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CLAIRE O’DELL BRACED herself when the church bus bumped through the intersection. They’d made good time until the past hour when the promised snow appeared. Even though Illinois highway crews kept the roads plowed, sanded and salted all along I-88, whiteout conditions created by wind gusts slowed progress to a crawl once they reached Des Moines. They’d been lucky I-35 South remained open.
For this leg of the journey Elaine drove the bus while her husband kept tabs on their son Lenny. The old vehicle wheezed and rattled when it idled, and the driver’s side window refused to seal. Elaine’s tattered coat snugged close to fend off the bitter draft and her faded muffler, matching fuzzy hat and gloves turned her into a pudgy, gray Michelin Man.
Claire sat two seats behind the driver’s seat across the aisle from Elaine’s husband Dwayne and their son Lenny. She wondered how they could afford the fee on a clergyman’s salary. Elaine couldn’t work outside the home, not when Lenny was Elaine’s full-time job.
Caring for Tracy also kept Claire homebound, and she didn’t begrudge giving up her career. It’s what parents do for their kids, after all. After this trip, once the treatment took effect, all of that would change. It wasn’t only a new life for Tracy. It would be a new life of exciting opportunities for them all. Maybe she could go back to teaching, at least part-time . . .
Tracy sat next to the window, both palms flat against the fogged glass. Every few minutes she puffed out her breath to melt the frost and then drew concentric circles on the smooth surface until it froze once more. Puff-puff-puff, draw. Puff-puff-puff, draw. Her eyes flickered now and then but otherwise ignored anything or anyone around her. A bump rocked the vehicle and Tracy swayed and her head thumped the glass. She blinked. Then, puff-puff-puff, draw . . .
Claire breathed again; relieved Tracy hadn’t crumbled into a screaming mess. She’d been surprisingly calm thus far on the trip. But Claire’s own nerves remained raw, and not just from the anticipation of the unknown that lay ahead.
The roads had become treacherous. At each pit stop—and there were many bathroom rests needed with the nine children on board—Claire held her breath, hoping the hamster-wheel tire spin would keep the bus on the road. They couldn’t afford delays, car damage or Triple-A.
As if on cue, a childish voice at the back of the bus sing-songed a demand. “Potty-potty-potty. Potty-potty-potty.”
Tracy stirred beside Claire.
The chant was taken up by two more voices, followed by an adult’s calm attempt to diffuse the growing clamor.
“Do you need the toilet?” Claire didn’t touch Tracy, but offered the question as a means for her daughter to focus on something other than the disturbance at the back of the vehicle. Tracy’s puff-puff, finger-swirl tempo increased, her agitation clear. “Tracy, you draw so well. Draw me another circle, honey.” Claire kept her tone deliberate, just-the-facts to encourage her daughter to focus.
“Potty-potty-potty! Potty-potty-potty!” The volume grew. Across the aisle, Lenny added his adolescent voice to the chant, while Pastor Dwayne spoke with quiet intensity into his son’s ear.
“We’ll pull over at the next exit. Two or three minutes tops, hang on, kids.” Elaine’s conciliatory words did little to calm the growing unrest. Claire knew the comment was more for the parents than the children, and she heard murmured encouragement from the adults.
Tracy’s breathing quickened. She began to rock.
“Oh, no . . .” Claire quickly pulled out the lumpy dinosaur toy from the carryall she’d stuffed beneath the seat. “Grooby needs you. Do you want me to sing a song to Grooby?”
Tracy rocked.
Claire rummaged further inside the carryall for the purple crocheted throw. Maybe if she could get Tracy swaddled quickly, she could head off the episode.
The bus swerved to the right, bearing down the off-ramp so quickly that Claire caught herself and had to brace against the seat ahead. Tracy’s forehead made contact with the window again. She began to rock faster, each forward motion thumping her head against the glass while her keening protest grew in volume. The frosted surface shivered with each impact. Claire fought to regain her balance. It was too late to stop the tantrum. The purple throw could contain Tracy, though, and protect her daughter’s head if she could get it around her.
“Potty-potty-potty!”
“Eeeiiiiiii . . .” Tracy’s nails-on-chalkboard cry traveled two octaves, punctuated by the head-thumping percussion Claire feared would crack the window, her daughter’s skin, or both. As the bus shuddered to a stop outside the service station, Claire dropped a double layer of the purple fabric over Tracy’s shoulders and arms, holding extra as padding against the window. Immediately Tracy’s screams redoubled, but the rocking transformed to side-to-side head flails, eliminating the battering. Claire pulled the fabric into a makeshift hood, and the dark color muffled both sight and sound as the other chanting children were escorted off the bus.
Pastor Dwayne urged Lenny down the steps and paused to speak to his wife before he got off. “Can I get you anything, honey?” He leaned to give a brief kiss to Elaine.
“Coffee with cream, no sugar.” Elaine turned in her seat. “Want anything, Claire? Something for Tracy?”
Claire nodded and spoke loudly over the keening. “Apple juice, thanks. And black coffee for me.” She smiled weakly; still careful to dodge Tracy’s thrashing head.
Once gone, Tracy’s cries slowly lost their edge, and finally trailed off into silence. Her stimming continued while Claire braced the movement and prevented further self-battering.
A cell phone tweedled, and Claire flinched before she realized it belonged to Elaine.
Elaine looked at the display and her eyes widened with surprise. “It’s the Legacy Center.” She thumbed the device, and answered with caution.
Claire held her breath as she rocked with Tracy in the purple comforter, her emotions mixed. She hated the tantrums. But the brief spells after blow ups offered the only time she could touch Tracy with impunity. Rocking Tracy felt like a normal mother-child relationship, even though Claire suspected she gained more comfort from the situation than did Tracy.
“They haven’t canceled the Rebirth Gathering, have they?” She’d be devastated if that happened after going to such lengths to arrive on time.
Elaine shook her head, and a smile covered her face. “Thank you so much. Yes, I’ll have Dwayne call his dad immediately. It’s a miracle!” She hung up the phone.
“What?” Claire felt Tracy slump against her, and fought the urge to hug the child. “A miracle? What happened? Is it postponed? Delayed? Do we have more time to get there?”
“They’re deferring payment for Lenny’s Rebirth Gathering. It’s an answer to our prayers.” Elaine wiped happy tears from her face. She glanced out the window and waved at Dwayne as he duck-walked on the icy pavement to escort their son back to the bus. The other children and parents straggled behind.
Claire squelched sudden jealousy. “I didn’t know they did that. How lucky for you.”
Dwayne climbed back onto the bus and traded places with his wife in the driver’s seat. Elaine handed him the phone. “The Legacy Center called. They’ve got a security job in exchange for Lenny’s treatment. Know anyone who could handle that?” She beamed.
“Really?” He crossed himself. “Thanks be to God. I’ll call Dad.”
