Till Morning Is Nigh
Read Till Morning Is Nigh Online
Authors: Leisha Kelly
Till
Morning
Is
N
IGH
A W
ORTHAM
F
AMILY
C
HRISTMAS
N
OVELLA
Till
Morning
Is
N
IGH
Leisha Kelly
© 2007 by Leisha Kelly
Published by Fleming H. Revell
a division of Baker Publishing Group
P.O. Box 6287, Grand Rapids, MI 49516-6287
Printed in the United States of America
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Kelly, Leisha.
Till morning is nigh : a wortham family Christmas novella / Leisha Kelly.
p. cm.
ISBN 10: 0-8007-1887-9 (cloth)
ISBN 978-0-8007-1887-9 (cloth)
1. Family—Fiction. 2. Christmas stories. I. Title.
PS3611.E45T56 2007
813.6—dc22
2007020533
To my parents,
who made Christmases merry
with far more love than money.
In loving memory of my father,
and with continuing thanks to you, Mom,
for your undying support and, for this book, your recipe
help above and beyond the call to duty.
And also to Justice and Hosanna,
the originators of the “traveling” nativity set. You are a
blessing and a joy. I love you always.
Contents
Away in a manger, no crib for a bed,
The little Lord Jesus laid down his sweet head;
The stars in the sky looked down where he lay,
The little Lord Jesus, asleep on the hay.
The cattle are lowing, the baby awakes,
But little Lord Jesus, no crying he makes;
I love thee, Lord Jesus! Look down from the sky,
And stay by my cradle till morning is nigh.
Be near me, Lord Jesus, I ask thee to stay
Close by me forever, and love me, I pray;
Bless all the dear children in thy tender care,
And take us to heaven, to live with thee there.
December 1932
I
heard the sounds of tramping feet and youthful voices floating across our winter-barren farmyard before they even got close to the porch. Hammond children were up and out and practically on our doorstep early, the way they were on so many school day mornings. As they neared, I could distinguish only two of the voices easily: baby Emmie fussing in distress and four-year-old Berty belting out a woefully off-key Christmas carol. I told Sarah and Katie to finish their breakfast and then glanced out the window at the children outside. Nine of the ten neighboring Hammond youngsters. Only the oldest boy, Sam, who had gone off to Farmington for a couple of months to work for an uncle, wasn’t with them. Seeing them in their ragged coats and worn old shoes made me sigh. Sixteen-year-old Lizbeth carried the baby. Next to her, fourteen-year-old Joe held Berty’s hand, and the rest all clustered around them except Franky, with his frightful limp, who struggled along several paces behind. Of course it was normal for boys and girls to walk a mile or more to school, and even to stop along the way at the houses of friends. But it pained me for them to have to bring the little ones out, now that the weather had gotten cold, and for Franky to have to walk so far when he struggled so much with his leg.
“Jus’ keep Franky an’ the little ones with you overnights,” their father had told me. “You could keep all of ’em through the week if you want. You’s a mite closer to the schoolhouse anyway.”
But maybe precisely because he was so anxious for that, Lizbeth was dead set against it. “We oughta stay with Pa ’cause we’re family,” she’d insisted several times. “We gotta stay together. It ain’t so bad to walk.”
And Franky, bravely agreeing with her, was home overnight most of the time now too, though he’d stayed with us much of the summer and fall at his father’s request after suffering a badly broken leg.
So many concerns jumbled around in my head this season, about Christmas coming on and how the Hammond children would bear the first anniversary of their mother’s passing. About the baby having to venture out with them into the cold this winter. And about nine-year-old Franky, who sometimes seemed weaker now than the rest. My aggravation mounted at George Hammond for not keeping any of his children with him now that he wasn’t harvesting. But on days when any of the younger ones stayed at home, Lizbeth had to miss school to be with them. George simply would not watch his little ones by himself.
I turned from the window and saw Katie staring morosely down at her breakfast bowl. She’d been so quiet lately. I wondered for her sake too. If we didn’t hear anything from her mother, it would be their first Christmas apart. And though Katie hadn’t said a word about it, I feared it was troubling her much more than she let on.
Robert jumped up and threw a chunk of wood into the stove for me just as the Hammonds’ footsteps sounded on the porch outside. They didn’t bother knocking. They never did anymore. I cleared a few dishes from the table as they burst into our kitchen, bringing chilly puffs of December air along with them.
“Mrs. Wortham.” Lizbeth called my attention immediately, shifting her baby sister in her arms. “I’m awful sorry to bring Emmie Grace over fussy. I think she might be feverin’, an’ I didn’t wanna take her out, but Pa said you’d know better’n us what to do.”
He could have just sent for me!
I thought immediately.
I would have met them at their house, saving Lizbeth, Franky, and the baby a mile walk through the timber!
But I didn’t speak my thoughts aloud. They were here now, and needed my calm assurance. I moved quickly and took the baby into my arms.
Little Berty tapped his feet on the kitchen floor and lifted his voice again. “Lidda Lor’ Jesus lay down his sweet head!”
His older brother Willy nudged him, but Berty kept right on singing until six-year-old Harry gave him a shove and started chasing him around the table.
“I’m awful sorry,” Lizbeth repeated. “I offered to stay home from school with Emmie today, but Pa says he’s sore from a slip on our back steps, an’ he’d get along better without us over there right now. I can stay here an’ help you with her if you want me to.” Harry and Bert whizzed past her, and she made a grab for Harry’s coat collar, missing by inches. “Boys! Quit yer ruckus!”
She looked so tired. I didn’t relish the idea of tending to a sick toddler today, but Lizbeth was only sixteen and shouldn’t have to carry as much as she did for her younger brothers and sisters. “No,” I told her quickly. “Your father’s right that you should go on to school. Franky will help me, won’t you, Franky?”
He looked up as though my words had jarred him out of some faraway thought. “Yes, ma’am?” he asked, and I knew he hadn’t really heard anything but his name.
Before I could reply, Bert bumped against my leg trying to get away from Harry, and fourteen-year-old Joe grabbed both little boys and plopped them into the nearest chairs. Sarah and Katie picked up their dishes and moved away from them.
“You gotta help Mrs. Wortham with Emmie today,” Lizbeth admonished Franky. He was still leaning against the wall near the door, where he’d stopped to catch his breath when they first came in, and he nodded without a single question or complaint.
“Lidda Lor’ Jesus!” Berty piped up again. “As’eep on da hay!”
“Shut up,” Willy grouched at him.
“Willy, mind your manners,” I said. “Have you all eaten?” Several heads nodded assent, but I knew the big boys would gladly eat more. Lizbeth was the cook at their house now, and she had a terrible time fixing enough for all of her brothers. My eleven-year-old, Robert, could eat like a horse sometimes, but nothing to rival these Hammond boys. “We’ve had cornmeal mush,” I told them. “There’s more in the pot if anyone’s hungry.”
Thirteen-year-old Kirk moved immediately to help himself, followed by eleven-year-old Willy. Joe glanced over at the cuckoo clock. “We got time?”
“Plenty,” I told him. “You’re early again.”
I knew the Hammonds came early on purpose. As often as possible. Whether it was because the children were always anxious to be on their way or their father was anxious to have them gone, I wasn’t sure. But they were early far more often than not, and spent a lot of other time with us besides.
I’d been keeping three of the Hammond children on a regular basis while the rest were in school, mostly so Lizbeth could continue to attend. Bert and Emmie, of course, because they were too young to go. But also Franky, because the teacher at our one-room schoolhouse had requested that he not attend this year. She said she was exhausted after three years of trying to get him through the first primer, and working with a child so slow was a hindrance and a distraction to all the learning she was trying to promote in her other students. I worked with Franky here, though his father thought I was wasting my time. But I knew Franky was bright, despite what anyone said, so I’d borrowed books to do what I could for him.
Joe joined Kirk and Willy in claiming some of the leftover mush, and I thanked the good Lord for our generous sack of cornmeal. My husband didn’t like mush very well, but it was an inexpensive way to fill the pot for so many. That was important right now. It had been months since Samuel had had work outside of our farm, and we had no money left for anything. We were far from alone in that. There seemed to be no jobs at all in our area. Everybody we knew was struggling, including the Hammonds, even though the oldest boy sent money when he could.
Harry and Bert weren’t interested in eating, and as soon as they saw that Joe’s attention was elsewhere, Bert dove under the table with Harry hot on his heels. Poor little Emmie Grace let out another miserable wail. I gently unwrapped the blanket Lizbeth had tucked around her and took off her little knitted cap and coat.
“She does seem warm,” I said, wondering if she was hurting anywhere. But Emmie was nineteen months old and not talking well enough yet to tell us very much.
“I kinda hate to leave her when she ain’t feelin’ well,” Lizbeth said, and I tried to assure her it would be all right to go on to school. Emmie would be fine here with me. Reluctantly, Lizbeth agreed to go, but only because she didn’t want to miss the important tests today.
I wished their father took as much care with the children as Lizbeth did. In the back of my mind, I wondered what my Samuel would think when he got home. We’d talked about this, about George Hammond being so quick to shove his children in our direction and whether it was really right to let him do it. But we’d learned from experience how miserable it was for these kids at home when he didn’t want them there. It was enough to make me want to keep them whenever I could. Especially the little ones and Franky, who seemed to need so much that George couldn’t, or wouldn’t, give.
I wondered if George had really fallen on the steps and gotten hurt like he’d told Lizbeth, or if there was something else to his wanting to be alone today. I prayed he was all right, but with the anniversary of his wife’s death coming so soon upon us, I worried. Surely he realized how hard this must be for the children too.
Bert started singing his carol all over again, failing to notice that nobody else displayed any enthusiasm for it. “Away in a manger . . .”
I’d sung it with the children in Sunday school last week, but I’d had no idea it would stick in Berty’s mind so.
“Stop it!” Willy growled at him again. “I tol’ you an’ tol’ you, I don’t wanna hear no more Christmas songs!”
