Bring Me Home for Christmas

tomorrow, you know.”
    “Then we’ll get down the next day. Or the next. It doesn’t matter—we’ll get there. The important thing to me right now is that we’re both moving in the same direction.”
    When Jack and Preacher delivered the last of their wood to the Thicksons’ front porch, Jack transferred two care boxes to Denny and Becca and gave them the names and directions for delivery. Because Becca was on crutches, these boxes were not going to the country, but rather the edge of town, where most of the streets were passable.
    They pulled up to a small house, the street numbers hanging kind of drunkenly from the nails that held them next to a warped front door that didn’t look strong enough to keep the wind out. Even though Becca had to contend with her crutches, she was determined to see who lived in this ramshackle little place. She turned herself around and lowered herself carefully to the ground on one foot, holding her lame foot above the snow. The walk was covered with a little more than a foot of snow, less than on the street because of the huge trees that formed a protective canopy. She made her way carefully to the front door while Denny came behind her with a big box.
    The woman who opened the door was young, maybe early twenties. She was thin and a little pale. She held a baby in her arms with a coarse Army blanket covering her shoulders and the baby. Hiding behind her and hanging on her leg was a little one, perhaps two years old.
    “Mrs. Crane?” Becca asked.
    The woman pushed her hair back over one ear. “I’m Nora Crane. Who are you?”
    “My name is Becca Timm. We brought you a Christmas box. This is Denny—he can carry it into the kitchen for you if you want.”
    A huff of embarrassed laughter escaped her and she stood aside, pulling the two-year-old with her. The toddler peeked out from behind her mother, a thumb in her mouth. Becca stood back so Denny could enter, but then Becca stepped inside the doorway and saw the reason for the woman’s laughter. It was just one room; there was a broken-down couch, a table with two mismatched chairs and while there was a stove, there was no refrigerator.
    “Would you like us to put some of this stuff away somewhere for you?” Becca asked.
    “You can just leave it.” Then she brushed impatiently at a tear.
    “If you don’t mind me asking, how do you keep food without a refrigerator?”
    “There’s just milk to worry about—I keep it right outside the back door.” She gave a limp shrug. “I don’t guess we’ll be here too long.”
    “Oh. How old is the baby?”
    “About six weeks now. Who sent this food?”
    “Well, there’s a group of folks from the church and Jack’s Bar. Will someone clear the walk for you?”
    “Don’t matter much,” she said. “I don’t think we’ll be going outside.”
    “Nora, do you need a few things? Clothes for the kids? Blankets?” She looked around. “How are you keeping warm?”
    “I run the oven now and then. Tell them thanks, whoever sent this over. I didn’t think anyone knew I was here.”
    “Someone knew. I’m going to tell the pastor you could use some sweaters and blankets. Maybe he knows where we can find some things to help get you through the winter.”
    Her lip quivered slightly and she nodded once, but said nothing.
    “Do you have any family?”
    “Not anymore,” she said. “I had a…” She straightened, trying to find some pride. “There’s no one anymore.”
    “I think you could use a hand,” Becca said. “I’ll talk to Pastor Kincaid or Jack—maybe someone can help.”
    “For the kids,” she said.
    “There’s a can opener in the box, along with some plastic bowls, spoons, a couple of knives.”
    She nodded again.
    “Bye, then,” Becca said. She moved out the door right behind Denny and heard it close behind her.
    Denny positioned himself in front of Becca, took her crutches and bent slightly at the waist. “Come on, gimpy,” he said gently.
    She looped her arms around his neck, bent her knees to lift her feet out of the snow and he piggybacked her to the truck. Once there, he helped lift her inside. He went around to the driver’s side and jumped in.
    She faced him, pale and stricken. “Denny,” she said, her voice just a squeak of emotion.
    “We’ll get her some help,” he said, starting the truck. “Looks like the next house is just a few doors down. You going in this one with me?”
    “Yes. Yes, I have to. I had no idea this town was