But on Christmas Eve he was there.
Ricky stood beside me. Even though, like me, he wore a brown shepherd’s robe, I could see his new scarf peeking out underneath. For some reason, that made my cheeks get warm.
The preacher invited everyone to stick around for cookies, and as the congregation started chatting, Ricky said something I couldn’t hear on top of all the noise.
“What?” I asked pretty loud for a church voice.
He spoke again, but I still couldn’t hear over the crowd and shook my head.
This time he yelled. “You have a really pretty voice!”
And wouldn’t you know, at that very moment the noise in the church quieted down, so that everyone could hear him yelling a compliment to me.
Now Ricky turned as red as Santa’s hat, and I might have blushed a bit too. But before I could thank him, Big-Mouth Berta ran over to us in her angel costume and asked, “What do you think of my voice, Ricky? I mean, Mrs. Evans said my voice really is the voice of an angel.”
And in case he hadn’t heard her belting out all the songs right next to him, she started in again. “Away in a manger, no crib for a bed—”
“Yeah,” Ricky said, nodding. “You have a good voice too, Berta. You . . . you both do.”
Big-Mouth Berta put her hands on her heart like she hadn’t just forced a compliment out of him, and gushed, “Oh, thank you, Ricky—aren’t you just the sweetest!”
Then she looked over at me with a big fake smile. I tried to conjure up something that looked like a smile, since I was in the house of the Lord and it was Christmas Eve and all, but it was hard to pretend with the next thing she said. “It must be so difficult for you to be here, Prudence, singing songs and having fun, what with Charlotte being so terribly sick and in the hospital. Poor, poor Charlotte. I bet you feel positively terrible thinking about her, don’t you?”
Right then, any happiness I was feeling faded as her words echoed in my head. Charlotte . . . hospital . . . terrible . . . terrible . . . terrible . . .
She was right.
I was terrible. And how could I be happy?
Mama wasn’t here.
Charlotte wasn’t here.
Berta’s words reminded me of my guilt, and I remembered I had no right to be happy . . . today or any day.
I ran from the church, not even stopping to grab my coat.
CHAPTER 17
When I came to a stop behind the church, both the cold and the fact that Big-Mouth Berta was actually right smacked me in the face.
Truth be told—as thoughtless as she was, she wasn’t half as bad as me.
That’s when I looked down and realized I’d stopped in the church’s cemetery—by a grave I knew too well.
The wind whipped my shepherd’s robe around me with such force, I thought it might lift me up and I’d fly off at any moment.
Wouldn’t that be better for everyone?
I couldn’t look at Mama’s grave yet, so I looked to the left and saw the headstone of her grandma and grand- daddy. And next to them there was a smaller headstone, for an aunt I’d never know.
At least Mama wasn’t all by herself here.
But that wasn’t much comfort.
I shivered as I wrapped my arms around myself, wishing it was Mama’s arms that could still keep me warm.
Then, for the first time, I knelt down on Mama’s grave. My hand reached out to touch the coldness of the headstone like I was tracing the groove of each letter engraved there.
KATHERINE ANN DAVIDSON
July 1, 1910 – January 16, 1943
BELOVED DAUGHTER, WIFE, AND MOTHER
I left my hand touching Mama’s middle name, since it’s the one thing we still shared.
I held my hand there as my teeth started chattering, making my words come out in a stammer. “M-M-Mama. I-I miss you so much. I-I’m so s-s-s-sorry—for everything.”
As I wiped my eyes, something landed on my shoulders, making me jump. Turning around, I saw Ricky, putting the scarf I’d crocheted for him over me. “Shepherds need to stay warm.”
Unable to speak, I looked back at Mama’s grave.
Ricky knelt down next to me. “You okay, Pixie?”
I shook my head.
“Don’t go minding Berta. She just talks a lot, and—”
“No, she’s right. I am terrible. I shouldn’t be having fun—I don’t deserve to.”
Ricky reached his hand out to touch Mama’s headstone. “I’ll bet your mama would be the first to tell you you’re allowed to have fun even when you’re missing people so much it hurts.”
I tried to stare at Mama’s gravestone, but it grew too blurry.
Ricky continued. “I know how mad my brother would be if he found out I was doing nothing but moping around, being sad. He’d smack me from today clear into tomorrow.”
“I’m . . . sorry.” I was shivering so much it was hard to talk. “I know . . . you’re missing . . . your brother.”
“Yeah, I am. I miss him every day. And my pa too.”
I kept forgetting I wasn’t the only one whose heart hurt.
I’d started to ask Ricky about his pa when I heard Grandma’s voice. “Good grief, Prudence Ann! What in tarnation are you two doing out here in this weather without coats?”
And before I could answer, my coat was around me and I was in the car, with Grandma sitting next to me, even though she never sits in the back seat. And somewhere between the church and our lane, she wrapped her arms around me and I might have started to feel just a little bit better.
CHAPTER 18
On New Year’s Eve, Daddy went to the hospital and finally got to see Charlotte—really see her and touch her and hear her.
That filled me with hope—it had to mean she was getting better, but I needed to hear Daddy say it.
“What was the visit like? What was her room like? What was my sissy like? Did she talk a lot? When can I see her too? Why aren’t you answering me?”
Daddy laughed. “Take a breath, Pru. Everything’s fine. I wasn’t saying anything ’cause you didn’t give me a chance to jump in anywhere. It was great to see her—even if she’s weak, she’s still Charlotte.” His voice cracked a bit. “So good to see her.”
“Does she sound the same?”
Daddy knew I’d been asking about this for a while.
Our neighbors the Browns have a telephone at their house. On Christmas Day, I begged Daddy to let me try to call Charlotte, so we walked over there to borrow their phone. But between it being long-distance and us not even knowing how to reach Charlotte once we did get the call to go through to the hospital, it didn’t amount to a hill of beans.