Christmas Angels, page 15
"Nonsense," Mother interrupted.
"Everyone out now," Aunt Lo instructed, pointing toward the hallway. "Go off to bed, the lot of you. Your mother needs her rest. And let's not forget you have school in the morning."
We groaned.
"Can't we play hooky just one day?"
"No, Cory, you may not play hooky, tomorrow or any day." Nothing gets past Mother in this house.
Just as Gem and I climbed into bed, I heard Aunt Lo's voice in the hallway. Gem put a finger to her lips, her sign for me to be quiet so she could hear what was being said.
"Gus, where's your father?" Her voice was soft but stern. "He hasn't seen his new daughter yet."
"He left. You said Mother needed her rest, so I think he went to your house to sleep. Do you want me to go find him?"
"No, you need to go to bed. I'll track that brother of mine down. And when I do…"
Over the next few days, Aunt Lo, Aunt Rachel, and MaMaw Ghere took turns tending to Mother and baby Thea. Popo had disappeared, but no one, not even Mother, mentioned his absence.
A week after the surprise birth, Mother walked into the kitchen while we were eating breakfast, carrying her newborn infant in a shoebox she'd lined with blankets. She set the shoebox in the center of the table before joining Aunt Lo at the sink, where she was washing the breakfast dishes. As we bounded out the door for school, Mother called out to my big brother.
"Gus, after school, please go by Ghere-Douglass and ask your father to come home immediately."
School could wait. Gus bolted past us on the street, finally getting the assignment to find our wayward father. Popo returned home than evening for supper.
Mother quickly regained her strength, and Thea grew. When she was six weeks old, Mother pronounced Thea too big for her shoebox and transferred her to a cradle Mother kept by her bed at night. It wasn't until I heard Thea cry for the first time that I believed what Mother had insisted all along.
Dorothea Lucinda Ghere would survive.
***
Aunt Lo showed no mercy for Charlie and Bernard, as they wrestled the stage sets from last year's pageant out of the church basement. As the boys carried them into the fellowship hall, one by one, and leaned them against a wall, Aunt Lo asked me to take a rag and wipe the cobwebs off. I offered to trade chores with Bernard, but he made a face and followed Charlie out of the fellowship hall.
As I was cleaning off the long, sticky strands of dusty spider web, Aunt Lo paced the line of old sets randomly propped against the backstage wall, um-ing, huh-ing and hmm-ing as she went, the pragmatic art critic of her own art, jotting notes on a pad using a lot of exclamation points. "I'll have to rework a couple of these," she mumbled.
"Maybe you should send Cory to snag your paint boxes from under Aunt Iris's bed," I offered with a smirk.
"I think not. Watercolors aren't appropriate for this project. I'll have to beg oil paints from my friend again. I believe he owes me a favor."
At 9:15, the other children began arriving. Aunt Lo sat behind a table she's set up near the entrance to the fellowship hall where she conducted brief "auditions" with each child. Half an hour later, she assigned parts. Charlie landed the part of Joseph. I was in the multitude of the heavenly host, although my part required me to flit by the manger and gaze at the baby Jesus adoringly.
Baffled by the concept, I asked my cousin. "How do you flit, Charlie?"
"Don't ask me. I just need to learn a couple of lines, that's it."
"Do not lose your scripts, children," Aunt Lo commanded. "If you do, you'll have to stay after rehearsal and copy your part from my notebook yourself."
The rest of the morning was chaotic, reading through our parts and going through the Christmas songs we'd be singing, with Aunt Lo at the piano.
After we finished our first rehearsal, the children scattered. I made plans with Pauline and Helen to come over to play cards after lunch, as Aunt Lo locked the door to the fellowship hall.
As we began our walk home, I slipped between Charlie and Bernard, placing my hand on my cousin's elbow to keep from falling on the slippery sidewalk. Aunt Lo trailed behind by a step or two. As we walked in silence, I noticed Charlie turn and look over my head at Aunt Lo.
"I think the Widower Pastor Burke is sweet on you, Aunt Lo."
I looked up into Charlie's face, his mischievous smile spread ear-to-ear.
"Yes, it would seem so," she replied.
"Are you going to marry him?" I elbowed Charlie hard in the ribs for asking Aunt Lo such a question.
"Certainly not," she huffed.
We continued walking, Aunt Lo right behind us, spurring us forward. Mother promised us a hot lunch at quarter past noon, and Aunt Lo was always prompt. As I held onto Charlie's elbow, I noticed for the first time that he was taller than me. He was more than a year older, but we had always been about the same height. Bernard was tall for a boy of thirteen, but skinny as a pipe rail.
Finally, Aunt Lo explained her answer to Charlie's question. "The Widower Pastor Burke is a good, kind, and virtuous man. I believe he is philosophically accurate in his interpretation of the Holy Scriptures, but I find his sermons… " Aunt Los hesitated to weigh her words, "...a bit rambling and on the boring side."
"You wouldn't marry him because he's boring?" inquired the Ernie Pyle wannabe.
"There is that, but there are two other reasons I could never marry the Widower Pastor Burke that have nothing to do with his frequent lapses into tedium. Their names are Clara and Cora."
"His daughters?" I asked, my eyes wide.
Aunt Lo nodded. "Since their mother's passing, the Widower Pastor Burke has coddled and spoiled those two to the point of turning them both into insufferable brats."
"But Aunt Lo, they lost their mother." I thought about Miss Beall's command for me to cherish mine.
Aunt Lo placed a hand on my shoulder as we walked. "Yes, it's difficult to lose a mother. They were perfectly lovely girls before she passed. I think it dishonors her to behave contrary to the lessons she taught them, and I think it's worse that their father allows it. Those two flitted around during today's rehearsal as if they owned the place, not paying one iota of attention to a word I said."
Charlie elbowed me in the ribs. If I knew my Aunt Lo, the Widower Pastor Burke was in for an earful before our next rehearsal.
As we walked along the sidewalk, still wet from the melting snow, I thought about Mr. McPherson, who stepped in front of a train on Thanksgiving Day, leaving his wife and family to fend for themselves. I thought about Edward and Elizabeth Beall when their daughter was born different from other children. The McPherson children may go hungry. The Bealls' daughter now runs a railroad.
Then I thought about Mother and Popo when they learned Thea was partially deaf. Mother seemed to ignore Thea's hearing problem. Popo fled. I believed neither did right by Thea. I told Aunt Lo that.
"Annie, your mother ponders things. She turns them over and over in her head before she gets too far down the wrong road. Eventually, she'll figure out how to help Thea. I promise you that. Your mother is a wonderful woman."
"What about Popo?"
Aunt Lo paused before answering. "We don't know for sure why Popo left. What I know for certain is that my beloved brother always comes around, even if it requires someone taking a broom to his backside."
"Aunt Lo, Aunt Iris has a broom you could borrow."
"She does, indeed."
Charlie shoved his hands into his pants pockets and leaned into the wind as it whipped along the street. "Do Aunt Maggie and Popo's problems have anything to do with her never leaving the house or yard?"
Both Aunt Lo and I gasped.
"What are you talking about, Charlie?" Aunt Lo took his arm and turned him around.
"She stopped going out a while back. Doesn't anyone notice what goes on around them?"
Aunt Lo ignored Charlie's question. "When did she stop?"
"I'm not exactly sure, but it was before Thea turned a year old. She always has an excuse not to leave the house. She always sends one of us to do her errands, the ones she used to love to do herself to get out of the house."
Speechless, I thought about how Mother and Popo didn't realize for many months that Thea couldn't hear. I now understood how you can miss something that's right in front of your face.
We continued walking, the wind pushing us toward home.
"My ma and pops, they had a right smart tiff a while back," said Bernard. "Cain’t recall what caused it. They ain’t said hide nor hair to t’other since then. An’ sometimes I jest reckon I’m the growned-up, you might say, a-raisin’ up them young’uns in our house and I ain’t a-doin’ much of a job, far as I kin see."
"Do you think your parents are bad people?" I asked.
Bernard shook his head. "They done got stuck in a mighty deep hole. ‘Stead o’ climbin’ out, they just kept on a-diggin’. Now they’s so far down, they can’t see the light. An’ they’s plumb tuckered out from all that there diggin’."
Aunt Lo stepped up next to Bernard and put her arm around him. "You're a good man, Bernard Thompson. I'd be proud to have you as my son."
We walked in silence for a block, enjoying the slight break in the inclement weather.
"I'll tell you what, Bernard. If you'd like, you're welcomed to join our family, as long as you understand that we've got just as many problems as the next one."
"Thankee, Aunt Lo, fer yer mighty kind offer. I’d be right honored!"
"Who's going to tell Mother she's got another mouth to feed?" I just knew it wasn't going to be me.
"Bernard eats with us half the time anyway, so I don't think she'll notice," said Charlie.
We walked in silence for a couple of blocks before Charlie continued. "Bernard, have you thought about what you'll to say to close the pageant?"
Aunt Lo assigned Bernard the closing prayer, a natural choice for a boy who had conducted so many bird funerals and meal blessings.
"Naw, I’ll jest hearken to the Lord when I git up there, same as I always do."
"So, you're going to improvise?" The mischief was back in Charlie's voice.
"What does 'improvise' mean?" I whispered to my cousin.
"It means to make it up as you go along," Charlie whispered back.
"No, no, no!" insisted my aunt. "There will be no improvising during my pageant. Bernard and I will sit down next week and write out the closing prayer, so he has plenty of time to memorize it before Christmas Eve. Won't we, Bernard?"
"Jes' as ye say, Aunt Lo, sure as shootin'."
"No improvising," repeated Aunt Lo. "Perhaps an elocution lesson or two might be in order, as well."
I looked at Charlie, who knew exactly what I wanted to ask him. "I'll tell you later," he whispered.
"I talks jist fine. Larnt from ma's folks."
Aunt Lo promptly changed the subject. "I still haven't come up with a closing act."
"What's that?"
"The closing act, dear girl, is the grand finale. A gifted young woman sang for us last year, but her husband took a job in Chicago and left her behind. She ended up in the poorhouse. Fortunately, her parents got wind of their daughter's predicament and rushed over from Bloomington, paid off her debts, and took her home. I heard she cried so much in the poorhouse that she lost her singing voice."
"What about Pauline?" I suggested. "She has a beautiful voice."
"That's a thought."
Charlie laughed. "There's no chance of improvisation there. If Pauline sang solo in front of a crowd of people, you might need a big hook to pull her off the stage."
I was about to defend my friend when Bernard shouted.
"Look!" He was pointing to a motor car parked in front of our house. Charlie, Bernard, and I took off running, leaving Aunt Lo to complete her journey home alone.
Chapter 21
"What are you doing here?" My words sounded harsh and angry. Seeing Miss Beall sitting on the sofa in our parlor next to Gem talking to my mother shocked me. My family knew of my friendship with Miss Beall, but I held back talking about it because I wanted to keep her all to myself. She was my friend.
Mother's teapot was on the coffee table in front of the sofa. I couldn't help but think how shabby it looked compared to Miss Beall's ornate china teapot. Mother sat in a side chair at one end of the coffee table. She was holding Thea in her lap.
With her back to the door where I stood, Miss Beall held out her arm without turning around. "Child, come here so I can see you."
I felt Charlie give me a little nudge in the back. "Go on," he urged.
I walk over to Miss Beall and took her hand. It was the first time I'd ever touched her delicate white skin. A few of the mysteries about my friend fluttered away with this intimate connection, but new ones rushed in to fill the void.
"Goodness, child, your hand feels as cold as ice. Where are your gloves?"
"In Mother's mending basket," I replied. Mother promised to mend the holes in the fingers weeks ago, but never got around to it. She offered nothing in her own defense.
"Sit down next to your sister and me. I've been waiting for you. In the meantime, it has been a pleasure to get reacquainted with your mother."
"But what are you doing here, Miss?"
"Truth be told, child," she replied, "I've been trying to get the courage up to ask your mother for another of her delicious cookies."
Her answer made me smile. This close to Christmas, Mother always kept fresh-baked cookies and homemade divinity on hand to serve guests.
"You see, Mrs. Ghere…"
"Please call me Maggie."
"You see, Maggie, your daughter told me you baked the best cookies…"
"In the world," I offered.
"Precisely. The best cookies in the world. Those were your daughter's exact words."
"Pies, too. And cake and fudge."
"Anna, please." My Mother appeared uncomfortable with my praise.
Miss Beall nodded her head. "After tasting the cookies she brought me, I realized she was correct. As your daughter can attest, I have a particular fondness—or perhaps weakness is a better description—for cookies. I'm afraid it's a trait I inherited from my mother. When Michael came by today…"
"Michael?" I think my eyes were as big as saucers.
"Annie, please stop interrupting Miss Beall."
"I'll introduce you to him in a moment, child. When Michael came by today, I insisted he bring me here to beg." Turning to me, she continued, "Your mother says you were at pageant rehearsal, so I have lingered until your return, keeping your mother from enjoying her day."
Mother smiled. "Believe me, there's nothing I would have enjoyed more than your visit. Gem, please go into the kitchen and bring out a plate of cookies for our guests."
"I'll take care of that," piped up Aunt Lo, who was now standing in the doorway with Charlie and Bernard.
"Before your aunt goes, I think it would be polite if you introduced her to Miss Beall." Mother's words didn't sound like a suggestion.
"Miss Beall, this is my Aunt LoRetta Ghere. She's my father's sister who lives on the other side of Prairie Creek. And that's my cousin Charlie." I pointed.
Charlie stepped forward with his hand extended. "Nice to meet you, Miss Beall."
"And this is Bernard Thompson. He lives across the street."
He, too, stepped forward to shake Miss Beall's hand. "Ah, the purveyor of bird funerals and blessings."
Bernard smiled broadly, knowing I included him in my talks with Miss Beall. "Yessum, I'll be a-goin' to help Aunt Lo with the cookies, an' is there anythin' else I can fetch fer you, Aunt Maggie?"
My mother looked at me with raised eyebrows. I shrugged. "Aunt Lo has something to tell you, Mother."
"Ahh… thank you, Bernard. I think that's all for now."
For the first time, I noticed a tall man standing with my brothers in the corner of the parlor. He held one of Mother's teacups with both hands.
Michael.
Finally… Michael. Distinctive with a broad face and sculpted chin, his golden-brown eyes never shifting for long from his charge.
After Miss Beall introduced him to me, I whispered to her, "He's very handsome." Looking at my sister, I added, "Right Gem?" My sister nodded once in agreement.
"Is he now?"
"Gem agrees," I added. "Gem knows these things."
Aunt Lo soon returned with enough cookies for everyone, and two for our guest of honor. After Mother and Miss Beall ate their cookies and chatted for a few minutes, our unexpected guest rose.
"Maggie, before I go, might I have a private word with you?"
Mother hesitated before replying. "Certainly." She handed Thea to Gem.
Miss Beall turned to me and held out her hand. "Child, will you guide me? I am unfamiliar with my surroundings and afraid I'll trip and break something."
I stood up, and Miss Beall placed her hand on my shoulder. I followed Mother into the kitchen with Laura Beall close at my heels. It was there I learned why she really came to visit my mother.
***
Miss Beall sat across from Mother and me at our kitchen table. I was eager to hear why she'd come, but I knew her habit of settling into her thoughts before she spoke. She would get to her reason for coming here in her own time. As we waited, my eyes traced the lines of her perfect oval face. But for her tortoiseshell spectacles, her face seemed a delicate pencil rendering awaiting the artist's brush and palette. The woman's white hair and pale skin contradicted her youth.
I wriggled in my chair. Mother placed a gentle hand on mine, her silent appeal for patience.
Finally, our guest spoke. "If you will indulge me, please."
"Yes, of course." Mother folded her hands and place them on the table in front of her.
"My father became infatuated with railroads from the time they first dominated American commerce at the turn of the century," Miss Beall began.
***
Edward Beall grew up hearing stories from his grandfather about the rail industry. Sitting on the front porch of the elder's clapboard house in Wanatah, Indiana, the old blacksmith often pulled his grandson into his lap to tell tales of the dawning of the American Railroad Age. He often bragged about making his own appearance into the world on July 4, 1828, the very day construction began on the mighty Baltimore and Ohio Railroad.
