Ptarmigan Feathers (Part Three)

                    The wind whispered to the snow, sending it dancing and swirling around the house. It was the day after Christmas. Nora sat on the floor near the wood heater in the parlor. She had her new doll in her lap, admiring the endless beauties of such an unheard of thing as a brand new baby doll that had been bought in a store. Other girls had them. She had seen them, and her friend Lily had even let her hold the one she had gotten for her birthday. Now she had one of her very own. The Christmas tree stood in the corner, still so beautiful and green and smelling faintly of pine. The star on the top shone in the lamplight an it seemed to have its own glow. Nora had tiptoed down the stairs on Christmas Eve and had stood on the icy floor gazing up at it in the night. Everyone else was sleeping and the house was strangely quiet. The star had seemed like a real star, shimmering in the darkness. She saw the stockings hanging near the chimney and there were presents under the tree. It was so peaceful and still, she almost wished that morning would not come so that this feeling would never have to go away. Not really, though, she thought with a small giggle, and she had scampered back upstairs and crawled in between the warm and heavy covers.
                     In the morning she woke to the sound of her mother at the cook stove, clattering the lids. The smell of bacon frying came wafting up through the heat register in her floor, and she could hear the coffee pot perking. Nora had come down in her nightgown and her woolie socks and stood wide eyed and joyous in the warm room. The daylight was beginning to chase away the night. The windows were frosty from the cold. The stockings were nobbey and bulgy with hidden surprises. She knew she had to wait for the others to come downstairs before she was allowed to look, so she sat in the kitchen and mother fixed her a cup of coffee. It was a small dab of the strong black liquid , two sugar cubes and the rest thick golden cream from yesterdays milking. It tasted warm and delicious and it made her feel grown up and special to be here so early in the morning having coffee with father and mother.
                      When father had finally woken up the older boys and her sisters, who were already too old to be excited about Christmas morning, Nora felt as though she would explode if they didn't hurry up. First they all took down their stockings. Noa had a candy cane and an orange. Everyone in the family always got a candy cane and an orange in their stocking. If you were careful, you could make the candy cane last all day, slowly licking the minty sweetness, letting it sit on your tongue and then wrapping the rest carefully and putting it away until later. And, oh, that sweet, juicy orange! Christmas was the only time she ever got one. Sometimes her mouth would water just thinking about that cold juicy sweetness in your mouth, some of it running down your chin. You pulled the sections apart and ate them slowly, one by one. When she had been handed her present from under the tree, Nora had no idea that the square box of a package would open up to hold such a beautiful doll. She had been speechless with joy. She just sat there gazing down at it as if she didn't dare touch it. She did not see her fathers tears as he watched his small daughter fall in love with her very first baby doll. When she looked up with her luminous eyes, he had already wiped his tears away and was joking with mother about how they were spoiling her.
                     Now Christmas was over. Night was falling on the little Michigan mining town. The snow had been piling up. It was snowing for the fifth day in a row. John tried not to think of those
 other Christmases any more, those cold, dark, hungry ones back in the old country. They were so far away and the years had been filled with many good and wonderful things. He tried, and often succeeded, in pushing those old memories to the far recesses of his mind. Tonight a feeling of sadness came seeping over him as he sat in his warm parlor watching Nora play with her doll. His mother was there, too. She lived with him now. She was very old, and her mind had crept off to places where the young and the not so young ,could not follow. Now she sat in her rocking chair, twisting her frail, shriveled old hands in her lap, rocking back and forth, back and forth, and crying.It was what she did, every night when the bustle of the day was over and there was time for rest and quiet. Usually, John read his paper then and  didn't hear her if he concentrated on the daily news of his beloved adopted country. Nora looked up from the new doll and stared quizzically at her grandmother. "Gramma Lizzie," she asked kindly, "why do you always cry? What's the matter?"
                        Elizabeth stopped her ceaseless rocking and her hands stilled in her lap. Her voice was old and quivery and it held an edge of desperation. "I want my baby," she said. "Oh, I want my baby. His name is Seth Michal. Do you think you could find him for me, little girl? John caught his breath. He continued to look at his paper, but his thoughts had simply vanished into those old, quivery words.He felt frozen, unmoveable from his chair, unable to speak. He should stop this right now. Intervene some way. Somehow protect Nora from what might come next.
                             Nora jumped up and came to stand beside her grandmother. She laid her small hand on Gramma Lizzies thin and trembling arm. " But where is he?" she asked, puzzled and troubled.      "  Where is Seth Michal?" John waited with his heart in his throat. He had a sudden vision of Lainey, laying in that bunk on the ship, her face streaked with tears, sobs wracking her young body, feeling again , her heartbreak just as though it were now, not all those years ago. Lainey had been gone for many years already, sleeping in American soil, her last wish that she could somehow know what had happened to Seth Michal. How he had wished that his mother would have opened her heart and talked to them about it all but she never had. Elizabeth was rocking again, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. Her frail hands were held out to Nora, who with some great wisdom beyond her years, had taken them in her own and was rubbing them gently. " I left him there, there by the school," she said. "by the cellar door. It was cold, but I had to leave him.When you find him, you must get him warm, right away." Her eyes were clouded over with blindness, but you could see that she was looking at something far away, something that no one else could see. Nora looked grave and trustful. "When I get bigger, Gramma Lizzie, then I'll find him for you," she said with all the confidence of her young heart. "Don't cry anymore. I'll find him and bring him back to you."
                               John covertly watched his mother. She seemed calm now, and content, just rocking and waiting for Nora to find her lost baby. Nora didn't seem troubled by this at all. She wasn't frightened by this seemingly bizarre disclosure, but was gentle and kind to her grandmother afterwards.The little episode had seemed to ease Elizabeths last days, and it wasn't long afterwards that she ,too, slept quietly away and was buried there in the family plot. Sometimes John would go there and stand with his hat in his hands, the wind ruffling  graying hair, and he would say out loud to those quiet stones, " Orphanage? School?" Of course, there was never any answer, only the stillness of time that has stopped and answers that no one would ever know.
                               Nora hardly remembered that little girl promise to her Grandmother. She grew into womanhood in that little house on the corner lot. She watched her brothers go off to fight the war, her sisters marry and have children. She married the one man, the love of her young life, that nurtured and kept her until they became old themselves. Everyone who knew them was shown a shinning example of man and woman, husband and wife.When she had barely started her family, her father had died. She had moved away, but brought her children back many, many times to that snug and safe little house. The children loved going there. To them it was old fashioned and quaint. It was always filled with the good smells of bacon frying in the morning, and coffee and cinnamon rolls in the afternoon. Noras daughter, Lily, especially loved it. The way the sun shone warmly in the windows, the cool dark basement with its piney smell from the wood pile in the corner, and the clean ivory soap smell of the sauna that they used on Saturday nights. The way the stairs curved down from the upstairs bedrooms to the parlor. Lily and her sisters would sit on a pillow and slide down, whumpity, whumpity, whump. Giggling and laughing as grandmother came running to see if one of the babies had fallen and gotten hurt.
                               When she grew older, Lily would curl up in the big soft chair by the bookcase. That was where she had first discovered Hiawatha.The book was old and musty smelling, like old leather bound books are. Inside , her mothers name was written, for it had been her mothers book when she was going to school. Lily read Hiawatha many times over the years, and it always brought her back that musty whiff of long ago and she felt again the warmth of the afternoon sun shinning through the window on the shoulders of a young, impressionable girl.
                             Lily could never understand why, when she grew up and left home, she began to be troubled by a terrifying dream. How often she would struggle , fighting to wake up before the dream ended. Then, wide awake, she would lay there with her fists clenched, tears would slide down her cheeks and her mouth would be dry and her heart racing. She would get up and walk around, persuading herself that it was only a dream and none of it was real. The dream was always the same. She cradled a baby in her arms and would be wandering around her grandmothers house. The house was abandoned and lonely. You could tell that no one had lived in it for a long time. Some of the windows were broken. The doors hung sagging and crooked. There was trash and leaves and debris strewn over the once immaculate floors. She would go to every door and look in the rooms, searching for something and finding only emptiness. Trembling, she would go to the basement door. As her hand reached out to open it, the terror would come washing over her. She would know that she had to wake up, because if she opened that door she would would find something too horrible to contemplate. She could feel herself struggling to shake away the sleep, and the dream, so she wouldn't have to know what it was.
                             Lily had never told anyone about this dream. It was somehow too personal and too awful. Six months or so after having the dream, she would hardly dare to go to sleep at night , because she knew she would soon have the dream again. It was frightening. She had been having this frightening dream for many years now. She was a librarian, who loved her job, there among the shelves of books, and the people who loved them. Every once in a while, she would find a book about dreams and read it , hoping to find some clue to her own personal nightmare, but she never found any release.
                               Nora was now an old, old woman. She was visiting Lily who lived clear across the country from her. They sat, one spring evening in Lilys cozy country kitchen, laughing and reminiscing about days gone by. Nora was telling Lily how her father had never wanted to go back to his old home,  about the dark and the cold and the hunger that he had always talked about. She told how they had somehow managed to scrape up food, how he had snared Ptarmigan to get them a little meat. How Aunt Lainey had made a ptarmigan feather pillow. "Someone in the family still has that pillow," she said. Lily was fascinated, asking gently probing questions about those far gone times. Suddenly Nora remembered that cold wintery night when she was small, sitting there playing with a new doll while Gramma Lizzie cried in her rocking chair. She laughed a feeble laugh. "You know, I never did find Seth Michal." she said, half to herself and half to Lily. Then she told Lily about the the baby who had been left behind because he was too small to make the journey to America. How when she had gotten old and mixed up , Lizzie had cried and wanted her baby. Nora told Lily how she had asked her where he was and she had said that she had left him by the cellar door in the cold.
                               Lilys heart seemed to stop for a second. Her breath caught, her mouth felt dry. Her hands shook in her lap. For a long time, there was only silence in the kitchen. Lily could not speak about the unspeakable dream. She only said, " Mom, do you think I could see that ptarmigan feather pillow? "
                              All night Lily pondered the story and the dream. Why, so many generations later, would she be given the task of finding Seth Michal? It didn't seem as though it would be possible. Maybe it was only a freak coincidence. There was no way, after all this time that anything could be done about it. For weeks she went around in a sort of a daze, trying not to think about it, but not being able to think about anything else. Finally one night  when she closed up the library  she went to the computer room and sat down wearily in the big chair at the nearest computer. Almost without knowing what she was doing, she was online, finding out what she could about the city where Lizzie and Johnny and Lainey had sailed away, leaving Seth Michal behind. On a long shot, she found the city library, asking for help in finding a needle in a haystack. Then she went home to bed, able to sleep soundly for the first time since she had heard about Seth Michal.
                                Much to her surprise, the next evening, after hours, in the computer room, she had gotten a messsage from a most kind librarian from that far away country, saying he was intrigued by her story, and he thought he could help her. His name was Larry, he said. For months Lily spent every night on the computer, learning everything there was to know about her ancestors homeland. Things had changed drastically since the days when Johnny had been struggling to leave and come to America. No one there now knew anything about the cold and the dark and the hunger of those old days. One night, Larry was excited. He thought he had found a clue. He didn't want her to get her hopes up, but he had met an old woman who had told him an interesting story. He would check things out the next day, to see if they matched up.
                             That night when Lily got home, there was a package for her on the front porch. The mailman had left it there with the rest of her mail, because it didn't fit in her mailbox. Lily carefully undid the wrapping. She stood humble and silent as she lifted out that old, old threadbare pillow. It was clumsily made with childish stitches, but none the less, it had stood the test of time and had not come apart. Lily ran her hand over the fragile softness of it, and she could feel, beneath her fingers, the ptarmigan feathers. Feathers caught by a long ago boy to keep his family from starving, and sewn into a pillow by a young girl to while away those endless winter days and somehow stave off the dark and the cold ad the hunger. Lily stood there looking at it for a long time. Then she went to the phone to call her mother and thank her, and which ever old aunt had taken the time to dig it out of some old trunk and pass it on to her. Lily wrapped it in tissue paper and put it on the bureau in her bedroom.                    
                            Later that week Larry called her. She had never talked to him before, but she felt as if she had known him forever. He was ecstatic. He had found an old cemetery with a small gravestone. When he had scraped away the moss, he had read, "Seth Michal" " He was loved." "You really need to come," he said. "The lady that took me there is very old. She doesn't have a lot of time. You really need to come and talk to her." Lily sighed. This was exciting, but she had no plans of going so far away, where she didn't know anyone. Maybe it was just coincidence. There was probably more than one person who was named Seth Michal. She needed time to think this over, to see if she could get time off of work, to decide if she rally dared to do this thing. What if it was just a waste of time and money? What if she was just setting herself up for a big disappointment?
                              Finally, Lily was too tired to think any more. She went to bed, drifting off thinking about the feather pillow. This was a dreaming night though. She woke  when her hand was already on that doorknob, shaking and crying and terrified. This was her answer, she thought. I will just have to do it. I don't know why. I just know that I have to try to find out what happened to Seth Michal. She didn't tell anyone about this. She just told her mother that she was going on vacation for a couple weeks. She was going to Europe. She had always wanted to go. And yes, she would go to the old country and see the place where it had all started.
                             Passports, tickets, luggage, cell phone, purse., Lily had everything gathered together in her room.Giving a last glance around, just making sure, her eyes fell on the pillow, wrapped in tissue. She hesitated, then picked it up and put it in her suitcase. She had to open it up and make room to stuff it in, then zip it back up. She loaded it all into her car and drove to the airport. Settled in the big plane, she leaned back and relaxed as they took off, flying high and far from everything that was familiar to her. It was scary, but it was also very exciting and adventurous. The flight was long and boring, but she couldn't concentrate on reading, and she couldn't sleep. Finally, they were landing at Heathrow, and from there she got on a smaller plane to her destination.
                            Once there, she got her hotel room and settled in. This was to be her home away from home while she was here. She hoped it wasn't just a wild goose chase. Larry was to pick her up in the morning and they would go searching for Seth Michal. The morning looked as though it would be a beautiful, warm summer day. Lily waited nervously in the lobby for her long distance friend. She was watching the people coming in the wide front doors. Then, suddenly, she saw him. He was quite tall, his hair was blonde and shaggy around the edges. He had told her that. He had on a white shirt, and Levis. He was take your breath away handsome.  He had not told her that. Somehow, she had thought because he worked in a library, he would look studious and nerdy. He walked purposefully, with long strides, because he had long legs. He was a head above most of the other people. He looked straight at her and smiled. It was friendly and genuine. Then he was standing in front of her, offering her his hand. "You must be Lily," he said. "I'm Larry."
                            She had wondered, what if he's horrible? What if she felt like she didn't trust him?Then what would she do? But she found she didn't feel that way at all. He was easy to be with, all business, getting her out to his car in the busy parking garage. Wanting to know what she thought they should do first. They decided to go somewhere and have coffee. It's always easier to make a plan over coffee. The coffee was good. Strong and hot and it gave her a feeling of peacefulness, as though things would go the way they were supposed to. Lily and Larry talked like old friends, laughing and people watching, and suddenly surprised at how much time had flown by. First they would go see  the delightful little lady who had shown Larry Seth Michals grave. Her name was Sylvia, Larry said. She had agreed to meet them at a park near her house, and they found her sitting there feeding the pigeons some  crusts of bread.
                          Lily thought this was the tiniest lady she had ever met. Her hair was pure white, pinned up in a knot on the top of her head. She wore thick glasses, but her eyes sparkled and shone with an inner light. She had a walker and a warm sweater over her shoulders, though it was a very warm day. She was so glad to see them. She introduced herself to Lily, shaking her hand with a firm clasp. She said she had been so glad she had met Larry. He was now one of her good friends, and since he had come into her life, so many interesting things had happened. Lily and Larry sat, one on each side of her, this tiny bird of a woman, and she told them her story.
                         Sylvias mother had been named Kathleen, her father Ian. She had been named for her mothers friend, Sylvie, whom she had always referred to as Aunt Sylvie. Aunt Sylvie had never had any children of her own, only a foundling  that  had  been left at the school house where she was the teacher, and she had had him for a few months, and then  he had died. Kathleen had told her daughter the story many times, about finding the little boy in the manger at the Christmas pageant. About how much Aunt Sylvie  and Uncle Peder had loved the little boy, who had had a note pinned to his blanket that said "I am Seth Michal. I am too small for the journey to America. Please take care of me." She told how Sylvie and Kathleen had gone to the cemetery on Sundays, just to sit, and feel comforted. How Kathleen had used the first money she had earned to put up the stone for Seth Michal. How Kathleen had taken her small daughter , Sylvia,  there every so often and told her about the old times, and the old people. How she had gone there herself, after her mother was gone, just out of habit. How she wasn't able to go up there anymore, now that she had to use the walker, and how she was sad that there was no one to carry on the tradition. How happy she was that she had met Larry at the library, and he had taken the time to listen to her old prattling, and then had offered to help her go there one more time.  The three new friends talked away the afternoon , there in the park. Larry suggested they go for supper and then call it a day. If they wanted to go to the cemetery, they could go the next day, when he got out of work.
                        Lily and Sylvia agreed to the plan. By the time they had finished with supper and coffee, they were both tired. Larry brought them home, making sure Sylvia got safely into her house and dropping Lily off at the hotel. Lily thanked him for the good day, and ran up to her room. She sat  down on her bed with a sigh. Everything seemed to be falling into place. She felt a little dazzeled and weary, her mind reeling with all the things she had seen and heard. It didn't seem posible that she was really so close to finding Seth Michal. At long last, maybe her dream would be a thing of the past. When she finally curled up, clean and happy, she fell asleep instantly and slept dreamless and easy the whole night through.
                            Morning came, then, bright and sunny and warm. Lily had breakfast in a little cafe and then walked down to the waterfront. Everything was bustle and business. She could smell the salty, brackish smell of the sea mixed in with the smells of tar and fuel. The noise was deafening. a cacophony of sound whirled around her. People shouted and whistles blew. Engines roared to life and things creaked and groaned. Still underneath it all, she could hear the slap, slap of the water against the boats and docks, and the waves against the shore. She wondered, was this how it had been when her family had come here, waiting  to board the ship that would take them to America? She wondered what they had felt, standing there on that cold December day, uncomfortable in their heavy new clothing and stiff new shoes. For a moment she felt the excitement and sense of adventure that they must have had.
                           Lily was sitting there on a rocky wall overlooking the harbour when Larry came looking for her.  When he hadn't found her at the hotel, he had a hunch she had gone down to the waterfront. He stood watching her  for a minute . She wasn't at all what he had pictured her to be. A middle aged American who was not married should be very chic and modern, with a brisk manner and a certain hardness to her. That was what he had expected her to be like. But she was nothing like that at all. Her blonde hair hung in a long braid down to her waist. Little curls softened the plainness of it and framed her face with a gentle and childlike look. She wore a long dress and comfortable sandals. She wore no  jewelery or makeup, and her skin looked soft and glowing.Larry felt he could easily fall in love with her, even though he was quite a bit younger than she was. She was quick, and serene, and somehow you felt peaceful being around her. Her voice was very quiet. Sometimes he had to lean down to hear what she was saying.
                            Larry sat down beside her. She looked up at him, but her eyes were far away, and it took a minute for her to come back to the present. "I thought I might find you here," he said, smiling down at her. "It is quite intriguing here, isn't it? Have you found any clues?"
                            Lily laughed, her face lit up from within. "I think I really did. I was getting a perfect picture of them all standing here, waiting to start on their journey." "Do you think I'm being silly?" Larry  was thinking how lovely she was, but he didn't say that. He understood her getting into the feel of things. That was what she would need to do, to go on with her quest. "Well, let's go find Miss Sylvia. She's probably wondering where we are."
                           And, she was. So small, slightly bent over, her hair in the neat white bun, her eyes sparkling with the joy of life. They got her walker and her sweater. She had packed them a big lunch basket and had a thick red blanket for them to sit on. She said she felt as lively and gay as a young girl, with these two friends to take her off for the day. They were all happpy as they sped away to the country in the noontime sun.
                            Sylvia chattered as they drove along, telling them stories about every thing they saw. When they came in sight of the little wooden church, she suddenly got quiet. They pulled up into the church yard and they all sat, silent, gazing out at the beautiful spot. The building had the warmth and softness of having been there for a long, long time. The grass grew green around it, still, and the daisies nodded their heads in the breeze. A flock of sheep grazed a little way off and lambs frolicked beside their mothers. The cemetery was up a slope and it sat small and peaceful in the June sunshine.
                             "Lets eat first, suggested Sylvia, "and then we can walk up afterwards." They spread the blanket and got the basket and Sylvia out of the car. The three of them feasted on the wonderful lunch, and the coffee in the thermos was hot and strong. Larry saw Lily glancing up the hill. "Getting cold feet?" he asked. "Sort of," she answered. " I so want this to be my answer." "Let's go then." They walked slowly, one on each side of Sylvia. She was deft at using her walker, and plodded along at a steady pace. When they got to the gate, they let Sylvia go in first. She led the way, going directly to a small mossy stone. A few flowers grew there, their faces lifted to the sun. Lily knelt down and traced the letters with her finger. "Seth Michal." "He was loved." Five small words. Four generations had come and gone. The little stone and those five small words were all there was. Lilys finger made a smudge across her face where she wiped way a tear that slid down her cheek. She stood up. Her head was bowed. Larry could see that she was murmuring a silent prayer. When she looked up again, she was smiling. A wisp of wind blew a strand of hair into her eyes. She turned  her face the other way and let it blow the strand back again. She looked at Larry and Sylvia. "Thank you.  Thank you so much," she said. Sylvia took them on a tour, showing them where they all were, The first Sylvie, Peder, Kathleen, Ian, her other family and friends.
                             "Was there anything at all to identify him?" asked Lily. "Except for the note pinned to the blanket?" Sylvia   was silent for a moment, thinking back. "He was wrapped in a little blanket. It had been newly made, but it was from used fabric.    It was filled with feathers. My mother always said that Sylvie felt it had been made by a young girl, because of the stitching." Sylvia let the memories flood through her mind. "I still have that blanket," she said. "We have kept it all these years."
                             Lily had that same heart stopping feeling that she had had when her mother had first told her the story of Seth Michal. She felt she had to catch her breath and swallow. Her hands were shaking. "Would you let me see it, Sylvia?", she asked tremulously. "Of course, dear," said Sylvia, gently touching Lilys arm. "I should give it to you. I don't have anyone to pass it on to. You should be the one to have it." "Before you leave, I'll have you over to my house and I'll give it to you." For the second time, Lily felt the tears well up in her eyes. It seemed too good to be true. She was amazed that there was really someone so kind and gracious as this tiny, lively old lady and this handsome young man, and that somehow, they had all been brought together.
                            The days flew by. Larry had taken some days off of work, and he took her around the city to see all the sights. When Sylvia felt up to it, they took her with them. She had a way of making even the mundane things fun and joyous. It seemed they were always laughing, sometimes until they cried, over her stories and quick wit. Lily wanted to go out to the small town where her family had lived, so they planned a whole day for that. Sylvia said she would stay home that day. It was more of a trip than she felt up to.
                           Larry and Lily left in the cool, smokey dawn and drove out of the city. They left the noise and the dust and the mass of humanity and buildings behind. They crossed small rivers and drove by lakes, blue lakes that reflected the sky, and cradled boats. Lakes that had small islands and brightly colored houses along the shore. They came to the hills and saw the snug farms and orderly, prosperous looking gardens, the barns and the herds of contented looking cows.
                           On a map, they found where Lilys family house had once stood. It was somebodies lush green pasture now. They parked the car and walked to the neat and trim farm house. They told the lady of the house about Lily coming from America to find her roots and asked if it was all right if they hiked around for the day. The woman was kindness itself, and she asked them in for coffee and sandwiches. She gave them a lively history lesson about the place, and said that she had known  where that first house was, and had heard of Lilys people. Lily wondered if there were still ptarmigan in the hills, and, yes, they were still out there. There were several trails that they could take, and with luck, they would see some.
                         Larry and Lily headed out for the hills. The day was perfect. Warm, with a nice breeze dancing around. They walked with out saying much, stopping to pick handfuls of sweet juicy berries and drinking from a clear cold stream. By late afternoon they were in the woodlands. Sitting on the crest of a hill, they could see for miles around . In the stillness, they heard a rustling in the leaves. Lily laid her hand on Larrys arm to warn him. They looked at each other, waiting. The bird walked gracefully along the edge of the trees. She was soft and beautiful, more brown than white now, in the summer. She stopped and gave a soft click. Lily could not believe her eyees when she saw the single row of teeny chicks that toddled after her. Breathlessly they watched them walk out of sight into the brush, the mother giving her comforting click, clicks, and the little ones answering in tiny pee-peeps.
                          Lily stood up, stretching luxuroiusly. She had kicked her shoes off. Her  bare feet were hidden in the warm grass. Larry lay stretched out, watching her. Her braid was tied with a ribbon. He wondered what it would look like if she shook her hair loose. He thought it would shine like spun gold in the summer breeze. The wind swirled the hem of her faded denim skirt. She seemed lovely, and alone. Larry got up to stand beside her. She was gazing off into the distance. He wondered what she was seeing. He knew that she was not seeing the hills or the trees, or the far away lake. She was seeing the long ago days. Her eyes beheld the past, glimpsing two long ago children, seeing for the first time, what a small bit of meat there would have been when one had snared a ptarmigan. Perhaps she could feel a pang of that long ago hunger, and he saw her shiver in the warmth of today. He knew she was feeling that long ago cold. Could she see, too, that long ago woman who had been here before her? Was she feeling her loneliness, her joy, her pain?
                            Larry touched her hand. It felt icy cold. "Come back, Lily," he said. The wind took his voice and flung it over against the hills. "Back, back, back, " came the echo, the last "back" was only a whisper. Lily turned toward him, slowly bringing her eyes back to the here and now. She looked down at her hand in his, and gently removed it. This time the tears spilled out of her eyes, welling up slowly and then glittering on her cheek. Larry took out his handkerchief and wiped them away. "I want to stay until the stars come out," she said. "I feel like I haven't found it all yet."
                            So they sat there on the hillside, talking abut this and that and anything. They watched the sun set in a pastel sky, and the first stars begin to shine through the duskiness. A fingernail moon rose over the distant echoing hills. In the darkness, Lilys eyes were shining like the stars. She had stopped talking and seemed to be patiently waiting. What was she waiting for, he wondered? What did she still want to find in this warm, whispering night? He put his arm around her and pulled her close to his chest. She nestled in against him. The stars were winking down on them now. Suddenly, one shot across the sky, leaving a trail of disappearing diamonds behind it. He felt Lily catch her breath in delight. He had forgotten that there was supposed to  be meteor showers tonight. Unknowingly, they had picked the perfect spot. They watched the sky rain stars for a long time, and then walked hand in hand back down to the world in the clear, white night.
                                The ride back to the city was silent. Larry knew Lily needed to think things over. To process all the story and sort out fact from fantasy. They parted for the night, Lily to dream peacefully and Larry to lie awake wishing he could make her stay, now that her search was over.
                                The day before she was to leave, they went to Sylvias house one last time. Lily brought the ptarmigan feather pillow with her. Sylvia handed her a rather small , tissue wrapped package. Lily unwrapped it, and sat for a long, long time. She was touching it softly, for she already knew it by heart. The familiar worn, soft colors, the familiar slightly crooked stitching, the familiar feel of the feathers within. She took out her pillow and together the two women sat marveling over the sameness of them. They marveled over the miracle that had brought these two pieces together again after all these years. Lily held the soft blanket against her face. It smalled faintly of lavendar. "I have brought Seth Michal back to you, Lainey, and Gramma Lizzie," she whispered, "and you needn't worry. He is very loved."
                                 It was hard to say goodbye to Sylvia, that sweet old woman who had treasured a faded blanket for so many years, and shared its story to an unknown person from far away. Lily knew she would never see Sylvia again. It felt like they had always been friends, sharing their past. She dreaded having to leave. Sylvia hugged her, looking into her eyes, the old eyes clear and joyful, the younger ones filled with tears. They didn't say anything. There were no words to convey what was in their hearts. Lily turned back in the car as they were leaving, to see that tiny white haired lady waving them out of sight.
                               Larry sighed. Lily looked at him. "Yes, Larry, I have to go. I have my job, my family, my friends, my life, at home. I can't stay." He didn't say anything, just drove her back to the hotel. Then he said, "I guess I just wish you would, but I know you can't. I'm just thankful that I got to meet you, to spend this time with you. You will be a beautiful memory that I can keep in my heart. Maybe we can get together again some day. "
                               At the airport, they stood at the gate, niether touching nor talking until Lily had to get on the plane. Lily reached up and brushed his lips with her fingertips. "Goodbye, Larry. I can't possibly thank you for what you've done for me. Don't cry, Larry, please. Not until I can't see you..." She turned and walked out of sight. She didn't turn back. Her back was straight and her steps were firm and fast. Larry stood at the window while the plane backed out and taxied out of sight. His eyes were blinded with tears. "Goodbye, Lily," he whispered to the air around him. "Goodbye."
                                 In the plane, Lily settled into her seat. Out of her bag, she took the ptarmigan feather pillow. She buried her face into its softness, and she cried herself to sleep. The pillow was making another trip to America. Both times it was washed with the tears of a girl, one because she had lost Seth Michal, the other one, because she had found him.

                    I am almost sad that Seth Michals story is finally complete.  The Christmas morning story and the story of Gramma Lizzie crying in the rocking chair are as much word for word as they were told to me as my memory can tell them. I hope you can feel as "there" in that old time parlour as I did. I am also the dreamer of the dream. I knew that I could never really go back and find any of this out, but I do know, that once I wrote Seth Michals story, and gave him some love and happiness, I have never had that dream again. I don't want him to be a forgotten piece of our history, so think about him sometime, and smile, and know that we are all loved.                      
                 

Ptarmigan Feathers (Part Two)

                                             
                       Ever since he had left the old country and came to America, all those many years later, now when he was an old,old man, Johnny could only remember three things. The dark, and the cold and the hunger. They were the only memories he had. He knew it couldn't always have been like that. In the four years that his father had been gone there had to have been warm, sunny, light filled days. There had to have been days when they had food to eat, fresh vegetables from the garden, summer berries, sometimes some meat, but he could not remember them. All he could dredge up from those years were the dark and the cold and the hunger. When his children had grown up and gone off on their own, they had asked him if he wouldn't like to make a trip back his old home. Johnny had shuddered. There were no good memories. There was nothing for him to go back to. It was kind of them to think of him, but he had no wish for such a thing.
                      America had been good to him. He had been able to give his own sons the happy carefree childhood that he himself had not had. That was the one thing he had wanted for his children. The thing he had worked so hard for. Sometimes his old memories would come back and plague him. His dreams would be full of the awfulness of those four long years. Sometimes he thought if he could just sit there and close his eyes and live that time all over again, those days would fade away and give him some peace.
                      At first when his father had gone off to America, it had been exciting. They knew they would hear from him soon. The mail would bring a big fat letter, and the tickets would be enclosed. The tickets that would get them on a ship, and they would all set off to that land of plenty. A lot of the men had already gone. They had gone to America, and before long the whole family had followed. Those that were left were envious, and hoped and prayed that their own fathers might also take this chance.
                      Johnny was fourteen that spring. How proud and responsible he felt when father had taken him out to the barn and gravely told him that now he would have to be he man of the family. It would be up to him to see that mother had full wood boxes. That the cow would be milked, that the animals would be fed and cared for. That his sister Lainey was safe. Father had said that his best friend, Jonas, would help them out and anything that came up that he wasn't sure about, he should go to Jonas for advice. It was with great pride then, that Johnny had watched his father walk off into the sunset, heading for town and from there to the sea, where he would set off on his journey.
                      The summer went by. The garden had not done well. The cow was dry. Johnny worked for Jonas making hay, but the dry weather made for a sparse and stingy crop. The winter set in early and froze the land and the water. The snow fell heavy and fast. Every day was worse than the one before. The wood pile was dwindling. Mother scrimped on the fires and the house was cold. They wore as many clothes as they could, to try to stay warm. Most times,he could not walk to town. His boots had holes in them and he wore one of his fathers old jackets, because his had gotten too small. The vegetables were almost gone from the cellar, the flour bin was beginning to look rather empty. Still they had not heard from father.Mother went around with a closed look on her face. A look that said "Don't ask any questions". He could hear Lainey crying in the night.
                         Johnny felt helpless and tried his hardest to make things go easier. He rigged up some snares to catch ptarmigan out in the hills. When he caught some, Lainey would pluck them clean and mother would make a  warm stew. Lainey was saving the feathers to stuff a quilt. She longed for warmth, anything warm, she would say. One night after he had already fallen asleep, Johnny heard a knock on the door. He sat up, listening to hear if mother would answer. He heard the door open and mothers voice, and Jonas's . They went into the kichen and he could hear the murmur of their voices, but he could not catch what they were saying. He lay there listening until he  heard Jonas go out the door. Then he waited to hear mother go back to bed, but she stayed in the kitchen. He couldn't hear a sound, so he finally crept out of bed and tiptoed to the kitchen. A candle sputtered on the table, almost ready to burn its self  out. The fire had died down to ashes in the stove. His mother was motionless, her head in her arms on the table. Johnny touched his mothers shoulder, gently. "What's wrong, mother?" he asked. "You should go to bed and warm up." His mother looked at him with unseeing eyes. They were full of unshed tears, "Has something happened to father?" She shook her head, but didn't move. "Don't worry about it"was all that she said. She put her head back down on the table, as if he wasn't there at all.
                        The next morning, Johnny went over to Jonas' as soon as he could. He found him out in the barn. Johnny  could see the tenseness in his face and in the way he gripped the pitch fork that he was holding. He knew that things were hard for Jonas and Milly, too. They never had any children, but that didn't help keep the wolf any farther from the door than anywhere else. He hated to bother him with any more problems, but he had to know why mother was so sad.  "Please, Jonas, I need to know what you said to my mother last night. She won't talk, but something is really troubling her." Johnny stood waiting for an answer. Jonas stood without moving for the briefest moment. Then he turned and looked at Johnny sadly."I have had a letter from my brother in America, John. He says your father has gotten in with some friends who are not so good. He has been drinking and living a very rough life.That is why he has not sent any money to help you over here. People have tried to talk to him, but it hasn't seemed to do any good. I'm sorry, Johnny. I wish you didn't have to know this."
                          Johnny hung his head with the weight of those words. He felt angry and betrayed. How could his father be doing this awful thing? Anger boiled up in his throat like a physical thing. Now what? He clenched his fists. He wished he could go find him, and pound the daylights out of him. Thoughts rolled around through his mind like sharp stones. Stones with ragged edges that scoured his head and his heart. Jonas put his hand on Johnnys shoulder. "He was my friend, Johnny, " was all that he said.Then he turned and went into hs house.
                            Johnny took off, walking swiftly across the pasture and in to the hills and the wood lands. He wished he could walk fast enough to leave his thoughts behind. But it was impossible. His thoughts came right along with him. They even seemed to run on ahead of him. He not only couldn't run away from them, he just ran right up to them. He slowed down the pace. He stood on top of  a small hill, where he could see the countryside  around him. He felt invigorated and strong. I cannot change what is, he thought, but I can change the way I was thinking back there in the barn. He didn't want to be like mother, who had closed herself off from sunshine and kindness. And, anyway, for Laineys sake he needed to be wise and strong. Jonny headed back home, stopping to check his snares. Maybe a nice meal would cheer them all up.
.                            So, another year was passing without any letter  from father. Mothers looks had even changed. Her dark eyes looked slanted in her thin, thin, face. They held a wild  exotic gypsy gaze, as if her    mind was brittle and far away. Her cheekbones were high in her gaunt face. She tied her hair back in a severe little bundle. She never went anywhere any more. Of course, she had no decent clothes to wear. None of them did, so they didn't go to church or school. She didn't even go over to Jonas and Millys any more, where she used to go every day. If anyone came over she wouldn't go to the door. Johnny supposed she thought they were all gossiping abut the news of father.It was natural that they would. There wasn't much else exciting to talk about.
                             At first Lainey had gone to the post office every day.  At ten years old she waited happily to get a letter. But as time went on without one , she went less frequently, although she still bounced in happily with her  lopsided  smile and her gay laughter. Sometimes, once a month or so, there would be a letter from mothers sister, Margrit. Lainey would skip home with it, under  the illusion that it was something that would make mother happy. At first mother would read the letters, then silently get up and put them in the stove. That they knew of , she had never answered them ,like she always had when father was still at home.
                               Now, after the ugly news about father, she didn't even open them. Did she think Margrit was writing something awful, that she couldn't bear to read? One day when Johnny and Lainey were out harvesting their meager garden, Lainey told him that she was going to write Aunt Margrit a letter and tell her what was going on. She went over to Jonas and Millys to get some paper. Milly helped her out, even finding her an envelope and she had even taken it to town and mailed it for them. After that about once a month a package would come from Magrit, with  hand-me-downs from her family . Mother never said anything about it, but the joy in Laineys face over the warm things was worth whatever feelings mother might have about it.
                               The second winter somehow passed. You could get used to the darkness. They had nothing for light, so they hurried to get everything done in the brief, gray daylight. You could sort of get used to the cold, moving around as much as possible and thinking warm thoughts. But you could not get used to the hunger. It gnawed and ached inside of you when woke up in the morning and when you went to bed at night. It gnawed and ached inside of you all through the day and even at night when you were sleeping. It was there. Sometimes Johnny was so hungry he felt too weak to chop the hole in the ice to get water. Then he would think hard about his father and that would make him  angry so he could swing his axe and get water and peace at the same time.
                                 On the coldest days, they would wrap up and sit near the window to make the most of the daylight. Lainey would sew on her Quilt. During the summer she had done some work for someone and had gotten paid in fabric. She would sit in the pale winter light , her blonde head bent over her sewing. Her needle would flash in and out. Sometimes she would prick her finger. Johnny would watch her out of the corner of his eye and see her quickly put her finger in her mouth before the little drop of blood could fall on her precious fabric. He knew he would always carry that picture of her  in his mind. Sometimes, she would look up  and laugh her sparkly little laugh, and say, "You know, Johnny, if it wasn't so dark and cold, and I wasn't so hungry, this wouldn't be so bad at all." Then they would laugh together, Sometimes they would laugh till tears came, just because it so rediculous, and so very, very true.
                                  Another long  year went dragging by. Still there was no word from father. Still only the same bad news came from other letters. Johnny and Lainey were used to the silence of their mother by now. They went about doing the things that needed to be done. The things that mother should be doing. The things that mother somehow did not have the strength of body or mind to do. They so seldom heard her voice, that they were startled that one August day, when she came into the kitchen dressed in a clean green dress that Aunt Margrit had sent. It had come months ago  already, but she had never worn it. Now, her hair was brushed and tied back with a brown scarf. She had taken a deep breath. "I'm going to take a walk" she had said. Johnny and Lainey had looked at each other in disbelief. They stood at the door and watched her walk on up the path and out of sight. She seemed like some strange ad colorful bird that had just been let out of a cage, unsure of how to go about it, because it had not used its wings for so long.
                                  When mother came back, she seemed more at peace. She whistled softly while she made supper, just like she used to do , so long ago, before things had fallen apart. Mother still didn't talk much at all, but she went walking every day and she whistled  old familiar tunes as she flitted about the kitchen. The sun and the wind had painted a little color back into her cheeks. Once or twice she had walked over the forgotten path to Jonas and Millys'.If only the summer would stay longer, thought Johnny. He was afraid that when winter came things would go backwards again.
                                  Jonas had told Johnny that he was finalizing plans to leave for America. It gave Johnny a scary feeling to think about not having them nearby. He was almost eighteen now, so he supposed he could carry off being the man of the house, all on his own. Often now at night he would hear Jonas came and sit talking in the kitchen with mother. He would fall asleep to the comforting sound of their voices murmuring in the darkness. He felt good that mother was actually carrying on a conversation with someone. He supposed that Jonas was telling her things about how to go on when he and Milly left. Hopefully, they were planning for Jonas to find father and get things straightened out.
                                    Jonas and Milly left in September. It was one of those beautiful fall days, when you could not help but feel that this world was good.You really could not think that soon you would be shivering and starving. It was one of those days that Johnny should have remembered when he was old, and he thought about the old country. He should have been able to feel the brightness and beauty of that day, even when he was an old, old man. He could not bring it back, though. Jonas had gravely shook his hand, no longer a man saying goodbye to a boy, but as a man to a  man. Milly brushed a wisp of Laineys golden hair, and kissed her tear streaked face. Jonas looked at mother. He did not say anything. He just looked at her for a long moment, as though he wanted to remember her face forever. Johnny pondered that look in his young mans heart for a long time. When he was an old man, he could still conjore up that look, and feel his eyes grow wet with tears.
                                     As winter came inevitably on, Mother seemed ill. Sometimes she was really sick. Johnny didn't know what to do. He could see her sliding back into her closed in walls. He wondered if he should say anything about it to Lainey, but he didn't want to worry her. One day when the two of them were out shoveling the path to the outhouse, Lainey looked up from her shovel. "Johnny," she said, " I think mothers going to have a baby." She immediately went back to her vigorous shoveling. Everything Lainey did, she did vigorously, whether it was work, or play, or talking or laughing, or crying. Johnny was so stunned he didn't know what to say. How would a thirteen year old girl know that? Were girls born knowing these kind of things? "But, how...what.." Johnny was at a loss. Lainey shrugged, "I'm sure really. There's nothing else. I'm sure though, that she didn't tell Jonas."
                                  "Jonas!" Johnny was shocked. "But how... what... Oh! How could he? How could they? Now what will we ever do?" The words were full of anguish. Johnny felt the anger rising up inside of him. This was worse than hearing about father drinking and carousing and forgetting about his family. This was a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, and the gorge rose up in his throat. He thought he was going to throw up. "I can't think about it, Lainey," he said." I can't believe they would both betray us  like this. Just leave us and never look back!" Laine put her hand on his arm. He shook it off roughly. "You can't make me feel better about this" he shouted. "No. No matter what you say."
                                   "I know,Johnny," Lainey said quietly. "It's just another burden for you  to take on your shoulders. But we can't change things anymore. We'll just have to do what needs to be done".She was looking away from him, giving him space to collect his thoughts, just as Jonas had done when he had told him about his father. Johnny wanted to be angry with her, too. Why did she have to be so wise and right about it? She was supposed to be the little sister who looked to him for advice, not giving it. Johnny threw his shovel down and stalked towards the barn. Lainey watched him take down his skis and strap them on. She picked up her shovel full of snow and flung it on top of the snow bank. Well, she had had time to think about all this and assimilate it already. She knew it had taken Johnny completely by surprise. She really was frightened. What would they do? She surely didn't know anything about babies being born, or taking care of them afterwards. If mothers mental state was bad before, what would it be like now? When she closed them all out, it was like feeling your way around in the dark, trying to find your way, when you didn't even know where you were trying to go.
                                     Lainey looked up at the snow leaden sky. "Please God." she shouted out loud, to the freezing winter afternoon. "Please, just show me what to do, because I do not have a clue. And I don't think Johnny does, either." Lainey felt better after that. She knew Johnny would, too, when he came back from the snowy hills. Maybe he would have a ptarmigan in one of his snares, and they could have a good supper.
                                     Now Lainey worked tirelessly on her quilt every spare minute of daylight. A new baby would need a warm blanket. As soon as she had a large enough piece for a babies blanket, she sewed three sides together and filled it with her stash of feathers. She sewed up the fourth side and sat there with the blanket over her knees. She examined it critically. In spite of poor light and cold hands and rough fingers and her overwhelming sense of hurry, the thing wasn't so bad. Of course a new baby should have some nice, new, soft things to welcome it into the world. A new baby should have all kinds of small sweet things, lovingly made by its mothers own hands.What was to become of this baby? If it were to survive its mothers womb, the mother who was cold and hungry and whose mind was taken over by darkness? Lainey sighed, from deep down within her young soul. She knew it was no use wishing for things that never could be, but sometimes, life as hard to bear.
                                      "You know, Johnny," she said suddenly, looking up from the blanket on her lap. Johnny was whittling a new broom handle. He glanced up. "If it wasn't so dark, and I wasn't so cold and hungry, this wouldn't really be so  bad" She laughed her silvery laugh. Johnny looked down at the piece of wood in his hands. "Even if it wasn't so dark and I wasn't so cold and hungry, this would still be pretty bad." He laughed, too, but it was a hard, brittle laugh, one that Lainey had never heard before.
                                          They both covertly watched mother when she came out of her room and sat with them. Lainey would always go to her door and say "Come have something to eat mother." They only ate one meal a day, because that was all they could do if they wanted their meager supplies to last through the winter. They saw how thin and frail their mother looked and the growing swell of her stomach. They tried not to  look at it too obviously,but it was hard not to. Lainey had not written about this to Aunt Margrit. Somehow it seemed too secret, too shameful,too sad, too unfair. It seemed that to write the thing down on paper and send it over land and sea, where who knew who would read it or hear about it, would be betraying mother.
                                          Lainey had asked God to give her forgiveness toward mother and father and Jonas. She felt she could not go through too many days with that angry, hateful feeling in her chest. It ruined her ability to enjoy what she could of the days and to enjoy snuggling into her covers at night. It ruined her ability to sleep soundly in  the delicious warmth of them, once her body heat had warmed them up.  Gradually peace had crept through her being, once she had flung all her wrath and sorrow upwards to God, and had asked Him to deal with them. She didn't have the strength to do it. Now that the blanket was done, Lainey had fabric left, so she worked on a pillow to match. It was fluffy with feathers, and she gave it to mother, hoping it would give her restful sleep in the long nights.
                                       Winter gave up at last and spring came joyfully across the countryside. Mother looked sick and tired, and unwieldy. Lainey wished she would open up and talk to them. After all, she was their mother. They loved her, no matter what. They, of all people, knew what she had gone through all these years. They desperately wanted to help her. Finally one day Lainey could stand it no longer. "Mother," she asked, "what shall I do when it's time for the baby to come? Shall I let Rachel the midwife know to be waiting for us to get her?"
                                       Mother looked up at Lainey quickly, and then looked down again. Two tears slid down her hollow cheeks. "No!" It was vehement. "No. You must never talk to anyone about this. What I have done was wicked. No one will want to to help such wickedness. No one can help me." Then she sunk back into her chair and went back to her brooding thoughts. Lainey was shocked. She didn't know what to do or say. "But, Mother, you always told us that our sins can be forgiven. You told us how Jesus was born and died for sinners. How can you talk like that?" "No, Lainey, do not talk about it anymore", mother whispered. "But, please, mother, what will I do?"Lainey felt despair seeping over her. "I can't help you deliver a baby. I don't know the first thing about it."
                                      Mother turned away from her and sat staring out the window. Lainey went and sat down on the doorstep, letting the sun warm her face. There they sat, back to back, two people, so close together, yet so far apart. I guess I won't worry about it, thought Lainey. It doesn't do any good and there's nothing I can do about it anyway.
                                       One day, mother did not get up in the morning. "I think it will be today, Johnny," Lainey said while they ate breakfast. Johnny had gotten some eggs and Aunt Magrits money had boughten them some flour and yeast. Lainey had made some raised bread, and picked some wild strawberries. It felt like a celebration, with such good food sitting before them on the table.They both started when they heard a low moan from mothers room. Johnny looked around wildly. "What shall I do?" he asked. He wanted so badly to bolt from the house and disappear. Another moan trembled in the air.
                                        "Get me some water, "Lainey said, stoking up the stove. "Then go far away from here and do something to keep busy." "But I feel bad leaving you alone with her..." "Just go," she said, softening her words with a shaky smile. Johnny turned and ran down the path toward Milly and Jonas's. Why he chose there, he never knew. His feet just had fled there of their own accord. Lainey looked after him longingly. If only she could run off after him and leave that awful sound behind. It would serve them right, she thought, if she did. She shouldn't have to be responsible for these grown up mistakes. But she turned her back from the sunshine and the clean fresh morning air and went to her mother.
                                      Mother had her face turned to the wall. She was breathing hard and clenching her fists into the sheet. Lainey sat beside her. It seemed hours, or days maybe, that she had been sitting there, though she knew it couldn't really have been that long. When mother was quiet, she would wipe her face with a cool cloth and rub her hands. When mother cried out, she tried to shut out the sound, thinking of anything but what was happening . The angry feelings came back. Lainey was clenching her fists, too. Where are the people that did this to you? Why aren't they here helping you? Her mind was shouting. She felt very helpless and very frightened. At the end, mother had made no sound. She silently put all her strength into pushing out the baby. She even told Lainey how to cut the cord, and pick the baby up. The tiny little boy let out a thin, reedy wail. Lainey felt her heart melting. She wrapped him up in an old shirt, and handed him to mother. Her mother looked frightened, as if she didn't know what to do. Lainey went about cleaning things up. The baby wailed pitiously. Mother just lay there,as if he were not there at all.
                                     Lainey picked him up and put him against his mothers breast. He began to suck, his little fists waved and pounded on his mother. Lainey couldn't help but laugh he looked so funny. "What will we name him, mother?" she asked. "He has to have a name. We can't just call him baby. Some day he might grow up!" Mother looked at her with that frightened, pathetic look. "I don't care" she said in the loudest voice she ever used. Then she burst into tears, rocking herself and crying bitterly. Lainey covered her mother with a clean blanket. The day was warm. She took the baby and went into the kitchen. Johnny was sitting out on the step with his elbows on his knees. Lainey came out and sat beside  him. Together they admired their tiny little brother. He had wispy blonde hair and his eyes were squinched shut against the glare of the sun. His face was red and blotchy. Johnny thought he was terribly ugly, but to Lainey he was simply the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. She breathed a silent prayer. "Please help me take care of him. Bless his days on earth. Please make my mother get well." She glanced over at Johnny. She knew he was praying, too. "One last thing, God," she said out loud. "Please answer Johnnys prayers."
                                   Johnny and Lainey discussed a name for the baby that night. He was like a secret child. Johnny thought he was rather like Moses,only instead of his mother hiding him from harm, his mother was hiding him from herself. Surely, Lainey was like Moses sister, who had to watch over her brother and care for him by the riverside. Lainey watched over and cared for her baby  brother by his mothers bedside. She even took him to bed with her at night, carrying him to mother and putting him to her breast when he began his keening cry. Mother fed him when Lainey brought him to her, but she paid no attention to him otherwise.She never talked to him, or cuddled him or sang to him. She only looked at him with that frightened, haunted look, as if she had no idea where he had come from or why he was there.
                                   Johnny and Lainey were working hard to get things ready for another winter. Another winter with another mouth to feed. There was no choice but to leave the baby with mother while they worked in the woods and the fields and the garden. Lainey would hear that endless crying everywhere she went. She didn't know if she was really hearing it or if she had heard it so much that it just stayed permanently in her mind. In a way it was comforting,though, that it was always in the background. If she didn't hear it for a few minutes, she would run quickly back to the house to see if he was alright. One afternoon as they were harvesting potatoes, Lainey stood up and rubbed her aching back. "Why don't we call him Seth Michal?" she asked of Johnnys bent figure across the row. "Maybe if he has a name, he won't cry so much" Johnny grinned a tight, thin grin. "It's worth a try." he said. Although, I think he's crying because he's starving. Starving for food and starving for a mothers love." Tears stung in Laineys eyes. Johnny happened to look up and he saw the heartbreak that shimmered there. He went over and hugged her, patting her back. "You do a good job of loving him, Lainey," he said. "I didn't mean to hurt you."
                                  Lainey smiled through her tears. She knew that Johnny spoke the truth. It was just the way it was. There didn't seem to be anything that anyone could do to change it. When she had washed up and come into the house to make supper, Lainey went into mothers room. Mother and the baby were both sleeping, not touching, just side by side. The baby looked exhausted. The poor thing is exhausted from living, thought Lainey. Well, so was she sometimes, like today. Her back was aching and her hands were rough and dry from digging the crumbly earth around the potatoes. She had to remind herself that those brown lumps that she was prying from the soil would be the mealy white, warm nourishment that would sustain them through the winter. She tried to remember to be thankful for them, but she was too tired, As soon as supper was over and cleaned up she fell into bed and slept the dreamless sleep of the work weary.
                                     "Shall we call him Seth Michal, Mother?" Lainey asked the next morning. Mother looked up at Lainey and then down at the baby. Surprisingly, she answered, almost as though she was back in her right mind. "That sounds nice," she said. She handed Seth Michal to Lainey and actually got out of bed. She walked into the kitchen and poured herself a cup of coffee. Lainey held her breath, in shock. She watched mother, not quite believing what she was seeing. She wondered if she dared to ask mother if there wasn't something else she could feed Seth Michal. He really didn't seem to be getting adequate nourishment from his mother.  He cried all the time when he was awake. Sometimes Lainey thought that she could not stand it anymore. She made him some thin, warm gruel and held him, trying to spoon it into his tiny mouth. Seth Michal quieted down some after that. Now, in between feedings, he lay there , small and motionless, staring at things with his shiny brown eyes.Mother was getting up now and helping out with things a little bit. She still didn't talk except for things that needed to be said about day to day living. She didn't seem to notice that  Seth Michal was too quiet and unresponsive. At least she didn't appear to notice or care.
                                      The harvest was finally done. The wood piles stood straight and clean in the wood shed. The vegetables were in the root cellar, hopefully enough to get them through until spring. Lainey sighed when she went through their clothes though, their shoes were small and the soles paper thin. She knew there were holes in Johnnys shoes. She had used all her feathers for the pillow, and for Seth Michals blanket. How were they to survive another long, cold , dark winter? Lainey would not let herself dwell on it. It was too depressing "I think I'll run to the post office" she said that afternoon. "Maybe there will be a letter from Aunt Margrit.
                                       Johnny saw her coming back. She was walking quickly. Her shoulders were squared. She looked like she was ready to burst. As she got closer, he could see that she had a rather fat envelope in her hand. Lainey saw him watching her and she ran over to him. She was too out of breath to talk. Johnny snatched the envelope from her hand, reading it quickly.  It was addressed to mother., "Elizabeth..." and it was most definitely from father. Johnny and Lainey stood looking at it as if it might suddenly bite them. Johnny wanted to take it and fling it as far as he could. Who knew what it might contain? What sadness? What words that might turn their world upside down again? He had been thinking that perhaps it would be better if they never heard from him again. If they could just get on with things the way they were with out him. What right did he have to abandon them for so long, to not care whether they lived or died, and then suddenly think he could just come back , as if none of this  had ever happened?
                                        Johnny handed the letter  back to Lainey quickly, before he really tore it up and pretended that it had never come. Lainey took it gingerly and went to the house to give it to mother. A soon as she handed it to her, she picked up Seth Michal and went back outside. He was wrapped in his down blanket and he blinked at the clear, cool sunshine. Finally, Laney had to go back in to make supper. Mother was sitting at the table. The opened envelope sat in front of her. A letter lay across it and some other square pieces of paper were there, too.
                                        "Can I read it, mother?" Lainey asked. Mother looked at her and nodded. Her face was set in harsh lines. Lainey thought that she looked old and worn. Funny that she had not noticed it before. Laney took the letter. She was almost afraid to read it.  Nothing in mothers expression told her whether it contained good news or bad. She took a deep breath and began to read. Father was so very sorry for what he had done. He had had the grace to repent of his wicked ways and was now living a good clean life. The kind he should have been living all along. Now, he hoped that they  could find it in their hearts to forgive him. He knew he was asking a lot of them, but if they could  truely forgive him, as God had surely already done, then maybe they would be willing to come to America and start things over with a clean slate. He had sent three tickets for the ship that would sail in December, and some money so they could buy some good food, and new warm clothing and shoes and whatever supplies they would need for the journey. He was waiting anxiously to hear from them and he would be there in New York City to meet them. He had bought a nice farm in a place called Michigan. It was where Aunt Margrit and many other old friends of theirs had settled. He did not say anything about Jonas and  Milly.
                                        Lainey put the letter down. "Well, mother," she said, "that's good news, isn't it? Tomorrow you must go to town and start doing all the things father wants you to do. It's October now, so we won't have to scurry around. We can take our time to get ready to go." She really didn't know what mother was thinking or how she would react. She hoped with all her heart that this was what mother needed to get her back to her old self. She tried not to think about those three tickets. Evidently father did not know about Seth Michal. Well, hopefully there was enough money to get passage for him, too. They could just scrimp on some other things, so that they could do that. After all, hadn't they been scrimping and scrounging on everything all these years?   Lainey began to hum a little tune as she began getting supper on the table.
                                       Johnny heard her clear sweet voice burst into song as he came into the house. He had not heard Lainey sing for a long, long time. He really couldn't remember when he had last heard anyone sing. It sounded so nice. So like what it was supposed to sound like when a man came  in from work, cold and hungry. So homey and comforting. So like it used to be, before all this had happened. Only, then it had been mother and Lainey singing together as they put supper on the table. Only then it had been him and father coming in to supper. It had been a boy and a man, and a girl and a woman.  Where had those people gone? What had time done to them? Now he was a man himself, and Lainey, although young, had definitely become a woman before her time.
                                        Johnny scrubbed his face and hands and came in the door. He glanced at the peaceful scene. Mother was sitting at the table. Her face was worn and blank looking. Laineys back was toward him as she took something savory smelling from the oven. Seth Michal lay bundled in his blanket, looking at them with his shiny brown eyes. His face was serious, his mouth in a straight line. Suddenly the thought came to him....What does he know, that makes him so still and quiet? What does he see, that he cannot smile at us? What things does he know, that he cannot speak, even the soft gurgling sounds of a baby? What does he feel, that he annot even cry anymore? Johnny went over and touched Seth Michals cheek. The shiny brown eyes bored into his, as if he knew what Johnny was thinking.
                                       The fall was soft and cool that year, the winter long in coming. As they tidied up their home and got things ready to leave, a sadness seemed to fall over them. Only mother seemed almost happy now. She walked with her old quick step. She gave them orders. Like she should have been doing all along. Like they had wanted her to do for so long. Now they were so used to being on their own, that they resented it a little when she started taking over. Now she seemed to have forgotten that Seth Michl was even there. Lainey had sole care of him. It was nice to be able to have enough to eat. Mother even made bread some days. It smelled so delicious when it came out of the oven and they could eat it without worrying about saving some for later.
                                          At last they were ready to head for the city. Mother said she would buy them clothes and shoes there. It was pitiful, the small amount of worldly possessions that they had, when it sat in a pile ready to go. Mother shut the house door for the last time and they walked down the same road father had walked down so jauntily four years before. Lainey and Johnny stopped at the corner and stood looking at the only home they had ever known. It looked so poor, and lonely and dilapidated. It seemed to already have forgotten them. A tear welled up in Laineys eye. She let it spill down her cheek. The morning sun turned it into a prism of color for one brief moment, and then it slid down and disappeared. Johnny blinked rapidly. Then they turned and walked after mother, who never looked back. Seth Michal slept in a sling over Laineys shoulder, so light of a burden that she barely knew he was there.    
                                      Elizabeth pondered the whole ride to the city. What was she to do about this child? He didn't seem like he was really hers. She had made herself believe that he was just another thing that she had to decide what to do with. Her husband did not know that she had this burden. He had asked her to forgive him for those four awful years of wrongs. It was a lot to ask of anyone. Surely he would also forgive her of this one mistake. If he had truly changed his life, he should be able to accept her and this child who seemed to have sprung from nowhere. She had somehow blocked out the golden days when she and Jonas had lived a dreamy life in the woods and the meadows,and had slept those dreamy nights out under the falling stars. She blocked out the dark, and the cold and the hunger. She blocked out the frightening day of giving birth to the baby with the thin, hungry wail. She blocked it all out, and decided to live from this moment on. She had money to buy them warm things and supplies for the journey. There had been nothing in that letter about warm clothes for a baby. Well, she couldn't buy anything for a baby, then. Once in town, Elizabeth set about resolutely, getting things for Johnny and Lainey and herself.
                                      They stood in a group at the dock that afternoon. Johnny gazed in awe at the huge ship that they would be living in for so many days. For the first time in so long he was actually warm. He pulled his new cap down farther over his ears. He couldn't help noticing the shine of  his new shoes sticking out from the hem of is wool trousers. He tried to be thankful. Lainey could not think about her new warm clothes. She still had Seth Michal in the sling, and he still wore only a shirt she had made him from one of Johnnys old ones, and the blanket that she had sewn during those cold winter days when the weak sunlight had gleamed in through the window.  "Mother," she finally dared to say, "what about Seth Michal? You need to go get him some warm things."
                                       Elizabeth looked at the baby as if it were the first time she had seen him. "Here, Lainey, give him to me. You two stay here with the trunk and I'll  see what I can find." Lainey handed him over. His  shiny brown eyes looked at her sadly. She kissed him, and he turned his head and looked back at her until she was out of sight.
                                       Elizabeth had seen an Orphan Home when they had been coming into town.  It would take her a while to walk all the way back there, but the ship was not leaving until the next morning, so she had plenty of time. She walked until she was tired. She stopped at a little shop and had some tea and toast, resting her feet. The new shoes were rubbing against her heels. She continued walking toward where she remembered having seen the Orphan Home. The afternoon was waning and the air was cold. Elizabeth heard the childish voices of children singing Christmas carols. She turned the corner, following the sound of the voices. She came to a schoolhouse with a small grassy place in front. There was a manger filled with hay that held a doll about the size of Seth Michal. There were two wiggly boys under a camel suit that someone had made from smooth brown cloth.  A real sheep stood quietly by, letting a small girl curl up against it, sucking her thumb. A host of  small angels stood in the background. They were belting out "Glory to God in the highest" when one little angel suddenly flipped over and stood on his head. Elizabeth saw the teacher smile a funny little lopsided smile that lit  up her plain face. You could see that she loved the children and loved what she was doing. Elizabeth stood watching until the pageant was over. She had heard about Christmas Pageants, but she had never seen one. She liked it. She stood in the background, watching the parents gathering their children and hustling them  home. The children were excited and jumped and skipped around wildly. The teacher magically got them all out of their costumes and into their own coats and hats, and handed over to the right parents. She did it all with the utmost patience and kindness, and stood there waving as the last stragglers left. "Good night, Miss Sylvie," they all called as they went their various ways.
                            Elizabeth watched from the shadows as the young woman pressed her back against the door jamb. She saw her close her eyes for a moment, as though she were beyond weary, but she knew she still had so many things to do before she went home.  It was at that  moment that Elizabeth felt in her pocket  for a scrap of paper and the stub of a pencil. She scribbled hurriedly, squinting in the semi darkness. She found the pin in her pocket. She had been using it to hold her old coat shut and she had taken it off and put it in her pocket when she had put on her new warm one.
                              For a moment Elizabeth nestled her hands in the warmth of that pocket. It had been so long since she had had warm hands. Then she pulled herself up quickly and looked around. The teacher was looking around at the mess, thoughtful, as though she were waiting for someone or something. Elizabeth seized her chance. The note was pinned on the down blanket. She walked quickly over to the manger and placed Seth Michal in the hay. Turning swiftly, she ran across the grass. She  heard her new shoes clop as they hit the hard road. She didn't turn to see if anyone had noticed her. She just calmly and purposefully walked away. Faintly she heard someone call out, "wait...come back..." but she closed her ears to the echo of the sound and hurried back down to the dock.
                               Johnny and Lainey, used to taking care of themselves, had found their way down to the bottom of the ship. Steerage, they were called. They found their spot and set up heir meager housekeeping, It was noisy and crowded.. Children milled about and frustrated mothers called out to try to rein them in before they got lost. Johnny went exploring to see and hear everything that was going on. Lainey made up the bunks with their new warm blankets. She placed her down pillow on her blanket, smoothing ad straightening. She put a cloth on top of  an upturned box and placed the copper tea kettle and a loaf of bread on it for a cupboard. The tea kettle shimmered with its coppery glow in the lamp light. She sat on her bunk to admire the effect of it. It seemed to make everything homey and familiar.
She put  patchwork quilt on top of the trunk. They could use that as their table. If only mother would get here soon. She would feel safer when they were all here together. She could snuggle down under the covers  with Seth Michal and together they could dream about America. Of course, he was too small to know anything about anything, but she had been talking to him about it ever since they had gotten their tickets. Lainey knew mother was worried about having to explain him to father, but, surely he would understand. After all, they had forgiven him for a lot, and anyway, who could not love Seth Michal?
                                 Soon she saw mother making her way through the crowd. "Over here, mother " she called standing on  tiptoe and waving her hands over all the heads. Mother looked weary but peaceful. She looked at Lainey with a kind but severe look in her eyes. "He was too small to make this journey, Lainey," she said, in her  don't argue with me voice. Lainey felt her heart stop in her chest. For a minute she couldn't breathe. She could not think. She could not talk. She sat there as if someone had knocked the wind out of her. She could not believe her mother was really saying this. It could not be true. She looked at Johnny with huge pleading eyes. Johnny felt his heart break for her. "But, where is he, mother? Where did you leave him?" the words came out in a hoarse whisper. "You saw that nice, big orphanage on our way into the city," was all that mother said.
                                   Lainey felt that he had turned to stone. She was unable to move. Mother briskly boiled water for tea and cut them slabs of bread and cheese. Laineys stomach churned within her. She turned her face away from her mother, who sat there eating supper as if this was the most normal night in the world. Lainey wanted to rage and scream and cry. Instead she got stiffly up and crawled into her bunk. She pulled the blanket up over herself and turned her face to the wall. Johnny could see her shaking with sobs, but she made no sound. It was the worst thing Johnny had ever heard, that silence of Lainey crying with no voice. It was worse than the moans when mother was having the baby. It was worse than the helpless, hungry wailing of Seth Michal living without enough food or enough love. It was so silent and awful, that he could not stay and hear it. He took himself off to where the young men were hanging out, talking over their plans for the future. There they stayed till deep into the night talking over the American dream. Johnny didn't say much. He was sad and emotionally exhausted, but he let their voices wash over and around him, trying to drown out Laineys sorrow.
                                     In the early hours of the morning Johnny stood on the upper deck watching the business of the huge ship slipping from the dock and heading out to sea. Wearily he made his way back down to where his family slept. He looked sadly at mother, sleeping peacefully. He guessed that Seth Michal would be a secret that stayed in the old country, never to be spoken of  in the new. A forgotten dream  child from those nightmarish days in the dark and the cold and the hunger. Johnny looked at Lainey. She slept with her face to the wall, and under her head was the ptarmigan feather pillow, wet with tears.
 
                                   Next, Part Three. It's hard for us to understand, how it was in those times and those places, It's easy to judge. Ask yourself, if you really had lived this, then, would you be a bigger or better person? What about now? I think we can learn from our history, even if it is only compassion and forgiveness.    
 

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