Away In A Manger

by Laei Littke

Nathaniel arrived at our house in September with a duffel bag and a supply of put-downs. “I hate it here,” he announced immediately. He looked first at our surrounding fields, then at Laverne, me Darwin, Rula Mae, Tootie, and Max, standing there in stair-step order of age. Last, he looked at our black and white dog, Sport, who as usual was nipping at his tail. “There’s nothing here but cows and hayseeds, and fleas,” Nathaniel continued. “I wish I could go back home to New York City.”

Within two days, the rest of the kids wished the same thing. Nathaniel did nothing except complain and haunt the mailboxes out on the road, looking for a letter from his mother.

“She said she’d write soon and tell me when I can come home,” he said every day.

And every day Darwin whispered, “I hope it comes soon.”

“Well, now,” Mama soothed, “your mother never was much of a letter writer, Nathaniel. You just be patient.”

To us Mama said, “Be nice. He’ll blend in eventually.”

Nathaniel was the son of Aunt Delia, Mama’s sister, who had run away with a rock singer when she was seventeen. The only things Mama had received from her in eleven years were a couple of phone calls and Nathaniel. The last phone call was about her getting married again, her third time. Soon after that, Nathaniel arrived.

He was still with us at Christmastime, and we hoped that the season would work some kind of magic on him, like in the story about Scrooge. But Scrooge was a pushover compared to Nathaniel. When mama started her Christmas baking, Nathaniel said he preferred the smell of hot pretzels in the New York subway. He said our little Christmas tree was nothing compared to the sky-tail wonder that was put up in Rockefeller Plaza each year. And, when we went to the nearby town of Pratt to do our Christmas shopping at the J.C. Penny store, he ruined our excitement by sneering, “You could put this whole hick town inside Macy’s department store in New York City.”

We were helping Mama make cookies on the day he told us about the store windows in New York. “They have winter scenes with skaters on ponds and toy shops and whole towns right there in the windows, and everything moves.” The best our little village could do was a lighted, plastic manger scene on the church lawn.

Laverne, who was rolling out cookie dough, put her chin up. “Well, here we go caroling and put on a show on Christmas Eve.” She whacked at the dough with the rolling pin. The caroling and the show were news to the rest of us kids. We had never done anything except make popcorn and maybe sing carols around the piano on Christmas Eve. We had only three neighbors within walking distance, and the snow was always deep at Christmas. We had never thought of caroling.

“Oh?” Nathaniel said. “What kind of a show do you do?” He seemed interested, maybe because he was always saying he was going to be an actor on Broadway when he went home to New York.

“We do a big show.” Laverne’s eyes glazed over a little. “This year we’re going to have Joseph and Mary and the Christ Child and costumes, and we’ll read from the Bible. It will be the most wonderful Christmas show ever.”

Rula Mae’s face lit up. “I’ll be Mary,” she volunteered. “I can wear my long dress.” Rula Mae’s most prized possession was a tattered chiffon formal Mama had worn, before any of us were born, when she played the part of a society girl in a community play.

Laverne frowned. “That dress is red, with silver sequins all over the top. Mary wouldn’t wear a dress like that.”

“She would if she had one,” Rula Mae said.

“When we put on Christmas shows in New York,” Nathaniel said, “we always have a Mary dressed in blue robes. And a halo that’s lighted by radiant beams from heaven afar.”

“You’re making that up,” Laverne said. “You got that from ‘Silent Night’.”

“No, I didn’t,” Nathaniel said hotly. “The halo had batteries.”

Laverne sniffed. “Well, our Mary is going to wear a red dress with a wreath of holly on her head.” She jabbed at the rolled out cookie dough with a cutter, making a row of big winged angels. “Rula Mae, you can be Mary. And Darwin can be Joseph and wear his bathrobe for a costume. And Tootie can...”

“Oh, no, I can’t,” Darwin interrupted. “I’m not going no place in my bathrobe. Nathaniel can be Joseph.”

“If I have to be in this hick show,” Nathaniel said, “I’m going to be the Bible reader. I always got to be the reader in New York.”

Darwin shrugged. “Then Max can be Joseph.”

“That’s dumb, Darwin,” Laverne said, “Max is only two years old.”

“Well, the only other guy is Sport.” Darwin pointed at our dog who, on cue, sat down to nip at his tail.

Nathaniel groaned “I’m not going to be in any stupid show where Joseph is biting fleas all the time.”

Laverne scooped up angels with a spatula and slapped them onto a baking sheet. “Fine! I wanted to be the reader anyway. You can stay here and sulk.”

“Be nice,” Mama whispered.

Laverne sighed. “All right. Max will be Joseph. Jenny,” she said to me, “you and Tootie can be angels. I’ll be the shepherds watching their flocks, and Darwin can be the Three Wise Men.” She sighed again. “Nathaniel, you can be the reader.”

“Back in New York we had multitudes of angels,” Nathaniel said.

Laverne ignored him and looked down at Tootie who was yanking at her sleeve. “Can we sing the songs about Harold and Gloria?” Tootie whispered.

The Harold and Gloria carols were Tootie’s favorites. The year before she had named our two cats Harold and Gloria, and when Gloria had two kittens, she named them Hark and Excelsis Deo. Later she gave Hark to our neighbors, the Nelsons, but we still had Excelsis Deo.

Laverne nodded. “We’ll use all the good songs, Tootie.”

“You ought to see the Christmas show at Radio City Music Hall in New York,” Nathaniel said.

We didn’t have many rehearsals because Max was always napping when the rest of us were available, but by Christmas Eve, we were ready. It was a cold night, and there had been snow flurries on and off all day. Rula Mae wanted to go without a coat to show off her red dress, but Mama said absolutely not. She made us all, including Rula Mae, wear coats and mittens and stocking caps. Nathaniel said it was a relief because Mary in a red, sequined dress was really embarrassing. Laverne got mad and said that just because Mary wore blue robes in New York City there was not reason it had to be that way.

Mama whispered, “Be nice.”

Laverne gave a gusty sigh and told Rula Mae that people could still admire the bottom of her dress that showed under her coat, and Nathaniel said Mary certainly wouldn’t wear a dress as tattered as the bottom part of that red dress was. Laverne yelled that Joseph and Mary were poor, for heaven’s sake, and probably a tattered dress was no news to them.

“Be nice!” Mama said, not bothering to whisper this time.

Laverne sighed again as she pinned some tinsel along the sleeves of Tootie’s and my coats and told us to flap our arms up and down when we were supposed to be angels. For her own shepherd costume, she took a gunny sack and split it part way to make a hood. A few kernels of wheat fell out when she put it on her head. Nathaniel groaned.

Darwin insisted on wearing a pointed black hat Mama had made for Tootie when she was a witch in the second grade Halloween play. He said that’s what a wizard would wear, and he couldn’t see any difference between a wizard and a Wise Man. He also said he was taking Sport along to be a camel. He said it didn’t matter if camels had fleas. Laverne got our emergency kerosene lantern from its shelf because she said it was more appropriate for our play than a flashlight. When we were all ready to go, Nathaniel said, “We don’t have a Baby Jesus.”

“I’ll get one,” Tootie said. She brought forth Excelsis Deo and wrapped him in a blanket and laid him in an orange crate. The kitten must not have been theatrically inclined, because he jumped out and ran away to the barn. We took the orange crate along with us anyway to be a manger bed. We went first to the Blazers’ house because they were the closest, and we were anxious for our debut. But their house was dark.

“They probably turned out the lights and hid when they saw us coming,” Nathaniel muttered.

Nobody else said anything, and we went on through the deep snow to the Smiths’ house. They were having a party. Nervously, we set up our tableau by the light of the kerosene lantern. When Max saw Darwin set down the orange crate, he crawled into it.

“You can’t be in the manger bed,” Rula Mae said. “You’re supposed to be Joseph, Max.” She tried to lift him out, but Max cried.

“Let him stay,” Laverne said. “He can be Baby Jesus instead of Joseph.”

“He’s too big,” Nathaniel protested. “Baby Jesus is a little baby, just born. He can’t be sitting up like that.”

Laverne put her hands on her hips. “Well, we can’t have everything perfect. Now take your places and get ready.”

She yanked Nathaniel over beside Rula Mae who sat in the snow, the shreds of her red skirt spread around her.

“Okay,” Laverne said, “start singing. They’ll all come out to watch.” She led us in Away in a Manger, then Nathaniel read from St. Luke. “‘And suddenly there was with the angel...’”

“Flap your arm, Tootie,” Laverne said in a loud whisper.

“‘...A multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying, Glory to God in the highest.’”

We were half way through Hark the Herald Angels Sing when a man inside looked out through the window. We put new enthusiasm into our performance, but the man turned away. Nobody came out. None of us said anything as we completed our show.

We went to the Nelsons’ house where we set up our show outside the kitchen window. Inside we could see Mr. and Mrs. Nelson and their two teenage kids playing Monopoly.

“They don’t want to watch us,” Nathaniel said.

“Sing!” Laverne sounded cross.

“‘Away in a manger, no crib for a bed...’” Our voices crackled in the frosty air.

The kitchen door flew open. “What’s going on?” Mrs. Nelson bellowed.

Our song faltered to a stop. “We came to put on a show for you,” Laverne said.

“Well, thanks, but you’ll catch your death of cold,” Mrs. Nelson declared. “Go on home where it’s warm.”

“Ma,” somebody yelled in the background, “do you want to buy Baltic Avenue or don’t you?”

“Thanks for coming,” Mrs. Nelson said, shutting the door.

We stared at the closed door. Sport barked at a shadow, but the rest of us didn’t say a word as we gathered up the orange crate and started for home. It was snowing hard now, and the snow blew in our faces.

“Let’s stop for a while in the Nelsons’ barn,” Laverne suggested. “Maybe the snow will let up.”

Nathaniel groaned. “Wait ‘til I tell the guys in New York that I spent Christmas Eve in a barn.”

“Stay outside if you want to,” Laverne told him.

“We don’t care,” Tootie said in her gentle, little voice.

Rejection had made us all mean. Nathaniel followed us inside. Darwin, who carried the lantern, held it high. We walked into the center part of the barn where Mr. Nelson had thrown down hay from the loft above. Around us in the dim light we could see the eyes of the cows who placidly chewed their cuds. The horses in their stalls pricked their ears forward, and Hark, the kitten, came to the edge of the loft and looked down. We burrowed into the hay and huddled close to get warm, except for Nathaniel who stood apart. Darwin set the lantern down in the hay, but Laverne snatched it up and hung it on a nail.

“You dummy,” she said. “Do you want to burn the whole place down?”

“Sounds like a good idea,” Nathaniel said. “That would be the most excitement I’ve had since I left New York City.”

Laverne straightened up and moved close to Nathaniel. Something quivered in the air. “That would make a Christmas like nothing you ever had in New York, wouldn’t it?” She said softly, “You could tell your buddies about this whopper of a Christmas Eve out in the sticks when all the animals got fried just for your entertainment. You could tell them how Mr. Nelson lost all his equipment and how the neighbors came from miles around to see what they could do to help. Oh, it would be a really big party, Nathaniel. Too bad we can’t provide you that pleasure before you go home.” She paused for just a second. “But, to tell you the truth, I don’t think you’re ever going home. I think you’re stuck with us, Nathaniel, and we’re stuck with you.”

Her words kind of hung there in the air. She’d said something we had all suspected but had never laid tongue to. Nathaniel’s face kind of sagged, and he opened his mouth but didn’t say anything. We knew that he knew. There was silence in the barn, except for the munching of the animals and Hark, mewing in the loft above. Nathaniel stood like an actor who has forgotten his lines. We watched him, except for Max who sat in the orange crate, looking at the cows.

Suddenly Max began to sing, his reedy, little voice cutting through the cold air. “‘Away in a manger, no crib for a bed.’” Tootie joined in, then Darwin and I.

The cows stopped their chewing and a horse nickered in the night. We finished the song. Nobody moved. Then Nathaniel cleared his throat. Stepping close to the lantern, he opened the Bible and read. “‘And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus...’” He sounded hoarse.

Hark jumped down from the loft and purred. Sport sat down to scratch a flea, the thumping of his leg providing a background rhythm for Nathaniel’s reading. “‘And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger; because there was no room for them in the inn.’”

Nathaniel’s voice was feathery, like the falling snow outside.

“‘And suddenly there was with the angel...’” Tootie and I flapped our arms, and the ears of the cows snapped forward. “‘...And a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying...’”

Now Nathaniel’s voice was big, and the way he read the words we could almost believe there was a multitude.

“‘Glo-o-o-o-oria, in excelsis deo,’” we all sang. Rula Mae’s face was serene as she sat there in the hay in her red sequined dress. Darwin gazed at the animals, and Laverne knelt beside the orange crate.

Our audience was quiet. Attentive. Their hairy faces reflected back the light of the lantern. We finished our show, and there was no applause except for the measured breathing of the patient beasts. We stayed where we were for what seemed like a long time. Then Laverne stood up and walked over to Nathaniel.

“That was good, Nathaniel,” she said. “I can see why you were always a reader in New York.”

Nathaniel looked round him. “This was the best I ever did.” He brushed a hand across his eyes. “And next year I’ll do it even better.” He straightened his shoulders and took a deep breath.

We gathered our things together, then moved in close to Nathaniel as we went out into the snowy night.