Saving Clara

The wagon slid dangerously across the icy cobblestone road. Clara's mother held her tightly to her chest, while her father yelled obscenities to the driver and struggled to keep upright. The wagon tilted as the driver made a sharp turn. Clara's mother knocked her head against the window with a noisy smack. The tiny child could only look around the inside of the wagon, eyes wide, fear piercing her heart. The wagon tipped once more on the curb of the road, and down, down went them all.

Clara could hear nothing but the faint screams of her parents as the wagon crashed. She could see nothing. She couldn't open her eyes. She felt nothing at first. For a while, it seemed like she was flying until she landed on a hard surface suddenly. Then she was cold.

Clara tried to open her eyes as much as she could. The blistering winds she felt buffeted her face. Her legs and fingers were numb; she could hardly bend them. Finally she pried her eyes open. All around her she saw the pure white snow, casting an opalescent glow. She tried to sit up, but felt a shooting pain in her back, and could only lift her head. About fifty feet in front of her on the side of the road was the wagon. The horses were gone, but she could hear them neighing in the distance. She saw no sign of her parents outside the wagon. She did see the driver lying, unmoving, his legs under the front of the wagon.

The small girl lay back in the snow and awaited death. She shivered rapidly. She stared into the dark sky, watching the snowflakes fall. Then she heard soft footsteps in the thick pillow of snow. And then she saw a stranger, leaning over her. She couldn't scream, she could only stare up at them. Then her eyes closed automatically and there was only darkness.

. . .

When she awoke, it was to her body calling to the warmth she felt. She opened her eyes and sat up, her hands and face no longer numb. Her back still hurt, but the pain was bearable. She observed her surroundings and found a fire a few feet away from her. She crawled toward the fire and placed her hands, which she found now had ragged gloves on them, over the flame. Beside the fire was a pot of canned soup with a wooden spoon. The girl reached for it eagerly, shoving spoonfuls of the hot soup into her mouth. Someone grunted from beside her.

Clara spun her head in the direction of the noise and saw the shape of the stranger. She couldn't make out their face in the dark, but she gasped, dropping the spoon and pot back onto the ground. The stranger looked at her and stood up. Clara scooted back as the stranger walked around the fire toward her. She squeezed her eyes closed.

The stranger bent down in front of her and touched Clara's shoulder. Clara slowly opened her eyes and stared into the stranger's face. The stranger smiled a sad smile. His face was soft, and his eyes were also sad. He was an old man, his clothes ragged like the gloves she wore. His jacket and hat had patches, his jeans had holes, and his shoes were falling apart.

"Hello", Clara said, her voice small. The man's smile grew even softer.

"Hello", the man's voice was scratchy, as if he were sick. He turned his head and coughed.

"Where am I?" The man looked around after the question.

"My home", the man said sadly.

"Where's your house? Don't you have a house?"

"No."

"Then this can't be your home."

"It's as good a home as any", the man offered Clara a blanket.

"My home has a bed. Do you have a bed?" Clara wrapped the blanket around herself and nuzzled her face on her shoulder.

"No."

"Oh."

"Get some sleep", the man said. He pointed toward the spot where Clara woke, which was underneath a large box. Clara crawled back over and lay down. She watched the old man wrap himself with a thin, torn up blanket.

"What's your name?" Clara sat her head up.

"Charlie", the man said gruffly. "Now go to sleep."

"Okay", Clara lied back down. "I'm Clara."

. . .

Three Years Later. . .

"Clara." Clara rolled over in the opposite direction of the voice. "Clara." A hand shook her shoulder. She heard Charlie cough. Clara got up.

"Are you okay?" Clara observed Charlie. He looked a lot paler than usual. She placed her hand on his cheek. He was cold.

"I'm fine", Charlie took Clara's hand in his.

"No, you're not. You're sick", Clara said. "You need a doctor."

"Clara", Charlie said sadly. "We do not have any money. We are homeless." Clara looked down.

"Tell me why you took me again."

"You were lying in the snow in the middle of a blizzard. I saw the wagon nearby, and I saw your parents. I took you so that you would not freeze. Some people probably wouldn't have cared as much."

"Why did you care?"

"Because sometimes a simple kindness is all a person needs."

Clara reminded herself every day what Charlie had told her.

. . .

Charlie passed away the next day. He brought Clara to an orphanage and told the head about Clara. The head of the orphanage found that Clara had an older sister in the next state. Clara could not remember her sister, but after contacting her, the memories slowly came back. When she went back to offer Charlie to come with her, she found his body wrapped in a blanket on the corner of the street where they lived for three years. The fire had been put out not that long ago. Clara fell on her knees and sat beside Charlie for awhile before the head of the orphanage found her.

Clara rode in a wagon with her sister, who traveled to pick her up and take her to her new home. They talked for a while about many things, about what happened to their parents and Clara. Clara's sister thought she was dead as well.

"I'm so sorry I didn't know where you were."

"It's fine. You wouldn't have known. But I'm grateful."

Clara was grateful. She was grateful that three years ago, a stranger showed her kindness and saved her.