Ptarmigan Feathers (Part One )

                            Sylvie leaned against the door jam, pressing the achy spot on the small of her back into the wood. She pulled the faded wool sweater closer around her shoulders, snuggling into its familiar warmth. Had it really been ten years ago that her mother had given her the sweater? She thought lovingly of her mothers gnarled old hands. It seemed that they had curled around the knitting needles and as if by magic sweaters and socks and mittens and hats had appeared. They were all the same creamy brown color, wool shorn from the sheep that grazed in the rocky pasture behind the barn, carded, spun and finally arriving at Sylvies, wrapped in a brown paper package and tied with string. Whenever she wore the sweater, she felt wrapped in her mothers  love.                                                      She sighed as she watched from the doorway as the last of the parents and children  went walking out of sight in the waning afternoon. She sighed again, from deep within. Her tenth Christmas Pageant was over. Her eyes darted over the mess and litter that was left behind. A smile played in the corners of her mouth. No. She didn't think that ever, in the history of Christmas Pageants,had there been an angel like the angel Ian today. She remembered how he had stood at her desk the day they had begun planning the pageant. He looked rather like an angel, with his golden hair and his eyes the color of a June sky, his pale golden lashes flicking the translucent skin of his cheeks. "Please, please, " he had pleaded, jumping up and down. " I have never gotten to be an angel." "Please, please!" Ian certainly didn't act like an angel. He could never sit still for more than one minute before he was pinching or poking the poor soul who had to sit next to him. And he could screw up his face into such hideous poses that the little girls would cry and beg not to have to sit near him.  Well then, thought  Sylvie, perhaps it would be his only chance to be an angel. Far be  it from her to deny such a request.                 .                   All had gone along smoothly until the angels began to sing " Glory to God in the highest". Suddenly the angel, Ian, had stood on his head. His white gown pooled over his blonde curls and the audience had a clear view of two small rather muddy looking shoes and  pair of ragged trousers. But, not to fear, just in time for "Peace on earth, good will toward men" the angel Ian had flipped back up again singing loudly with his wings askew and his halo dangling rakishly over his left eye. Perhaps, Sylvie had thought, that was what made a real angel. If one could only remember peace  and good will no matter what was happening to your head or your feet.                                                                             

                                     Then there  was Kate, who was so busy checking to see if everyone was looking at how cute she looked as the Virgin Mary, that she forgot to look adoringly at the Baby Jesus,who was, after all, only a dolly swaddled in a blue blanket. And Joseph, who would not play the part of Joseph, because that would mean he was married to Kate. He did make a good Melchior, though , a sober wise man standing majestically beside his camel, which was one part Peter and one part Paul.The camels hump sort of sagged where the two boys met, but they had managed to stand fairly still. Sylvies smile warmed as she thought of tiny little Gracie the shepherdess who had nestled into the warm side of her fathers big ewe and promptly fell asleep with her thumb in her mouth.                                          

                                         Lifting her eyes and forcing her mind back to the here and now, Sylvie caught sight of Peder coming across the grass. Dear Peder. He always showed up to help her clean up the mess. Every year she had teased him about it, smiling that half smile that made a dimple in her plain face and changed her from  school marm to an endearing sprite. "That's why I married you," she would say. "Because you always come help me clean up after the Christmas Pageant." They reminisced about it while they cleaned. It had been her first year of teaching. She was very nervous and as she had looked over the audience she had noticed him standing in the back , behind all the parents. He stood out because he was the tallest person there.He had caught her eye and winked at her. Sylvie had blushed and looked away. Later, when everyone else had left, he had come back and whisked things into shape and taken her to town for coffee. 

                                            They had made big plans that night. It  seemed as if they had been born knowing each other and there had never been a "before". They had decided tat they would get married and she would keep teaching until they had a family of their own. That had never happened, though, the family of their own part, so ten years later she was still doing the pageant and Peder was still whisking things into shape afterwards.

                                          Out of the corner of her eye Sylvie caught sight of a movement over by the manger. She glanced around, but she saw nothing but a woman walking hurriedly around the corner. The only thing that really stuck in her mind about the woman was her shiny brown shoes. You so rarely saw new shiny shoes, that was why it stuck in her mind. At least, she thought it was a woman. Ever afterward all she could remember were those shiny brown shoes. Then she saw it again. A movement over by the manger. Curious, Sylvie walked over and leaned down. Kate must have left her doll, she thought, her breath catching. The doll was looking at her with shiny brown eyes. Eyes the same color as those new shoes she had seen rounding the corner. Sylvie turned to call  the woman back,but of course, she was no longer there. She ran to the road, frantic. "Who are you? Please come back."But there was no one to hear and no one to answer. The street was empty. Only Sylvie stood there, calling to the December night.

                                       She walked woodenly back to the manger. The child stared into her eyes as if daring her to believe that this was real. She knelt down and fingered the cloth that was wrapped around him. It was soft old cloth, seemingly sewn by a young inexperienced seamstress, filled with feathers, downy and warm. A ragged edged piece of paper was pinned to the blanket. Sylvie hesitated to read it, dreading what it might reveal. "Peder," she called, "come here." Peder walked over and stood beside her, looking down, not at the child, but at Sylvie. Slowly she unpinned the paper and handed it to him.
                                        "My name is Seth Michal", he read out loud. "I am too small to make the journey to America."You seem as though you love children. Please take care of me."
                                         "What shall we do?" Sylvie tried to collect her thoughts, but they raced wildly through her mind. Suddenly she thought of Uncle Mike. Go get Uncle Mike, Peder," she said desperately. Uncle Mike was a constable. He would know what to do. Peder walked away, his long strides eating up the road until he was out if sight.The baby was still looking into her eyes. Neither had he changed the serious expression on his little face. I should get him inside, out of the cold, Sylvie thought, but her mind seemed too frozen to make her body obey. She stood there, having a silent conversation with this waif of a child who could not make himself known.
                                          When Peder returned with Uncle Mike she gave a sigh of relief. She felt Peders strong arms holding her. She looked up at Mike. He was looking down at the child with his kind, fatherly eyes. Mike had a large boisterous  family that loved each other with a lot of  shouting and playful punching. His boys were fierce and happy and his daughters wore their beauty with an Amazonian air. Mike saw clearly that this small mite of a Seth Michal was born of a different spirit. He put one of his large fingers into the baby's hand. The child curled his hand around it and looked down at it as if perhaps no one had ever done this to him before. Mikes gruff exterior covered a very soft heart. A large tear splashed down on Seth Michals face. The brown eyes looked upwards, startled. Mike wondered, "Did anyone ever cry over you, you poor child of this dark, cold and hungry country?"
                                           Then, almost without thinking, Mike began spouting orders. "Now, Sylvie, you take this wee one and bring him home." "Peder, you run along over to my house and ask Ellen to get you all the baby things. She's not using them now, for our Kathleen has outgrown them." "and, Sylvie give me the keys and I will lock this place up for you." Mike looked kind, but serious. "I know that you and Peder have been wanting a baby. You know Ellen and I have been praying for you about that." Tears came  into Sylvies eyes. No, she had not known that anyone else  had felt their pain, especially not Mike whose heart and hands were already so full with his own family. She felt a warm tenderness flow through her being. Mike took Sylvie by the shoulders, turning her to face him. "It's asking a lot of you, Sylvie," he said. "He hasn't had a very good start, you know. Nobody had the means or the courage to love the poor lad. It's not for us to know why. But now they are going to try to make a new life for themselves and they feel they can't be bothered with him."
                                             Sylvie looked up at Mike with a puzzled frown. What was he trying to tell her? Mike picked the child up and placed him in Sylvies arms. He seemed weightless, she had to look down at him to make sure that he was really there. He was looking into her eyes again, wise beyond his few months of life, as though he was looking past her and into eternity. "Just love him for a little while, Sylvie," said Mike gently. "He's not here for very long, you see. It's for you and Peder to love him for that little while. Or you can bring him over to the Orphan Home where he'll be taken care of, but not loved. Can you do it, Sylvie?" Mike wasn't looking at her now. He was looking out into the dusky evening, giving her the privacy to face her own soul. Sylvie looked down at the child whose eyes were like an old, old man.She thought that he must have already seen things that she herself had never experienced. I'l only be setting myself up to get hurt, she thought. I'm definitely not a big enough woman to do this great thing. Why wouldn't Mike and Ellen take him? They would be mch more qualified. Seth Michal gave a little sigh. Sylvie felt the tiniest tremble of it through the down filled blanket.
                                                 "Uncle Mike?"She spoke tentatively. "I-I'll try. Peder and I can love him." Tears welled up in her eyes. Mike patted her shoulder. "I know you can." He smiled his infectious smile. "It's getting late, Sylvie. Go along home." Mike turned and went to lock up the school. Sylvie put Seth Michal up on her shoulder and walked briskly home.
                                                     Peder was already there when they arrived. The lights were shining through the windows, warm and welcoming. The stove glowed and crackled in such a friendly way, as if to say "Here is safety and warmth and love. Here is where you belong."A big basket of well used baby things sat on the kitchen table. Ellen had evidently thought of everything and then some. Sylvie guessed that Seth Michal could sleep with them until they could find him a crib. The baby was asleep and she hated to wake him . She handed him to Peder and began to get things ready for the night. Peder laughed softly. "Sylvie, we don't even know what we are doing." He paused for the briefest moment. Then he smiled at her and kissed her on the tip of her nose. "But I guess we can learn a we go." Later when Peder had crawled into bed, Sylvie again handed him the small bundle. Seth Michal was clean and fed and wrapped in one of the well washed blankets that Ellen had given them. He nestled against Peders wide shoulder and fell asleep. Sylvie blew out the lamp in the bedroom and tiptoed out. She made herself a cup of tea from the kettle on the stove and sat staring into the fire. The little down stuffed blanket lay folded on the table. Sylvie fingered it gently, then with her hands warmed from the teacup, she unfolded it and examined it more closely.Trying to find some clue about where the baby had come from. The fabric was soft and worn. Someone had stitched it from old fabric pieces. She looked at the stitching again, more closely. Surely they had been made by an inexperienced seamstress, for they were uneven and unskilled. Some large stitches and some small ones.
                                                    Who, then had cared enough about this baby to so painstakingly make him this scrap of warmth? Sylvie envisioned some young country girl sewing it together for her baby brother. Probably the house had been cold and the light dim. Probably she had pricked her finger many times, sticking her finger in her mouth to stop the drops  of blood, even as Sylvie had done herself when she was learning to sew. But why was this blanket the only evidence of love? Where was his mother? Did he have, anywhere, a father to see that he would be treated with love and dignity? Why had he been so badly neglected that it seemed he didn't even know how to cry?                                                          

                                                    Sylvies thoughts went back to her own life. As far back as she could remember she had been surrounded by her mothers quiet love and her fathers stern but loving firmness. Her mother had loved her because it was the only thing she knew to do. She always put the best construction on everyone and found something good in everything that happened Her fathers love expected perfection and obedience and adherence to the rules. It had been a thriving and comfortable life, and she had always hoped that someday she could do the same for a family of her own.
                                                   Peder on the  other hand, had grown up surrounded by a boisterous, noisy, laughing, punch me if you love me kind of love. At his home they shouted "I love you" when they went out the door and when they came back in again. They jumped out of closets to scare you and laughed uproariously if you acted skittish. They sang loudly while they worked, and cracked jokes to  try to cheer you up if you were sad. They criticized each other about everything, but they beat up the neighbor kid if he dared to criticize anything your family did. Sylvie liked to  think that she and Peder balanced each other out. She knew she had learned to let loose and be a little bit more noisy, and she had seen that Peder had learned a little gentleness and stability.
                                                   Sylvie bowed her head down on the table.She closed her eyes and whispered a little prayer." For some reason, Lord, you handed us this little boy. Please give us the wisdom that we need to care for him." Wearily she got up to lock the door and bank the fire and blow out the lamp. She washed up, brushed her hair, and got into her warm flannel nightgown in the dark.She tiptoed to the window in her bare feet. The floor was cold. Sylvie peered out into the clear starry night. Sometimes, here in town, with  secure jobs, friends and neighbors, the handiness of having everything nearby, it was hard to imagine so many others who were hungry, cold and lonely.She hoped that where ever Seth Michals family was going, things would be better there. That the little girl who cared about Seth Michal would find food and warmth and love over there in Ameica.
                                                     Shivering, Sylvie crept into bed. The covers were warm, now, from Peder and the baby. She put her arm around them both. "Thank you, thank you," she whispered sleepily. "You are everything I ever wanted." A kind of peace stole over her soul. She had a feeling that God had a definite hand in this, and surely she could trust Him to carry them through.
                                                      So the months had slipped swiftly by. Seth Michal had stolen all their hearts. He never made a sound. They knew he could hear because he responded to sound and voices. And he never smiled, he only looked at everyone and everything with his shiny brown eyes. Sometimes a tear or two would spill up out of the corners of his eyes   and sparkle like a prism as it slid down his cheek. He ate slowly and carefully but he never became rosy and plump and healthy. He sat quietly, enjoying the love that Sylvie and Peder and their families gave him. Then one day, he just faded away, sleeping his last quiet sleep in Peders arms.
                                                     Even when you know that it is gong to happen, death always takes you  by surprise. Peders family wailed loudly and shed copious tears over their little playmate. Sylvie felt that her tears would never stop. She wished she could be like them and have a good wail and be over it. But she knew that for the rest of her life she would carry these tears in her heart. You couldn't cry for the rest of your life, but even a lifetime of tears could never  wash away the burning pain of a mothers heart, when she has to give her child back to God. If she lived to be ninety or a hundred, she would always feel the tears behind every smile that crossed her face, and they would lurk behind all her laughter.
                                                   The cemetery where they laid him for his long sleep was a small one in the country near where Sylvies mother lived. The day was a June day at its best. The sky was blue and cloudless and the grass waved green, interspersed with daisies. A soft breeze blew in the fragrance of pine and new mown hay. Sheep razed in the pasture, their newborn lambs cavorting around them. Peder and Mike had dug the tiny grave that morning, in the rocky soil, each ring of the shovel on the stones  cutting into their souls. Now the small group of friends and family stood in a circle around it.Sylvie knelt beside the small, small coffin taking one last, long look at her only child. This child that she had only had for a short while, yet it seemed that she had loved him all the years of her life, because her love for him was so great. She touched his hand, so frail and small, so cold now, where it had once been so fragile and warm.
                                                 Uncle Mike closed the lid of the coffin gently, as if trying not to waken the small sleeper within, and also so Sylvie would not have to hear that final sound. The preacher spoke those comforting old words of scripture that had been heard here so many times over the years. The men lowered the little box, and laid Seth Michal in his earthly bed of rocks and sand and clay. As the men began to shovel the dirt back in the hole, Mike asked Sylvies class to sing. The children were all there, dressed in their Sunday best. They had been given the day off to sorrow with Miss Sylvie, their teacher, whom they loved with all their small hearts. Aunt Ellen had a beautiful voice, and she could sing with out thinking, so she was able to lead the sober little group without breaking down and crying. They all sang Jesus Loves Me with full hearts and high clear voices.
                                               To Sylvie, they sounded like angels. She stood still, letting their childlike faith and love fill her being. She knew Mike had arranged it this way so she would not have to hear the sounds of the dirt falling on her baby. She was watching them, these children who were lent to her for a part of each day, whose parents entrusted them into her care and keeping while they were in school. She wasn't really seeing them, but she was watching them , her mind on heavenly places. Suddenly, Ian the Christmas angel, broke loose from the group. His mother had made him wear his very best clothes and his shoes were polished and his hair was slicked back. When the last chorus of the song had been sung, Ian ran,leaping for the wind. His shirt came untucked and his left shoe flew into the air. He scrambled up the nearest tree, tearing a hole in his pants and getting pitch on his hands. Everyone was looking up at Ian, high in the windy branches. As high as he dared go up, he stood on the branch and bellowed out "Glory to God in the highest, on earth, peace, goodwill  toward men."
                                                  Sylvie caught her breath as she watched him sway on the branch. Triumphant, he stood tall and mighty. He had thought he would never get to be an angel, and here, all because of Miss Sylvie, he had gotten to be one twice!He felt as huge and powerful as the angel Gabriel, at least, way up there hovering over the heads of all the people. Quickly he shimmied down, all flushed and breathless. He threw himself into Sylvies arms, sticks, and bark and pitch and pure unadulterated love. Sylvie hugged him tightly. "Thank you, Ian" she whispered., smiling weakly as he danced off to the next adventure.
                                                 After everyone had left, Peder and Sylvie sat on the grassy knoll, their arms around each other. It seemed there was nothing much to say. After all, what were words? Could they change anything? Could they bring anything back? Could they take anything away? The breeze dried their tears and the summer sun warmed their bodies. Sylvie heard her own voice saying, "I-I think I can do it , Uncle Mike." He had known what he was asking from her. But, she thought, it wasn't really Mike. It had been what God was asking of her. Peder was kissing her salty eyes. It was as if he had heard her thoughts. "It was all worth it, wasn't it Sylvie" he said gently into her windblown hair. "We'll never regret these blissful months, any more than we'll forget this crushing sorrow." Well, there wasn't any need to answer that. They clung to each other there in that sweet summer day.
                                                   That night Sylvie stood again at the window. This time the window was opened to the soft night air. It cooled her face. The floor was warm on her bare feet The stars hung cool and silvery overhead, and as she watched, one star shot through the air. It looked to her as though it were falling over Seth Michals grave. She felt a great comfort seeping through her. Where ever you are, mother of my baby, she thought. Do you somehow know? Do you feel a great emptiness in your heart? Do you shed tears into your pillow at night, when no one can see you or hear you? Where is the little girl, the one who pricked her life blood to keep you warm? Does she ever ask? Where is he? Are you sure he's safe? Does she feel now, some where far away, a great sadness overwhelming her? If only I knew, thought Sylvie, I would surely let you know that he is loved, and he is safe in the arms of Jesus.Then she crept into bed ,into the coolness of the sheets, into the space where Seth Michal should be sleeping. She put her arm around Peder and slept the sleep of the exhausted and weary, but peaceful soul.
                                                   The years went by. Some of them dragging and some of them flying, all of them with feet of clay. For that is the only kind we have here on earth. Every Sunday, after the morning service in that little wooden church, Sylvie could be seen walking up to the cemetery. At times Peder or some friend would go along with her. She wasn't sad, she was just faithful. She would sit on the grassy knoll with her arms around her pulled up knees, and let the breeze blow, or the soft summer rain fall. When it got cold, or the snow began to fall, she would just stand for a minute and then come back down. Sometimes Uncle Mikes Kathleen would go with her, and they would have a jolly picnic, or just talk about all the things in a girls life. Kathleen spent a lot of time with Sylvie and they stayed great friends throughout their lives. Kathleen had heard the whole story about Seth Michal, though she had been too small at the time to actually remember him. When Sylvie and Peder were both sleeping there in the little cemetery, Kathleen carried on the tradition and came up on Sundays to sit and think things over.
                                                    It had been one of Sylvies sorrows that there was no stone for that little grave. She often mentioned to Kathleen that she didn't want Seth Michal forgotten, just a small nameless grave in a small nameless cemetery. When Kathleen had grown up, and gotten the job teaching the children of the students that Sylvie had taught,  the first thing she had done was to buy a stone. It was a small stone, carved with the words "Seth Michal" and underneath, "He was loved".  The carver had thought it odd that she didn't want to use a last name, but how could you explain that if he had one, there was no one who knew.
                                                   Kathleen had stood by Sylvies grave that day. "See, Sylvie", she had said, " even if no one knows the story, everyone will know that he was loved." She stood there remembering how Sylvie had talked to her about those olden times. How people had to do hard things just to survive How if you hadn't lived in those times you might not understand. Sylvie had said that it had taken her a long time, but she had finally been able to forgive that unknown woman who had abandoned Seth Michal. She had had that one fleeting glimpse of her in her shiny new shoes, disappearing from sight. Ever after, Sylvie and Kathleen never wore shiny brown shoes. They knew it was silly, and  often laughed at themselves over it. But it made them think about how frail and fleeting life is . Kathleen always had, everywhere she went, on a shelf in her closet, an old wool sweater creamy colored and very worn, and a faded, soft little blanket, filled with the downy feathers of some long ago bird.
                           Part Two will be coming. This story is based on fact. But I had to invent all the missing pieces. I don't know why I was chosen to write Seth Michals story, but, I have grown to love him and his family. I hope you will, too