The Coin and the Prodigal

 The Coin and the Prodigal

The morning of February 1 did not start off well. I had two coins last night, I was sure of it. Two coins would pay the rent due this day for the room I had rented to find work. Seamstressing had not paid enough to cover last month's dues, and I was behind in work and in payment. Anxiety started to creep in at the thought of having to ask for another extension with the landlord. He hadn't been pleased the last time I requested it. I had to find that coin. 

There was that moment of panic that settles in, the feeling that you don’t remember anything you were doing yesterday. I tried to retrace my steps around the house, thinking about what I was doing and where that coin might be. In the cupboard from making lunch? No. Tucked into the corner of the living room after vacuuming the rugs? No. My mother used to tell me the thing that is lost is in the last place I look. I wanted to believe with each place I turned over that it was the last place. 

I pulled the sewing machine off the table and shook out the skirt I had been working on earlier. I thought hard about when I had last seen them together. A moment of clarity settled on me – I was certain they were in the coin box under the bed. No, a glance inside told me only one was in there. I took a broom to the underside of the bed anyway, hoping to hear the jangle of a coin on the bare floor. I pulled apart each dresser drawer, searching through possessions I hadn’t touched in over a week. 

Shivering, I glanced at the clock. Any minute now, my landlord would start trudging through the snowy streets to rap on my door. A few tears stole their way down my jawline.  I sat in my chair and put my head in my hands. Where was the last place, the place I hadn’t looked? My eyes saw through my hands the old, worn book on the table. I had read it last night, that book that gave me so much comfort through the years. I needed to read it again. 

My feet cold on the hardwoods, I put on an extra shawl and opened the book to the place I was reading yesterday. The words fell on my spirit, lifting it, telling it that this moment is not the only moment in my life; that this too will pass. That I will live, and there are treasures beyond this one coin and this one house. I felt as I read a sincere gratitude for the rent that was due, because it meant I had a home. Perhaps the landlord would be understanding, perhaps gracious. 

Resolved to continue looking, I turned the book closed and heard a clatter on the floor. There, lying flat, was the second coin. I heaved a sigh of relief and clutched it close. I would go to the landlord and be able to give at least this months. I scurried into boots and wrapped up tightly in a coat and scarf, heading out into the brisk winter wind. 

It was forty two blocks to the landlords residence, but I trekked along happily down the street. It was early morning, and the shops were just awaking to the dawn. Store owners were turning on lights, and the sweet smell of freshly baked breads and morning coffee was in the air. I was momentarily distracted by the store front window, full of delicious and warm pastries. Perhaps someday, I would sew enough to earn a piece of morning bread. Turning towards my mission again, I stumbled over the foot of a young man. “Ooof” I said, stepping back and trying to leave around him. He caught my arm, “Please ma’m, I haven’t eaten in days. Please.” He whispered, his lips blue with cold. I look into my hand and stare at the two copper coins resting in my palm. Why did this happen today? Giving the man a quick glance, I can see he has thin clothing, his face is gaunt and pale. Looking down the path, I almost expect to see my landlord stomping towards me, giving me the sentence of eviction. Will bread today spare this man’s life? I remember the words I read in the book this morning. I take a deep breath and drop his hand. 

Inside the bakery, I inhale deeply, and look at the prices. A whole loaf for a coin, coffee for another half coin. Paying for them quickly, I rush outside and give them to the man. His eyes light up through the cold; he struggles to raise himself to his feet, and we hug briefly. “Thank you” was his barest whisper, before collapsing back down and ravishing the bread and coffee. I hurry away, in the direction I came. I cannot face the landlord today. 

Back in my home, I start up the days work. If I work long enough today I may finish this assignment and receive an advance in payment. My fingers shiver, but I force them to remain steady as I go. I keep looking towards the door, expecting to hear my landlord’s heavy knock.

The knock comes late, when the light is dimming and my eyes are watering from concentration. I hear his carriage roll up outside; he has brought his finest to evict me. His knock comes lightly, almost laughingly. I see his large shadow out the front window, along with a slight frame, perhaps a police officer. “One moment” I call shakily, then sink to the floor on my knees. What I will do without this simple shelter, where I will go to work and sleep, I do not know. I think over the day and am assured within myself that this is not my largest regret; that I have passed over any regrets when I gave away the coins. This gives me the courage to face the man outside. 

I open the door and am immediately enveloped in the warmth of a hug, a booming voice in my ear. “Praise be girl, you’ve found my boy!” the landlord’s words are resonating through my eardrum. Found … I was entirely confused. He pulls away, only to place a kiss on each of my cheeks. The man behind him comes into my view, the same gaunt face I had seen only a few hours before. He is robed in a bright crimson cloak, a ring on his finger, the light shining in his eyes. The landlord turned and placed a hand on his shoulder, “This here is my boy, who was lost to me many years, and is now returned home! Dragged himself half dead up my steps this morning, don’t know how he survived the night!” he said, hardly containing his excitement. The boy looked at me, and I knew he recognized me from this morning. “This is the woman, Dad, she gave me bread when I had hardly the strength this morning.” He said quietly. This resulted in more hugs from all sides. 

“I … I don’t have the payment …“ I stammered to him, but before I could get out any more, the landlord was assuring me that no payment was needed. “You’ve given me the best gift, my dear girl! The past two months, they are cancelled! And, what’s more, I’ve come to invite you to a party, to celebrate my son coming home!” I was astonished. My debts were cancelled, and I was invited to a party? “That’s too much, Sir, I couldn’t...” I tried to explain, but was interrupted with his hearty “Nonsense! You can’t refuse, the party is going on right now, and I won’t miss a second more of it!” And with that, he linked his arm through mine and walked me towards the carriage. 

Whisking through the streets in the warm coach, with laughter filling the air as the son recounted his adventures, I was struck with a feeling of overwhelming gratitude. Even if the future seemed uncertain, the work unending, the rent continue to be due, I was grateful, for it meant I had a home.