All Through The Night

5

When they reached the building on Amsterdam Avenue -formerly the Goldsmith and Son Furniture Emporium-that now housed Sister Cordelia’s clothing thrift shop, Alvirah and Willy went directly to the second floor.

It was four o’clock, and the children who regularly came to Home Base to take advantage of the after-school facilities were sitting cross-legged on the floor around Sister Maeve Marie. The large area had been transformed into a kind of bright and cheery auditorium. The faded linoleum was polished to the point that even the floorboards beneath the worn spaces glistened.

The walls were painted sunshine yellow and decorated with drawings and cutouts the children had made. Old-fashioned radiators whistled and thudded, but thanks to Willy and his near-magical ability to fix the unfixable, there was no mistaking the warmth they provided.

“Today is very special,” Sister Maeve Marie was saying. “We’re going to begin practice for our Christmas pageant.”

Willy and Alvirah slipped into seats near the staircase and watched affectionately. A regular volunteer at Home Base, Alvirah was in charge of the party that was to follow the pageant, and Willy would be playing Santa Claus.

The children’s expectant and lively eyes were riveted on Sister Maeve Marie as she explained, “Today we’re going to start learning the songs about Christmas and Chanukah that we’ll be performing at the pageant. Then we’ll study our lines.”

“Isn’t it wonderful that Cordelia and Maeve are making sure that everybody has a speaking part?” Alvirah whispered.

“Everybody? Well, let’s hope it’s a short speaking part,” Willy replied.

Alvirah smiled. “You don’t mean that.”

“Want to bet?”

“Sshh.” She patted his hand as Sister Maeve Marie read off the names of the children who would be assigned to tell the story of Chanukah. “Rachel, Barry, Sheila…”

Cordelia appeared from downstairs and, with her practiced eye, glanced over the children. Seeing mischief about, she walked over to Jerry, the lively seven-year-old who was poking the six-year-old seated next to him.

She tapped him lightly. “Keep that up, and I’ll find a new Saint Joseph,” she warned, then turned and joined Alvirah and Willy. “When I got back, there was another message from Pablo Torres,” she said. “He’d gone to bat for us, and I do believe he tried his best, but he says there was no way he could get an extension on keeping this place open. I think he was as happy as I was to hear about Bessie’s townhouse. He knows the block and said he’s sure there won’t be any problem transferring our operation there. We can even take in more kids.”

One of the volunteer salespeople at the thrift shop came rushing up the stairs. “Sister, Kate Durkin is on the phone, asking to talk to you. Hurry; she’s crying her eyes out.”