SNOW-GLOBES and MOONBOWS

SNOW-GLOBES and MOONBOWS

The day after Christmas, snow fell in the Northeast like it had a purpose. It came thick and fast, nearly erasing Bethlehem’s grimy steel mill’s lofty smokestacks, and blanketing the surrounding row houses into something gentler, quieter.

Inside the Miller home, 6-year-old Noah stood on a chair staring through the ice-sequined kitchen window. Snow was stacked against doors, burying parked cars to their side-mirrors. The early morning glow of streetlamps blurred into soft, trembling halos. Noah watched his father make his way on foot for his shift at the steel mill, his boots crunching across frozen ground and his breath a white cloud that disappeared as quickly as he did.

“I’m not doing all the work, you need to help, Noah, or we won’t have Christmas next year.” Lily sorted bows into careful piles. “Dad left me in charge. If you help me take the tree down, we can build a snowman.”

The house, still smelling faintly of pine, belonged to the children for the next several hours. But they knew the drill. Ever since their mom had gone to heaven, holidays always made their father sad, even angry sometimes. He allowed his children to celebrate Christmas but the very next day, everything had to be packed away and out of sight.

“Don’t throw away any bows.” Lily said, rescuing a silver ribbon from the trash. “Mommy liked to save the good ones as ornaments for next year’s tree, remember?”

Noah nodded solemnly. He did, even if his memories of his mom were fuzzy around the edges, like waking from a special dream he couldn’t quite catch.

Before their mom got sick, no matter how small the gift, even if just necessities like mittens and socks, she wrote sweet poems on each wrapped present. Before they could open their packages, they had to guess what was inside from the poem’s clues. Lily, being a few years older, always helped Noah with his guesses. Mom got such a thrill watching them open a candy bar or a toy trinket. Lily knew the poems was their mom’s way of making the excitement stretch longer.

Bear, their shaggy mutt with his graying muzzle, lay sprawled near the back door, tail thumping lazily as tinsel and popcorn garland was stuffed into a trash bag. Lily placed the one box of items to be stored in the shed until the following year, next to Bear. She ruffled his fur.

“Almost done, buddy, then you can go run in the snow.”

Together, Lily and Noah dragged the small tree with its broken stand towards the back door; a trail of dried pine needles left in its wake. The children silently dressed to go out into the bitter morning. Lily helped Noah with his gloves and zipped up his parka before readying herself. Bear sat upright, wagging his tail, anxiously waiting for the back door to open and set him free.

The two managed to drag the tree to the woods, where it lay against the pristine snow, the evergreen in such contrast to the landscape. But by spring, it would turn brown, blending with the rest of the dead trees. Lily looked away, brushing a tear from her cheek before Noah noticed. Her mom had made her promise she would take care of Noah when she was gone and there was no room for crying, she kept her tears to herself until she said her prayers every night, assuming Noah was already asleep in his bunk.

Bear bounded through the snow as the children trudged back to the house, snow thick as a vanilla milkshake. Lily lifted the sole box of decorations they’d saved from year to year and carried it out, Noah in tow. The shed sat at the edge of the property, its roof sagging under the weight of snow.

“Get the door, Noah.”

Noah pushed the door. It didn’t swing open, seemingly frozen on its rusted hinges.

He tried again, harder this time using his small body to thrust at the door, and it creaked inward just enough to let out a breath of stale air. It smelled faintly of damp canvas and something else, something unfamiliar, yet not.

Bear pushed the door further and stopped in his tracks, his ears perked. Instead of barking, he whined, tail low, curious.

“What is it, boy?” Lily wasn’t scared, but she stood in front of Noah, still holding the box and shielding him from whatever might await them. Probably a family of rabbits weathering the storm. Bear trotted inside and sat very still. Lily slowly followed and pulled the string for the overhead bulb, but it was burnt out. Moving away from the doorway, enough to let some daylight in, she dropped the box at her feet. She instinctively shoved Noah behind her.

“What’s wrong, Lily? Can I see?”

Inside the shed, under a tangle of old paint tarps, Lily was able to make out two faces staring back at her, two human faces. A man and a woman cowered in the corner behind a broken-down chair.

Noah peeked around his sister. “Who’s that?”

Lily didn’t answer, she took in the woman first. Her hair was dark and tangled, her face pale but calm, as if fear had long since passed through her and decided not to stay. Both of them were shoeless, and Bear slowly crept towards them, then lay at their feet on the frozen dirt floor, seeming to try and warm them.

The man stood very slowly, holding out his palms as if to say they meant no harm. He was disheveled in a dirty poncho and looked pleadingly at Lily. That was when she noticed the wrapped bundle between them. Ever so slightly, the dirty cloths wriggled, and a tiny baby’s face appeared. It reminded her of the day her mom brought Noah home from the hospital, fists pumping, tiny as asterisks.

It made a small sound, not a cry, more like a question.

Lily’s stomach dropped all the way to her toes.

“L-Lily,” Noah whispered. “Is that a baby?”

His sister didn’t answer. She stared, her eyes wide, taking in every detail: paint tarps pulled tight like makeshift walls, old moth-eaten moving blankets, the frost creeping along the shed’s wooden beams. The woman was young and looked so tired. The man knelt back down and gently patted Bear’s head.

“Hello,” Lily said softly. “Who are you?”

The man finally spoke, a quavering voice like it hadn’t been used in a while. “We mean no trouble,” he said, his words careful, almost fragile. “Just… passing through. We will be headed out soon.”

Lily swallowed. “It’s really cold. Can I call someone to drive you home?” The man kindly waved her off as if he’d seen a thousand storms far worse than this one. These three strangers somehow seemed at ease right where they were. Lily wanted to invite them inside, but she knew her father would be furious, definitely alert the police. He’d surely ban Christmas forever.

They should have run back to the house. Called someone. A neighbor? An ambulance? Lily knew exactly what their father would do. They'd either be arrested or forced out into the freezing temperatures. Then, he'd reinforce the shed door with a chain and padlock. His kind temperament had been replaced years ago with a voice sharp and tight with stern rules and constant worry. Lily watched the mother smiling down at her newborn and she knew exactly what her own mother would do. If they couldn’t come inside, then Lily and Noah would bring inside to them.

As if reading her mind, the woman smiled brightly at Lily and the girl's heart quickened with reassurance and something akin to grace.

“I’m Lily and this is Noah. You can stay here as long as you need.”

Noah looked at her, shocked. “But Lily…”

“They’ll freeze, otherwise,” she said, quietly but firmly. “And Dad won’t be home till after dark. He’ll never know.”

The man’s eyes shone, though no tears fell. He bowed his head in gratitude. “Thank you.”

Bear slept soundly, sharing his body warmth with the strangers. He stayed rooted to his spot in the shed while the two children ran back to the house and searched for supplies. Some pieces of bread, a few slices of leftover ham, an apple and some nuts would have to do. Lily located an empty wine bottle on its side on the counter as if it had imbibed in the spirits along with their father the previous day. She grabbed it by the neck and rinsed it clean, then filled it with fresh water. She handed the food and bottle to Noah who wordlessly took them from her. She ran to the bedroom they shared and took one blanket from each of their beds.

They made their way back out to the shed. The strangers with their baby hadn’t moved. They graciously accepted the food and water along with the warm blankets.

“You are so kind,” the man smiled and wrapped their little family into a tight snuggle.

Lily sat down on the dirt floor next to Noah and just watched as they devoured the snacks and relished in the cold, fresh water. She didn’t know what else to do so she talked about the baby, asking when it was born and what was its name. But all the man said in response was he came at the right time.

The children watched in amazement at this new little being, sometimes crying thin and sharp, the sound of a new life. The mother soothed the baby as it slept on and off. At one point the baby started to wail and Noah dug through the box of old ornament’s locating the special one he’d made in school the previous year. It was a tiny red drum, patched with a bit of tape but he still liked it because it made a soft but steady sound like a heartbeat when he tap it with his fingers.

He slowly brought it closer to the baby and when he patted out a few little beats, the newborn instantly stopped crying and stared at him with eyes dark and serious, as if hearing something deeper than sound. It miraculously lulled the infant back to sleep.

Lily opened the flap of the box and took out her very own favorite ornament, a snow-globe. Lily took such care in wrapping and unwrapping it each Christmas. It had belonged to her mom and on their last Christmas together, Lily’s mom gave her the snow globe. Inside the glass ball, tiny figures stood beneath a painted rainbowed night sky, frozen in the middle of a story Lily didn’t fully understand. Like the old-fashioned Christmas scene outside the church. Her mom had explained that it held not a rainbow, a rare moonbow, only seen on clear nights after a storm when the moon and stars aligned just right. She explained that whenever Lily felt sad, she should shake the glass ball, and then just watch as the scene inside went from a whirlwind of white to a settled winter’s night, and all would be calm and safe.

The new mother watched the globe with wonder. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

“It was my mom’s,” Lily said.

The woman met her eyes. “She loves you very much.”

They stayed all afternoon with the strange little family, occasionally going back inside to find more scraps of food and fresh water. Lily even searched the trash for the strings of discarded popcorn garland. Her father would be furious, feeding strangers what little food they themselves had in the cupboards but something deep inside told Lily this was the right thing to do.

Bear guarded the family all afternoon like it was the most important job he’d ever been given. The couple spoke little, but when they did, it was gentle, tender. The man explained their baby was born on the edge of endings and beginnings. "Sometimes children come just in time to remind the world how to start again.”

Somehow, the dark shed with its door ajar to allow in some light, still felt cozy. And just like the shaken snow-globe settling silently, peacefully, all five, along with Bear, dozed off on the floor of the shed.

*****

“Lily! Noah! Where the hell are you two!” Their father was home from work. He was shouting from the back porch and he was angry.

The children bolted upright, unsure of how long they’d been out there, but the sun had set, and fat snowflakes had begun to drift down. The little family remained sleeping as Bear and the children ran back to the house. They would have a lot to explain, least of which was why they hadn’t finished cleaning up after Christmas.

Back inside, their dad looked aggravated but too weary to yell. “Why are there pine needles all over the floor, and why hasn’t this trash made it to the bin? You two had hours to get everything squared away. What in the world have you been doing all this time?”

Noah starred down at his damp, mismatched socks. Lily was silent at first, on the brink of tears. This was surely going to be our last Christmas.

Then her words tumbled out: the shed, the family wrapped in tarps, the newborn baby, Bear warming them without concern, the snacks and the drum and the snow-globe. Their dad listened, his face unreadable.

When Lily finished her story, her father didn’t yell. He just grabbed his coat, a flashlight and a baseball bat and stomped out the back door into the cold evening air. The children quickly put their boots back on and ran after him but he was too fast for them to keep up. Snow eddied in the beam cast by the flashlight.

“Please, Daddy,” Lily cried, “Please don’t hurt them.”

He threw open the shed door wide on its rusted hinges. The kids came up short behind him when he stopped in the opened doorway. He shone the light from floor to ceiling. Nothing. The shed was empty. There was no sign of the family. The tarps lay folded neatly on the work bench.

Lily glanced around, no footprints but their own in the fresh dusting of snow by the shed door. The ornament box had somehow found its way to a spot on the shelf. The blankets were gone. Only Bear stood there, tail wagging slowly, sniffing in the exact spot where the baby had been.

The bitter cold inside the shed had returned.

“Well, whoever was here is long gone. I’ve a mind to call the police. Can’t have homeless people shacking up on our property. Baby or no baby, it’s squatting and it’s illegal. You know better than to be talking to strangers, especially while I’m not home. Now get back inside and finish the cleaning. I need to see what's left for dinner; you had no business giving away our food.”

Their dad said nothing more and traipsed back inside, shaking his head and mumbling under his breath about how things would be very different come next Christmas. The children frowned and followed in silence, Bear lumbering behind. Lily and Noah slowly removed their snow gear and found their dad in the kitchen.

“Where did all this come from? This wasn’t here when I got home from work 15 minutes ago.” On the kitchen counter, sat a fresh loaf of bread, a healthy tube of salami, a brick of cheese alongside a bowl of fresh fruit and nuts. Next to the food, was the wine bottle they’d used for water, but it stood full. Unopened.

“Well, I’ll be damned. It’s like a miracle.” He smiled at first, then sat down at the table and put his head in his hands. A minute later, he gestured for his two children to come close. He hugged them tightly and sobbed into their shoulders. “I miss her so much too, but this is a real sign. Christmas was always Mom's favorite holiday, and I'll be damned if she hasn't been with us all along.”

That night, they ate well and sat around listening to the radio. The children expected to be a bit colder with just one blanket on each of their bunks instead of two, but they didn't mind, nor would either complain. Their dad had been happier than they’d seen him since mom had gone to heaven.

They hugged him extra tight as he dozed in his armchair, glass of wine on the side table next to him. Quietly and efficiently, the children set off to bed. In their tiny, shared bedroom, they discovered their blankets were tucked back on their beds as if they’d never been disturbed at all.

“But, how…?” Noah trailed off when Lily pressed a finger gently to her lips.

"Someone's little secret,” she whispered and helped Noah with his pajamas. Tucked up in his top bunk, he was ready for sleep when he felt something small and round under his pillow. He pulled it out and realized it was the drum ornament. He leaned down to show his sister, but she was kneeling by her bed saying her prayers in the dark, just like every night, only this time, she wasn’t crying. It was then he saw the snow globe resting on top of her pillow like a tiny thank-you.

Before slipping under the warm blankets, Lily smeared clear a condensation spot and glanced out the bedroom window. The snow had stopped falling. Lily looked toward the shed. It was dark, just as it always had been. Only that night, it was illuminated from above by the brightest star she'd ever seen and just below its glow, she spotted a perfectly, beautiful moonbow, the first one she’d ever seen. Lily knew in her heart, it wouldn't be her last. She smiled, and climbed under her blankets, knowing some things simply didn’t need an explanation.