Cracks in the Sidewalk(88)

Claire peppered Louise with question after question but got few answers. Yes, she had seen the kids. Yes, they all looked well. No, she hadn’t had an opportunity to talk to them. No, she hadn’t trailed them back to wherever they were living.

“It never dawned on me to do that; I didn’t know they’d gone missing.”

After nearly two hours of questioning, Louise finally got to the favor she’d come to ask about. “I was hoping you’d be willing to help me with my Sunday school class for the next six weeks.”

Caught up in the euphoria of good news, Claire answered, “Sure.”

~

That night Claire told Charlie of the conversation.

“Now that we know they’re in Minnesota, we can get a private investigator to find them,” Claire said.

Although he argued that trying to find five people who lived somewhere in the state of Minnesota or perhaps Wisconsin was like searching for a needle in a haystack, Charlie finally agreed to hire an investigator.

“But even if we get Jeffrey’s address, it doesn’t mean he’ll allow us to visit the kids.”

Claire didn’t want to consider such a negative train of thought, so for the remainder of the month she happily planned their reunion with the children.





A Partridge in a Pear Tree


When Claire arrived at the church on Sunday morning, the last thing she expected to see was a room full of noisy kindergartners, twenty-seven in all. When Louise asked for Sunday School help, Claire had envisioned a class of adults like the Bible study she’d attended five years ago. She’d never considered that a woman in her eighties would teach children.

“I don’t know if I can handle this many kids,” she whispered in her friend’s ear.

“Of course you can,” Louise answered, then she shoved a tub of crayons toward Claire and told her to put a handful in the center of each table. “Mix them up so there’s an assortment of colors on each table.”

Louise turned to the whirlwind of kids who were talking, laughing, chasing one another, and, in one case, crouching beneath the table, and she clapped her hands—once, twice, slight pause, then three quick claps. Suddenly the noise stopped, and the children repeated the clapping pattern. Clap, clap, pause, clap, clap, clap. Once the room got quiet, Louise asked in a thin, delicate voice, “What time is it?”

Claire glanced at her watch, but a chorus of little voices shouted, “Learning time!”

With no word of direction, the children scurried toward the center of the room and sat on the floor. The only exception was the boy from beneath the table. He sat apart from the group, head hanging low and his back pushed against the wall.

Claire went and squatted beside the boy. “You look awfully sad,” she whispered.

He nodded almost imperceptibly but kept his chin tucked to his chest.

“I’m sorry you’re feeling sad,” she said sympathetically. “Maybe if you tell me your name, I could do something.”

“Adam.”

“Well, Adam, do you want to tell me what’s wrong?”

He kept his eyes focused on the floor and shrugged.

Claire wrapped her arm around the lad’s shoulder. “If you tell me the problem, maybe I can fix it.”

“My shoe’s untied.”

Claire squeezed his shoulder. “Well, that’s easy enough to fix.”

He pulled his right foot from beneath his leg, and she saw a brown shoelace flopping loose on both ends. Claire tightened the laces and looped the two loose ends into a bow.

Adam lifted his head and smiled.

“How about we go listen to the rest of Miss Louise’s story?”

Adam nodded.

When Claire stood he took hold of her hand, and when he lowered himself into the crowd of his classmates he tugged her down alongside of him.

~

After the story there was a prayer and another round of clapping, then Louise announced it was time for pageant practice.

“Yea!” the chorus echoed gleefully.

“Can I be the partridge?” a voice called out.

“No, Brenda,” Louise answered, “Sara is the partridge. You’re a French hen.”

“Why does Sara get—”

“Because she’s smaller and the tree platform is only big enough for a very small person.” Louise motioned to a group of boys. “Calling Birds, over here.”

Adam still clung to Claire when Louise wriggled a finger at him. “You’re a Turtle Dove. You should be next to Tommy.” Adam slid his hand from Claire’s and moved to stand alongside a dark-haired boy with round glasses.

“Okay,” Louise said. “Now, everyone, stay with your group.” She waved toward Claire. “You take the partridge, turtle doves, French hens, and calling birds. I’ll get the rest.”

“Take them where?”

“You don’t take them anywhere.” Louise chuckled. “Just teach them their parts of the song.”

Claire stood there slightly petrified.

“It’s easy,” Louise assured her. “We start with the partridge sitting in the tree and she sings the first verse, then the turtle doves come on stage and they sing the second verse, and so on. Everybody joins in on the chorus.”

“Okay,” Claire answered nervously. She turned to the group in front of her. “Do you all know the song?”