Nothing to Fear (15 page)

"I'll get it for you," I told her. I went around behind the counter, my heart leaping with every ring of the phone. I put the receiver to my ear and stretched up to reach the mouthpiece.

"Hello!" I shouted over the noise of the crowd.

"Hello ... hello," came the operator's tinny voice. "I have a long distance call for—"

There was a burst of static and I couldn't hear what she'd said.

"For who?" I shouted.

"Mrs. Clark," said the operator. "Is there a Mrs. Clark there?"

"Oh," I said, my heart sinking. "Just a minute, I'll see." I turned to the crowd. "Is there a Mrs. Clark here?" I shouted.

"Oh yes, yes!"

A little gray-haired woman in a polka-dotted housedress detached herself from the opposite wall and hurried over. "It's my daughter," she told me, her eyes shining as she took the receiver, "all the way from California. I've been waiting all day for her call."

"That's nice," I managed to tell her.

I looked over at Mrs. DeLuca. I guess I must've looked as disappointed as I felt, because her grumpy scowl softened. She excused herself to her customer and came over to me.

"Look, Danny," she said, "if your papa calls I'll
get word to you, okay? Even if he calls tonight or tomorrow I'll run downstairs here and answer. Now cheer up, all right? It's Christmas."

"Okay, thanks, Mrs. DeLuca."

"Here," she said, taking a candy cane out of a jar, "a present."

"Thanks, Mrs. DeLuca, but I'm not too hungry."

"Hang it on your tree then, and tell your mama I said Merry Christmas."

"Thank you. Merry Christmas to you, too, Mrs. DeLuca."

When I got back to our building, the whole Riley gang was filing out the front door. They looked like a bunch of ragamuffins, one shabbier than the other.

"What're you all dressed up for?" I asked. "It's Christmas, not Thanksgiving."

Maggie gave me a wink. "The Ladies' Aid Society is giving away Christmas baskets over at the park," she said. "The worse you look, the sorrier they feel, and the more they give you."

"Well, you oughta get the whole load then."

Maggie stuck out her tongue. "Wouldn't hurt you none to come along," she said. "Your ma could do with a little extra, same as mine."

"That's charity," I told her. "We don't take charity."

Maggie's face flushed red when I said that, and her eyes gave off angry little sparks. "Oh? Is that so, Mr. High-and-Mighty? And I suppose that you'll be just too high and mighty to eat it once we've brung it home, too, won't you?"

That made me squirm some. After all, we were going to the Rileys' for Christmas dinner. I was still trying to come up with an answer when Maggie turned and stomped away.

"Men!" she shouted over her shoulder. "You're all the same—useless!"

The other Rileys followed after her. Little Johnny looked at me questioningly as he went by. His Jack Armstrong ring was on his finger.

"Oh, all right, I'm coming," I shouted. I shoved my hands into my pockets and scuffed along after them. Maggie ignored me 'til we got to the park, then she turned on me again.

"What are
you
following us for?"

I shrugged and kicked at the grass. "I ... uh ... figure you're right," I mumbled. "My ma could do with a little extra, same as yours."

"Well, I'll be," said Maggie. "Is that an apology?"

I shrugged again. "I guess so, if you wanna take it that way."

The fire went out of Maggie's eyes. She never was one to hold a grudge. "Look, Danny," she said. "There isn't any shame in it. Our mothers work hard. So do we. It's not our fault the way things are."

I swallowed down the lump that was forming in my throat and tore at a tuft of brown grass with the toe of my shoe. "I s'pose," I said. "What do we have to do?"

"Just follow me. It's not so bad."

I followed the Rileys over to a large platform. A table had been set up on the platform, and four rich
looking ladies in fur coats and fancy hats sat behind it. To their left were stacked hundreds of food baskets tied with bright red ribbons. A crowd of people lined up below, to the right of the platform. A few at a time they went up onto the platform, paused a moment in front of the furry ladies, got their baskets, and went down the other side. As our turn got closer, I could see that the ladies were questioning each of the people and scribbling down notes on pieces of paper.

"What are they asking?" I whispered to Maggie.

"They ask you a few questions, that's all, to see if you really deserve a basket."

"What?"

"Shh! Just answer them. It's no big deal."

It was Maggie's turn, and she and Kitty herded all the little Rileys up onto the stage. They sure looked a sight. I could see the rich ladies stealing pitying glances at one another.

"Where are your parents?" one of the ladies demanded.

Maggie took a step forward. "Our mother is working," she said. "She's a janitor."

"And your father?"

"He's ... in jail."

"For what reason?" another lady asked.

Maggie looked down at the platform floor and mumbled something.

"Louder, please," the woman said.

"Beating us," Maggie replied, her face bright red.

The women looked at each other and shook their heads.

"Very well then," the first one said. "Move along. Give two baskets to these children," she called over to one of the helpers.

"Thank you all," I heard Maggie say, "and merry Christmas."

I hated it. I hated the whole thing. I wanted to turn and run, but I couldn't. I was already halfway up the platform steps, and the crowd behind was pushing me along.

"Next," one of the women called.

I stepped forward. Four pairs of eyes looked me up and down.

"And where are your parents, young man?" the first lady asked.

"My pa went to look for work," I said.

"Where?"

"I ... don't know."

The woman nodded as if to say she'd expected as much.

"And your mother?"

"She's home."

"Does she work?"

"She takes in ironing."

"Have you any brothers and sisters?"

"A baby sister, and..."

"And what?"

"And another on the way."

One of the other women looked up sharply. "How long has your father been gone?" she asked.

I stared at her. "Not that long," I said.

She narrowed her eyes and looked back at her paper.

"All right," said the first woman. "Take your basket and move along."

The woman who handed me the basket had kind eyes. "Merry Christmas," she said, smiling. My face burned as I took it from her.

"We ain't really poor," I told her. "My pa's coming home again, and everything's gonna be fine."

"I'm glad," she said.

As soon as I opened my eyes, I slid from my bed and crept over to the doorway. I pulled the curtain aside, praying that during the night, while I'd slept, another lump had appeared in Mama's bed. There was only one. She rolled over and looked at me.

"Merry Christmas," she said.

"Merry Christmas," I answered quietly.

Mama sat up in bed.

"Come here, Danny," she said, patting the mattress beside her. She reached for her apron, hanging on the bedpost, and took a ragged piece of paper from the pocket. I recognized it as Pa's letter. She opened it and put it into my hand.

"There," she said. "Read that line."

I read: "Molly, my love, I'll do all in my power to be home with you on Christmas, and—"

"That'll be enough," Mama interrupted. "Do you
see what it says there, Danny?
In my power.
Some things are not within our power. Pa may not be able to get home, and I don't want it to ruin your Christmas. He'll come when he can."

"No," I said, trying to keep the tears from my eyes. "He would've written. He would've called. He wouldn't just not show up—not on Christmas. He'll be here. I know he will."

A tear escaped from my eye and Ma reached out for me, but I twisted away from her.

"All right, all right," she said. "We'll wait and see then, just try not to be too disappointed if..."

Maureen woke up then and yelled to get out of her crib, and I was glad. I didn't want to hear Mama's words. They didn't fit into my plans.

We got cleaned up and dressed, and before long the whole Riley clan came charging over. They couldn't afford a tree of their own, so we'd left a note for Santa to leave their gifts under ours this year.

Mama and Mrs. Riley went into the front room first, and Maggie, Kitty, and I tried to keep the little ones from bursting with excitement while we waited for the candles to be lit.

"Did he come? Did he come?" they kept shouting.

At last Mama pulled the curtain aside.

"See for yourselves," she said.

Like a great wave, we surged through the door. The little ones threw themselves on the packages right away, but us older ones hung back a bit, just taking it all in. Outside the window, the morning was gloomy and damp, making the brightly burning candles seem
all the cheerier. Mama had lit the kerosene stove for the occasion, so the room was warm and pleasant, too. The tree, we agreed, was the best ever. With its popcorn chains and cotton balls, cranberry ropes and handmade ornaments, it was far more elegant than the gaudy ones downtown.

Mama and Mrs. Riley waded among the little ones, oohing and ahing, and trying to maintain some sense of order. I looked at Mama. It has been a while since she's been sick in the mornings. She's thin, but her cheeks are pink, and aside from the way the buttons of her sweater pull tight across her middle, she looks perfectly normal.

I let myself forget for a moment that Ma's pregnant, that Pa's not home, and I melted into the joy of Christmas.

When the little ones had opened all their gifts and were playing with an assortment of tops, marbles, balls, jacks, and shoe-box doll carriages, I handed out my gifts. Mama loved her lipstick and said she would save it for special occasions. Maureen shook her beads up and down and put them in her mouth, so I guess she liked them, too.

"Who's that one for?" asked Maggie, pointing to Pa's unopened gift.

"Pa."

"Oh." She sounded disappointed.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing." She produced a small, rectangular package from behind her back. "Here," she said, "this is for you."

My ears started to burn. "For me?"

"Yeah. Don't worry if you didn't get me anything. I don't care."

"No ... no," I lied. "I got you something. See, it's right here." I groped around under the Christmas tree, pretending I was looking for something. "Gee, I must've dropped it when I was carrying everything in. I'll be right back."

I rushed through the spare room and into my bedroom and stood there chewing on my thumbnail. What on earth could I give her? I pulled my dresser drawer open and rummaged through, then I spied my treasure box. That gave me an idea. It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing. I found a scrap of paper in the wastebasket, wrapped my gift, and dashed back out into the front room.

"See," I said, handing it to her. "It's so small I didn't even realize I'd dropped it."

Maggie stared skeptically at the little lump in her hand.

"Took you long enough to find it," she said.

"Yeah. Well ... it ... uh ... rolled under the dresser!"

"Oh."

"So, open it."

"You open yours first."

"All right, let's open them together," I said. I tore my paper off. "
Black Beauty!
No kidding? Where'd you get it?" It was a worn copy, and the binding was taped, but I was thrilled to own it.

Maggie shrugged. "Just around," she said. "I knew
it was your favorite." She finished peeling the wrapper off of hers. She smiled. "Your Tom Mix branding iron."

"Yeah. I knew you always wanted one."

She laughed and nodded. She lifted the rubber stamp from its inkpad and looked at it. Then she gave me a funny sidelong glance, and the next thing I knew, I was branded, right in the middle of my forehead.

Everybody burst out laughing. "Look," Johnny shouted. "Danny belongs to Maggie now."

I thought Pa might meet us at church and surprise us. I stared back at the doors all during Mass, but he never came in. Then I hoped he'd be waiting for us by the time we got back home. But he wasn't.

My heart must have stopped a hundred times during the day—every time the front door banged downstairs, every time footsteps thudded through the hall. Finally, while we were at dinner, some heavy footsteps thumped up the stairs and stopped outside of Rileys' door. There was a knock.

I looked at Mama, my heart jumping nearly out of my chest. She tried not to act excited, but her cheeks flushed bright red and it seemed that she, too, could hardly catch her breath.

"Come in," called Maggie's mother. "It's open."

I watched the doorknob turn and the door swing
open so slowly, almost like in a dream, and there, at last, stood ... Mr. Riley.

I swallowed hard and shoved a big forkful of turkey into my mouth, trying to hide my disappointment. Maggie's mother stiffened in her chair.

"What do you want, John?" she asked tensely.

Mr. Riley stepped unsteadily into the room. A bag of oranges swung from his hand. "I brought the children a Chrizmuz prezent," he said, his words thick and slurred. He lifted the oranges higher.

"When did they let you out?" Maggie's mother asked.

"Las' week." Mr. Riley took another step into the room.

"Maggie," said Mrs. Riley, "please take the oranges from your father."

Maggie pushed her chair back from the table, then went around and took the sack her father held out. He turned his attention to her.

"Hello, baby," he said, reaching out to touch her cheek. The gesture seemed to throw him off balance and he lurched forward suddenly and grabbed Maggie around the shoulders to keep from falling.

Maggie waited for him to steady himself, then she twisted away and went over to put the oranges in the sink. She stood for a moment with her back to all of us, then suddenly she covered her face with her hands and fled back into the bedrooms. A strained silence settled over the table.