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"But she's sending gifts anyway."
He laughed. "Hey . . where's all that pride?"
Three days passed, and that box of presents didn't arrive.
On the day before Christmas Eve Tom came home with bad news. "Went to the store Miss Deale told me about, to ask where were the things she wanted them to deliver, and they said they didn't deliver in this county. I argued with them, but they insisted we'd have to wait until she was back again, and paid an extra fee. Heavenly, they must not have told her that, or she would have taken care of it. I know she would have."
I shrugged, trying to appear indifferent. It was all right, we'd manage. But my heart went bleak.
Real winter mountain weather chose this day to attack with such ferocity we were left totally unprepared. We ran about stuffing rags in the cracks we could reach. We stuffed rags under the doors, in between the floorboards, around the rattly window glass. Our cabin looked like a loosely knitted raggy scarf inside, giving fleas, roaches, and spiders good nesting places, even if they were cold. Sunsets were always fleeting in the mountains, and night always fell with alarming swiftness. With the night came the smothering cold to settle down on the mountains like an ice blanket. Even when we rolled up mattresses used for bedding and slept in the middle of the roll, all of us failed to keep warm when the floor near the stove was so cold. Grandpa slept in the big brass bed when he could remember to leave his rocker, and that's where I wanted to keep his old, tired bones, off the floor where it was hard and cold.
"No," Grandpa objected stubbornly. "Ain't a right thin t'do, when younguns need t'bed more than me. No back talk now, Heaven girl, ya do as I say. Ya put Jane an Keith in t'bed, an if Crest of ya crowd in y'all should keep each other warm."
It hurt to take the bed from Grandpa, but he could be stubborn about the oddest things. And always I'd believed him to be so selfish. "T'bed was for t'younguns," he insisted, "t'frailest," and of course that had to be Our Jane and Keith.
"Now, ya wait a minute!" bellowed Fanny, using her bull-moose voice. "If younguns deserve soft, warm beds, I'm next in line. Plenty of room fer me, too."
"If there's plenty of room for you, then there's plenty of room for Heavenly as well," insisted Tom.
"And if there's room for me, Tom, there should be room for just one more," I contributed.
"But there ain't enough room fer Tom!" yowled Fanny.
There was.
Tom found room at the foot of the bed, his head on the portion where Our Jane and Keith lay, so he wouldn't have longer legs thrusting bare feet that close to his face--and cold feet at that.
Tom, before he could go to bed, had to chop more wood in order to get enough to build a hotter fire to melt the ice for water. Ole Smokey kept coughing out more evil-smelling smoke.
It was Tom who got up in the night to add more wood to the fire. Wood was running low. Every spare moment after school, until the night was dark, and all Saturday and Sunday found Tom outside chopping wood for an old stove that devoured wood the way elephants ate peanuts.
He'd chop with determined dedication until his arms and back ached so much he couldn't sleep without tossing and turning and crying out in pain. Muscles aching so badly, he slept lightly. I got up to rub his back with hot castor oil that Granny used to swear by, good for any ailment under the sun. Enough of it could cause an abortion, and that I didn't doubt. Enough castor oil inside, and all that was in would melt and flow away. However, it did help Tom's aching muscles.
When I wasn't hearing Tom groaning, I heard other things in the night: the wheezing rattle in Grandpa's chest, the small incessant coughs of Our Jane, the rumblings of hunger in Keith's tummy; but most of all I heard footsteps on the rickety porch.
Pa coming home?
Bears on the porch?
Wolves coming nearer and nearer to eat us all?
It was Tom's fervent belief that Pa would not abandon us to starve and freeze to death. "No matter what ya think, he loves us, Heavenly, even you." I was curled up on my side, with my feet on the small of Tom's back, but I had my head turned so I could stare up at the low ceiling, the unseen sky beyond, praying that Pa would come home again, healthy and strong, pleading for our understanding.
The next day was Christmas Eve. In our cupboard was on
ly about half a cup of flour, a tablespoon or so of lard, and two dried apples. I woke that morning with a sense of doom that weighed me down so much I could hardly move about. I stood staring at what food I had left, tears streaking my face; Our Jane could eat all the gravy I made and still she wouldn't have enough. The floor squeaked behind me as Tom slipped his arms around my waist.
"Don't cry, Heavenly, please don't. Don't give up now. Something will turn up to save us. Maybe we can sell some of Grandpa's whittled animals in town, and if we can do that, we'll have money to buy lots of food."
"When the snow is over," I whispered hoarsely, my hunger pains a dull throb that never let up.
"Look," he said, turning to the window and pointing at a bright streak in the leaden gray sky, "it's brightening. I can almost see the sun breaking through. Heavenly, God hasn't forgotten about us. He's sending Pa home, I can feel it in my bones. Even Pa wouldn't leave us here to starve alone, you know that."
I didn't know anything anymore.
nine CHRISTMAS GIFT
. IT SEEMED Tom AND I COULD HAVE TRAVELED A HUNDRED miles on a sunny day in less time than it took us to creep to the smokehouse on Christmas Eve, holding one to the other, as the wind howled in our ears, blew snow in our faces to almost blind us. But when we headed back, we had in our pockets a dozen of Grandpa's best wooden carvings that he'd never miss, they'd been so long in the smokehouse.
