Janice Rodgers
On the Road to Bethlehem
2nd Place, 2023 Short Story Award/Winter 2024
Christmas 1950
It was three days before Christmas when the snowstorm slunk into the valley like a feral cat. When the first icy crystals fell, folks barely noticed. By late that evening, though, it was plain this storm wasn’t pussyfooting around.
At ten-forty that night, rookie Patrolman Jack Callaghan got off the trolley. With less than six minutes to check in for his shift, he plunged headlong into the stinging snow, gusts of wind hurrying him along.
Callaghan dashed through the back door of the station house and slipped into the duty room.
“What’s the weather doing out there, Jack?”
“About five inches and coming in fast, Captain McCarron,” he replied, brushing the snow off his jacket. He hung it on the back of his chair, nodding a greeting to Lou Charles, another rookie sitting behind him.
Officers trickled into what passed for a duty room in the ancient building. It had once been part of the stables, when the city used horses to pull their fire engines.
Jack looked up as his buddy, Bobby Miller, slid into the chair next to him. The flaps on Bobby’s cap stood out like another set of ears.
“You got a new hat,” Jack said.
“Early Christmas present from my wife.”
“Miller,” Captain McCarron growled. “Hat.”
“Yes sir.” Miller pulled the snow encrusted cap from his head.
“Yeah, Bobby. Give us a break. You look like Michael T. Mouse,” Lou teased him.
Jack gave Bobby a little punch and chuckled.
“Attention, gentlemen.”
McCarron’s stentorian tones filled the stuffy, windowless room.
#
“Okay, gentlemen. Here's tonight’s rundown.” Pulling out some papers, the Captain listed the day’s events, arrests, incident reports, accidents and leftover business.
"Also, some changes to the lineup. Bobby, you and Lou are sharing Callaghan’s beat tonight. Jack, you’re on Car One, District One. Ernie went home sick.”
Jack’s tense shoulders relaxed. What a lucky break. No bar beat, no mucking around in back alleys for him tonight. And District One was even better. The Boulevard, the road to Bethlehem, always had light traffic. He’d be in a warm car on a crummy night!
“And Callaghan,” McCarron’s voice bit into his happy little bubble, “Take that heap down to the city garage and get chains on it. Ernie didn’t have time.”
“On it, sir,” Jack replied, pulling his jacket back on.
“I don’t have to tell you all it’s pretty nasty out there,” McCarron reminded them. “Not to mention, bars are still open with Christmas revelers. So, stay sharp gentlemen.”
Chairs scraped the floor as officers stood at attention for their Captain. Then in twos and threes, the young officers departed the once stable into an uncertain, snow muffled city.
#
Jack pulled up to the city garage, his patrol car fishtailing in the slick snow, and walked into what looked like controlled chaos.
What the devil – one patrol car was up on the lift, another parked in a bay, hood up, tools scattered around and in the middle of the mess, chomping on his ever-present unlit cigar, stood Pete Schrafft, the generally mild-mannered supervisor of the garage.
“Yo, Pete. What’s going on?”
“Two of my best mechanics quit today.” He ground down on his cigar so hard, Jack thought it would split.
“Oh, man. Rotten timing,” Jack commiserated. “Can I at least give you a hand with my chains?”
Pete looked at the rookie. Spit shined brass, pressed uniform, eagerness pouring off him.
“Okay, Jack. I won’t say no to the help. Pull into bay six and we’ll get you out of here pronto.” Pete grabbed a clean rag from his pocket and handed it to Jack. “Just in case,” he smiled.
Twenty minutes later, Callaghan was on the road to Bethlehem with a full tank of gas, chains crunching along beneath him.
#
Barely two hours into his shift, he had already assisted several stranded motorists, helped a busload of travelers find the nearest motel and checked a faulty alarm at an appliance warehouse.
Meanwhile, the snow continued to pile up as squalls of wind hammered his car in rolling whiteouts. By 1:45, the normally wide Boulevard had tapered down into two narrow lanes. A few stalwart motorists plowed through the drifts.
Crackling static on his radio signaled yet another incoming call.
“Car One. What’s your 20? Over.”
“This is One. Just pulled onto the Boulevard from Jasper Street. Over.”
“Car One, we got a 10-17 at 7952 Fenwick Avenue. Please assist. Ambulance on the way. Possible heart attack. Over.”
“10-4, on my way. Over.”
He rolled off the Boulevard onto Graham Road, making a loop over to Fenwick. Pulling up in front of a tidy Cape Cod, Jack grabbed his emergency kit and ran inside. He found an older gentleman who had been adjusting his outdoor Christmas display, for pity’s sake.
By two-twenty AM, the ambulance and its passenger were hospital bound and Jack was back in his patrol car. Time to check out the warehouses along Irving Road bordering Bethlehem. Just because the city was being pounded with a snowstorm, didn’t mean thieves would take a night off. Especially around the holidays. He made a loop through that quarter but all was quiet.
#
Back up on the Boulevard, traffic was finally thinning out. About three car lengths ahead, he watched an Oldsmobile entering the roadway from Irving. The car had seen better days but at least it had chains on. But what actually caught his eye was the flash of a bright red sweater as the Olds settled into the snowy ruts. A little girl toddled back and forth along the back seat. Mom and dad appeared to be having a discussion up front.
Why was this kid even out at this hour for Pete’s sake? He thought of his own two children at home in their beds.
Jack pulled up behind the Olds as the light turned red and watched the little one bounce around. She held a little doll by the arm.
Come on, honey. Sit down, sit down, Jack muttered as though the child could actually hear him. He didn’t realize he actually motioned to her in a down gesture, until she turned around and slid down the seat.
When the light changed to green, the Olds accelerated, lurching as heavy chains dug into packed snow. The Olds still had a pretty quick pick up. It was already a few car lengths ahead of him and almost across the intersection.
Suddenly, off to his left, Jack saw lights flickering in the whiteout.
“No, No, No,” he yelled.
Before he could make a move, a truck barreled out of the curtain of snow heading straight for the Olds. The box truck caught the Olds on the driver’s rear door quarter panel and pushed it halfway across the intersection.
“Dispatch, Car One calling. 10-45 at the Boulevard and Porter Road intersection involving truck and car. Possible injuries. Need assistance.”
“10-4, Car One. Dispatching Car three, he’s nearby. Ambulance is still at City General Hospital.”
#
Running to the Olds, Jack could see no one would be getting out the driver’s side where the truck had rammed it. The truck driver stood looking at the Olds as though he didn’t know how it got there.
Sirens of approaching patrol cars filled the night, as Jack pulled on the back passenger door and wrenched it open.
“Mother of God,” Jack whispered to himself, as he half knelt in the door frame. The child lay motionless on the floor, as limp as her little doll. She was unconscious, but still breathing. Jack took off his jacket and carefully wrapped her in it.
The parents, stunned but uninjured, hovered quietly behind him, along with three fellow officers.
“There’s no time to wait for the ambulance,” Jack told his officers. “They’re still at Valley General at the other end of town. We need to get the baby to the hospital now.”
“Get going, Jack. We’ll take over here.”
#
“Dispatch, this is Car One. Enroute to Sacred Heart Hospital. I have an injured child, unconscious. Three-year-old girl. Parents are with me. Over.”
The normally cool and detached dispatcher seemed to pause.
“Uh, 10-4, Car One. I’ll call and tell them you’re on the way, Jack. Godspeed.”
#
Jack watched with the parents as the doctor laid the baby on the gurney and then gently removed her from the heavy police jacket, handing it to a nurse. Jack took his jacket and stepped back, but not before he saw the tiny hand twitch as though reaching out to him.
As the doctors wheeled the gurney back to the dispensary, he tried to reassure the young couple.
“They’ll take good care of her.”
“I never saw him, that truck,” the father stammered.
“Come with me,” Jack told them gently. “I know a place where we can wait.” They seemed afraid to move.
“Don’t worry, the doctors will know where to find us,” he said, sensing their fear.
Jack led them down a dimly lit corridor until they reached a door with a cross on it. His soft knock was answered by a nun, garbed in white.
“Sister Rafael, do you mind if we use the chapel sitting room for a bit.”
“Of course not, Officer Callaghan.” She led them into a warmly lit, comfortable sitting room off of the chapel.
“How about some tea or coffee for all of you?”
“That would be grand, Sister,” Jack replied gratefully. She disappeared with a gentle swish of rosary beads.
While they waited, Jack took a closer look at the couple. Young, hardworking, just trying to make it all work.
“I’ll stay with you as long as I can,” he told them. “And Sister Rafael is here to help too.”
The father nodded. His wife still appeared distressed and in shock. A good hot cup of tea with sugar should help that, Jack prayed. And a Christmas miracle, but that was in God’s hands now.
The young father twisted a knitted cap in his hands. He cleared his throat thick with unshed tears and the heartache spilled out.
“I had to work late, and she came to pick me up,” he nodded to his wife. “We couldn’t get a babysitter, otherwise Jenny never would have been in the car.”
“I understand,” Jack replied. “Where do you work?”
“Harry’s Garage and Lube. I’m a mechanic there.” He took a deep steadying breath and pulled a hanky from his pocket. “But today was my last day. They let me go. Not enough work for me, they said.”
“And we were almost home. Almost home,” his wife added softly, a sob on her breath. “We’re new to Bethlehem. We just moved there from Nazareth.”
As Jack took notes and asked pertinent questions, Sister Rafael returned carrying a tray with hot drinks.
#
Jack took a swallow of the bracing coffee and thought about how the chaos of this night had altered time. Hours had flown. Yet now, in this tiny room, minutes dragged painfully by, for a police officer, a nun, and two young parents.
Suddenly, a sharp rap came at the door, driving those sluggish minutes into action once again.
“Your little girl’s going to be fine,” the doctor told them. “We’ll be keeping her for a day or two just to make sure. But right now, she wants her Mommy and Daddy.”
As the parents started to leave, the young man turned to Jack.
“Thank you, Officer, I just . . .”
Jack grasped his hand. He pressed a slip of paper into it.
“Give this man a call when you get settled. He’s looking for a good mechanic.”
#
Rookie Patrolman Jack Callaghan stepped out into the snowy night. Weatherwise, nothing had changed, yet everything had changed for a young family from Bethlehem. But he still had two more hours left on his shift. Because you never knew what could happen—on the road to Bethlehem.
---
Janice Monahan Rodgers is a Pennsylvania native who writes short stories and memoirs. She is the author of four books of short stories about growing up during the ‘40s and ‘50s and is presently working on several children’s books. What began as an adventurous birthday gift for her sister instead became family stories that turned into self-published books and reignited her passion for children’s literature. You can visit her website at janicemonahanrodgers.com or connect with her on Facebook at janicemonahanrodgers.