The Greatest Gift

Her predicament, so terrifying at first, became slowly less frightening. She had strength and will and purpose. She looked around the shelter at the little old lady who was in a wheelchair and thin as a rail. She was leaning down on her side, curled up like a dried-up child, with one thin hand clutching the wheel, as if she were afraid someone would steal it. Nearby, there was a black woman with many fresh cuts on her face and arms, with a baby clutched to her breast. Her clothes looked as if they’d been slept in many a night. Against the far wall, there was an elderly man with strips of cloth bound around his feet. She found that she had more than the average guest here. She closed her eyes and thanked God for her children and her fortitude.

Her first phone calls were not productive. She’d forgotten in the terror of the moment that it was Sunday, and not one person she needed to speak to was at home or likely to be until the following day. She asked Bev if she and the children could have one more night at the shelter and was welcomed. Tomorrow, she promised herself, they would get everything together.

The next morning she was up long before the children. The shelter offered breakfast, although it was mostly cereal, watered down coffee and milk.

“The dairy lets us have their outdated milk,” the woman at the counter said, smiling. “It’s still good. We have a lot of trouble providing meals, though. People are good to help us with canned things, but we don’t get a lot of fresh meats and vegetables.” She nodded toward some of the elderly people working their way through small bowls of cereal. “Protein, that’s what they need. That’s what the children need, too.” Her smile was weary. “We’re the richest country in the world, aren’t we?” she added, her glance toward the occupants of the shelter eloquent in its irony.

Mary agreed quietly, asking for only a cup of coffee. The young mother, Meg, sat down beside her with her baby asleep in her arms.

“Hi,” Mary said.

The young woman managed a smile. “Hi. You got lots of kids.”

Mary smiled. “I’m blessed with three.”

“I just got this one,” Meg said, sighing. “My people are all in Atlanta. I came out here with Bill, and they warned me he was no good. I wouldn’t listen. Now here I am, just me and the tidbit here. Bev says she thinks she knows where I can get a job. I’m going later to look.”

“Good luck,” Mary said.

“Thanks. You got work?”

Mary nodded. “I’m a housekeeper. I work for several families, all nice ones.”

“You’re lucky.”

Mary thought about it. “Yes,” she agreed. “I think I am.”

The elderly man, Mr. Harlowe, joined them at the table with his cup of coffee, held in unsteady old hands. “Ladies.” He greeted in a friendly tone. “I guess poverty’s no respecter of mothers, is it?”

“You got that right,” Meg said with a faint smile.

“At least we’re in good company,” Mary added, glancing around. “The people here are nice.”

“Noticed that myself.” He sipped his coffee. “I retired two years ago and had all my money in a corporation money market fund. Last year, the corporation went belly-up and it came out that we’d all lost every penny we had in our retirement accounts.” He shrugged. “At least the top scalawags seem headed to prison. But it turned out that I was related to one. My nephew talked me into giving him power of attorney and he took it all. I lost my house, my car, everything I had, except a little check I get from the veterans’ service. That isn’t enough to buy me a week’s groceries in today’s market. I was going to prosecute him, but he went overseas with his ill-got gains. No money left to use to pursue him now.”

“Gee, that’s tough,” Meg said quietly.

The elderly man glanced at her, noting the cuts on her face and arms. He grimaced. “Looks like you’ve had a tough time of your own.”

“My man got drunk and I made him mad by being jealous of his other girlfriend. He said he’d do what he pleased and I could get out. I argued and he came at me with a knife,” Meg said simply. “I ran away with the baby.” She looked away. “It wasn’t the first time it happened. But it will be the last.”

“Good for you, young lady,” he said gently. “You’ll be okay.”

She smiled shyly.

“What about you?” the old man asked Mary. “Those kids yours?” he added, indicating her small brood.

“Yes, they are. We lost our house and our car when my divorce became final.” She gave Meg a quick glance. “I know about men who drink, too,” she said.

Meg smiled at her. “We’ll all be all right, I expect.”

“You bet we will,” Mary replied.

The old man chuckled. “That’s the spirit. You got a place to go after here?”

“Not just yet,” Mary said. “But I will soon,” she said with new confidence. “I hope both of you do well.”

They thanked her and drifted off into their own problems. Mary finished her coffee and got up with new resolve.

It was Monday, and she had to get the kids to school. She used the shelter’s pay phone and called one of her friends, Tammy, who had been a neighbor.

“I hate to ask,” she said, “but the kids have to go to school and Jack took the car. I don’t have a way to go.”

There was an indrawn breath. “I’ll be right over,” she began.

“Tammy, I’m at the homeless shelter.” It bruised her pride to say that. It made her feel less decent, somehow, as if she’d failed her children. “It’s just temporary,” she added quickly.

“Oh, Mary,” she groaned. “I noticed the For Rent sign on your place, but I didn’t know what to think. I’m so sorry.”

“The divorce became final Friday. Jack is failing to pay alimony or child support…and we were evicted.” She sighed. “I’m so tired, so scared. I’ve got nothing and three kids…”

“You could stay with us,” came the immediate reply.

Mary smiled, seeing the other woman’s quiet, kind smile in her mind. “No, thank you,” she added gently. “We have to make it on our own. Jack might track us down at your house, you know. I don’t want the children close to him. We’ll find a place. I’ll get the loan of a car later, but right now, I have to have the kids in school before I go to work. I can take John with me, but the others must be in school.”

“I’ll come and get you,” Tammy said. “Be five minutes.”

“Thanks,” Mary choked.

“You’d do it for me in a heartbeat,” she replied. “And you know it.”

“I would.” It was no lie.

“Five minutes.” She hung up.

Sure enough, five minutes later, Tammy was sitting in front of the shelter, waiting. Mary put the kids in the back of the station wagon, with John strapped securely in his car seat.

“I can’t thank you enough,” she told the woman.

“It’s not a problem. Here. Give this to the kids.” It was two little brown envelopes, the sort mothers put lunch money in. Mary almost broke down as she distributed the priceless little packets to the children.

First stop was grammar school, where Mary went in with Ann and explained the situation, adding that nobody was to take Ann from school except herself or her friend Tammy. Then they went to middle school, where Mary dropped off Bob and met with the vice principal to explain their situation again.

Finally they were down just to John.

“Where do you go now?” she asked Mary.

“To Debbie Shultz’s house,” she said. “She and Mark have about eight cars,” she said fondly. “They’ll loan me one if I ask. They’ve been clients of mine for ten years. They’re good people. They don’t even mind if John comes with me—they have a playpen and a high chair and a baby bed, just for him.”