the shoulder. “Want some spaghetti?”

“Huh . . . spaghetti?”

He looked up, but it was as if his eyes looked past her. She saw such despair in those eyes, such deep sadness. “Maybe some good cooking will cheer us up.”

He sat up. “I guess so.” He glanced over at the wooden soldier on the table, then at the front door. He buried his face in his hands, but just for a moment, then stood up. “I’ll be right there.”

Katherine obliged and walked toward the dining room without him but looked back at him over her shoulder. He walked over to the wooden soldier and picked it up. He held it about chest high, turning it once on its side as if to catch its profile, then set it back on the table facing the front door. He walked to the front window and parted the curtains slightly. She sat down at the table as Mrs. Fortini came out with some rolls.

“What’s he doing?” she whispered.

“I don’t know,” said Katherine.

“Poor man.”

Collins turned around, and they both quickly looked at each other.

“Okay, let’s eat,” he said as he walked into the dining room.

“Anything I can help you with, Mrs. Fortini?” Katherine asked.

“Maybe just pour us each a nice glass of Chianti. Is that okay, Ian? I brought a bottle with me when we came over this afternoon.”

“I like a good Chianti with spaghetti,” he said as he sat down.

Once the food and bread were dished out and the wine glasses filled, Collins said, “Okay if I say grace tonight?”

It surprised Katherine but clearly shocked Mrs. Fortini. “Fine, Ian. That would be just fine.”