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Authors: Michelle Hartz
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iron pan above her head.
She wasn’t wielding a poker for the fire. Her smile was warm, and
she stepped aside to let him through.
“I’m sorry to bother you ma’am. I’m just so
cold.”
“Please, call me Edith. Edith Henderson.” He
noticed she didn’t try to shake his hand, but he was grateful to be
spared that awkward moment. He wasn’t sure if it was frozen, and
could only imagine the disgust she would have if she broke a finger
off. Then she would attack him for sure. “The fire’s nice and warm,
son. Go have a warm up.”
A big comfy chair sat next to the fire, and a
book was turned upside down on the seat to mark the place. He
avoided the chair for fear of losing the spot in the book and
wetting the fabric from his dripping clothes. Instead, he squatted
down on the rug.
It was so tempting to stick his hands in the
fire, but he knew better. He wouldn’t feel the pain, but it was
possible that he would dry enough to catch fire. He extended his
arms as much as he dared, and he thought he could feel a little
warmth.
Edith Henderson pulled some clothes out of a
drawer and handed them to him. “I know they won’t warm you up, but
they’ll surely do you more good than they’ll do me.” Folded
together in the pile was a pair of jeans, a white undershirt, a
henley shirt, and a flannel jacket. Like a cherry, on top of the
bundle sat a small white square of a pair of folded underwear.
He took the underwear off of the top of the pile
and held them up. “You don’t have to wear them if you don’t want
to, I included them just in case.”
“I’ll wear them. I couldn’t tell you the last
time I got a pair of nice, clean underwear. It’s hard to go
shopping for necessities like that when...” he trailed off. Surely,
she hadn’t noticed his condition, or she wouldn’t have invited him
in. He didn’t want to make her aware of it so early. Perhaps he
would have time to defrost before he ran for his life again.
Mrs. Henderson moved the book and sat in the
chair. “What’s your name?”
“Amal,” he said tentatively.
“I miss Mr. Henderson greatly,” she said. “Many
times I regret that I did nothing to bring him back. It’s probably
for the best, I see how many of your... kind? I’m sorry, I don’t
know the appropriate term.” He shook his head that it was okay. “I
see how you’re treated and hunted. And I know it ain’t your fault.
I could get in a lot of trouble for having you here. But it’s
Christmas, and there’s a place in this house for all kind
souls.”
Standing in front of the fire, Amal let the
tears flow. They were no longer salty, and tasted instead of muddy
water. “There’s a bathroom over there,” she pointed to a small door
at the far end of the room. “You can get changed and cleaned up,
and we can sit down for a nice Christmas dinner.”
He choked out, “Thank you. Thank you for all of
your kindness.”
The bathroom was warm from the heat of the fire.
He soaked a washcloth in hot water and ran it over his face. Layers
of grime and blood were wiped away. After depositing the wet, torn
clothes in the waste basket, he examined himself in the mirror.
Cleaned up, he looked almost human. He pulled on the clean white
underpants, and felt ashamed that he was being allowed this little
luxury. But when he pulled the shirt over his head, his heart sank
to hear a knock on the front door. He put his ear to the bathroom
wall to hear the conversation better.
“Good evening boys. Leave those outside, there’s
no place for them here. Put your boots over by the fire to dry out,
and I’ll get you each a cup of coffee. I’m Edith Henderson.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you Mrs. Henderson. I’m
Joey Salzberger.”
“Mikey Granger, ma’am.”
Amal could envision the friendly handshakes.
“It’s a right state out there tonight fellas.
How are you going to find your way home?”
“Frankly ma’am,” he could tell this was Mikey
speaking, “I don’t know.
She wasn’t wielding a poker for the fire. Her smile was warm, and
she stepped aside to let him through.
“I’m sorry to bother you ma’am. I’m just so
cold.”
“Please, call me Edith. Edith Henderson.” He
noticed she didn’t try to shake his hand, but he was grateful to be
spared that awkward moment. He wasn’t sure if it was frozen, and
could only imagine the disgust she would have if she broke a finger
off. Then she would attack him for sure. “The fire’s nice and warm,
son. Go have a warm up.”
A big comfy chair sat next to the fire, and a
book was turned upside down on the seat to mark the place. He
avoided the chair for fear of losing the spot in the book and
wetting the fabric from his dripping clothes. Instead, he squatted
down on the rug.
It was so tempting to stick his hands in the
fire, but he knew better. He wouldn’t feel the pain, but it was
possible that he would dry enough to catch fire. He extended his
arms as much as he dared, and he thought he could feel a little
warmth.
Edith Henderson pulled some clothes out of a
drawer and handed them to him. “I know they won’t warm you up, but
they’ll surely do you more good than they’ll do me.” Folded
together in the pile was a pair of jeans, a white undershirt, a
henley shirt, and a flannel jacket. Like a cherry, on top of the
bundle sat a small white square of a pair of folded underwear.
He took the underwear off of the top of the pile
and held them up. “You don’t have to wear them if you don’t want
to, I included them just in case.”
“I’ll wear them. I couldn’t tell you the last
time I got a pair of nice, clean underwear. It’s hard to go
shopping for necessities like that when...” he trailed off. Surely,
she hadn’t noticed his condition, or she wouldn’t have invited him
in. He didn’t want to make her aware of it so early. Perhaps he
would have time to defrost before he ran for his life again.
Mrs. Henderson moved the book and sat in the
chair. “What’s your name?”
“Amal,” he said tentatively.
“I miss Mr. Henderson greatly,” she said. “Many
times I regret that I did nothing to bring him back. It’s probably
for the best, I see how many of your... kind? I’m sorry, I don’t
know the appropriate term.” He shook his head that it was okay. “I
see how you’re treated and hunted. And I know it ain’t your fault.
I could get in a lot of trouble for having you here. But it’s
Christmas, and there’s a place in this house for all kind
souls.”
Standing in front of the fire, Amal let the
tears flow. They were no longer salty, and tasted instead of muddy
water. “There’s a bathroom over there,” she pointed to a small door
at the far end of the room. “You can get changed and cleaned up,
and we can sit down for a nice Christmas dinner.”
He choked out, “Thank you. Thank you for all of
your kindness.”
The bathroom was warm from the heat of the fire.
He soaked a washcloth in hot water and ran it over his face. Layers
of grime and blood were wiped away. After depositing the wet, torn
clothes in the waste basket, he examined himself in the mirror.
Cleaned up, he looked almost human. He pulled on the clean white
underpants, and felt ashamed that he was being allowed this little
luxury. But when he pulled the shirt over his head, his heart sank
to hear a knock on the front door. He put his ear to the bathroom
wall to hear the conversation better.
“Good evening boys. Leave those outside, there’s
no place for them here. Put your boots over by the fire to dry out,
and I’ll get you each a cup of coffee. I’m Edith Henderson.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you Mrs. Henderson. I’m
Joey Salzberger.”
“Mikey Granger, ma’am.”
Amal could envision the friendly handshakes.
“It’s a right state out there tonight fellas.
How are you going to find your way home?”
“Frankly ma’am,” he could tell this was Mikey
speaking, “I don’t know.
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