There would be no babies born on Christmas Day that year.
The hospital records showed that had been true for the last 5 years, and as Georgia stood at the barred emergency room door at 8:55pm that night, the distraught husband helped his moaning wife waddle to their battered car in the ambulance driveway. She turned her head away. It was hell trying to keep the hospital’s records clean, but that was her job as administrator. The maternity complex doors would open again in a few hours and the woman could come back. If she didn’t go into labor before that. But til midnight, no, the consequences weren’t worth worth it; The hospital couldn’t take the chance.
Georgia numbly watched the janitor mop up the trail of fluids the woman had left behind. There were black market doctors out there who could deliver the baby and change the birth date, and keep the hospital’s records pure. If the couple could find one in time. But those were undocumented births, and therefore would be kept off the statistics. She sighed and walked back to her office. She slowly straightened her posture and held her head up, pasting the official smile back on her face that she showed the orderlies and nurses on duty. The day was nearly done and she had kept her word to the Baptist board of directors. No one born in her hospital - or any licensed hospital - could claim to be born on the Savior’s birthday. At least she had spared the mother from arrest and a holding cell til tomorrow. She shuddered inside, without changing her rigidly held smile. At least she had done that.
~~~~~~
Sarah trudged home from her job at the discount store at 5, tired to the bone and not looking forward to having to change into her uniform and take the bus to the retirement community cafeteria. At least then she’d have some food for the kids after the old folks had Christmas dinner and she was done with her shift. She hated to feed the kids so late, but on her income, the scraps the dishwasher saved her was all she could afford. And he was starting to raise the pressure on her for more cash, or... No, she shook her head thinking of his greasy hands and his nasty smile. No, she wouldn’t sink to that.
It would be so much easier on the kids to have store-bought food and home cooking on a regular schedule, better for their health, better for her self-respect as their mother. But the grocery store prices had hit the roof five years ago and these days, without vouchers, no one could afford to buy so much as a loaf of bread. “Those damn vouchers,” she thought angrily, and shifted into her daily lament. “If only Adam had stayed, if he hadn’t run off with that slutty hairdresser, if he hadn’t shamed the family and plunged us all into poverty and pariah status. If only he had been a man and taken care of me and the kids. Then they’d let me in the door.”
Her eyes flicked over at the church on the corner, the one that served her neighborhood. There was a line already. Christmas services would begin soon, but she wasn’t going, even for the short evening program that most of her neighbors frequented. Sarah ducked her head and quickly turned up a side road so they wouldn’t notice her. She didn’t want to hear the catcalls and the hissing.
“Dammit!! I didn’t do anything to deserve this treatment!” she raged inside. “Where do they get off treating me like dirt!” She deflated, the fight going out of her in a wave of exhaustion. She could barely walk the few blocks to her rundown apartment building. It would do no good to let the kids see her angry. They already didn’t understand why their friends had regular meals and they couldn’t. They already fought the bullies who taunted them that their parents were sinners and deserved to starve. Kids were so cruel at that age. She sighed. Adults were just as cruel. Those damn vouchers. Maybe if she married again, they would let her come back to church. She wouldn’t mind going to daily services, if it meant her kids had enough to eat.
~~~~~
Mary ducked into the closet after closing the blinds and drawing the curtains first. She still wasn’t sure if someone was spying on her from the high rise apartment building across the street. It had been a close call last week when the neighborhood watch people came by. She strayed her fingers across the closet door frame just above her head and then kissed her fingertips as she huddled in the tiny alcove behind the door. The group had only stayed a few minutes and had spent most of those minutes admiring her collection of antique Bibles that were arrayed in the living room. They wished her a Merry Christmas. She nodded and smiled, and returned the greeting, her bright blond curls bouncing on her shoulders.
She had just finished putting up the Christmas lights that were sent out for free by the electric company every year to all the congregations in the area. They got more and more ornate every year, but she felt lucky to be one of the recipients. She didn’t mind paying more and more each year for utilities if it meant that her neighbors admired the display and kept their whispering to themselves. Her tree was also magnificent, covered with lace and sparkling ornaments. The creche was set up beside the tree and the tiny handpainted dolls were glossy and colorful and set carefully in the center of the room. This was a present from her mother-in-law, and it was given the prominence the old lady expected for such a significant gift.
“Paranoia is a good thing,” she thought, “it protects me.” She moved the shoeboxes and umbrellas away from the back corner and slowly lifted up one of the floorboards. Wrapped in a dirty towel, tied with coarse twine was an oddly shaped bundle that was wedged up underneath the floor joists. She pulled out the bundle and, first checking that the closet door was closed, she slowly unwrapped the dingy fabric and a gleam of metal barely blinked in the sliver of light from the bedroom. She kissed each of the tiny cups in a row, all eight of them and ran her fingers across the inscription that she couldn’t read in the dark, but knew by heart. “To our beloved Naomi, from your loving parents.” She wondered where they were now. She hadn’t heard from them for five years now. It didn’t do any good to worry; she knew why they hadn’t been in contact, though she feared the worst. She wrapped the metal framework up again and was putting it back under the floor when she heard the front door slam. “Mary? I’m home.” She shoved the bundle back in and hastily rearranged the boxes. “Mary? are you here? It’s time for church.” “Hi honey, I’m just looking for my nice shoes,” she stuck her head out of the closet and called. I’ll be there in a minute.”
~~~~~
Sheree crouched on the stone landing in the filthy back alley and sobbed. She was lost and couldn’t find the apartment that her friend Sally had told her about. She couldn’t call either - all cell phone calls were monitored and she didn’t want to get the woman in trouble. She was going to miss her chance and she was showing already! The girls in gym class were already teasing her about gaining weight and she knew it wouldn’t be long before everyone at school guessed.
“Thanks to Jesus that Sean didn’t tell anyone, she thought. It would be so much worse, with the guys he hung with nudging each other when she walked by and calling out mean names and doing obscene hip dances. She had watched them treat poor Janie like that, though she never said anything out loud. She laughed with the others and when they started throwing stuff at the poor girl, Sheree had ducked away in confusion. Poor Janie had lost the baby when they rushed her to the hospital. She didn’t come back to school.
“Maybe it would be better if they pitched some furniture at me too, so I didn’t have to sneak to this God-forsaken slum to get rid of it.” She was pulling herself together, drying her tears and heaving a determined sigh. She had to find that doorway. It was getting late and her mom would wonder where she was. Christmas dinner would be starting soon, though she didn’t expect to be hungry after her appointment.
She wandered from doorway to doorway til she stopped to lean against the stone wall to rest. Her emotions were rioting and she was simultaneously anxious, angry, terrified, lonely and angry again. She was first furious and then distraught with Sean for dumping her right before Christmas, right after he had been so wonderful and loving after church last month. That had been a sweet and crazy 15 minutes, and she thought maybe Sean, a deacon’s son and Young Life leader, might want to be her boyfriend. So she gave in when he locked her in his car and lay on top of her, all 250 pounds of football muscle. Afterwards, he was distant and he watched her silently in the halls when she was on her way to class.
“Sweet Jesus, where is that doorway!” she swore aloud. At the same moment she heard muffled laughing, a door opened across the alley and an older black woman stuck here head out. “Honey, are you looking for me? You’re late.” Sheree heard a click, a sound she remembered from somewhere. Slowly she turned her head towards the alley entrance. Sean lifted his rifle to his shoulder and his buddies started yelling and laughing. Just before the bullets hit the old woman, Sheree said “Shit” and fell with a stray bullet hitting her shoulder. She realized before she blacked out that she had been set up, all along. All along.
