A CHRISTMAS CABIN
NANCY B. BREWER
Copyright 2024
“Dottie!” a voice called from downstairs. “It’s time to decorate the Christmas tree.” There was a moment of silence, followed by heavy footsteps echoing down the cold, tiled floor. When Dottie heard the door open, she curled up tighter. From her position, she could see Mrs. Coldwater’s black oxford shoes.
“Dottie Jones! Show yourself!” Mrs. Coldwater roared as she paced across the room. There were twelve small beds in the room, and wedged under the box springs of one of those beds was a nervous little girl. At just eight years old, Dottie was an expert hider. She could squeeze into the smallest spaces, enter a near trance, and remain silent for hours. But today, she feared she just might wet herself.
A puddle would lead to her discovery and reveal her most secure hiding spot. In addition, she would be forced to scrub the floors with that lye soap, although it would do little good, for the floors were already stained with pee.
“Dottie Jones, you are not fooling me one bit. I know you are in here. The social worker will be here in five minutes, and if you are not downstairs, you are going to get the beating of your life.”
Dottie knew that Mrs. Coldwater’s words were not just a threat but a promise. The monstrous woman lived up to her name—ice water surely ran through her veins. She ran River Street Orphanage more like a prison than a home for children. She was quick to anger and did not believe in sparing the rod.
Mr. Coldwater was somewhat lukewarm and occasionally intervened on the children’s behalf. However, if Mrs. Coldwater cut an evil eye in his direction, he would crouch down, retreat, and not be seen for the rest of the day. It was little wonder why he was afraid of her. She towered over him, and her hips barely fit through the doorway. He, on the other hand, was a mere mouse of a man with a never-ending nervous cough.
The bedroom door slammed loudly, but Dottie did not make a move. From experience, she learned that Mrs. Coldwater could be tricky. Today, she was right. As soon as the door closed, she spotted Mrs. Coldwater’s black oxfords tiptoeing across the floor.
With one quick jerk, she opened the closet door, finding nothing; she went to the window and drew back the curtain. Then she dropped to her knees and peered under the beds. Dottie held her breath until Mrs. Coldwater grunted and pulled herself to her feet, mumbling a string of profanity.
The shoes carrying Mrs. Coldwater went in the direction of the door but paused. Next, there was a loud thump that vibrated the floor. After Dottie came out of hiding, she saw that she had knocked the books off the shelf.
This place afforded Dottie few pleasures, but a good hoodwinking of Mrs. Coldwater was indeed a delight. Dottie slipped down the hall and slid down the laundry chute. She successfully managed to be seated by her brother, Tom, when Mrs. Coldwater came downstairs.
Mrs. Coldwater began counting the children; when she came to Dottie, she exclaimed, “How did you get here?”
Dottie’s heart was still pounding, but she managed to give Mrs. Coldwater an innocent little smile. Before she could answer, Tom spoke up, saying, “Officer Murphy.”
“Officer Murphy?” Mrs. Coldwater asked, peering over the wire-rimmed glasses perched on her long nose.
“Yes, ma’am, Office Murphy brought me and Dottie here two years ago after our Pa got locked up for hauling Shine,” Tom smirked.
There was an explosion of laughter from the children, and Mrs. Coldwater’s face turned bright red. Among the many things she disliked, mockery was at the top of the list.
She started across the room with the full intent to box Tom’s ears, but the doorbell rang. She paused, looked out the window, and saw the social worker’s car. “I will deal with you two later,” she said. Then she smoothed out her apron and hair, put on a fake smile, and answered the door.
Mrs. Coldwater greeted the social worker in that high voice she used when she was trying to sound refined. “Good afternoon, and Merry Christmas. So good to see you, Miss Timmons.”
Tom squeezed Dottie’s hand and whispered, “Don’t worry, I have a plan.” Dottie trusted her brother, and his smile was a great comfort to her.
At River Street Orphanage, there were twelve girls and six boys, with Tom being the oldest at fifteen years old. Mrs. Timmons arrived with two other women from the agency, and together they distributed stockings to all the children. The stockings were filled with nuts, oranges, apples, and a few pieces of candy.
Although the children had not had lunch, they began to devour their treats. Tom whispered to Dottie, “Save yours.” Dottie was not sure why, but she obeyed and stuffed hers under her chair.
The guests stayed to oversee the tree decorating while Mr. Coldwater banged out Christmas carols on a badly out-of-tune piano. When the decorating was over, Mr. Coldwater asked, “Dottie, would you like to sing Silent Night?” It was clear they were trying to impress their visitors; Dottie was the best singer of all the children.
Dottie was embarrassed and shook her head. Mrs. Coldwater smiled at the guests and then walked over and stroked Dottie’s hair. “Now darling,” she said in her high voice. “God has given you a special gift, and He expects you to share it with others. Now, don’t disappoint our guests.”
Dottie cringed at Mrs. Coldwater’s bogus show of affection and wanted to run out, but Tom gave her a nudge of encouragement. So, she got up and stood by the piano. She fixed her eyes straight ahead and tried her best to sing, accompanied by a pitiful piano and pianist.
Miss Timmons tilted her head to one side as she tried to hear Dottie’s voice. After a few minutes, she raised her hand and said, “Please, please let the girl sing without the piano.” The other two ladies shook their heads in agreement. “Would that be alright with you, Dottie?” she asked.
Dottie always looked forward to Miss Timmons’ visits. She always smelled so sweet, and today, she looked exceptionally pretty. Dottie really wanted to run over and lay her head in Miss Timmons’ lap and cry, but instead, she simply said, “Yes, ma’am.”
All three women seemed pleased by Dottie’s singing and were very complimentary to the Coldwater’s for their efforts to introduce music to the children.
“Yes, we try to give our children a well-rounded education,” Mrs. Coldwater said, pitching her voice as high as possible. “Don’t we, Willis?” Willis was Mr. Coldwater’s first name. Mrs. Coldwater’s given name was “Grace,” but her name and disposition were ill-fitted.
Miss Timmons looked around the room while the other two ladies gathered up their coats and purses to leave. She took note of the shabby furniture and faded curtains. She shook hands with the Coldwater’s and then followed her fellow workers out the door.
Shortly thereafter, lunch was served to the children, which consisted of the usual: a piece of dried meat, cheese, and hard bread. Tom whispered to Dottie, “Are you very hungry?”
Dottie shook her head no. Then she did as her brother did and tied up the food in her napkin. When all had eaten, there were a few extra rolls, and a piece of cheese left. Tom discretely added that to his bundle.
When it came time for the boys to go out to do their chores, Tom gave Dottie some strange instructions. She looked at him puzzled, but when Mrs. Coldwater glared at them, they knew there was no time for more discussion.
Dottie scurried off in hopes of fulfilling her brother’s wishes. First, she went upstairs carrying their Christmas stocking and their leftovers from lunch. She pulled off the case of her pillow and stuffed it all inside. Then she slid down the laundry chute, tiptoed by the kitchen door, and took the stairs down to the cellar. There, she filled the pillowcase as full as possible with potatoes, onions, salt pork, and a jar of preserves. Once she was done, she knotted the top, went out the backdoor, and hid her loot under the big rose bush by the barn.
It was windy and cold, and her thin sweater served as little protection. She tucked her head down and ran back toward the house. Suddenly, it felt like she had hit a brick wall and was knocked off her feet. She discovered she had carelessly run smack into Ben, the hired hand. “What in tarnation are you doing out here, young’un? he asked.
“I … un … looking for my brother,” Dottie replied quickly.
“He’s gone into town with Mr. Coldwater. He’ll be back by suppertime. Now get back inside before you catch cold,” he said kindly as he lifted her off the ground.
When she got back inside, Mrs. Coldwater was conducting the reading class in the front room.
Just as Willis had instructed her to do, she faked her tardiness with sickness.
She took her handkerchief out of her pocket and walked into the room, coughing and sneezing.
Not only was Mrs. Coldwater afraid of catching something from the children, but she also did not want a houseful of sick children and doctor bills to pay. One would expect a sick child to be cared for, but at River Street Orphanage, it was policy for sick children and all their belongings to be sent to a small room across from the servant quarters. If any nursing would take place, it would be administrated by Marylou—the cook.
Mrs. Coldwater rang the bell for Marylou. Dottie was taken promptly to the sick room, and soon her personal belongings, tied up in a bed sheet, were dropped on the floor beside her.
Marylou was Ben’s wife. When he came in for lunch, he walked past the sick room and saw Dottie lying on the bed. “Ain’t no wonder that child is sick,” he said. She was out running around in the cold this morning.” There was some more mumbling as the couple walked down the hall to the kitchen.
The sick room was next to the boiler room and was always warm. The little cot was comfortable enough, and Dottie took a nice nap. She was pleased that everything had gone according to Tom’s plan, even though she had no idea what that plan was.
The sun had dropped down, and the room was gray when Dottie woke up. She could tell by the noises and smells coming from the kitchen it must be close to suppertime. She was just about to fret that Tom might not be able to find her when the door opened.
“Hello, sis. I heard you were sick, and I brought your supper,” Tom said, smiling. He sat the tray down and quickly closed the door behind him.
“Did all go well?” he asked as he looked back over his shoulder.
Dottie nodded. “What’s this all about, Tom?” she asked.
Tom leaned over her so he could speak in the softest of whispers, “We are running away tonight.”
It was exciting but fearful news for Dottie. “Where will we go?” she asked.
“I have been planning it for weeks. I am afraid to talk for too long. Just eat all your food and don’t dress for bed. Once the house is still, expect me to come for you.” He gave her a kiss on the cheek and hurried out of the room.
After he left, Dottie could hardly eat because of the butterflies in her stomach. Where were they going? What if they were caught?
She untied the sheet and was pleased to see all her belongings. Tom was clever. He knew that the fake sickness would place her in the room nearest the backdoor.
But what about him, Dottie wondered. She could only trust that if he had thought this much out, surely, he had planned for his escape, too. She stuffed her ragged coat, gloves, and scarf under the bedcovers. Then she tied up the rest and got in bed to wait.
She turned on the little light by the bed and listened to the noises outside her room. At last, the children went upstairs for the night. The clambering of pots and pans stopped, and Marylou and Ben walked down the hall and closed their bedroom door.
Soon he will be here, she thought, but there was no clock or even a set time had there been one. Her little heart pounded with anticipation as she paced the floor.
Suddenly, the door jerked open, and she spun around, fully expecting to see her dear brother—but it was Mrs. Coldwater! Dottie gasped, thinking that something had surely gone wrong.
“Turn that light out and go to bed!” she said coarsely. “If you do not get enough rest, your cold might turn into pneumonia, and I’ll be forced to call the doctor. If you don’t want me to take the doctor’s bills out of your hide—go to sleep!” She left, slamming the door hard enough to rattle Dottie’s teeth.
Dottie turned off the light and lay down on the bed. It seemed like hours had passed, and she was giving up hope that Tom would come. She tried as hard as she could to stay awake, but she fell asleep.
Suddenly, she awakened feeling someone tugging on her arm, and she started to scream, but a hand covered her mouth. “Shh, it’s me,” came the soft familiar voice of her brother. “Be as quiet as you can,” he warned, “and follow me.”
She gathered up her things, put on her coat, and they crept down the hall. Then, they opened the back door and stepped out into the freedom of the fresh night air.
“Stay low,” Tom whispered, taking her hand and guiding her. Mrs. Coldwater’s lamp was still on, and they could not take a chance on being seen.
They traveled down to the barn where Mr. Coldwater parked his old truck. “Get in,” Tom said, opening the passenger door.
“We are going to steal the truck?” Dottie asked, stalling.
“Get in,” Tom said a little more forcefully but still speaking in a whisper.
This time, Dottie obeyed. Tom jumped in and threw the truck in neutral, then ran to the back and gave it a push down the hill. Before Dottie could panic, her brother jumped into the driver’s side of the rolling truck.
He allowed it to roll all the way to the road before he cranked it up and turned on the headlights.
Tom looked small behind the wheel, but he held the truck steady on the road. His expression was serious, and Dottie could hear his teeth chattering.
“We could go to jail for this, you know,” Dottie said. “Stealing a truck is bad—really bad.”
“We are not stealing it, just borrowing it,” Tom replied.
“When they find out we are gone, they are going to come after us,” Dottie said.
“Now, Dottie, I told you I had this all planned out,” Tom said calmly. “Do you remember about two weeks ago, I went with Mr. Coldwater to get some feed, and we wound up having to drive to Rock View City to get the feed?”
“Yes, I think so,” Dottie answered.
Tom continued, “While they were loading the truck that day, a man asked if I would help him look for his dog. Our search led us down a dirt road, where I saw a little cabin sitting up on a hill. I asked him who lived there, and he told me no one. He said that the main house had burned down years ago, the family moved away, and now no one visits or comes up there anymore. We found the dog, but I couldn’t stop thinking about that cabin. Then, when we got back to the supply store, I saw a sign in the window that said: help wanted. Right then, the wheels started turning, and I began working on the plan,” he paused and put his attention back on the road.
“I see, so we are going to live in the cabin, and you are going to work at the store—that’s the plan?” she asked. “Well, what about the truck?”
Rock View City is about ten miles up the road. We will drive about halfway, park the truck on the side of the road, and walk the rest of the way.”
They rode for a while without speaking, each thinking of what the future might hold. Then Dottie broke the silence, “Tom, I did not know you knew how to drive.”
Tom smiled, “Me neither until tonight.”
Dottie was dreading walking for miles to an unknown destination. If the cabin had been empty for years, surely it would be dusty and cold. Maybe the roof leaks, or perhaps it will be overrun with spiders and mice. Where would she go to the bathroom or take a bath? All this was running through her head when Tom pulled off the side of the road and turned off the motor.
“Now, Dottie,” he said. “I have a lot of things for us to carry. We can rest along the way, but we must be off the main road before morning.”
Tom handed Dottie her pillowcase and wrapped a blanket around her shoulders. Then he managed to tie another sack of food and supplies on his person, along with all their earthly belongings tied up in a bed sheet. “Now let’s go. Walk on my right and watch your step.”
They talked cheerfully for the first portion of the journey and walked at a good pace. Now Dottie was tired and cold, and they were forced to stop for her to rest. Tom was worried they would not be able to make it to the cabin before daybreak.
He had made up his mind if she stumbled again, he would hide everything except the food in the woods and come back for it later.
He rearranged things so that he could carry all the sacks, and they resumed their journey. Dottie was not the only one who was getting tired, and it was starting to sleet. If his plan failed, he would not mind so much for himself, but he would worry about his sister.
Not a single car had passed them all night, but now there were headlights approaching. Tom thought about trying to make a run for the woods, but the load he was carrying was too cumbersome. Hopefully, the driver would just pass on by or mistake them for a deer.
As the lights got closer, they could tell the vehicle was slowing down. Tom prayed, “Oh, Dear Lord, please don’t let it be the police.”
At last, the vehicle pulled up beside them; it was a faded red pickup truck. The window rolled down, and a voice from inside called out, “You kids need a ride?”
They could think of nothing better, but they needed to be cautious. The old man inside had a long white beard and wore a red toboggan cap. He looked innocently enough. “Come on, climb in; it’s too cold to be out tonight for man or beast.”
Tom looked at Dottie, who was pale and weak. “Thank you, sir. We are not going far. We sure would appreciate a lift.”
Tom unloaded his bags, and they climbed into the truck with Dottie sitting next to the man. He smiled and adjusted the heat so that it would blow directly onto their cold feet. “So, aren’t you glad someone called a taxi?” he asked, laughing and winking at Tom.
Within minutes, Dottie had dropped off to sleep. The man talked about the weather and the Christmas Eve service at the Rock View Church. He did not ask where they came from, nor did they ask him any whys or what’s.
Strangely, as they approached the dirt road that led up to the cabin, the man just stopped the truck. “I’ll let you off here,” he said. He got out and helped them with their bags. “You kids stay warm tonight, and don’t forget about the Christmas Eve service.” Before he drove away, he gave each of them a chocolate candy bar.
They climbed the hill to the cabin. They were not expecting much, but a dry place out of the wind would be a blessing for the two weary children.
Dottie held Tom’s flashlight as he fumbled with the door. The door was stuck but not locked. They stepped inside, dropped their bags on the floor, and shined the light around the room.
To their astonishment, it appeared to be furnished. On the table was an oil lamp and a box of dry matches. Tom lit the lamp, and now they had a better view of their surroundings. There were two small beds with soft pillows, cotton sheets, and handmade quilts. Sitting next to the fireplace were a couple of wooden chairs with cushions and a stack of dry wood.
Tom started a fire and sat down in one of the chairs. It had been a long night, and the turn of events was becoming foggy in his head.
“Do we dare stay here?” Dottie asked. “This is such a nice place. Maybe someone lives here, and they have just gone away for the night.” She walked over and sat down on one of the little beds. She stroked the quilt. “So cozy. Maybe the owners would not mind if we just lay right on top of the covers and sleep until morning.”
“You go ahead. What harm could it do?” Tom said.
By then, the cabin was nice and warm. Dottie took off her coat and lay down. In no time, she was asleep. Tom planned to keep watch, but he fell asleep.
The sunlight flickering over Tom’s face woke him. He jumped to his feet, realizing he was in a strange place. Recalling the events of the night before, he glanced immediately in Dottie’s direction. She was still asleep.
Now, in the light of day, he could see his surroundings clearly. There was a little kitchen in the corner with a wood stove. Clean lace curtains hung at the window over the sink. Could this place possibly have running water, he wondered?
He walked over to the sink and turned the spigot. There was rumbling, and then fresh, cold water began to fill the sink. In delighted belief, he turned the spigot to hot, and soon, he felt a stream of hot water.
“This can’t be,” he muttered to himself. “The man said the cabin had been empty for years.” He began opening the cabinet doors and discovered rows of neatly arranged jars of vegetables, fruits, and canned meats.
Last night, they assumed the cabin had only one room, but now he could see that there was a little hall with two doors on either side. A fear came over him. What if there were other people in the house? Maybe they were just sleeping.
He slowly made his way down the hall. He gingerly opened the door to the left. Again, he was in utter disbelief when he found a small modern bathroom with a tub, toilet, sink, and even a shelf with towels and paper goods.
Someone must be here; he thought to himself as he eyed the door handle on the right. If so, surely, they would have heard them come in last night or smelled the fire. With utmost caution, he turned the handle and cracked the door. There was no sound of anyone stirring. He first peeked in and then widened the door for a full view.
It was a workroom. On one side, there were bookshelves, a sewing machine, stacks of material, knitting yarn, and on the other side, fishing tackle and tools. Not a sign of human life.
He made use of the bathroom and then stepped out the backdoor. In view were beautiful rolling hills and trees as far as he could see. Not a house in sight.
At that very moment, he made the decision to stay there until someone ran them off. He had no idea how or why this had all turned out this way, but for now, he considered it a gift from God.
He figured he better go inside and unpack their provisions. When Dottie woke up, she would be hungry.
Just as he turned his back, he heard what sounded like a hen clucking. He stepped off the stoop and discovered underneath the porch were a pair of hens sitting on a nest.
“Could it be?” he said aloud. He ruffled them off their nest, and lo and behold, there were three large eggs. “Do you ladies mind if I take these?” he asked jokily of the hens. In awe of his good luck, he came back inside to cook the eggs.
He heard a noise in the hall and saw Dottie coming out of the bathroom. “A bathroom!” she exclaimed with delight. “And did you see the sewing room, the books, and all the good food in the cabinets? We must have died and gone to heaven,” she said, giving her big brother a hug.
She began to dance around singing a made-up song, “No more Mrs. Coldwater, no more scrubbing floors, cold taters and …”
“Hold your Taters, Dottie,” Tom said, smiling at his little sister. “This might all be just temporary. We will have to take it one day at a time.”
“You mean we have to leave?” she asked, with tears in her eyes.
“I mean that we have to be realistic. This cabin belongs to someone, and they might come back here. But for now, we will just borrow it.”
“Like the truck?” she asked, laughing.
“Yes, like the truck,” he said and gave her a hug. “Now look what I got.” He reached into his pocket and produced the eggs.
The two lit the wood stove and cooked the eggs with all the excitement of two children going to an amusement park. When the eggs were ready, Dottie set the table with pretty blue plates, and Tom sliced off a thin piece of salt pork and divided the dry bread. Just as they sat down to eat, Dottie said, “What a feast, if only we had a glass of nice milk.”
They said grace, but before they could put a bite in their mouths, there was a knock at the door. Tom jumped up and cautioned Dottie to stay seated. He went to the window but saw no one. Then the knock came again, this time louder, causing the plates on the table to rattle.
Tom figured if it were the owners, they would just open the door. Maybe it was the police or a thief. The knocking continued, so he grabbed the fire poke and cracked the door. At once, the intruder pushed open the door, ran over to the table, and grabbed their piece of bread.
“A pretty goat!” shouted Dottie with delight.
“A nanny goat,” said Tom wisely, as a boy who had been raised on a farm. He went to the cabinet and found a clean jar. The nanny goat was most gracious. In no time, they were enjoying fresh goat’s milk with their breakfast.
They sent the goat on her way, washed up the dishes, and put them back in the cabinet just like they found them.
Dottie took a hot bath, and they spent the day reading books and pondering through the workroom. Dottie said she felt like Snow White, but secretly, Tom was worried about more than dwarfs coming home.
That evening, Tom ventured from the cabin just long enough to cut some firewood for the night. Dottie had a deck of cards, and they played rummy until it was time to go to bed. That night, they both slept on top of the covers.
The next morning, all was the same. The hens laid three eggs, and the goat came to be milked. The only difference was the sound of distant church bells.
“It’s Sunday,” Tom said. “Tomorrow, I will go down to the supply store and ask for a job. Dottie, you will have to come with me, but we must find a place for you to hide. It will not do for them to see me with a child.”
“I am good at hiding,” Dottie reminded him.
Since it was Sunday, they spent some time reading the Bible, and for the rest of the day, they explored the countryside. They saw many squirrels, a couple of rabbits, and a deer.
Meanwhile, back at River Street Orphanage
Marylou and Ben were worried about the two runaways, but Mrs. Coldwater was not. “Two less mouths to feed. Just keep your mouths closed, and the welfare money will keep coming.”
Her story was about to change with the unexpected arrival of Miss Timmons and a small group of do-gooders, plus a news reporter.
Marylou answered the door, but Mrs. Coldwater was upstairs in her room, drinking a brandy and smoking a pipe. Something she did often on Sunday afternoons when Mr. Coldwater went to see his mother.
When Marylou informed Mrs. Coldwater she had company, she jumped from her chair, changed her clothes, and swallowed a half bottle of mouthwash.
She arrived downstairs talking in her high voice and a bit high on brandy. A brief conversation revealed they had come to measure for new furniture, bring gifts to the children, and do a news article on the darling little girl with the golden voice.
Caught completely off-guard, Mrs. Coldwater turned to Marylou in a panic.
“Aye, the child is sick,” Marylou said, filling in.
“Sick!” exclaimed Miss Timmons. “Have you called the doctor?”
“Well, it is only a cold,” Mrs. Coldwater interrupted.
“Still, with little ones, colds can be serious,” Miss Timmons said. “I suggest you call a doctor.”
“If I called a doctor every time one of these young’uns was sick, I’d…,” Mrs. Coldwater said, suddenly stopping herself. She would not have said that had she not been a bit tipsy. “I mean … the poor doctor would be here every other day.”
Miss Timmons stared at her for a few seconds and then replied, “May I see her?”
“No, no, you don’t want to catch something—especially here at Christmas,” Mrs. Coldwater cautioned.
“I have a strong resistance,” Miss Timmons said, standing her ground.
Mrs. Coldwater glanced in the direction of Marylou, who merely raised her eyebrows as if to say, “You are getting what you deserve—you old bat.”
“Please—please come in. Have a seat while I go upstairs and see if the girl is awake.” Then she poked her finger sharply into Marylou’s ribs and mumbled, “Get them some tea.”
The guests watched in curiosity as she stumbled on the steps, tripping on her untied shoelaces.
“Think—think—Grace,” Mrs. Coldwater said to herself, tapping her head. Just then, a little boy about Dottie’s size walked down the hall. She commanded him to put on a nightgown, climb in bed, cover his head, and pretend to be Dottie Jones.
Mrs. Coldwater stopped in front of the hall mirror, pinned up a few strands of stray hairs, took a deep breath, and went back downstairs.
“She is in bed, but if you insist, you may speak with her now,” she informed Miss Timmons.
Marylou cut her eyes at Mrs. Coldwater when Miss Timmons rose and swiftly started up the stairs. Mrs. Coldwater trotted along behind her, as did Marylou, who wanted to see the trickery.
Miss Timmons entered the room, “Dottie, I am sorry to hear you are sick,” she said sweetly. “Are you in any pain?”
“No, ma’am,” came a weak little voice.
“My, you sound hoarse. Are you sure you don’t have a sore throat?”
“No, ma’am,” replied the child.
Miss Timmons walked closer to the bed and spoke again to the child, “Is your brother sick, as well?” she asked.
The little boy did, in fact, have a brother, and he replied, “No, he is not sick.”
Mrs. Coldwater feared that something might be going astray and took hold of Miss Timmons’s arm to guide her out of the room, but she pulled away. She jerked the covers off the child in bed, revealing a very nervous little boy dressed in a girl’s nightgown.
The boy looked up at Mrs. Coldwater and cried out, “Please don’t beat me—please don’t beat me. I did what you said.”
Miss Timmons sat down on the bed beside the child and gave him a hug. “No one is going to beat you—I promise,” she said, kissing the little boy on the cheek. Now go on, and don’t worry about what has happened today.”
She tapped her foot on the floor angrily until the little boy was out of the room. Then, she rose to stand face-to-face with Mrs. Coldwater. “Woman, you have some explaining to do!”
Mrs. Coldwater turned to Marylou, “It’s her fault. She was in charge of the girl, and she let her and her brother run away!”
“No—you are in charge of all the children here, and if the children have run away, the blame lies on your shoulders.”
The conversation grew louder, and the children gathered in the hall to listen. At last, Marylou could stand it no longer. It was like a long, hot fuse had blown. “You are a mean, hateful, miserable old woman, Grace Coldwater!” she shouted. “For years, I have stood back and watched you mistreat these children. Well, I ain’t going do it no more. I got a good mind to take you out back and give you a good dose of your own medicine.”
Mrs. Coldwater raised her eyebrows and pointed her finger at Marylou, “You are fired, and take your no-good husband with you! I will not tolerate lying from my employees.”
“Lying?” Mrs. Timmons asked. “Well, let’s just see about that.” She then opened the door and invited the children into the room. “Tell me, children, has Mrs. Coldwater mistreated you in any way?” she asked.
The children all looked at the floor and refused to speak. Then Miss Timmons got down on her knees and spoke to them softly. “I am here to help you. If anyone here has laid a hand on you—I promise I will put an end to it.”
A little girl rolled up her sleeve and showed the bruises on her arm. Then, another pulled back her hair and showed a bruised face. The tears started flowing as, one by one, they told their stories.
When Miss Timmons dismissed the children, Mrs. Coldwater shook her head. She began by spinning a tale about the children. “Don’t you see they are angry because I make them do their schoolwork? Little Debbie fell down the stairs, and Rose got in a fight—you know how children are.”
“I might be young, but I am not stupid,” Miss Timmons rebutted. I brought the newspaper reporter here today to cover a story about a little girl with a golden voice, but I think he is going to get a whole different story. Marylou, would you please tell the reporter to come upstairs?”
As Marylou started out the door, Miss Timmons called out to her, “Oh, by the way, Marylou, you are welcome to keep your job, but as for some people…,” she said, turning in the direction of Mrs. Coldwater.
Mrs. Coldwater’s face turned bright red, “Now, Miss Timmons, you are jumping to conclusions here. I have been the director of River Street Orphanage for twenty-five years. You cannot just fire me without some sort of hearing!”
“You want to bet?” she asked, laughing.
Mrs. Coldwater got up and started to storm out the door but was stopped by the reporter. “Going somewhere, Mrs. Coldwater?” he asked. “I’ve been waiting a long time for this story, and I am not about to let you get away now.”
Mrs. Timmons left Mrs. Coldwater under the mindful watch of the reporter. Then went downstairs and called the police. By the time the police arrived, she had lined up several of the children as witnesses, as well as Ben and Marylou.
Sunday evening turned out to be quite the show. Mr. Coldwater returned from his mother’s to find out his wife had been taken away in handcuffs. He was given twenty-four hours to collect their things and be out of the house. At the same time, Ben and Marylou were promoted to directors of River Street Orphanage.
Meanwhile, back at the cabin
The next morning, Tom and Dottie made their way down the hill to the supply store. Dottie found a little shed around back and nestled down next to a bail of straw to wait.
Tom told the man his name was John and that he was sixteen. The man asked why he was not in school. Tom said he had quit school to help take care of his family. It was not an all-out lie; he was taking care of Dottie, and she was his family.
“I see,” said the man, looking him up once and again. “You look pretty strong, but have you any experience working with livestock?”
“Yes sir,” Tom replied.
“Alright then. I can pay you $1.50 an hour. Payday is Friday, so don’t ask for it on Thursday. I expect you to be here at 8:00 sharp, and we shut down at 6:00. We are open six days a week and closed on Sundays. Do you have any questions, son?” he asked.
“No sir,” Tom answered.
“Good, then you can start.”
Tom questioned the man, “You want me to start right now?”
“Is there a problem with that? I got a couple of trucks that need to be unloaded, and I have been short-handed for a couple of weeks.”
“No sir, but could you please give me about thirty minutes to let my family know where I will be,” Tom responded.
“I suppose so. When you get back, come around to the green building on the right. Fred is the loading dock manager. I’ll let him know to expect you.”
Tom ran out of the store and found Dottie. He grabbed her hand, and they ran back to the cabin. He did not even stop to catch his breath. He told her to lock the door and stay inside until he got home. It was the best he could do.
Tom worked hard that day, and as soon as the day was over, he hurried home. When he walked in the door, he was surprised to smell food cooking. Dottie had opened some of the canned goods and prepared supper on her own.
He was certainly hungry, but he was not sure they should be eating someone else’s food. Dottie’s comment made him laugh, and his food digested better. “Brother, we are not stealing it. We are just borrowing it. Now that you have a job, we can replace it when you get paid.”
Two weeks passed, and every morning, the hens laid three eggs; the goat came in to be milked. One day, while Tom was at work, a white kitten showed up, and Dottie named him Snowball. It was another mouth to feed, but Tom was glad Dottie had a companion.
On Fridays Dottie met Tom in town, and they did their shopping. If there was money left over, they would get a sweet from the bakery.
The hills were covered in a fresh blanket of snow the Sunday before Christmas. Tom woke to the distant sound of church bells ringing.
Secretly, Tom was worried. Dottie needed to be in school—they both did. What if he got sick and could not take care of her? He knew they could not live like this forever.
Girls were complicated, and Dottie needed a woman to teach her the things girls needed to know. It was a lot for a fifteen-year-old boy to contemplate.
It seemed like years since they had run away, but he still recalled the old man who had given them a ride and an invitation to Rock View Church for the Christmas Eve Service.
They would go. What harm could come of it? There was no need to be blue when they could have a Merry Christmas. As soon as the snow broke, Tom and Dottie went into the woods and chopped down a little cedar tree.
Dottie decorated the tree with pinecones, holly, and pretty berries she found in the woods. They both considered it a fine Christmas tree.
Meanwhile, back at the orphanage
Marylou and Ben were very good and kind directors. When the news came out about Mrs. Coldwater, it created quite a stir in town. Donations poured in. The whole orphanage was updated, the children got new clothes, and an increase in the annual budget had been approved. With all the focus on the orphanage, six children had been adopted. Those who remained were happy and well.
Miss Timmons had been working with the police department to locate Tom and Dottie Jones. She had made it her mission to find them and had posted photos of the children in all the surrounding towns.
She shuttered at the thought of them roaming the streets in the cold, begging for food. Nothing could be sadder than two children alone, especially at Christmas.
Still, after weeks of searching, no one had come forth with any news about the children, not until Christmas Eve.
Meanwhile, back at the cabin on Christmas Eve
Dottie had knitted Tom a red scarf. She could hardly wait to give it to him so he could wear it to the Christmas Eve service.
While Tom was at work, she laid out their best clothes. Tonight, she wanted to look her best. She took a bath, washed her hair, and twisted it into spirals, just like she had seen the older girls do. When it was dry, she combed it out in waves and put a piece of holly behind her ear.
By the time Tom came home, she was all dressed and waiting to go. She was pleased when he told her she looked nice. Then he reached under his coat and pulled out a paper bag. I thought since it was Christmas Eve, we ought to have a special treat.
Dottie could smell something wonderful. “Hot dogs!” she screamed.
“Yes indeed, with all the fixings. I got them at the grill. I hope they are still warm,” Tom said, hurrying to the table to lay them out. “Now be careful, Dottie, don’t drip all over your dress.”
They ate in silence, enjoying every delicious bite. When they were done, Tom changed his clothes and put on his coat.
Dottie presented Tom with the red scarf, and he proudly wrapped it around his neck. As they walked down the hill to go to the church, she took note of how handsome he looked.
“Now, Dottie, the church is on the other side of the town, but it will be a pleasant walk. The Christmas lights are all out, and you can window-shop. That is if you do not tarry too long,” Tom said, smiling.
Dottie could not have been any more delighted even if Tom had told her she could buy anything she liked. They strolled down the street hand-in-hand, and Dottie’s heart was happy.
Just past the line of stores, a vehicle slowed. A sudden fear ran through Tom’s mind. After all, they were fugitives. Dottie saw the caution in his eyes and squeezed his hand tighter.
The vehicle came to a stop and tooted its horn. Tom turned to see the same faded red truck that they had ridden in before. This time, the truck was decorated with bows and a big Christmas reef. The old man with a white beard was waving at them.
“Hey there, Tom and Dottie,” he said with a big smile. “By any chance, are you kids on your way to the Christmas Eve service?”
“Yes, sir,” Tom answered, wondering if he had foolishly told the man their names.”Well, climb on in. That’s just where I am headed. No sense in walking.”
Tom opened the door for Dottie, and she climbed in next to the man. “My, my Dottie, don’t you look pretty tonight,” he said, making Dottie beam.
Jingle Bells was playing on the radio, and he began to sing, encouraging them to join in. Strangely, that was the only song that came over the radio, and they sang until they pulled up in front of the church.
He parked the truck and helped Dottie out of the truck. “Go on in kids. I’ll be in shortly. Make sure you sit up front so you don’t miss a thing.”
When they walked into the church, their eyes brightened. Never had they been in such a beautiful place. The church smelled of evergreen and was aglow in candlelight. At the front of the church was the grandest Christmas tree they had ever seen.
Slowly, they made their way down the aisle. Not once did they notice the people watching as they sat down on the front pew. Soon, the music began. Small children sang, and then the choir. The preacher told the Christmas story, and then they all sang Silent Night and lit their own candles.
Tom glanced to the back of the church and saw the old man sitting alone, praying. Surely, God was in this place, and if Tom had died that night, he would have been satisfied.
When it was all over, they followed the crowd out of the church. Tom wanted to thank the old man and wish him Merry Christmas, but by the time they got to the back of the church, he was gone.
They stepped out into the fresh air filled with the joy of Christmas. Suddenly, they heard a woman’s voice, “Tom—Dottie.” It was Miss Timmons. “Can I talk with you?” she asked.
“No!” Tom said, taking hold of Dottie’s hand and speedily walking down the street.
“Wait,” she called out and ran after them.
Tom paused and looked back at her, “Miss Timmons, we ain’t going back!”
“Please, let’s just talk,” she pleaded. I promise I will not make you go back. Trust me. I have only your best interest at heart.”
Alongside Miss Timmons was a handsome young man with a kind face. He put his arm around her as she reached out for Dottie’s hand.
Dottie looked up at Tom and then ran over and gave Miss Timmons a big hug that was sincerely received. The man extended his hand to Tom, “I am Rob, I’m Katie’s—Miss Timmons’s fiancé. Why don’t we step over to the coffee house and maybe get a cup of hot chocolate and a piece of pie?” When Tom hesitated, Rob added, “My treat. Now come on, buddy, let’s make the ladies happy.”
Holding hands, Miss Timmons and Dottie led the way. At the coffee shop, Miss Timmons explained what had happened at the orphanage. “You should have seen Mrs. Coldwater’s face when I fired her,” she said, laughing. “And now the place is more like a hotel than an orphanage.”
When Tom heard that some of the children had been adopted, his face grew pale, “Was Mattie McDonald one of them?” he asked.
Mattie was a pretty redheaded girl about Tom’s age. “Woo, who, Tom? I knew you were sweet on her,” Dottie snickered.
“Hush your mouth,” Tom scolded, and they began to fuss.
Miss Timmons spoke up. “No, Tom. Miss McDonald is still at the orphanage. She asks about you?”
Tom blushed and changed the subject. “Miss Timmons, how did you find us?” he asked.
“A man named Nick called just this morning and said that you might be here,” she answered. “Do you know him?” she asked.
“No, I don’t think so,” Tom said. “We have tried to lay low if you know what I mean.”
Tom told them about the wonderful little cabin and how it was perfectly outfitted from the moment they walked in the door.
“Well, let’s go and see it,” Miss Timmons said excitedly.
Rob told them to wait there. He paid the check, and in a few minutes, he pulled up front to pick them up.
Tom guided them to the road. The road was covered with snow, and since it had never been traveled, he informed them that they would have to walk up the hill.
“That’s fine by us. We are wearing our snow boots,” Miss Timmons said, hopping out of the car.
“It is so peaceful out here,” Miss Timmons said as she walked up the hill. Even in the dark, the snow is so bright that everything glows. It is almost magical.”
When they arrived at the cabin, the door was stuck like the night they arrived. Tom gave it a push, and they entered.
Dottie and Tom both gasped. The fire was still burning, and their Christmas tree stood in the corner, but nothing else looked the same. The two cozy chairs were broken down, the legs on the table were broken, there were no lace curtains hanging in the window and on the little beds were just ragged old mattresses.
The only things that were the same were their personal belongings, which were spread out on the floor in front of the fireplace. Dottie ran through the cabin, calling, “Snowball, Snowball,” and out of the empty workroom came the little kitten. The bathroom was rusted out, and the cabinets were bare.
“What has happened?” Tom said. “This place looks nothing like it did when we left to go to the Church.”
“Tom,” Miss Timmons said, putting her hand on his shoulder. “Maybe you were just so glad to be away from the orphanage you saw it all differently. Now that you know it is safe to come with us, you are seeing it for the first time as it really is.”
“No, no, there were chickens and the goat—here is the scarf that Dottie knitted for me. There were books and tools!” Tom said, fighting back his tears.
With Snowball in her arms, Dottie said, “Maybe it was Christmas magic, Tom, and now the magic is telling us it is time to go home.”
Tom looked at Dottie and nodded his head. “I suppose that makes as much sense as anything.”
Tom walked one more time down the hall, half hoping to see it one more time as it was, but it was not to be.
“If we go back with you, do you promise no one will ever hurt Dottie again?” Tom asked, sounding a little more like a small boy.
“I promise, dear boy, I promise,” Miss Timmons said as tears streamed down her face.
“Here, let me help you gather up your things,” Rob said.
On the way back to the orphanage, almost at the very same spot where the red truck had picked up the runaways, suddenly, a vehicle appeared in the passing lane. It was the red truck.
The old man blinked his lights, tooted his horn, and called out, “Ho Ho! Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!” That was the last they saw of the red truck.
Twenty years later
I’m Tom Jones, and today, I am an attorney fighting for the rights of children. I am married to Mattie, and we have three children of our own and three adopted children.
Dottie has a degree in music. She teaches music at the college and is the choir director at Rock View Church. She is happily married and has two children and one on the way.
Over the years, the directors at River Street Orphanage have changed, all carefully selected, but none ever the likes of Mrs. Coldwater.
Even though Dottie and I have busy schedules, we will never forget where we came from. We both serve on the board of directors and volunteer our services to the orphanage.
There are two things that I will always believe in—and that is the magic of Christmas and an old man who drives a red truck.
Merry Christmas,
Tom Jones
