Heavenly Magic

Nancy Tomazic

         

The bird rested securely in the palm of her small hand. He was sleeping. She was sure of it. If he were dead, he'd look all raggedy and nasty, like the dead animal she'd seen once along the roadside.

         

Her mom had told her once that, when it got really cold out, some animals went inside their houses and slept until it got warm again. Yes, this was summertime, but perhaps the bird had his seasons mixed up. Like when she thought it was summer, just because it got warm out one day and the snow had melted. But Mom had said no, it was still winter, just a warm day, that's all. And the next day it had grown cold and snowed again. She was much bigger than the bird, and even she got confused sometimes.

Kimmy rubbed her finger gently along the bird's yellow breast. She spread its wing out and marveled at how the colors of the feathers formed a perfect pattern.

"You're so soft, little birdie, and so pretty," she said, whispering the words softly so as not to frighten the tiny creature.

         

With great care, she set the bird down on the patio table and went inside the house to look for something she could use as a blanket. And she would need a little bed, too, she thought. She went upstairs to her bedroom and opened the toy chest. She rummaged through it until she found the little plastic cradle that belonged to one of her dolls. It would be a perfect size for the bird. Then she searched through the blankets on her bed until she located her favorite teddy bear.

         

"Can I borrow your blanket, little bear? I'll give it back when the bird wakes up, okay?" She unwrapped the pink flannel blanket and placed the teddy bear back on the bed, but then she decided to carry him outside. He would enjoy the sunshine, she thought to herself. She gathered up the cradle and blanket and headed back down the stairs.

        

Perhaps the bird had awakened while she was gone, she thought, and she hurried toward the kitchen. Surely, it would be hungry and thirsty. In a lower cupboard, Kimmy found a small plastic container. She climbed up on the stepstool in front of the sink and filled the container with water. She found a piece of bread and carefully carried the items out to the patio, then returned for the teddy bear and the blanket. She set the bear on a patio chair, his raggedy face catching warm rays of sunshine.

* * *

         

Next door, an old man watched Kimmy's comings and goings with a sense of resigned sadness. How sweet she was, he thought. And how sad that she was experiencing so much death at such a tender age. He wished there were some way he could help ease her pain, but he was an old man, beleaguered by the shortcomings of his age.

         

He removed the binoculars from his dresser and watched as Kimmy returned to the patio. Gently, she lifted the bird in her small hand and tried to persuade it to drink from the water container. The man could see her small, delicate lips moving and the fine line of concern that ran across her brow. Tears welled in the corners of his old eyes as he watched Kimmy make a soft bed for the tiny creature. Why did life have to be so brutal, he wondered to himself. Gently, Kimmy placed the bird in the doll cradle and rocked it back and forth. Her lips continued to move and he decided she must be singing a soft lullaby.

        

"Kimmieeee!" The old man heard Kimmy's mother, Sandra, calling from around the back of the house. She must be gardening again, he thought.

         

He had noticed dramatic changes in Sandra since her husband's sudden death a few months before. Of course, the entire town had been shocked by the horrible car crash that had taken his young life. They had been such a nice family, both the husband and wife donating their time to community youth projects. Now, the mother seemed to stay at home most of the time, and the old man noticed they seldom had visitors. Kimmy spent long hours playing alone, while Sandra seemed obsessed with her gardening. They seldom spoke to one another, and it seemed as if a deep chasm had formed between them.

* * *

         

Kimmy ran around to the back of the house. Her mother knelt in front of the flowerbed, methodically pulling weeds and placing them in the wheelbarrow.

        

"I just wondered where you were, honey. What are you doing?" She looked up at Kimmy and noticed the small cradle in her hands.

         

"Mom, I found this bird sleeping on the patio. He won't drink any water, or -- or anything." She held the cradle out to her mother.

         

"Oh, Kimmy," she said, "the bird is dead, honey. We'll have to bury it." She reached out to take the cradle away from her daughter, but Kimmy jumped back, holding the cradle closely to her chest.

        

"No! He's not dead!" she shouted. "He's just sleeping, that's all. He has his seasons mixed up." Kimmy held the bird close and ran around to the front of the house.

* * *

         

The old man watched Kimmy return to the patio. She was crying. She stood in the middle of the patio, holding the cradle close to her chest, and looking around in desperation. He watched as she placed the cradle under a small bush, its flowering branches forming a protective canopy over the small bird. She retrieved the bowl of water and placed it next to the cradle. Finally, she sprinkled breadcrumbs in the surrounding soil.

The old man watched, issuing a silent prayer that there might be some way he could help to ease the child's pain. And then he felt a gentle stirring, a provocation of will deep inside. A positive force was working within, feeding him with a renewal of spirit. He whispered a prayer of thanks and, grabbing hold of his walker, he began the long journey from the confines of his lonely room.

* * *

         

"Kimmy, honey, I need to know what you did with the bird. I know how upset you are, but the birds needs to be buried so he can go to Heaven."

         

Kimmy sat in the back seat, a sullen expression on her small face. She was remembering a conversation she'd had with Jimmy, one of her kindergarten friends. She'd told him that her daddy was in Heaven, just like her mom had told her, but Jimmy had expressed his own doubts. "How do you know he didn't go to hell?" he'd said. His words had shaken Kimmy deeply and she'd been having nightmares ever since.

         

Sandra studied her daughter's face in the rearview mirror. She was not surprised that Kimmy hadn't responded to her questions about the bird. Kimmy had been growing increasingly despondent for the last few weeks. She knew her daughter's refusal to accept the bird's death was the same as her refusal to accept her father's death. She seemed determined to revive the bird, probably feeling that, in doing so, she would confirm her deep belief that her father was just away for awhile.

         

It broke Sandra's heart to see Kimmy look expectantly down the street every time she heard a car approaching. The psychologist they'd been seeing hadn't helped either of them, nor had the visitations from their pastor, though his efforts to help had been well intended. It was as if Kimmy sensed Sandra's own loss of faith. There was a raw edge to Sandra's voice and a lack of conviction when she tried to assure Kimmy that Daddy was at peace, in Heaven. Kimmy insisted that he was just away, sleeping somewhere, and that he would soon return. Just like the bird. A silent tear ran down Sandra's face as she parked the car at the shopping center.

* * *

         

The old man made his way slowly down the hall. When he reached the door to his wife's room, his hand paused on the brass doorknob. He hadn't entered her room since her death, one year before. In fact, he hadn't gone anywhere but had remained inside his house, his only visitor the lady volunteer who delivered meals twice a day and helped with laundry and light cleaning. The stroke he'd suffered three years earlier had left him dependent on a walker, which he refused to use in the presence of others. He had always been a strong, independent individual and he was not about to be thought of as a helpless cripple. Besides, since his wife's sudden death, he hadn't cared about living. There had been nothing to live for. Perhaps if they'd had children. Perhaps if their small daughter had lived.

         

He turned the knob with his gnarled hand and the door swung open. Memories flooded back. Her room was exactly as she'd left it, the bed quilt still pulled toward the right corner, the way her hand had been pulling when the heart attack happened. The down pillows still held the indentation of her head. He remembered with deep sadness how she had always fluffed the pillows last. She had been such a good woman. Loving. Tears streamed down his lined face, allowing a flood of release after so many months of denial. He allowed himself to recall her last moments, remembering his determination to will her to live, against all logic. In the end, death had taken his wife, and his spirit.

         

He tried to close out the thunk-thunk sound of his walker as he moved about the room. It reminded him of his worthlessness. His watery eyes focused on the sewing table across the room. The table was open, the sewing needle firmly holding a small piece of pink fabric in place. He moved slowly toward the table and examined the fabric more closely. Yes, he thought, it was the same. He made his way to the bed, then lay in the soft folds of his wife's covers, his head settling deeply into the down pillows. Closing his eyes against the afternoon light, he allowed himself to be flooded with the memories of a summer day, a year ago.

* * *

          His wife had helped him out to his chair on the front porch and then sat down next to him. Two glasses of homemade iced tea sat on the table between them. It was a beautiful day, not too warm, and a gentle breeze rustled the large pine that stood in front of the house. He loved the soft whisper of the pine needles as they danced in the wind.

        

Little Kimmy, from next door, skipped happily toward them, holding something close to her chest.

         

"I have a new baby," she said excitedly, "and you can hold him, Mrs. Kiernan." Gently, she placed a small teddy bear in his wife's lap.

         

"Oh, my, what a lovely baby you have, Kimmy," his wife had said. "You know, I think this baby needs a blanket. Would you like that?"

        

"Oh, yes," said Kimmy, smiling.

         

"Well, honey, you wait right here with Mr. Kiernan and I'll go fetch a blanket. I've been making some for the dolls we're giving to the children's home. I'm sure no one would mind if I gave one to your baby." She handed the teddy bear back to Kimmy and went inside the house.

         

Kimmy sat at the old man's feet, softly humming as she rocked the teddy bear back and forth. The old man smiled. He loved this little girl. She reminded him of his own daughter. She would have been about the same age as Kimmy when she died.

         

Shortly, Mrs. Kiernan returned. Kimmy smiled with pleasure as his wife wrapped the soft pink blanket around the teddy bear. The old man smiled at his wife's goodness. He could not know that this was the last day they would spend together.

* * *

         

Slowly, his eyes focused on his surroundings. It took a moment for him to realize where he was. As he raised his hand to rub the sleep from his eyes, he felt something soft rub against his face. It was a small, pink blanket. He'd taken it from the neatly folded pile beside the sewing machine. He remembered that he'd been planning something when he'd fallen asleep. The afternoon light was fading through the curtained window. Perhaps he'd slept too long. With more determination than he'd felt in a long time, he grabbed hold of his walker and made his way toward the window. Yes, he thought, the car was still gone, but he'd have to hurry.

         

He rummaged through several boxes of sewing items. There were ribbons, pieces of fabric large and small, of every color and description; colored threads, sequins, feathers, angel dust, an odd assortment of buttons and a vast collection of dolls in various stages of assembly. He smiled at his wife's compilation of bits and pieces, the makings of magical creations that had brought smiles to the faces of so many troubled children. Thoughtfully, he began to assemble an assortment of small items. It was time he created a bit of his own magic. In fact, the time was long overdue.

* * *

         

Kimmy was asleep in the back seat. As Sandra pulled into the driveway, she was surprised to see old Mr. Kiernan slowly making his way toward his front door, his walker making a thunk-thunk sound on the pavement. She hadn't seen him since the day after his wife's death. Sandra and her husband had gone to the house, offering their condolences and any help he might need. They had been confronted with sheer rage. The old man had driven them from his doorstep, declaring he wanted nothing from anyone. Sandra had contacted Social Services and made sure the old man was receiving any necessary assistance, but she had not tried visiting him again. And after her husband's death, she hadn't really cared about the old man's welfare, or anyone else's for that matter.

         

Now, she watched as he made his way onto his front porch. To her surprise, he sat down in one of the porch chairs and waved to her across the lawn. Hesitantly, Sandra waved back. She would have to try and visit him again, she thought. He and his wife had once been good friends.

         

Sandra carried the groceries into the house and returned for Kimmy. The child began to waken as Sandra carried her toward the front door. As they crossed the patio, Kimmy noticed her teddy bear sitting on the patio chair and she squirmed out of her mother's arms.

         

The teddy  bear was once again wrapped in the pink blanket. But what about the bird? Kimmy wondered. She knelt down in the soft mulch of the flowerbed and reached in under the flowering shrub. Her hand found the edge of the cradle and she gently pulled it toward her. The bird was gone. Inside the cradle was a pink blanket, its surface covered in an array of white feathers and angel dust.

        

When Sandra returned to the patio, Kimmy was holding her doll cradle and a large smile spread across her face.

         

"Look, Mommy! Angels took the bird to Heaven to be with Daddy. See? They lost some of their feathers and angel dust. And they gave me a new blanket for my teddy bear, too. I bet Daddy is taking good care of my bird," she said and ran off to play.

         

Sandra looked across the lawn to the old man sitting in his chair. He was slowly nodding, as if in confirmation. Sandra smiled, and so did the old man.

         

"Well, Mrs. Kiernan," the old man said to himself, "I guess you haven't really left me after all. You were just waiting for me to help spread some of your magic around. I may be slow on the uptake, but I'm headed in the right direction now."

         

He rested comfortably then in his favorite chair, enjoying the sound of the pine boughs dancing in the breeze. It had been a beautiful summer's day.

.

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Nancy Tomazic is the published author of sixteen short stories, and is presently working on her first novel.