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Angel
on a Doorstep
~By
Shirley Bachelder~
(Originally
published in Reader's
Digest, December 1992)
When
Ben delivered milk to my cousin's home that morning, he wasn't his
usual sunny self. The slight, middle-aged man seemed in no mood for talking.
It
was late November 1962, and as a newcomer to Lawndale, Calif., I was
delighted that milkmen still brought bottles of milk to doorsteps. In
the weeks that my husband, kids and I had been staying with my cousin
while house-hunting, I had come to enjoy Ben's jovial repartee.
Today,
however, he was the epitome of gloom as he dropped off his wares
from his wire carrier. It took slow, careful questioning to extract
the story from him. With some embarrassment, he told me two customers
had left town without paying their bills, and he would have to cover
the losses. One of the debtors owed only $10, but the other was $79
in arrears and had left no forwarding address. Ben was distraught at
his stupidity for allowing this bill to grow so large.
"She
was a pretty woman," he said, "with six children and
another on the way. She was always saying, `I'm going to pay you
soon, when my husband gets a second job. I believed her. What a fool
I was! I thought I was doing a good thing, but I've learned my
lesson. I've been had!"
All
I could say was, "I'm so sorry."
The
next time I saw him, his anger seemed worse. He bristled as he
talked about the messy young ones who had drunk up all his milk. The
charming family had turned into a parcel of brats.
I
repeated my condolences and let the matter rest. But when Ben left,
I found myself caught up in his problem and longed to help. Worried
that this incident would sour a warm person, I mulled over what to
do. Then, remembering that Christmas was coming, I thought of what my
grandmother used to say: "When someone has taken from you, give
it to them, and then you can never be robbed."
The
next time Ben delivered milk, I told him I had a way to make him
feel better about the $79.
"Nothing
will do that," he said, "but tell me anyway."
"Give
the woman the milk. Make it a Christmas present to the kids who
needed it."
"Are
you kidding?" he replied. "I don't even get my wife a
Christmas gift that expensive."
"You
know the Bible says, 'I was a stranger and you took me in.' You just
took her in with all her little children."
"Don't
you mean she took me in? The trouble with you is, it wasn't your $79."
I
let the subject drop, but I still believed in my suggestion.
We'd
joke about it when he'd come. "Have you given her the milk
yet?" I'd say.
"No,"
he'd snap back, "but I'm thinking of giving my wife a $79
present, unless another pretty mother starts playing on my sympathies."
Every
time I'd ask the question, it seemed he lightened up a bit more.
Then,
six days before Christmas, it happened. He arrived with a tremendous
smile and a glint in his eyes. "I did it!" he said. "I
gave her the milk as a Christmas present. It wasn't easy, but what
did I have to lose? It was gone, wasn't it?"
"Yes,"
I said, rejoicing with him. "But you've got to really mean it
in your heart."
"I
know. I do. And I really feel better. That's why I have this good
feeling about Christmas. Those kids had lots of milk on their cereal
just because of me."
The
holidays came and went. On a sunny January morning two weeks later,
Ben almost ran up the walk. "Wait till you hear this," he
said, grinning.
He
explained he had been on a different route, covering for another
milkman. He heard his name being called, looked over his shoulder and
saw a woman running down the street, waving money. He recognized her
immediately--the woman with all the kids, the one who didn't pay her
bill. She was carrying an infant in a tiny blanket, and the woman's
long brown hair kept getting in her eyes.
"Ben,
wait a minute!" she shouted. "I've got money for you."
Ben
stopped the truck and got out.
"I'm
so sorry," she said. "I really have been meaning to pay
you." She explained that her husband had come home one night and
announced he'd found a cheaper apartment. He'd also gotten a night
job. With all that had happened, she'd forgotten to leave a
forwarding address. "But I've been saving," she said.
"Here's $20 toward the bill."
"That's
all right," Ben replied. "It's been paid."
"Paid!"
she exclaimed. "What do you mean? Who paid it?"
"I
did."
She
looked at him as if he were the Angel Gabriel and started to cry.
"Well,"
I asked, "what did you do?"
"I
didn't know what to do, so I put an arm around her. Before I knew
what was happening, I started to cry, and I didn't have the foggiest
idea what I was crying about. Then I thought of all those kids having
milk on their cereal, and you know what? I was really glad you talked
me into this."
"You
didn't take the $20?"
"Heck
no," he replied indignantly. "I gave her the milk as a
Christmas present, didn't I?" |
