Untended Souls

My grandmother - of whom it could be said, was neither a frequent church goer nor a noticeably devout Baptist - did usually succumb to an act of charity during the holidays, making large donations to Goodwill or the Salvation Army, sometimes both. Sitting beside her in the cavernous old Cambridge church one Sunday, I watched her listen to the new minister - young, fiery, eloquent - and passionate about the plight of orphans at Christmas. Nana's eyes sparkled when called upon to share her blessings with these poor, unwanted, homeless children and after services she sought out the new minister and volunteered her money, her time, and the members of her family to the cause of providing these unfortunate orphans with a proper Christmas.

The family's reactions were mixed to this. My daddy agreed without a second thought, offering up the old Mercury station to deliver food and gifts while my mother looked on in distaste at the suggestion that she participate but my Aunt Helen was appalled. Orphans? she asked, her delicately plucked eyebrows arched in surprise, Certainly not! I have no time to spare for illegitimate urchins! Not to mention that I have my position to consider! Lock jawed and grim faced, Nana glared at her. Helen, she snapped, It's an orphanage, for heaven's sake, not a brothel! Her sister-in-law flushed but gave not an inch, It's out of the question, Alice, she said firmly, Edgecomb and I have already made plans. Out of town, she added as an afterthought.

Noblesse oblige, my dear, my Uncle Eddie smoothly intervened while pouring martinis and Aunt Helen's mouth dropped open in shock, We'll be delighted to help, Alice, just tell us where and when. He handed his wife a glass, steadying her hand at the same time and saying none too quietly, Close your mouth, dear, you'll catch flies.
Stricken at this betrayal and the potential horror of having to deal with the lower classes, my Aunt Helen was momentarily speechless.

Turkeys were bought by the shopping basketful, canned vegetables amassed at an amazing rate. Plans were made for fresh bread to be baked and gallons of milk to be collected, fudge and brownies were to be made and toys, games and books were to be gathered. Nana's back porch overflowed with dolls and puzzles and toy dump trucks, all of which were wrapped - green foil for girls, red for boys - Nana's lodge friends donated stuffed animals and coloring books, cable sweater sets and denim overalls, wool socks and cartoon underwear. There was a music box, a half dozen snow globes, a lighted makeup mirror, a monopoly game. Each night we wrapped and ribboned gifts while Nana planned out the menu and made endless lists of who had given what and who was supposed to be where, when and doing what. That Christmas morning dawned bright, cold and snowing moderately. My grandmother briskly organized the caravan of cars from her upper class Belmont home and led the way to The New England Home for Little Wanderers. We were all present and accounted for, even my Aunt Helen came although once we reached the old building in not the most prestigious Boston neighborhood, she thought better of carrying her purse and insisted that Uncle Eddie lock it in the trunk of the Lincoln.

Hearts were mended that day and untended souls were nourished. Perhaps that of my Aunt Helen was among them if only for a brief time. It was, after all, Christmas.