Till Morning Is Nigh (7 page)

“I’d say it’s more than stomach flu ailing the whole lot here,” Dr. Howell told me privately. “You do remarkably well, Mrs. Wortham, but it’s a wonder things aren’t worse. So close to Christmas, and so many children without a mother. You make sure and take extra good care of yourself along with these young ones. Seems like you’re going to be spread awfully thin.”

I couldn’t find any way to answer that. He gave me quinine for the fevers, Oltman’s Stomach Remedy to help any nausea, and wintergreen oil for Harry, Berty, and Emmie’s ears. A generous supply of all three, in case any of the other children got to feeling poorly.

“Keep them in bed all you can,” he admonished. “Though I realize it won’t be easy with that youngest boy. At least try to keep him restful.”

“We can’t pay you today—” I started to explain.

He waved his hand like he was dismissing the idea. “Talk to George about it when you get the chance. He can bring me some eggs or a bit of bacon one of these days.”

“Thank you.”

“Merry Christmas,” he said. “I hope you don’t need me again before then.”

“How’s Mrs. Post?”

“The poor woman’s had an awful struggle with the influenza. Looks to be a touch of pneumony on top of that. It’s got her down weak. Keep her in your prayers. She may still be in bed for Christmas, but I believe she’ll recover.”

I nodded. The Posts had been such good neighbors to us, and to the Hammonds, and now to have such troubles! No wonder Barrett had been worried. I tried to consider whether there was anything we could do for them.

But I didn’t have time to think about that long. Berty was pulling at my sleeve.

“Joe says I’m gonna hafta rest. Does ’at mean right now?”

“You at least need to be doing quiet things, the doctor said. And it won’t be long before time to settle everyone down for bed.”

It was still early, but I knew I’d better set things in motion now. It always took a little planning to bed down so many Hammonds at our house.

“You want us to bring the mattresses down, Mom?” Robert asked me.

We’d done that before, putting the bed mattresses on the floor for some and letting others sleep on quilt-covered box springs, to put something besides floor under most of us on a chilly night. “That’d be fine,” I told him. “But just slide the one in your room onto the floor and leave it there. I think I’ll let you big boys all stay upstairs.”

Robert, Willy, and Joe all headed up to move the mattresses. I expected Kirk to go with them, but he just stood at the base of the stairs and stared at me. “Why do we need to stay here? We come back over for supper ’cause Mr. Wortham told us to, but why shouldn’t we go home?”

My insides felt pinched a little just seeing the fiery look in his eyes. “The doctor said the little ones have no business being out in the night air tonight.”

“I ain’t talkin’ ’bout the little ones.”

“Kirk,” Lizbeth interjected. “Don’t you think it’s better to be together?”

“Why? What if Pa comes home? He’d ’spect us to be home, wouldn’t he?”

“No,” I told him soberly. “I think he would expect you to be here. I think he planned it that way and is probably counting on it. He knows that Lizbeth and I would not be comfortable with the little ones over there sick tonight without a parent.”

“I said I’m not talkin’ ’bout the little ones! We ain’t all little, you—”

“Kirk!” Lizbeth cut him off. “You hold your tongue and go help with the mattresses. This minute.”

Lizbeth had been the boss since they’d lost their mother. I’d seldom seen any of the others question their big sister, let alone exhibit any real defiance. But tonight, Kirk was different.

“I don’t hafta do what you say. An’ I don’t hafta do what Mrs. Wortham says! You ain’t Mama or Pa, and if I ain’t got neither a’ them no more, I can decide stuff for myself! I don’t need you tellin’ me—”

“You think you’re grown up, do you, Kirk Thomas?” Lizbeth fumed. “You’re not but thirteen, and you still got a pa! And me! And you’re not gonna act otherwise. Now get up there an’ help!”

Beside me, Katie shook a little. I knew she hated yelling. She hated arguing. And Bert and Emmie were both staring at us, taking in the commotion.

“Kirk,” I said quietly, hoping to calm things a little. “It’s all right to want to go home. I understand that. But please wait till Mr. Wortham gets here. Even as big as you are, I hate the thought of you heading out through the timber again alone tonight.”

“There ain’t nothin’ out there but cold,” he scoffed.

“The cold is bad enough,” I said. “So is the aloneness.”

“Maybe Joe or Willy’d go with me,” he offered.

“Willy likes to stay with Robert,” Lizbeth said more calmly. “An’ I could use Joe’s help here if any of the younger ones is sick in the night.”

“You ain’t gotta wait at home for Pa,” Franky suddenly said from across the room. “He knows t’ find us here if he wants. But he won’t look tonight.”

“What d’you know?” Kirk scoffed.

“I know he tol’ us ’fore we lef’ this morning to mind Mrs. Wortham good.”

“He always means for us to do that,” Kirk continued his argument.

“But he don’t always say it.”

Kirk and Lizbeth both stared at Franky. But Rorey was the one to speak up. “That don’t mean nothin’! Not nothin’ at all!”

“Hush,” Lizbeth told her and turned her attention immediately back to Frank. “I was busy with Emmie this morning. Did he say anythin’ else?”

Franky shook his head. “I jus’ thought a’ that. Jus’ now.”

“It don’t mean nothin’,” Kirk echoed Rorey’s words. “He jus’ knowed we was stoppin’ here ’fore school like always, that’s all.”

Franky didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to. The coldness of the idea that their father may have planned to leave settled over me as well as over Kirk and Lizbeth. But Berty just didn’t understand.

“Pa gonna sleep here tonight too?” he asked his big sister. “We gonna make him a bed?”

“If he comes with Mr. Wortham,” I said quickly before Lizbeth had a chance to answer. “We can fix him a bed when he gets here.”

Lizbeth looked at me in question.

“Who’s gonna do chores over t’ home in the mornin’?” Kirk suddenly asked.

“Any of you boys could go,” I said. “Once it’s daylight, all right?”

“Please, Kirk,” Lizbeth added. “Let’s stay together tonight. I don’t wanna be wonderin’ ’bout you too.”

“I wouldn’t go nowhere but home,” he said softly.

“I know. But the doctor kinda wanted us all to stay in anyhow, ’case any of the rest of us was to catch somethin’. Remember? Even tomorrow.”

Joe and Robert were maneuvering down the stairs with Katie and Sarah’s mattress. Willy followed with one of the blankets that had been on top.

“You should pull the mattress off our bed too,” I told the boys. “That way I think we can keep everybody off the wood floor.”

Without a word, Kirk headed into the bedroom for the mattress. There was no more talk of anyone leaving that night.

I pulled out all of the spare sheets and blankets we had and got all the bedding situated for everybody. Of course, the beds wouldn’t be quite so comfortable tonight without the top mattresses, but we’d all make do. Katie and Sarah on their bed, Willy and Robert on his. And Samuel with me, when he got home. I’d put Kirk and Franky on the mattress in Robert’s room and Harry and Berty on one down here. Rorey really wanted to sleep in Sarah’s room, but Lizbeth thought she ought to stay downstairs with her and Emmie on the other mattress since she’d been sick too. I fixed a bed for Joe on the davenport where he’d be close if Lizbeth needed him like she’d suggested.

“Do we hafta go to bed a’ready?” Rorey asked me, and I was a little surprised that she didn’t want to, but I guess I shouldn’t have been, considering the nap she took.

It seemed late. It seemed like half the night had progressed, but one look at the mantel clock told me that it really wasn’t late at all. Time never seemed to flow the same when Samuel was gone in the evening. I tried not to worry about what he might have found, or not found, but it was hard to keep such things out of my thoughts. And I wasn’t the only one. A sleepover with neighbors ought to be fun, at least a little bit, even if some of the kids were feeling a little under the weather. But nobody looked very happy, even though the youngest seemed to feel a little better after their first dose of the medicine Dr. Howell had left.

I knew Emmie was tired. But Lizbeth didn’t try to settle her down yet, knowing she’d be up in the night if she did. Everybody looked at me with a quiet sort of expectation. I wished Samuel were here to tell them all a good story. When we’d had them over before and things seemed so uncertain, his storytelling seemed to make everything a little easier. But I couldn’t do it. Not the way he could. And anyway, a story would be best when everybody was ready to lie down. It wasn’t even 6:30 yet. They weren’t ready.

It might have been a good time to get everybody involved shelling and chopping nuts and mixing and shaping cookies. But that would take a while, and maybe wasn’t the best project with a few upset stomachs in the house. But I had to do something to take their minds off of illness and the glaring absence of their fathers. And I caught a glimpse of a stray red Crayola that must have rolled into the corner when the rest of the box got put away. Franky’s idea came to mind. I still wasn’t sure if a stand-up paper nativity would be workable for us, but at least we could give it a try. Even if we accomplished nothing more than making a mess, it would keep the little ones busy.

I got out the scissors, paper, Crayolas, pencils. But what in the world could we use to hold the paper in its cone shapes? I thought I knew. I had the little girls’ interest already, and they followed me to the kitchen cupboard to pull out a small bowl and a spoon or two of flour. Just a bit of flour-and-water paste ought to do the trick. And we could keep quite a few hands busy holding things in place until the paste was dry enough to set.

Oh, it would have been wonderful if we could have gotten the radio working to play some Christmas carols for us in the background. At least we would have had a lovely festive atmosphere. As it was, I had a difficult time convincing particularly the older children that this was a project worthy of their attention. Eventually Kirk and Willy abandoned us entirely and sat by the fireplace playing checkers. At least they were in the same room, and somehow, despite our numbers, I found that comforting tonight.

Lizbeth let Emmie play with a piece of paper and try her hand scribbling on it. She seemed to like that really well, and though she still seemed feverish, she wasn’t fussy anymore. Franky cut out a circle with a slit on one side and showed the others how to make the cone bases. Joe and I became the designated “cone holders” while paste was drying. In no time we had seven little paper cones, some with lovely colorful scribbles.

“Them don’t look like people,” Harry observed.

“That’s just the bottoms,” Franky explained. “Ever’body wore robes then, so that’s why it’s okay to look so wide like that.”

Sarah nodded. All this apparently made wonderful sense to her. “We have to put heads on.”

“What heads?” Berty questioned immediately.

“We gots to make ’em,” Franky answered. “I think I know a way.” He cut a smaller rectangular piece of paper and rolled it to make a tube. I’d wondered how he’d thought to do that, but he’d worked it out in his mind, and I was impressed. A little paste held the paper tube together and a little more held it atop a cone in just the right place to be the head resting over a generously wide cone robe.

But Rorey wasn’t satisfied. “He’s got a hole in the top of his head. That looks really dumb.”

“That’s where you put a shepherd’s hat or maybe some yarn for hair,” Franky told her.

“They’s still gonna have a hole in their head,” the little girl complained. “Just covered up. An’ a hole in the bottom too. Real big.”

“Oh well,” I said quickly. “I’m sure if we picked up our pretty little glass nativity and looked at the bottom, whatever the figures are standing on wouldn’t look like feet.

It’s just for show.”

“Can I see?” Rorey asked immediately.

“Well . . .” I hesitated, but surely if I kept our precious little figurine in my own hands it would be all right. I lifted it down from the mantel and turned it over carefully. “See. At the bottom of the robes there’s nothing at all. It’s even partly hollow.”

“From the top it looks like Mary’s kneeling,” Sarah observed. “But underneath, she don’t even have legs!”

“It’s just for show, like I told you. A fun way to display the reason we celebrate Christmas.”

“’Cause lidda Lor’ Jesus is borned in a manger,” Berty added.

“Right. Just like your song.”

“Can I make the paper Jesus?” the little boy asked.

Franky frowned. “I been thinkin’ ’bout that. He’ll hafta be smaller. I don’t think a cone is gonna work right for him.”

“Let’s just work on some of the others for now,” I suggested as I put the glass nativity away. “We can figure that out tomorrow.”

“But we have to have a Jesus,” Sarah began to protest.

“It’s okay.” Katie supplied the answer quietly. “He isn’t born yet.”

“Yeah!” Sarah’s whole face lit up as though it were revelation. “It isn’t Christmas yet!”

Rorey picked up a cone and turned it around in her hand. “These sure would smash easy.”

Why did she have to be like that? I hoped to goodness she didn’t take to destroying what was already made. Rorey had such an awful attitude so much of the time. But nobody else seemed to pay any attention.

“We’ll have to make the manger bed for Jesus too,” Sarah continued. “And some paper hay ’cause he’s asleep on the hay. Only not yet, ’cause he isn’t born yet. And some of these other guys have to be shepherds.”

“And angels,” Franky added, suddenly the expert. “We’ll hafta make some more cones, so we can have plenty shepherds an’ angels, plus the kings too. And those guys’ll hafta have crowns on their heads.”

Robert looked at me skeptically. “These might look awful funny.”

“That’s all right,” I assured him. “I’ve seen unusual manger scenes in my life. I’ve even heard that in Russia they have one where all the pieces stack inside the biggest piece.”