Well, enough to keep him alive. That’s all that mattered right now. That and making it through Christmas.
He sighed. Christmas. Everyone said this was the hardest time of year and the first one was the worst by far. He sure hoped so. He couldn’t go through this year after year.
In fact, if he had his way, he’d pull the shades and lock the door and not come out until January.
Puddles whined a little but continued to eat as Levi made his way down the hall. He slowed at the first door. The room that Mary had said would be the nursery.
He stopped, touched the doorknob. He hadn’t been in the room since the funeral. Right afterward he had shut the door and vowed that he would, one day, go through all the things that remained, baby things that he no longer needed. But Christmas was not the time to execute such a chore.
His heart beat a little faster as he turned the knob and stepped inside, reaching for the chain on the propane-powered lamp. Not many folks in their district had them. This was their only one, but Mary had insisted. She wanted a quick light in the middle of the night when the baby needed attending.
Levi pulled the string, and a golden circle of light cascaded across the wall and part of the floor. The room itself was still dim, but he could make out shapes. The crib was pushed against the far window. Mary had debated on the sun bothering the baby but had decided that, since the window faced north, the baby wouldn’t be too hot from the position in the sun or too cold in the winter. Even then, the day before she died, she had asked him if he thought she should move it. He had smiled indulgently and told her to do what she wanted.
He should have given her a real answer. He had no idea what that answer would have been. Would the close proximity to the window be an issue? He had no idea. But he still should have given her an answer instead of brushing off her question since he had heard it so many times.
There was still a lot of work that needed to be done to the room. But Mary’s family had been bringing things over since the day she told them that she was having a baby. Some of it was hand-me-downs and bags of diapers, both cloth and disposable, along with a few toys, blankets, and tiny little clothes that were impossibly small.
Mary hadn’t wanted to do too much to the room, but she had to have a place to store the items. She hadn’t wanted to appear arrogant about the baby. It was always a worry, that balance between excited and haughty.
He really should take some of the things to church and give them to the people he thought could use them. Or maybe even into town to the shop on Main that had secondhand Amish and Mennonite clothing.
But he couldn’t. Not yet.
Mims had been talking about making a shadow box to hang on the wall, a memorial to Mary and the baby. Something to remember them by, always remember them.
He knew when he did that he would be conceding that Mary and the baby she carried were really and truly gone. He wasn’t ready for that just yet.
He cut off the light and shut the door on the memories, but they followed him back into the kitchen. He had been headed to his room for something, but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember what it was.
Puddles had finished her meal and had laid down on the large pillow bed he had made for her. Her tail thumped against the floor when she saw him return.
She whined. The cow dog had been Mary’s idea. She had wanted a dog to signal when someone came onto their property. Since he did most of the leatherwork in the district, the community, even, it was good to know if someone was around.
“I’m getting something,” he told the dog. He opened the icebox and pulled out a container. Chili. Easy enough. Though he wished he had a pan of Mary’s corn bread to go with it. Mary always made the best corn bread, and for the duration of their marriage he had carried an extra five pounds around his middle as testament to that.
But Mary was gone. There was no corn bread. Crackers would have to suffice.
He got out a pan and lit the stove. Even that reminded him of his wife. Of just after they had just gotten married and she had singed her eyebrows off because she had turned the gas up too high before lighting the match. It had scared him half to death at the time, but when they had looked back on the incident, they had laughed about it. He would give anything to be able to laugh with her about it just once more. Or to spend this last Christmas with her.
A sigh escaped him as he dumped some chili into the pan and set it on the burner. Puddles whined once more. She laid her chin on her paws and looked up at him with those innocent brown eyes. Her brows were wrinkled in doggy worry.
“I know, girl,” he said. He needed to get himself together—if not for his own sake, then for that of his dog. Mary’s dog.
He scratched the pooch on the top of her head, and
