Jim crossed and recrossed his legs restlessly. Would the speaker never be done? He sniffed. Mingled with the paint and the pine was the tantalizing fra grance of coffee. Afterwards there would be a Santa Claus, candy for the children and coffee and doughnuts for the grown ups. The minister was through at last. He sat down, wiping the perspiration from his forehead. Bibles and Testaments were given out to the children who had completed their memory work. Hilda re ceived a New Testament. Then the rotund man did a surprising thing. He said, “ Folks, I want you to meet Hilda’s father, Mr. Kennedy. Stand up, Mr. Kennedy.” Hilda nudged her father. “ Stand up, Daddy.” Jim looked at her, then got to his feet in a dazed manner. He felt the warmth and friendliness of the minister. It reached out and enveloped him, as if he had put his arm around his shoulder. “ Turn around, Mr. Kennedy, so the folks can see you.” His tone was that of one introducing a personal friend. Slowly Jim turned around and looked into a sea of faces. It was the first time he had come to the chapel. He came be cause his wife was ill and Hilda begged him to come. It was Christmas Eve and he couldn’t refuse his little daughter anything. Jim’s legs felt weak and he was con scious of a gnawing in his stomach. He wished the program was over, and that they could get to the coffee. He was about to sit down when the door at the back opened and two men entered the chapel. Jim’s face blanched. He knew them. Plain-clothes men they were. They were after him. It must be something about Saturday night. He sat down quickly, beads of perspiration breaking out on his forehead. He eyed the door to the left of the platform. Could he slip out that way? Let the meeting last forever. Let all the people be introduced. But there were not more than a dozen other introduc tions. Just the strangers. The minister knew everyone. This incredible thing must not happen to him. Not on Christmas Eve. With Marietta sick in bed. And Hilda old enough now to understand. And the doll in the pink chiffon dress, sleeping at home in the long white box, the doll that was to mark the beginning of a new life. He looked around desperately. Now the meeting was over and the people were shuffling to their feet to sing a closing hymn, “Just as I am without one plea but that Thy blood was shed for me.” Jim closed his eyes. “ ‘Just as I am.’ ” If only he could erase Saturday night. He prayed for the first time in his life, “Lord, if you will get me out of this, I’ll be yours.” The benediction was pronounced. Hil da put her hand in his confidently. “ Isn’t Christmas wonderful, Daddy?” “Uh-huh.” Jim glanced nervously over the crowd and saw the two plain-clothes (Continued on Page 40) Page Fifteen
THE DOLL IN PINK
By Elise Fraser
The pastor was shaking his hand warmly.
S HE chapel was redolent with new paint and Christmas spruce. Jim Kennedy sat uneasily on the edge of the newly-varnished chair beside his seven-year-old daughter, Hilda, and stared at the white walls of the church and the glittering Christmas tree in one corner of the platform. Occasionally he glanced at the speaker with a feeling of disquietude. He didn’t look like a minister, for his face was round and rosy. Jim listened restlessly to the Christ mas talk. “ ‘And thou shalt call his name Jesus: for he shall save his people from their sins.’ ” The words, even the tone of the voice, seemed vaguely familiar. But Jim had no recollection of ever see ing the fellow before. Had he by any chance been one who had come to the prison to preach? Jim frowned. He wouldn’t want the fellow to know that Hilda’s father was a jailbird. Jim looked at the small figure by his side, and the tension left his face. He saw a head of tousled blonde curls and two small hands folded quietly in the lap of a clean but wrinkled blue-checked gingham dress. Hilda tilted back her head and smiled broadly at him. And then he gazed wonderingly and.sorrow fully at the little cameo-like face. She deserved better than him for a father.
• Jim shifted his long legs and folded his thin arms over a narrow chest. His thoughts left the chapel and he winced as he remembered last Saturday night. He looked about him and smiled wryly. Quite a contrast. Then he thought of the doll he had bought for Hilda, the doll in the pink chiffon dress and sun- bonnet sleeping in the long white box. He thought of the cardboard doll house and the little rooms of miniature furni ture. He thought of the tiny stove and the toy utensils, of the little red table and the set of doll’s dishes with red sprigs of roses on them. But mostly he thought of the doll in the pink chiffon dress. It was fresh and beautiful, ex quisite like Hilda. It would be the hap piest moment of his life when she opened the box. He had been away for six years. This was his first real Christmas with Hilda. Jim touched his belt and felt its slack ness. He hadn’t eaten much lately. But he didn’t mind that. Everything would be all right if it wasn’t for last Satur day night. Funny how when a man wanted to go straight, when he wanted to do the right thing, something got hold of him and made him do the very thing he didn’t want to do. And just a week before Christmas, too. And he had been going along so well.
D E C E M B E R , 1 9 5 1
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