“Couldn’t God hear her?” Willis clutched her by the arm. “Ask God to lis’n good, Mammy.”
“De Lawd know his biznes’, baby, bet’r’n we does. Dat ’ooman got ter set dar an’ shiv’r tell de Lawd git somebody ter het her up ergin.”
“Mammy,” said Willis, his lips quivering, “le’ss weall take ’em some of our goodies an’ things.”
Mary Van begged, “Please.”
“Dar now!” She placed a hand on each baby head: “De Lawd done he’rd dat po’ creet’rs pra’r right now. He want you chillun ter go fix dat po’ ’ooman’s fier, an’ give her sump’n’ ter eat, so you won’t nuv’r fergit how good He is ter you, an’ whin you kicks at de do’, an’ holl’ers loud, you’ll ’member ter fight sin like Tishy Peafowel do.”
Her suggestion went to each eager little heart.
“Yas, suh, an’ de Lawd say: ‘Doanchu both’r no mo’, lit’le boy, er ole black mammy comin’ roun’ hyah terreckly wid er lit’le boy an’ gal, an’ dey gwina bring all der ole toys, an’ some der warm close too, ’long wid some nice vit’als, an’ der pa gwine sen’ yer some fier, ter make er fier wid.’”
There was no need to lock the nursery door on Christmas Eve afternoon, for Phyllis and two radiant little children were in the rockaway, fairly packed in under the good things they carried to some of the homes Santa didn’t know about. And when the happy little boy said his, “Now I lay me” that night, he asked, “An’ please tell Santy not to forget m’ goat harness and m’ goat, an’ m’ drum, an’ bring Mary Van a harness like my race hoss harness with bells, an’ please show Santy the way to all the lit’le poor children’s houses, an’ give ’em some stamps for their letters, too. An’ please God tell Santy to hurry up an’ come on. Amen.”