From the Relief Society Magazine, December 1968 –

Grandmother for Christmas

By Dorothy C. Robinson

Dara Powell placed a hand into her jacket pocket. Her daughters, Debra five, and Laurie three, had just thrust hastily folded papers into the pocket.

“Am I supposed to read these?” “No! — No!” the girls cried, “just put them in the mailbox. Santa will get them.”

“Santa! Tomorrow is Christmas Eve. You should have written before.”

“We did, but we didn’t want him to forget.”

Dara went out and shut the door firmly behind her. Then she took the papers from her pocket. On Debra’s, the word Grandmother was printed in large sprawling letters, and Laurie’s crude drawing could mean nothing but a grandmother
with a pie-sized cookie. They had copied from their colored picture book.

A grandmother! As if one could be plucked from thin air — or thick, as the air was now.

Dara looked to the north. No wagon coming. Neal was late. He had gone to town for a last load of supplies, hoping to outguess the weather. Perhaps the storm would hold for another hour or two, but no longer.

A cloud that had hung menacingly over the south mountains all day, was now a curtain hiding the horizon and flying before a vile-tempered wind. Their second team had been lent to a neighbor for the winter, so there was nothing Dara could do to avoid a collision between the storm and the wagon, but she could do the chores.

Across the fields to the east, a tall stone house stood foursquare to the weather. It had tall shuttered windows that stared like sightless eyes, but there was no smoke coming from either chimney. It simply could not be. Old Granny Collins, who lived there alone, burned coal in zero weather. There was not even that almost invisible bluish swirl above the chimneys that told of a banked fire below. Granny was stingy, but not that stingy. She had money in abundance, but little else. She might have gone to town to stay at the hotel for the winter.

Dara shuddered with cold. She started again for the barn. If this storm proved to be as vicious as all signs indicated, they might be snowed in two, three, or more days. Maybe a week. No smoke. Come to think of it, she hadn’t noticed any all day. Had she seen any yesterday? She could not remember. Suppose the old woman had miscalculated, as Neal had. She might be away, but she might be there alone. Keeping fires going in such weather was a man’s job.

Dara had done all she could to create a friendship between them, but Granny’s heart was locked as securely as her doors. Every would-be friendly gesture was only a hope, in her mind, of getting a hand in her purse.

Dara stopped again and looked at the house. If Mrs. Collins were a different type of woman, she might have asked her to play grandmother for a few days, but probably, she would not come if Dara asked her. Last year Neal had run her ranch on a share-crop basis, and had had great hopes of doing well with it. The season had scarcely begun, however, when the old woman began making accusations of mismanagement, dishonesty, and had even tried to have the lease cancelled.

“It’s because she doesn’t trust us,” Dara had said to Neal.

“I doubt that,” Neal had answered. “You must not pay too much attention to her words. She has had some pretty poor deals with some of her renters. She is a lonesome old woman, not quite sure of herself. What she needs is compassionate understanding.”

At the chicken house, three of seven eggs Dara gathered were cracked by frost. She hoped her favorite pullets would survive the storm.

The acrid air of the barn was comfortably warm now, but before the storm was over, the cows, too, would have felt its strength. She milked the two cows and filled all the mangers with hay. As she opened the door to leave, a small brown hen rushed awkwardly out of the semi-darkness. Her feathers were slick with frost, her toes were swollen, and she lifted each foot with labored care. She tried to fly to the manger railing, but could not make it. Shifting her lantern, Dara lifted the hen and set her on the railing. Immediately, she dropped inside the manger and snuggled into the hay and straw. She clucked hoarsely to tell her contentment.

Stubborn old thing, Dara thought. She never would roost with the other hens. She might have been made into a stew long ago, but the girls loved her, and each summer she hatched a dozen or two baby chicks. This time, her perverseness had nearly cost her life.

Leaving the barn, Dara was instantly aware of a drop in temperature. Too cold to snow, but a few hard-driven flakes struck her face. She kept her glance away from the house to the east. Old Granny Collins would have provided for an emergency. But, like a magnet, the house again drew Dara’s attention. Only the outline was visible. If Mrs. Collins was to be rescued, it would have to be tonight.

“Debra,” she asked, “can you and Laurie stay alone for awhile?”

“Course, Mama. Are you going to find Daddy?”

“No, dear. Daddy will find us. I am going to see if Granny Collins is all right.”

“But she won’t let you in. Remember when she made you bring the new bread back and the pie?” Laurie spoke with apprehension.

“You may freeze.” Debra ‘s eyes were dark with fear. “If she isn’t home, will you hunt for her in the pastures and on the lavas?”

“No. I promise I will come straight back. Come, get undressed and into bed.”

Dara opened a bed in the kitchen as the bedroom would be too cold. After feeding the girls, she tucked them in with their books and crayons. She put one more brick in the oven to heat, and put matches and knives out of reach. She blew out the lamp and hung a lighted lantern in the east window.

“That will guide you home,” Debra said, “but I am afraid of the storm.”

“What do we do when we want protection?”

“We pray to Jesus.”

“And perhaps Mrs. Collins is praying for someone to help her.” ‘

“No. She doesn’t pray. She told me so.”

There it was — the type of influence she would be bringing into her house — if she brought the old lady home. But I would never be able to live with myself if I didn’t check on her, Dara thought.

Debra prayed first. When she had given thanks for Daddy, Mama, Laurie, and the grandmother Santa was going to bring, she prayed for everyone traveling in the dark. She raised her head, “That means you, too, Mama, and Daddy, because it will be dark before he gets home.” She lowered her head again, “And please help Santa to get our grandmother here on time.”

Laurie’s prayer was a repetition of Debra’s, but she added clearly and distinctly, “Don’t let anything happen to our grandmother. She can make the cookies when she gets here.”

Dara poured out all the anguish for her heart in supplication for help, for protection. When she arose, she told herself she would have to have help if she was to reach Granny Collins.

When she was dressed to go out into the storm, Debra suddenly asked, “Mama, will you stay there if she can’t walk?”

“No, no.” Dara’s mind had been jerked to another problem — how would she bring her back?

“Don’t worry, dear. I’ll find a way. Promise you will stay in bed. Don’t open the door. If Daddy gets here first tell him where I am.”

Kissing them again, she went through the door that opened into the woodshed. She closed the door firmly behind her. Feeling about, she found a lantern and lighted it. By its light, she found a long slender sled. Neal had built a three-sided box on it so she could take the girls sledding without danger of losing them. It slipped easily after her.

It was very easy to tell the girls not to worry, but when she was away from the shelter of the house, and the wind struck her, she hesitated. She did not want to go. What was there in it for her? Nothing but a dangerous, grueling task.

On the country road, the wind had a clean slap at her. Snow blinded her eyes and powdered her face. It was not more than a mile to the Collins ranch, but the storm stretched it to ten. Three times her feet slipped and she sat down hard. Suppose she broke her leg? Neal might be lost, and the girls might set the house on fire. It might be a costly trip to see if one old lady had gone to a place of safety. She sometimes stayed at the hotel in Bower for the winter.

Dara reached the big house. She did not waste time at the front. At the back, she went up three steps onto what had once been a screened porch. There was no light. She pounded on the door. It was oaken and tightly locked. She thought she heard a faint cry, but one could always hear voices in a shrieking wind. A torn piece of canvas slapped viciously against the porch screen. Dara followed the wall to a low window. She tried to raise it, but it, too, was locked. Desperate with cold and haste, she turned and hit the nearest pane with her elbow. At the second try, the glass shattered. Dara reached in to release the catch, but there was none. She removed a glove and felt along the casing. As she suspected, a nail had been driven into the wood then bent. A sure way of preventing the window from being pushed up.

What fear Mrs. Collins must live with! Dara had to stop and thrust her hand inside her jacket to warm it. Her fingers were numb and clumsy. Then she went back trying to twist the nail. Suddenly it gave, and she pulled it out. The sash responded reluctantly, but it did go up. Dara crawled through, held her lantern up, then closed the window. The air in the room was stale and cold.

“Mrs. Collins, where are you?”

From a bedroom came a faint reply. Dara found the room and held the lantern high. The old lady lay in bed under a mountain of covers. One look, and Dara knew she had not come an hour too soon. The face was pinched and blue.

If Mrs. Collins had demanded to know why she had broken into her house, Dara would not have been surprised, but she was surprised at the casual look of acceptance — as if she had been expected. She turned back the covers and gasped with horror. Mrs. Collins was fully dressed, with the exception of one foot. A wooly house shoe barely covered the toes. The ankle was badly swollen and an angry red.

“What happened?” Dara asked, but did not wait for an answer. “I’m taking you home with me.”

Replacing the covers, she took two blankets and a pillow, then went into the kitchen. As she would have opened the door, she visualized the sled she had brought. Mrs. Collins, with her sore foot, could never be bent to fit into that box. The pain would be excruciating, and Mrs. Collins did not have the strength for it, but Dara could not stay with her, and every minute was increasing the danger.

Dara went outside and looked about. Through the thickening storm, a darker bulk loomed. The horse! Why hadn’t she thought of him before. Unless Mrs. Collins had put him elsewhere for the winter, he should be in that barn.

Dara made a dash for the barn. The horse nickered a welcome to her.

As fast as her numb fingers would allow, Dara harnessed and backed him between the shafts of the single buggy. Thanks to Mrs. Collins’ orderly habits, it was accomplished in record time, but when Dara tried to lead him from the barn he bucked. The barn was warm and the storm frightening.

“Come on, Charlie,” she demanded sternly, and led him from the shelter to the kitchen door. She carried quilts and blankets, and then the old lady. She put her on the buggy seat. Luckily, Mrs. Collins was small, and just now very thin, or Dara could not have managed. She wrapped the blankets about the sick woman and tried to fasten one blanket over Granny’s head so the wind could not hit her directly.

“My bag. It is by my bed.”

“We can get it later.”

“I want it now!”

So Dara brought it and was thankful. It was the very thing to support the bad foot. It was an old fashioned canvas affair and very heavy. The few minutes lost in time were more than compensated for by keeping Mrs. Collins’ legs from hanging.

The barn door was closed, the kitchen door closed and locked. “Go on, Charlie.”

The going was not easy. Loose snow soon clogged the wheels and the footing for the horse was bad.

Dara expected at least an occasional groan from under the blankets. Only once did Mrs. Collins speak. Charlie slipped and regained his footing only when a feeble but stern voice from under the blanket commanded him to pick up his feet. And he did. Dara was happy for the interruption. She was afraid the old lady might be unconscious. A feeling of great respect grew in Dara. It could be as Neal had said, she hadn’t taken the compassion to try to understand the old woman.

Then out of the storm, so thick Dara could scarcely keep her eyes open, she saw a pinpoint of light. It came and went.

“It’s the lantern in my kitchen window,” she cried out in defiance to the swirling snow. “It is startling.”

‘ ‘So shines a good deed in a naughty world.’ ‘ Then almost immediately, ” ‘According to your faith so shall it be.’ ”

No longer was there any question as to the old lady being a fit grandmother to the girls. Could she, Dara, be a fit daughter?

Charlie needed no urging to stop at the kitchen door. He stood shaking while Dara carried Mrs. Collins in and laid her on a couch in the living room, instead of in a cold bedroom. The little girls were asleep, and Dara gave each a swift prayerful kiss as she went out into the storm to care for the horse. He wasn’t accustomed to being housed with cows and bucked a little, but, inside the barn, he welcomed the shelter. After the stable door was closed and locked, Dara stumbled back to the house through their tracks.

After removing her heavy clothing and wringing her hands to bring life to them, she turned to Mrs. Collins. She did not dare expose her to much warmth at first.

She warmed a glass of milk and fed it, a sip at a time, to the sick woman. Gradually, color flowed back into the sunken cheeks. Her eyes fluttered open, and a trembling hand reached for the cup. Her eyes followed Dara’s movements back and forth. Her feet and hands were torturing her in the special way frost can, when faced with warmth.

“Why don’t you sleep?” Dara asked Granny. (It seemed normal now to call her Granny.) “I will take care of your ankle as best I can until Neal gets here — if he gets here.”

“He’ll come,” Granny whispered. “He won’t be here until after the blizzard is over, but he will be here safe. He has faith and good judgment.”

And he did come, when the kitchen clock pointed to a little before ten. Was it possible so much had happened in so short a time? Granny took one look at him and was instantly asleep.

“What happened?” Dara had removed Neal’s gloves and was rubbing his fingers between her palms. She helped remove his boots and shoes and chafed his feet.

“Chub went lame and I had to leave him and the wagon with Tom Fields. I rode Jim home and I went by way of Granny’s. I thought you would have been there, but I had to be sure.”

The hours of the night dragged on. They took turns dozing and changing compresses on the swollen ankle.

“I am sure the bone isn’t broken,” Neal said after his fingers had probed gently, “but she will need care for a long time. Jim Carling at the hotel said she told him she was spending the winter with us, and that she was renting her place to me on a share-crop basis. I’m glad you went after her before you knew it.”

Granny suddenly opened her eyes. “Get me my bag,” she told Neal.

He opened it for her and on the top lay a packet of papers. “All ready for your signature.”

Neal’s hands shook a little as he took the papers. “You’re a remarkable woman, Granny Collins, and the Lord has blessed us both.”

Toward morning, Mrs. Collins relaxed into a restful sleep. The danger was over, and with good care Granny would not lose a foot.

“We’ll build her a room in the yard,” Neal whispered, “That way she can be alone when she wants, but still near enough for care when she needs it.

“And she will be a permanent grandmother for the girls.”

“She’s come,” Debra cried. “Laurie, we have our grandmother already.” Then she looked inquiringly at her mother. “But she is Granny Collins.”

Dara smiled and nodded with a finger on her lips for silence. “Heavenly Father sent her, and I’m sure she will be better than any stranger Santa Claus could find.”

“Can she make cookies?” Laurie asked. To her, a grandmother was a grandmother regardless of the name she bore.

In her ears, Dara could hear the cluck of the little brown hen. “If she can’t, she can do other things.”

“We are a family, then,” Laurie grinned at her sudden perception. “There are Granny, and Daddy and Mommie and us.”

Outside, the storm shrieked and threatened, but inside there was peace and understanding.