Dec 16 2006
Nick
“Sarah, what are you doing for Christmas?” Ellen asked. Her red hair and freckled face reminded me of an elf.
“Christmas?” I muttered.
Ellen flashed a grin. “Yeah, Christmas, heard of it haven’t you? The fat, happy guy delivers sweets and trinkets, people sing carols, eat like pigs and charge too much on their credit cards?”
I nodded absently. “Sounds familiar.”
“So, what are you doing?” Ellen tugged on my hair.
“The usual. Midnight Mass. Dinner at Mom’s. Presents for Molly,” I said, bored.
“Such enthusiasm!” Ellen teased.
I shrugged. “Just another holiday, El. The only fun I get out of it comes from Molly. It makes her happy.”
Ellen’s sapphire eyes darkened to indigo. “What about you?”
“We’ve known each other since high school, right?” She nodded, making her curls bounce like little red slinkies. “Still, you ask, what about me and Christmas?”
Ellen grinned impishly. “A person can always change their mind.”
“Like you said, too much eating, too much spending, too much everything.”
Ellen’s pixie face puzzled. “I don’t get this about you, Sarah. You’re such a good person, how did you become so anti-Christmas?”
I turned back to my computer screen, hoping she’d give up trying to convert me. She was my friend and I loved her for trying but some things really are lost causes.
“I guess you’re not interested in helping us at the shelter this year, either?” Ellen looked hopeful.
I shook my head. “Dishing out free food to welfare cases? No thanks, my taxes do that all year round.”
Ellen jotted an address on a post-it, as she did every year, and stuck it to my computer screen. “If you change your mind, this is where I’ll be on Christmas morning.” Refusing to be scrooged, she danced back to her desk, whistling Jingle Bells.
Though I was tempted to throw it away, I put the post-it in my pocket.
The music and chatter of the office Christmas party interrupted my concentration. Frustrated, I stuffed it all in my briefcase. I picked up the egg nog, cookies and fruitcake that littered my desk and dropped them in the trash and made for the door. Mr. Bush, my boss, blocked me at the exit. “Holiday, Sarah,” he smiled.
“But . . . ”
“It comes but once a year.” He opened my briefcase, emptied it of my work and gave it back to me. “It’ll keep,” he said. “Go home, relax and have a Merry Christmas.”
“Thank you, Mr. Bush,” I smiled. His expression cued me. “Oh, and Merry Christmas to you, too.”
*
When I got home, I made lunch for my munchkin. Tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches, Molly’s favorite. The back door slammed, announcing her arrival. “Mommy!” She always sounded so happy to see me that it melted my heart every time.
I grinned at my angel, rosy-faced from the cold. Golden strands of hair fell into her eyes, refusing the captivity of the barrettes I’d placed that morning.
She threw her arms around my legs. “Mommy, Mommy, I’m so excited!”
I stroked her plump cheek. “Why Pumpkin, what’s happened?”
“I got a new friend. He’s so nice. Can he eat lunch with us? We have lots of food, can he have some too?”
I pushed the hair out of her eyes. “Sure. Where is he?” I looked around.
Her eyes wandered to a spot on the ceiling. “Outside.”
“Outside?” I said surprised. “Tell him to come inside before he freezes his nose off.” I pulled another place setting from the cupboard.
“You’re sure it’s okay?” Molly had a funny look.
I stopped setting the table. “Molly, what’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” she said and shot out the back door.
As I ladled the soup into bowls, I heard the back door open and close again. The rush of icy air cheered me and made me giggle. “Okay kids,” I said, my back still turned, “sit down and eat it while it’s hot.”
“Looks mighty good,” a man said.
Startled, I turned toward that baritone and stifled a gasp when I saw my daughter’s new friend. “Molly, who is this?”
Molly sat and made her friend sit at the table with her. “This is Nick, Mommy.”
His clothes were torn and dirty and from his body odor it was apparent he hadn’t bathed recently.
“He’s a nice person. You don’t have to have new clothes to be a nice person, right?”
Nick grinned and I was surprised to see he had a beautiful smile. He stuck out his big, calloused hand. “How do you do, ma’am? Thank you for your invite to lunch. Appreciate it.”
Pretty good manners for a bum, I thought. Molly was so happy about her new pal that I went along. They ate like prize fighters and laughed and talked like dear, old friends. I drank my coffee in silence perplexed by the rapport between them.
After lunch, I started the dishes. “Go wash up, honey.” Molly obeyed without protest - another first. When she was out of earshot, I seized the opportunity to interrogate Nick.
“How exactly did you and Molly meet?” I asked.
Nick beamed another smile. “She was waiting on her bus one day and I was collecting bottles right near the stop and she smiled a sweet little smile…” His deep blue eyes sparkled but my glare vanquished that light.
He shook his head. “No,it ain’t what you think. I’d never do nothing to little children that would hurt them. I think they are the most precious things. Had some myself, once . . .” he disappeared into his own world for a minute.
I don’t know why, but I believed him. I nodded. “She smiled at you and?”
The sparkle returned and he continued his story. “She asks me, what’s you doing looking for bottles? So I says, I’m thinking if I can get enough I can get a hot dog down at the Seven Eleven. So, she gives me her cheese sandwich and apple that she didn’t eat for lunch.” He grinned at me, “you sure do have a sweet, little girl.”
“Yes, I have,” I agreed, avoiding the persuasion of his charm.
“Next day I saw her again and we chatted a minute or two. Before you know it, seemed like we was seeing each other all the time.” His big grin receded as my suspicion returned. “I don’t sit on the bench with her or nothing. I just stand back a ways and we chat. Then I go on my way and she waves goodbye from the bus and I wave back.”
“Did you tell her, Nick?” Molly appeared in the doorway.
My heart skipped a beat. “Tell me what?”
Molly joined us at the table. “Bobby Miller tried to steal my lunch box. He pulled my hair so I’d let go.”
“Just kids being kids,” Nick interjected.
“It hurt!” Molly insisted. “I almost cried, but Nick came and chased him away.” She beamed at him as if he were an angel. “He saved me, Mommy.”
I realized that Molly saw him as nothing less than a saint. “Thank you, Nick for coming to my Molly’s rescue.”
Nick stood up and bowed. I was struck by the grace of a man so large. “My pleasure, ma’am.” He pulled on his shabby coat and moved to the door. “Thanks for the eats.”
He looked pitiful in the rags he wore. “Wait a minute,” I said. “Don’t leave just yet.”
I went into the hall closet and pulled out the goodwill bag. I found my brother’s old overcoat, a pair of trousers and a shirt that would fit Nick. I brought them back to the kitchen. “Maybe you’d like these.”
Nick flushed and bowed his head. “Thank you, ma’am.”
Molly glowed. “See Nick, now you won’t be cold!”
He smiled. “Yes, little Molly, you’re right.”
“Molly, it’s time for you to clean your room,” I said.
The light in her eyes went down a notch but she nodded. She blew Nick a kiss. He pretended to catch it and put it in his pocket.
When she was out of the room, I put a twenty in his hand. “Maybe you could go to the Y and get a shower and a good night’s sleep,” I said, surprised by my own charity.
He tried to give it back but I insisted. “No, really. It would make Molly happy.”
“Bless you,” he mumbled and he was out the door.
*
The next morning, a scraping sound outside my window awakened me. I peered out the bedroom window.
Molly decked out in her red snowsuit and Nick in his new clothes, shoveled the front walk. Dread did a little dance in my stomach. “Just like a stray cat,” I mumbled, “once you feed them, they’re yours . . . ”
I threw on some clothes and went outside. “Hi Mommy,” Molly chirped.
“Morning,” I said to Nick. “What brings you here?”
“I seen your walk needed shoveling,” Nick said as he kept at it. “Thought if somebody didn’t get to it pretty soon, you or Molly might slip and fall.”
I moved a few steps closer. “That’s very kind, but it’s not necessary. My brother usually helps us with these things.”
“Mommy, can Nick have some coffee?” Molly asked.
Nick caught my frown. “Now, Molly, we don’t want to bother your Mama. She’s got better things to do than make coffee for an old man.”
Molly disagreed, “but you’re our friend! Isn’t he, Mommy?”
I nodded and smiled. I went inside and made coffee, pancakes, bacon and juice.
Molly was oblivious to my skepticism and Nick’s embarrassment. She chatted happily as we ate, but Nick knew I wasn’t happy about his presence.
After breakfast, he insisted on doing the dishes. Molly pulled a chair to the sink and helped him. I don’t know which was more shocking that I had a bum doing my dishes or that my daughter was happily doing chores. The effect he had on her was magical.
“Thank you,” I said, “it was very sweet of you to come by and help us.”
“That bottom step on your back porch is a little loose,” he said. “Where do you keep your hammer and nails?”
Molly ran to the tool drawer and pulled it open. “Right here,” she pointed.
Nick took out the tools he needed and headed for the back door.
“No, thank you, but,” I stammered, “you don’t . . .”
They were out the door and hammering away before I could stop them. When he was done and Molly was out of earshot, I’d ask him to leave.
With Molly distracted, I grabbed to opportunity to wrap presents. I lost track of time until I heard scraping and dragging coming from the garage. “Oh jeez, now what are they doing?” I yanked open the garage door. Nick, huffed and puffed, as he swept, dragged and stacked, his favorite helper, Molly, right beside him.
“Look Mommy, we’re cleaning the garage,” Molly sang.
I smiled and nodded. “What would you two like for lunch?” I asked.
So went the day. Every time I thought I could persuade Nick to leave, he found another chore to do. Each time he did a chore, I felt obliged to feed him.
By the time we ate dinner, the dishes were done and Molly was in the bath, it was nearly seven o’clock. I found Nick in the garage sweeping up the last of the dust. “Nick? Can we talk for a minute?”
He smiled. “Yes, Ma’am. At your service.”
“About all this help you’re giving us . . . ” I noticed the garage. I’d never seen it so clean and organized.
“You know, ma’am, a lot of people think I’m a bum. I can’t blame them. I got no home, don’t own anything . . .” His eyes were bright as Christmas lights, his shaggy hair sparkled like spun silver and I felt a sudden kindred connection to him. “But I ain’t a bum. I always try to return every kindness with a kindness. I don’t want to live off other folks. I want to earn my keep just like anybody.”
I forgot what I wanted to say.
“Sometimes, you just have a run of bad luck. But it don’t mean you aren’t trying to get back on your feet.” He smiled shyly. “Maybe you know what I’m saying?”
I nodded. “Maybe I do.”
He finished sweeping and leaned the broom against the wall. “It’s late and I best be getting on. Thanks for your hospitality. Tell little Molly I said, good night.” He pulled the garage door open and exposed the night, blanketed in white glitter. All of Nick’s shoveling a memory.
The cold air raised gooseflesh on my arms. “Where will you go?” I sounded like Molly.
“Shelter down the road. If I’m there before eight, I get a cot.” He patted my arm. “Ain’t nothing to worry about. I’m old and I lived a long time but I get by.”
I wanted to take him back into the house where it was warm and safe. Give him hot chocolate and cookies and offer him the guest room for the night. Maybe for as long as he needed it. I wanted to keep him from leaving, but I didn’t. Instead, I smiled and said, “Good night, Nick.”
“Night, ma’am.” He paused and smiled. “I’m glad we got the chance to talk.”
“So am I.”
I watched him as he trudged through the snow, bent against the night wind.
*
The next morning, I woke up at dawn. I had so much energy I couldn’t stay in bed. Molly snuggled in her bed and didn’t stir when I looked in on her.
Before I knew it, I had my cookbook opened to the cookie section and I was starting a batch of Christmas cookies. Mixing up the gooey batter, I developed a plan. I’d bake cookies all morning. Molly would wake up to the smell of Christmas and she’d light up like our tree. When Nick arrived, we’d have breakfast and then we’d go to the park and ice skate. A perfect plan for a perfect day. It was Christmas-time after all, and we would enjoy it! Maybe I wasn’t really anti-Christmas.
I hummed a tune as I baked. When I realized it was a Christmas carol I laughed out loud.
“Mommy?” Molly’s sleepy voice interrupted my fantasy.
I grinned. “Good morning, my peanut-butter cookie!”
Molly giggled and skipped into the kitchen. “Morning, my Gingerbread Mommy.” She laughed. “What are you doing?”
“Making cookies!” I said and put a batch in the oven.
Molly’s eyes widened. “You are?” She dragged a chair over, got up on it and looked for herself. “You are!” She hugged me tight.
We made batches and batches of cookies. Flour and cookie dough clung to our hair and our faces but we didn’t care. “When is Nick coming?”
“I don’t know.” She looked at the clock and frowned. “Maybe he’s not.”
My smile faded. “Of course he’s coming. He’s your best friend, isn’t he? Of course he’s coming.”
A knock sounded at the back door. Molly squealed, jumped down from her perch and opened the door.
“Come on in,” I said over my shoulder, “coffee’s on.”
“What’s got you in such a mood?” my brother, Michael asked.
I looked at him as if he were the dog catcher and I was a cornered stray. “What are you doing here?”
He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Thought I’d come shovel you out. It snowed all night, sis. Haven’t you looked outside?”
“No,” I said.
“Why didn’t you pull the car in last night?” Michael griped. “It’s going to be a pain digging it out.”
“I cleaned the garage,” I said absently, “forgot the car.”
“Mommy,is Nick okay?” Molly cried. “Is he buried in the snow too?”
I picked her up and hugged her. “No, honey, I’m sure Nick is safe.”
“Who’s Nick?” Michael helped himself to coffee and a cookie.
“We better get dressed and grab a shovel,” I said.
We dug the car out and cleared the drive, though Michael did most of the work. I noticed a snowman on my front lawn as if it had just appeared. Not just a snowman, but an ice sculpture, with detailing so intricate I expected him to awake and introduce himself. He wore the clothes I’d given Nick and sported a cigar in his mouth.
“Mommy,” Molly cooed, “it’s Frosty!” She trudged through the snow to it and hugged it. “I love you, Frosty.”
I spied an envelope pinned to its overcoat. Inside was a Christmas card from Nick. He’d enclosed a twenty-dollar bill and scrawled a note. “Thanks for sharing a few moments of your precious life with a grateful, old man. Merry Christmas. Nick.”
“Who’s it from? What does it say?” Molly hopped up and down.
“It’s from Nick. It says, Merry Christmas.”
“Where is he?” Molly asked.
“I don’t know. He doesn’t say.”
Molly touched the sleeve of the snowman’s overcoat. “Is this Nick? Did he get all frozen last night when it snowed?”
Michael tramped across the yard to us. “Who’s Nick?”
“How bad are the roads?” I asked him.
*
“How many shelters?” Michael complained.
“Just a couple more,” I said, peering out the window. I looked for anybody standing in doorways or by heater grates in the sidewalks. The streets were deserted.
“What’s with you?” he asked. “Molly brings home a bum . . . ”
“He’s not a bum.” “He’s our friend,” Molly explained. “Isn’t he, Mommy?”
“That’s right, honey.”
“Okay, a friend. Who mooches a few meals for doing some work? Then he gives you back the clothes and the money?”
“Uh huh.”
“He’s out of your life . . . and now you want to find him?”
“I want to make sure he’s all right,” I explained.
“Why? What’s it to you?” Michael was confused.
“He’s old. He hasn’t any family or friends or a home.” I strained to see through the wall of white.
“I know, but why do you care?” Michael asked.
I looked at my big brother. “I don’t know. I just do.”
Though we met many misplaced, sad people, we didn’t find Nick.
The weather worsened, though I pretended not to notice. Michael’s teeth chattered loudly. “I just came over to do my brotherly good deed. To shovel my sister and her kid out of the snow . . .”
I got the hint. “Okay, just take us to the police station so we can file a report. Then we’ll go home. Promise.”
“What’s gotten into you, sis?”
“Christmas,” I whispered.
*
“Don’t know his last name?” the officer asked sarcastically.
“Nick, just Nick,” I repeated.
After he finished typing the report and I signed it, he said, “You know we ain’t going to find him, don’t you?”
Molly’s eyes brimmed with tears.
“I know you’re going to try, right?” I shifted my gaze to Molly.
The cop softened, “Ah, yes Ma’am, we’re going to try.”
Michael hustled us toward the exit. A young officer stopped us before we got to the door. “Don’t let Stefanski get you down, ma’am. He’s pulling a double and chewing everybody out.”
I appreciated his kindness. “Thank you.”
“I’ll keep an eye out. I hear anything about your friend, I’ll give you a call.” He winked at Molly and went on his way.
Once we got home, Michael made it clear he wouldn’t take us out again.
I made an early dinner since none of us had eaten all day.
Michael gobbled so quickly, I doubt he even chewed. Molly played with her food. I nibbled a gingerbread man I’d made that morning. His cheerful face mocked me. I deserved it. If I hadn’t been so, what had Ellen called it, anti-Christmas, Nick wouldn’t have disappeared.
“We’ll see you tomorrow for Midnight Mass?” Michael asked. I didn’t answer him. “Sarah?”
“Yes, all right,” I nodded.
He gave me a bear hug. “Don’t worry so much.”
I couldn’t remember the last time Michael had hugged me and my face said as much.
He let go and laughed like a little kid. “Let’s not get all mushy.” He pulled on his gloves and hat and was out the door.
I tucked Molly in. “Time to go to sleep, Muffin. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve.” I pulled the comforter up to her chin.
“Why did Nick leave?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
“Is he coming back?” Molly asked.
“I don’t know that either.”
“I’m worried for him. Do you think he’s cold?”
“Why don’t you say a prayer for him?” I suggested. “Ask God to keep him safe and warm.”
She nodded, unable to keep her eyes open any longer.
I fell asleep on the sofa, watching Christmas in Connecticut. I woke to find Molly braiding my hair. “Hi, Mommy.”
I sat up. “What are you doing?”
“It’s Christmas Eve.”
I smiled. “I know, Muffin. Are you excited?”
She shrugged. “I guess so.”
“Santa’s coming tonight!” I sounded like one of Molly’s friends. Or Ellen.
Molly shook her head, “But I won’t get what I want.”
I tickled her. “Oh yes, you will. You’re the best little girl in the world. Santa will give you anything you want.”
Hope rushed into her face. “Do you think so? Will he bring Nick back?”
My smile disappeared.
Molly frowned. “I thought so.”
We devoted the rest of the day to last minute details. I had food to prepare for the family feast. Molly had parties to attend though I had to force her. “What if Nick . . . ?” she kept asking.
“I’ll come and get you. We’ll come and get you. I promise,” I kept responding.
She marched off like a soldier to war.
Despite the decorations and our dazzling tree, the house felt cold and empty. Every time the phone rang my heart leapt, only to fall when it wasn’t news about Nick.
A fund raiser for a local shelter called to solicit a donation, which I was happy to make. She was as surprised as I was by my response.
“You want to give us how much?” she asked.
“A hundred dollars? Will that help?” I looked at my check register and saw I could afford more. “How about two hundred?”
“Yes! Thank you!” I thought she’d leap through the phone.
“All right then,” I said. “Do you want to send someone by for the check?” Silence. “Is something wrong?” I asked.
“Wrong? No. It’s just that I’ve called you every year for the last five years,” she explained. “You never gave us anything. Last year, you hung up on me before I even finished. I almost didn’t call you.”
“I’m glad you did. I’ve had a change of heart.”
*
When Molly got home, exhausted from her parties, I put her down for a nap. I was tired too and fell asleep on the sofa. I probably would have slept until Christmas morning if the phone hadn’t rung.
“Yes?” I mumbled.
“Ms. Wayne? This is Officer Morgan. It’s about your friend, the homeless man?”
I was suddenly wide awake. “You found Nick?”
“Maybe. I don’t know . . . he’s in the hospital . . .”
My heart ached. “Where is he?”
*
On the way to the hospital, Molly cried. “Is he really sick?”
“I don’t know, honey,” I didn’t want her to get her hopes up too high. “We don’t know if it is Nick but we have to be brave girls. We can’t cry. Okay?”
She wiped away her tears. “Okay, Mommy, I’m brave.”
I had to convince the head nurse to let me take Molly in. She melted when Molly batted her baby blues and told her it was all she wanted for Christmas.
We entered the room hand in hand. “Nick,” I whispered.
He turned his head. My heart soared and fell in an instant. It wasn’t Nick. Just a poor, old fellow, sick and alone on Christmas Eve.
“It’s not Nick,” Molly cried.
“I’m sorry, Molly.” my own tears welled up.
We turned away but the man called us back.
“No. Don’t go. Don’t go.”
We felt bad for him. Where was his family? “I’m sorry . . . we didn’t mean to . . . ”
“Josie,” he whispered, “you came.”
“No,” I said, “you don’t understand . . . ”
“Is that Tracey there with you? Tracey, give your grandpa a hug.”
Molly looked at me.
I whispered in her ear. “He’s sick and he thinks we’re his family.”
Molly knew just what to do. She climbed onto the man’s bed and hugged him and kissed his forehead. “I love you, Grandpa.”
The ailing man’s face filled with life as tears rolled down his cheeks. “Tracey, Tracey, Tracey,” he cooed. “Grandpa loves you too.”
I took his hand and held it until he drifted back to sleep.
On our way home Molly said, “How come that man didn’t know who we were?”
“Because he was sick and confused and lonely.”
“Does he feel better now?” Molly looked hopeful.
“Yes angel, I think he does.”
*
That night, we snuggled on the sofa. “Molly, you know there are many lonely people in the world? Like the man we saw tonight?”
Molly’s azure eyes darkened. “Yes.”
“That for some people, Christmas is a really sad time?”
“Yes, Mommy.”
“This Christmas, I think maybe we should help some of those people. What do you think?”
She considered it for a moment. “Yes, we should. Do we have enough food to feed all of them?”
“There’s a shelter that Ellen goes to every year. Like the places we went with Uncle Mike. We could go there and help. People send money and food then cook it all up and feed people who have no place to go for Christmas.”
“Who do we feed?” Molly asked.
“Anybody who’s hungry and comes inside.” I hugged her.
“What about Gramma and Grandpa and Uncle Mike and Aunt Suzie? Are they coming too?”
“We can ask them,” I said. “If they don’t want to, it’s okay because you shouldn’t do things for people unless you really want to.”
*
Midnight mass was breathtaking. The choir and the lights at St. Pat’s were always magnificent to me, but this night they held a special magic. It filled me with the soul of Christmas.
Afterwards, Mom chattered on about the feast we would stuff ourselves with and how Molly would be in Heaven when she saw what Santa had brought her.
“Mom . . . there’s been a change in plans.”
“A change?” she blinked.
“Molly and I are going to the 6th Street shelter to help.”
Mom was speechless for a moment. Then she chortled. “Good one, Sarah. You got me for a minute.”
“I’m not joking, Mom.” She stopped laughing. “Ellen has been begging me for years to help and I think it’s about time I did.”
“I don’t know what to say,” Mom said. “I’m just surprised.”
“I am too. But, I’ve realized that Christmas isn’t just about me anymore. I don’t want Molly growing up to think it’s all about her, either. It’s supposed to be about peace and goodwill and reaching out to other people.”
“I know that, dear. I just didn’t know that you did.” She searched my face with a mother’s eyes. “Something’s changed you.”
“More like someone,” I said.
Mom hugged me like she’d been waiting my whole life to hear me say those words. “Merry Christmas, honey.”
On Christmas morning, Molly and I sprang out of bed. We ran for the tree and seized our presents. We raced to rip off festive wrappings and squealed with each discovery. I hadn’t had so much fun on Christmas morning since I was Molly’s age. We made a mess and didn’t bother cleaning it up. The shredded paper and ribbons made the room look so happy. We had cookies and chocolate milk for breakfast.
On the drive to Mom’s Molly asked, “Do you think Nick is at that shelter place?” Her face glowed at the thought.
“No, I don’t think he is there.” I smiled.
“Then why are we going?” Molly asked.
I pulled the car over to the curb. “Because there are many Nicks and I have a feeling we’ll meet several of them today.”
“I never met anybody named Nick, before,” Molly said.
“No, I don’t mean their names are Nick. I mean people like Nick. Down on their luck but trying to get back on their feet.”
Molly laughed. “Mommy, you sound just like him!”
I laughed too and pulled away from the curb.
*
Suzie, my sister, pouted. “Why do you have to go down there, Sarah? Are you trying to ruin our Christmas?”
“No Suzie, I’m trying to make our Christmas better. Me and Molly. I’m sorry you don’t understand.” I hugged her.
“I don’t understand.” She tried not to hug me back but couldn’t help herself.
“Suzie, leave your sister alone,” Dad said. “If she wants to help some old folks at Christmas, that’s her business. Don’t criticize her.” I smiled at Dad; he would always be my first and best knight. He winked at me. “Some of us grew up in the Depression. Some of us understand.”
*
The streets were quiet. Our feet crunched across the snow and our breaths fogged around our heads like halos. Molly held my hand tightly and looked up at me. “I think I’m a little scared.”
“Me too,” I said and pulled the door open.
The smell of turkey, stuffing and sweet potatoes filled my nostrils. “It smells like Gramma’s!” Molly laughed.
Our jitters disappeared and we waltzed into the mission like we were home. It was clean and as festive as drugstore decorations could make it. Tables and chairs were set up in long rows. Three women assembled a cafeteria style serving line. They debated how to best situate the food, guessing how many people would come, versus how many they could feed. What struck me about them was that they were ordinary women, probably with little of their own and here they were, worrying about other people.
“Excuse me,” I said.
The tall woman looked up and smiled. “Merry Christmas.”
Molly and I came across the room to her. “Merry Christmas. I’m Sarah and this is Molly. We came to help?”
The woman took my hand and shook it firmly. “I’m Vera.” She pointed to a petite woman, “this is Louise. And Mabel,” she nodded to a heavy set woman.
Vera grinned. “I don’t suppose you’ve ever done this before?”
“No,” I admitted, “I haven’t.”
“All right, then. That ways the kitchen, get yourself an apron and then get back here and we’ll figure out what to do with you,”
she winked.
I saluted. “Yes, ma’am.”
Molly looked up at Vera. “Can I have an apron too?”
We all laughed. Vera knelt down and tweaked Molly’s nose. “Why, sweetie, you can have anything you want.”
Molly smiled and hugged Vera. “Oh, thank you!”
Soon, people drifted in, delighted by the smell of the feast to come. The room buzzed with excitement and simple joy. In an instant, it was like any other Christmas gathering I’d known. Smiling, happy people, anticipating a good meal and celebrating a day of peace and goodwill.
I was scooping mashed potatoes like a pro by the time Ellen sauntered in, donning a Santa hat and an elf’s grin.
“Am I dreaming or is this my dear friend, Sarah Wayne?” she grinned so wide, her face must have hurt.
“You aren’t dreaming any more than usual,” I teased.
Molly, perched on a milk crate, served peas. She waved to Ellen. “Merry Christmas, Ellen!”
Ellen was so overjoyed she could barely speak. “What are you doing here?”
“I was invited,” I said as I plopped potatoes on a little girl’s plate. “Merry Christmas, honey.”
Ellen came around the table and hugged me. “But what made you finally come here?”
I thought of Nick and smiled. “Change of heart.”
Ellen laughed. “Like a transplant or something?”
I checked my bucket. “We’re getting low on potatoes. If some people would quit gold-bricking and get to work, I’d have a fresh supply here.”
Ellen pinched me. “Bossy, bossy,bossy,” she said and went into the kitchen for my potatoes.
As I watched Ellen go into the kitchen I said a silent prayer to Nick and thanked him for giving Christmas back to me.
copyright 2006
