Away In A Manger

Another writing group story with a religious undertone.

AWAY IN A MANGER

Fred allowed his wife only three indulgences for Christmas—the tree; a front door wreath she made with real pine boughs from the back wind break; and her favorite piece of art hung above the fireplace.  While they had many more decorations wrapped in tissue and newspaper and stored in neatly stacked boxes in the old coal bin, the presence of so much cheer when he so desperately lacked it taxed his fragile mental state.

He knew she wanted more.  Every year after the Thanksgiving meal, when the dishes were washed and put away, and the leftovers crammed into the icebox, Shelly would march into the living room to find Fred and their children, Mary and Josh, succumbed to full bellies, soft cushions, and mindless television.  To everyone’s groans and grumbling, Shelly would invariably announce “Come on.  Nap time’s over.  Get up sleepy heads.  We’ve got work to do.  Time to get ready for Christmas.  Come on.  Get up.  Come on, Fred, you, too.”  Fred sometimes wondered what in her childhood would drive her to such madness.

Fred and Josh would trudge to the basement coal bin, return with boxes and stack them in the living room based on Shelly’s direction.  “That one’s ornaments.  It goes over in the corner where the tree will be.  Careful.  They’re glass.  That one’s decorations for the mantle.  Over there.  Fred, where’s the tree stand?  Oh, the dishes.  Put those on the dining room table.  Those are the outside lights.  Put them on the porch.” 

Fred groused during the entire production, but he’d go along because he knew how important it was to her.  He watched her excitement as she’d unwrap an ornament, hold it up and retell how one of the children had made it for her in second grade.  He’d smile when she’d invariably come to tears over the smallest thing.  Soon, she be sitting on the sofa fondling a home-made decoration or a staring at a ribbon she’d gotten from her grandmother when she was a young girl.  Every year it was the same.  She got everyone heading in her direction, then she’d sit down along the side of the road, lost in remembrances while everyone else pushed ahead. 

He knew that Shelly was deeply disappointed when, the day before Thanksgiving, he confronted her in the kitchen and told her he didn’t feel up to decorating the house for Christmas. 

“That’s okay,” she said.  “You don’t need to help.  Especially carrying those big boxes up or putting up the lights.  The kids and I can do it.”

“No.  You don’t understand.  I don’t want all that junk out.  You can have a tree and a wreath, but that’s it. 

“But . . . but, we always put the decorations out.  It’s part of Christmas.  It’s a family tradition.”

“This isn’t a traditional Christmas, Shell.  We’re on the verge of losing this place.  Putting all that stuff out would feel . . . I don’t know.  I just don’t feel cheery and I don’t want to see it.”

Shelly began to weep.

“Alright, look.  You can put the picture over the fireplace too.”

Fred left the room for his easy chair and he could feel her eyes on his back.  While he eased himself into his chair and leaned his cane on the side table, he intentionally avoided looking back.  Instead, he stared into the cold fireplace, his mind immediately going back to the day he was taking a roll of hay out to the pasture.  Now he wondered why he’d taken the path he had, riding the side of a hill.  He didn’t realize the center of balance was so skewed that when he hit the tree root, the tractor began to roll over to the left.  He tried to jump off, but his foot caught the wheel cover, and he fell in the path of the tractor.

He spent three months in the hospital with internal bleeding that wouldn’t stop.  Josh came home to work the farm in his absence, giving up his job at the lumber yard to do so.  When the harvest came, Josh reported that the yield was down and price per bushel of corn was the lowest he’d ever seen.  Fred knew then it was going to be a lean winter.

When he got home from the hospital in early September and the hospital bills started pouring in, Fred mortgaged the farm to pay them.  This was his grandfather’s farm.  It had been in his family for more than a hundred years.  Now the mortgage company held the title. 

With the first mortgage payments due in three weeks, he wasn’t sure how he would pay them.  The yield from the corn barely gave them enough money to buy groceries and pay the utilities.  Josh still worked the farm, but Fred couldn’t pay him.  He decided to sell off his livestock; all but the sow heavy with piglets.  

Thanksgiving that year was solemn.  Shelly sliced the turkey in silence.  The mashed potatoes made the rounds followed by the gravy boat, and you could hear the gravy drip back into the boat from the overflowing ladle.  The clinking of silverware on china was deafening.  When the meal was over, Shelly excused herself and began clearing away dishes before serving the apple pie.  Josh and Mary looked at each other across the table as though trying to speak without breaking the silence.

After the dessert was gone, Fred retired to the bedroom and lay down.  After so long in the hospital, he was still weak and the heavy meal made him uncomfortable.  When he emerged after his nap, Mary and her family had gone home and Josh had left with the pickup to find a Christmas tree.  Fred eased his way to his chair, his cane tapping on the wood floors.

Shelly sat down on the sofa and glared at Fred.  “Well, are you happy now?”

Fred avoided her stare instead gazing into the fireless fireplace.  It was then he saw that she’d put her picture over the mantle . . . the picture she’d bought years earlier.  A painting of a family in their living room decorating a Christmas tree.  When she brought it home she proudly displayed it.  “Doesn’t it look like our family?  I mean, except for the dog and the fact that the woman is much thinner than I am, it could be us.  The kids are the same age as ours.  Don’t you love it?” 

The painting that had once been a mirror of their lives, now felt like a locked window with him on the outside looking in.  While this smiling family was reaching toward the top of the heavily laden tree, he was scraping the bottom of the barrel.  While they reveled in the joys of the season, he was dreading the news of each day.  As they basked in the golden warmth of the fireplace and togetherness, he glared at his dead gas fireplace in the loneliness of an empty living room. 

Yet, much as he wanted to, he couldn’t bring himself to have her take down the picture.  It was her connection to happier times.  And as much as he didn’t want to look back to better times, he wouldn’t deny her the memories this painting obviously brought to her.  So he satisfied himself by avoiding looking at it.

Two weeks later, as Fred, Shelly, and Josh sat down to supper, Josh said, “The sow had her litter.”

“How many?” asked Fred.

“Seven.”

“They all survive?”

“Yeah.”

“They all getting a tit?”

“All but one.”

Fred took a swallow from the glass of water and then pursed his lips.  He knew there was a greater chance than not that the pig left out wouldn’t survive.  It happened often enough.  Often enough that he didn’t dwell on it.  Animals die all the time.  That’s what he raised them to do.  If they survived their youth, they’d die by the knife as an adult.  That was the way of life for livestock. 

The next day Fred gingerly hobbled with his cane to the barn.  Rather than walking through the garden, as he normally would, he went around to avoid the rough ground.  He opened the barn door and went up to the fence that defined the pig pen.  There, in the center of the pen, the sow lay on her side with the litter of piglets crowded up to her belly each sucking on a tit.  All but one. 

It was smaller than the rest, he thought.  While the other six were a healthy looking pink, this one was rather pale in color.  Attempting to shove its way in between its brothers and sisters to dislodge one from its mother’s milk, it met with no success.  Soon, the pig gave up and lay down apart from the feeding frenzy.

Fred watched its side expand and contract with each breath.  It made him conscious of his own breathing—conscious of his own suffering.  Without warmth and nutrition it would soon die.  Fred unhooked his can from the fence, slowly turned and walked back to the house.

When Josh came by after lunch to do the chores, including feeding the sow, Fred told him that he wanted to go along.  After Josh put the feed out and the sow started eating, Fred tapped Josh’s leg with his cane.

“Grab that length of fence over there.  Let’s go get that runt.”

“Are you going to try to save it?”

“I guess.”

Josh looked amused at his Dad.

“Ah, it’s not right to just let it up and die.”

They moved into the pen, keeping the fence section between them and the sow until the runt was separated from the rest.  Fred bent over with effort and picked up the piglet with his free arm while Josh kept his eye on the sow. 

“I’m going over here with it,” said Fred nodding toward a separate room.  “You go find a baby bottle, fill it with warm milk, and bring it out.”

“We still have baby bottles?”

“Your sister’s given us a grandkid.”

“Where are they?”

“Probably down in the basement.  Ask your mother.”

When Josh left, Fred carried the piglet to an area in the barn that was once filled with feed bags.  Now it was empty.  Old gunny sacks hung from nails on the wall.  Fred leaned his cane against the wall and took down the sacks dropping them in a heap in the corner.  He then leaned over and eased the runt onto the makeshift bed.  It hardly acted as though it knew what was going on.  It didn’t raise its head and its breathing was shallow.  Fred hoped he hadn’t waited too long.

Soon Josh returned to the barn with the baby bottle.  He was accompanied by Shelly who stayed out of the way and didn’t say a word. 

“Give me the bottle and go get a couple bails of hay.”

Fred tipped the bottle and coated the nipple with the milk.  He gently placed the nipple into the mouth of the runt and held it there.  Initially, nothing happened.  Then the runt’s tongue felt the nipple and tasted the warm milk.  Soon it was sucking.  Still, it didn’t move, but Fred was encouraged that it was taking the milk.

Josh brought two hay bails and broke them apart in the opposite corner of the room making a nest of sorts.  He and his mother stood at the door and watched as Fred continued to feed the runt.

“Okay, Josh.  I’m going to pick it up.  You grab the sacks and put them in the hay.”

Fred could feel a twinge in his chest as he picked up the pig, but he continued and carried it to its new bed without using his cane.  He sat in the hay and held the bottle in the pig’s mouth.

Looking up at Josh and Shelly, Fred whispered, “Well, I guess I’ve done it now.  I’m going to have to stay until it’s got its strength.”

“Oh no you don’t,” objected Shelly.  “You’ll do no such thing.  If you insist on someone staying with this animal, Josh can stay out here.”

Josh shot her a glance.

“It wasn’t Josh’s idea.  I’ll do it.”

Josh shook his head and said, “We’ll do it in shifts.”

Shelly said, “I suppose you’re going to want fresh bottles every so often?”

Fred looked up at Shelly and smiled.

“Milk’s not cheap you know.”

Fred nodded.  Shelly sighed and left the barn.

“I don’t get it, Dad,” said Josh.  “You got rid of all the rest of the livestock.  Why are you so worried about this runt?”

Fred looked back at the pig who had stopped suckling and then back at Josh quickly raising his eyebrows as if to say, “I don’t know.”

“I’ll be back in a couple hours.  You need anything?”

Fred shook his head.

He sat down in the hay never removing the nipple from the runt’s mouth.  The runt would suck a few times and then stop.  A small damp spot developed on the gunny sack around the pig’s mouth.  Fred picked up the pig and cradled it in his coat and on his left arm.  When he lifted it, the piglet jerked as though surprised with what was happening to him.  It allowed itself to be held though, and soon it was sucking again on the bottle.  After a short while, it squirmed a little and then went to sleep.  Fred put down the milk bottle, put his right hand on the runt’s belly and felt it breathing.  Satisfied, Fred fell asleep as well.

Fred and the pig were still sleeping when Josh returned. 

“What’s this?”

“Shhhh.”  Fred whispered, “It drank nearly half the bottle.”

Josh nodded and pulled out a fresh bottle of milk from his jacket pocket. 

“Good,” whispered Fred.  “You may want to hold it for a while to keep it warm.  It seems to eat better.”

Josh took the piglet from Fred’s coat then with his free hand helped Fred to his feet.  Fred found his cane and turned back to Josh who was sitting down in the hay with the runt.

“How long have I been here?”

“Couple hours.”

Fred nodded and turned away.  “I’ll be back in a couple hours then.”

Fred and Josh took turns throughout the day tending the piglet.  At six o’clock, Fred returned to the barn with a lantern, a blanket, and a bottle for his shift.  “My turn.  Mom’s kept your supper hot.”

“We going to do this all night?”

“For as long as it takes.”

Fred settled in and Josh handed him the pig.  Immediately, Fred noticed that the pig was moving more than it had before.  It squirmed a little more, and its eyes were open.  Fred looked at Josh and winked.  Soon the pig was sucking harder than it had before on the bottle.  After draining the bottle, it fell fast asleep.  Before it fell asleep, though, it rolled a little onto its side in what must have been a more comfortable position. 

The pig’s rhythmic breathing reassured Fred that things were looking better.  It suddenly struck him that not too long ago, he was this pig.  In need of help.  In need of someone to care for him.  He, too, could have died had people not taken the time to treat and heal him. 

  He recalled his wife being there when he woke from the anesthesia after yet another surgery to stem the internal bleeding.  She was always there.  Feeding him when he was too weak to hold the cup or silverware.  Reading cards that friends had sent wishing him well.  Holding his hand as he fell asleep.  Josh and Mary came in shifts, giving Shelly the opportunity to go out and get something to eat, reporting on the latest event on the farm, showing grandpa the picture of a tractor his grandchild had drawn for him.

Now, here was this pig.  Slowly recovering.  Unable to say thank you.  Fred stared off into the black corner of the barn while the pig slept in the cradle of Fred’s arm. 

Fred woke suddenly when he felt something walking across his legs.  The light in the barn was dim.  The lantern was nearly dead.  Then he realized he no longer felt the weight of the pig in his arm.  In the dim light, Fred could see that the pig was in the shadows standing up, rooting at the floor.  He watched the piglet move around slowly and on weak legs, but moving.  No longer was it the helpless animal that could only lie down and barely drink.  The runt had regained some of its strength, though Fred was sure that it would be a bit longer before it would be ready to rejoin its brothers and sisters.

The sun rose and the lantern died. 

Shortly after sunrise, Josh showed up carrying a cup of coffee for both.

“Sorry.  I overslept.”

“Look.”  Fred pointed to the runt in the corner.

Josh smiled and handed Fred his coffee.  They both watched the piglet move around for a while before Fred asked for help getting up.

“We’ll need to keep feeding it for a little while.  But it looks to be doing a lot better.  Maybe by this afternoon, it can rejoin its family.  Even then, we’ll need to keep an eye on it to make sure it’s accepted.”

“Sure.”

“Well, I think I’ll go in and get cleaned up a bit.”

“Uh, Mom left already.  She had something at the school she had to go do setup for.  She said she’d be back by lunch.”

“Oh, that’s right.”

“I’ll stay out here until noon.”

“Good.”

* * * * *

Inside, Fred propped his cane against the kitchen table and walked to the door leading to the basement.  He held on to the railing going down the steep stairs and then turned the corner.  At the bottom, he walked past the furnace and the hot water heater toward the old coal bin.  He flipped on the light and opened the slat wooden door.  There, where he’d left them last year, were the remaining boxes of Christmas decorations. 

An hour and a half later, Fred had all six boxes upstairs on the dining table.  He sat down and rested for a moment.  Then he turned toward a box and started emptying its contents, very carefully, onto the table.  The front porch lights, the candles and candlesticks, the nativity scenes and snow globe with a bright red cardinal inside, the stockings, the dishes with the Christmas tree motif and the ugly Christmas palm tree trinket given to Shelly by her aunt from Florida.  He set them all out on the table ready for Shelly to come home.  Then he went to the living room and waited in his chair.

He saw Shelly turned down the lane a little before noon.  Fred took his cane and went out on the porch to wait.  Shelly parked at the side of the house and stepped out of the car.

“How is it?”

“Oh, it’s getting on much better now.  Josh is out there with it.”

“I’m sorry about Josh.  I had to wake him up this morning.”

“That’s okay.”

“So, it’s going to survive?”

“I think so.  It responded to care well.  Better than some things I know.”

Shelly walked up to the porch, but before she could reach for the door Fred said, “You’ve got some work ahead of you.”

Shelly looked inquisitively at Fred.  Fred nodded toward the door and Shelly went in.  After a few moments Fred heard Shelly scream.  He stayed on the porch smiling.  Shelly came out the door, tears streaming down her face and threw her arms around Fred’s neck.

“I’m sorry about the way I’ve been acting,” whispered Fred.  “That little pig made me think about a few things.  Made me realize that even though we may lose this place, we’re still there for each other.  I think the way I’ve been acting makes me the runt, and I’m sorry.”