A mixture of dead leaves and sleet blew down the lonely street, stinging hard against Rachel's back. She hunched her shoulders farther into her thin coat, trying to keep warm. A lone car rumbled past, one of its tires hitting a puddle of melted sleet, and sending a sheet of freezing water towards Rachel. She shied from it, but still felt the splash of droplets, soaking through her coat, through her dress, stabbing cold needles of chill into her skin.
She once again held her coat closer, and headed up the cold sidewalk. She could feel the cold stone through her thin-soled boots, its chill numbing her feet. She hurried towards home.
'Home' -for lack of a better word- was a tiny apartment in Chicago. Nestled above a small grocery store and a liquor store, the three-room apartment housed Rachel, her little brother, Nick, and her mother and father. She reached the grocery store, and went in. The shelves were nearly bare, and lacked much. The Depression had hit even here.
Winding her scarf from her neck in the blissfully- comparatively- warm indoors, Rachel smiled at the grocery owner. "Hello Mr. Neal. Sorry about the floor. I got hit by splatters from a car."
Mr. Neal- a tall, wizened man- stared at her. "You'll clean it up." the remark took the form of a command. In absence of rent, work in his store would do just as well. Rachel knew better than to argue. "Yes sir." she headed as quickly as possible to the door that led to the stair.
Once on the stairs, she breathed a sigh of relief. First the store, then the street, then Mr. Neal...and now, home. A blessed bit of cheer in an all too horrible world. She hurried up the dreadfully cold stairs, regretting she had taken off her scarf. The moment she opened the apartment door, she was enveloped in a hug from Mother.
"Hello dear! We were beginning to think you weren't coming!" Rachel stared up into Mother's face- horribly thin, yet cheery, a beautiful smile curving over it. Dark brown hair, limp from exhaustion, but neatly pinned up behind her head. Rachel touched her own brown hair, cut short barely two months earlier. She still regretted that now, in December.
Mother gently took the can Rachel clutched, tugged off her coat, and pushed her towards a chair. "Sit. You look tired."
Rachel, looking at her mother, bit back a "So do you" that was forming on her lips. No need to make the woman feel bad. Something was cooking on the stove- a pitifully tiny pot with a bland-looking (and smelling) soup in it. Nonetheless, Mother tried to make the best, even in these times, chattering away.
"This is the best soup I've made yet. I think I've finally gotten the hang of it. It's just two cups of the water, instead of three, and just a dash of salt. Doesn't that sound perfect to you? Your Father already left to go get something. Perhaps some bread. Wouldn't that be nice, Nick? Some sweet bread?" Nick stared up at her and babbled, but Rachel got up and took Mother in a hug from behind.
"It's okay Mother. I'm sure he'll get something nice." Both Rachel and Mother knew where Father had gone- to the soup kitchen or the bread lines. But neither of them would say it. Nor would they mention the fact that Father had been unable to get anything for the past three days. Stuck with the soups Mother could make, good soups, but thin nonetheless.
Nick started crying, and Rachel hefted him up in her arms. He immediately quieted, staring around in wide-eyed wonder. Mother started speaking again. "Thank you for the milk. I'm surprised the store's open. It's Christmas Eve, after all."
Rachel shrugged, not answering. The room was silent, until suddenly, the door popped open, and an exultant Father came in. He threw his hat in the air- something Rachel could not remember him doing since before the Depression happened- and literally danced over to Mother. He grabbed her around the waist, spun her around, then lifted a small package. "A ham Ruth! A real ham! And not just any ham! Our ham! Yessir, we're going to be eating high-on-the-hog tomorrow!"
"A Christmas ham?" Mother queried, her face trembling between beautiful happiness and oncoming disappointment.
"Now there, Ruth!" Father exclaimed. "None of that. This is a ham, and you're going to cook it tomorrow, and we're going to eat it."
Rachel nearly dropped Nick in her haste to get up. She deposited him in his crib, and dashed over to Father, grabbing the package from him, and fumbling with it to open it. A ham. A real ham. Her hands cradled the tiny hunk of meat, keeping it safe.
-
The next morning, Rachel woke with excitement fluttering in her stomach. She wasn't expecting presents, nothing but the ham. The morning passed in delightful anticipation. Mother had been saving biscuit dough for Christmas, and the delightful smell of carrots, ham, and biscuits filled the apartment, making Rachel's stomach grumble even after breakfast.
When lunch time came, the repast was laid out in true style- Mother's best tablecloth some distant relative had brought from some distant land, the best dishes Mother had, and throughout it all, the food!
Rachel slid into her chair with an eager smile on her face. Nick nearly immediately grabbed for a carrot, but Father sternly corrected him. "No son. Aren't we forgetting something?" Nick stared at Father, uncomprehending.
Father stood, looked up to Heaven, then back down to the food. "Lord God, we thank you for this food you have provided. Even in these darkest of times, we know you are watching over us, and know that you will get us through. Thank you for all you have provided. Amen."
Mother murmured "Amen" as an echo, and Rachel stared around the table- Mother's beautiful yet sad and exhausted face, Father's cheery, yet worried face, Nick's beautiful, sweet, innocent face- and for once, Rachel realized she had all she needed here.