Beforehand were those welfare days when Old Man drank up everything. Many times the caseworker sat in her car waiting for Old Woman to walk out of Sweet Hollow as the whippoorwills flew along in the trees, accompanying her. A report had gone in to the welfare office before: their old stove has the bread box burnt out; they have a broom handle propping up the door. Old Woman came out the first of each month, talking, giving details. Each time she talked about her cow. "Had a bull calf. Me nor the cow can discern any eyeballs." She was undaunted. "Bull calf can suck and grow." Old Woman liked the caseworker. She said "I am going to learn you a tree from a tree."

Old Man was a drunk. He gave out his tobacco money on the street. He had forty dollars left. Welfare had the police to bring him in. He said, "I owe forty dollars to the Home Loans." Welfare called and he did.

Old Woman brought things to town in a bag to sell. Her three children always came along. They lay down beside the street and went to sleep when they got tired. Nobody could move them, and the police did not know what to do.

Welfare finally decided to commit Old Man. They decided to send letters to each of his seven children by his first wife and tell them. And in this case, the miracle started. The seven children started to write in, send the Old Man things, and those who were near came to visit. One wrote from Utah, "I was glad to hear thee was still in the world." Old Man turned over and about the word thee in his mind, and pondered on it.

Old Man drank less and less and thrived on all the attention from his younguns. "A miracle," welfare said, and Old Woman went on doing the best she could.

Now the other miracle is not about their bad days and hard times nor about Old Man drinking less, but it is a miracle that took place one particular Christmas night out of their total lives.

The tree was ready, strung with white popcorn and colored chains of paper. "I growed that popcorn," thought the Old Woman, "I popped it and strung it with my needle and thread. That colored paper I saved all year for the chains the flour paste holds together."

They all admired the tree, especially the children. There was Bud, the oldest boy, a middle boy, and the youngest who was a girl. Under the tree were the boxes the mailman had left down at the road in the mailbox. One box was heavy. "Might be oranges," they said. The children handed the box around, weighing it in their hands and shaking it, until the box someway developed a big hole on one end. Big enough for little hands to reach in and come out with a handful of candy.

"Who did this?" teased the Old Woman.

"Maybe it was a rat," said the children. They didn't know if they should own up to it.

"I know who was the rat," said Old Woman as the children laughed.

Before dark Old Man brought in the huge back log for the fireplace. Bud helped saw it from a great fallen tree. The crosscut saw tired his arm, and when his strength gave out, the two other children put their hand on his end and helped him pull the saw through the great log. Old Man rolled it through the snow and finally to the fireplace where its fire would last through the night and throw its rosy glow over the room, the tree, and the bunched of bittersweet on the dresser. Old Man had brought the bittersweet in off a high ridge. On the mantel was the pile of cards. Old Woman set her bowl of potato bread to rise near the fire. But not to near. She turned it around to warm each side evenly. Waves from the growing bread floated about in the room.

"Tomorrow they will come," said Old Man, "They will be here tomorrow." He held a card with writing on the back. "I am thinking of thee. I was glad to hear thee was not poorly." How far is Utah? Old Man's head dropped as he thought, there in the West, one of mine is one of the chosen, and he has not forgotten me.

All morning Old Woman had sifted things into a pie, which had made the children run around the table and peek and lick spoons, and sop on the bowl, and crinkle their noses at the wonderful, wonderful pie.

"Maw has baked the devil in the pie." Bud caught hold of the youngest girl and pulled her back. Her eyes doubled in wonder, for she believed everything she was told. The next minute she would forget Bud's teasing words, but fifty years later she would remember, "Maw has baked the devil in the pie."

"Bedtime. Go to sleep. So it will be tomorrow." The children mounted a ladder to their beds up over the room in a half loft. The two boys slept at the head of the bed with the girl wedged down at the foot. They kept giggling and calling down.

Out of hiding Old Woman brought a rag doll for the girl and cornstalk animals for the boys and placed them under the tree. Tomorrow there would be ity presents when they opened the boxes.

"I had the best go to the barm and see if the barn door has come open. The bull calf may have wandered out in the snow and can't see to find its way back," said Old Woman and slipped out the door with a lighted lantern.

The children called down, "Who went out the door?"

Old Man called back, "It is your maw. Going to the barn. If she catches a reindeer, I'll call you for a ride."

Old Woman's galoshes crunched the snow, already frozen on top. Her lantern cast light ahead. Inside the barn, she looked for the dark outline of the cow and tried to see if the blind bull calf was close by her back. She thought she could see them and the one ewe sheep and its lamb and Old Ram. All were asleep except Old Ram who heard her steps and stood up, a few straws sticking out of his mouth, his black face a mystery in the dark.

Old Woman held the lantern near Old Ram's face. She rubbed her fingers into his two ears, which were soft and warm like a warm glove. "Hello. Are you warm?" said Old Woman. "Where is the blind bull calf?"

"Look behind its mother's back."

"I was afraid it had wandered out and could not see to get back."

Old Ram was standing guard. Overhead the doves talked, moving back and forth on the pole. Old Woman thought the sweet odor of the hay turned into perfume. Old Woman saw in the dimness the lamb near its mother, his black legs stretched straight, his black head turned on his side, sleeping.

Old Ram said, "Besides being very new, the lamb is getting fat on milk. He falls asleep any place. He may be hard to wake."

"Will you be waking him?"

"Yes, at midnight. We will all talk at midnight. But you must go. You must not hear."

"What will you talk about?"

"What our fathers and mothers told us. Wonderful things. From the past, and things to come. Mostly, about the Babe."

"In church today, they told the story of Mary and Joseph and the Babe."

"And the donkey and the camel and the sheep."

The cow had gotten to her feet.

Old Woman said, "I worry about the blind bull calf."

"Do not. He can hear better than any of us what all is said."

"We saw Him first," said the cow. "It is our history. You should go now."

"Why?"

"No one is supposed to hear what we say. We want to hear what the blind bull calf says. This is the first time he has spoken."

Old Woman saw the calf rising to his feet. "Can he discern the light from the dark?" she asked.

"Yes, he can see in the dark."

The ground was getting holier.

Old Woman saw fire in Old Ram's eyes as she took up her lantern.

"There is the star," he said. "Look over the door through that crack."

Old Woman saw the star blinking through the crack over the barn door.

Now Old Ram was nosing the lamb to wake him up. He was hard to wake.

"It is time," the cow said. "Can you feel what I feel in the air?"

In a minute the new lamb would be back asleep. His head drooped. Old Ram stood close nudging him upon his black knees.

The blind bull calf was standing. All were looking his way, listening for his first words.

"The bells of heaven. They ring. It is the angels." It was the bull calf.

Old Woman thought she felt the whirring of wings in the air. I should be going, she thought.

"The angels began descending from heaven an hour ago. They are all over the place." The air grew thick. "They are strapping a pair of starry wings on your shoulders," said the blind bull calf to Old Woman.

"Good. Bull Calf can see things that we cannot," said Old Ram. "Don't stay. Hurry."

Old Woman laughed. "I am going now. Don't go out in the snow. I will latch the barn door on the outside."

As she looked back, all of the animals were kneeling.

Outside, snow covered the hills. Old Woman thought she heard bells ringing faintly from somewhere. Blind calf's angels are ringing them, she thought. She walked over the snow so lightly. "It is like I do have wings," she said. Old Woman was very happy. Happiness and the cold from the snow pushed her along fast, like she really did have wings. She thought she skimmed along so fast. "Like I really do have a pair of starry wings," she said. The very hills were singing.

Opening the door, Old Woman stepped into the room. She lifted the lantern to blow out its light. She listened toward the stairs for the children. She saw the room just as she had left it, with a rosy glow over the tree and Old Man asleep in his chair.

She looked about the room for an angel.

Everywhere there was peace and harmony and love. Here was a home, a man, a woman, and some children, and down at the barn some animals were kneeling.
©Copyright, Lou Crabtree