A Cozy Country Christmas Anthology (3 page)

Sighing, I massaged my throbbing temples. Was
I getting sick?

I had just started to tie red and green
ribbon bows around rolled linen napkins when the boys reappeared,
bubbling with excitement.

“It’s snowing, Mom!” Ryan exclaimed, nose and
hands pressed against the window. He wriggled like a puppy. “Can we
go out and play?”

“Please, Mom!” Josiah and Kyle chimed in. “We
could build a snow fort. It would be so much fun!”

But I had a party to put on. I didn’t have
time for fun. “No! You’ll make a mess and track in snow. Read a
book or play a quiet game,” I ordered. “I’ve laid out your good
clothes for tonight.”

Their faces fell and they trudged away,
shoulders drooping, while I tackled the window Ryan had smeared. At
this rate, I’d never be ready for tonight’s festivities.

Before he left, Nathan had tuned the radio to
a station playing carols. As I wielded a spray bottle of window
cleaner, I heard the beginning strains of “Joy to the World”.

“There’s no joy in our house,” I muttered,
feeling woefully unappreciated.

Neither the boys nor Nathan understood that I
was doing all this for them!

Then I paused, paper towel raised to wipe
away the last hand print. What exactly was I doing for the boys?
All of my fussing and fretting had taken the “merry” out of our
Christmas. My perfectionism had substituted “stress” for
celebration of the season. I
gazed out at the steady fall of snow, my heart aching, and suddenly
thought about my mother.

She’d been gone for over ten years and I
still missed her so much. Somehow, each winter storm had a spell
that enticed Mother outside. She reveled in snow, whether it
appeared in the form of blizzards or flurries. I remembered
watching her smile in peaceful satisfaction as flakes fell on her
upturned face and powdered her hair.

Mother believed snow was a special gift from
God. In her eyes, the singular pattern of each snowflake affirmed
the uniqueness of each person, the individuality of us all. If
anyone questioned her passion for the white stuff, she quoted
Shelly, “I love snow and all the forms of the radiant frost.”

I used my apron to wipe away a tear,
recalling those Christmas mornings when my sister and I were
awakened early by Mother warbling, “Let it snow, let it snow, let
it snow!” Giggling with excitement, we’d jump out of bed and into
our snowsuits. The three of us would hurry outside to build a snow
manager and shape a baby Jesus to lay in it.

Then it was off to serenade the cattle with
Christmas carols while helping Daddy with his barn chores.
Afterwards, we tumbled into the heavenly warmth of the kitchen, our
mittens soaked and our noses red with cold, where oatmeal simmered
on the stove.

I blinked back more tears as I pictured that
kitchen, cluttered yet cozy, with a scatter of boots and mittens
lying in a puddle near the door. Mother's current knitting project
usually shared countertop space with the my father’s handwritten
milking log and the squirrel-shaped cookie jar handed down from
Grandma Ethel. We could hardly eat our oatmeal because we knew that
after this wholesome breakfast, we’d open our presents while
sipping hot chocolate and nibbling molasses cookies dusted with
powdered sugar.

I shook my head in disbelief at my own
blindness. How could I have imagined that I could improve on those
long ago Christmas mornings with all my polishing and scrubbing? I
wouldn’t trade one of them for a picture perfect party.

I slowly put down the window cleaner and
paper towels, realizing that I’d been trying to create a tradition
by hosting a memorable party each year. But in the whirl of
planning and preparation, I’d forgotten my past. Forsaken my family
customs by leaving them locked away in memory.

But memories fade. Traditions die if they
aren't continued. Abandoned, they have no choice but to melt away,
like snowflakes in the sun. Lost forever. Heartsick, I pressed my
lips against the child-size hand print decorating the cool glass.
Instead of counting my special blessings, I’d wasted my energy in
cleaning them up.

But it wasn’t too late! Snatching up my “to
do” list, I tore it into tiny pieces.

Outside, snow continued to fall. There was
time. Time to continue a tradition.

Nathan entered the room. “Shall I get dressed
yet? Or is there something I can do to help you get ready?”

I tossed the pieces of my “to do” list into
the air and laughed as the confetti fluttered down. “You can start
by making hot chocolate. Enough for all of us.”

My husband blinked. “Hot chocolate? What
about the buffet?”

“I’ve decided to serve hot dogs. We can roast
them in the fireplace. A fire is so delightful when the weather
outside is frightful.”

“You’ve been listening to too many Christmas
songs,” a bewildered Nathan decided.

“But the weather isn’t frightful—it's
perfect!” I tore off my apron and gave my dumbfounded husband a
hearty kiss. “Say, what carols do you think the pigs would enjoy?
Our cattle always preferred ‘Away in the Manger’.”

Nathan laughed as, with a song in my heart, I
hurried to find my precious children.

“Boys!” I hollered. “Get your snow pants and
coats on. We’ve got some memories and some snowmen to make!”

THE END

One Midnight
Clear

The click startled Tim out of his bleak
thoughts. “Hey!”

Raising his right hand, he stared at the
woman whose left was lifted in an identical gesture—and belatedly
realized they were handcuffed together.

Ignoring the jostling of passersby, Tim had
been studying a store window scene of children sledding. The
windblown curls and smile of the littlest mannequin reminded him of
his daughter.

But Amy was in Georgia this Christmas Eve
with her mother, a faraway place with no snow, no sleds—and no
father. Tonight Tim fancied himself a brooding, Scrooge-like figure
and he’d even muttered a few “Bah, humbugs!” as he walked.

Standing outside the store, he felt isolated
amid the hurrying people. They all had places to go and loved ones
to buy for while he had no one. Nothing.
God, I'm so lonely!
his heart cried in silent prayer.

Wrapped in his sorrowful reflections, Tim had
been only vaguely aware that a woman had joined him until he was
jarred from his apathy by their bizarre linkage.

The metal lay cold against his skin. Tim's
gaze travelled up the sleeve of his companion to eyes the rich
brown of molasses above a mouth shaped into a startled “o”.

“Am I under arrest?” Tim asked. He'd never
heard of cops, even the undercover variety, wearing purple stocking
caps sprinkled with snowflakes.

The woman didn't respond. She might have
stepped out of the store window, abandoning her plastic children on
the hill of fake snow, before freezing again into immobility.

“What's the charge? Loitering?” Tim raised
his voice. What kind of game was this woman playing?

“But I didn't. And if I didn't and you
didn't—” Awareness animated his companion's features and she
whirled, yanking Tim around, too. “Charles Martin Hunt! Where did
you get these?”

Tim realized for the first time that a boy
stood just behind them, a child who held his body rigid in a
defensive posture.

Her tone and the use of his full name
apparently convinced young Charles that evasion would be imprudent.
“In your bedroom.” A gulp. “I was looking for presents.”

A gal who kept handcuffs in her bedroom. Tim
arched his brows, his interest captured, along with his wrist.

A flush dyed the woman's throat scarlet and
she shot an apprehensive glance at the man beside her. “You know
you're forbidden to snoop in my room. And why try them out on this
poor fellow?”

A defiant shrug, but Tim noted the sparkle of
tears in the boy's eyes. A crowd was gathering, with people staring
more at their strange tableau than at the window display behind
them.

“Do you have the key?” the woman demanded,
only to be answered with another guilty, but still defiant
shrug.

She glared at the culprit until the comical
aspects of the situation caused her lips to twitch. “Charlie,
you've come up with a doozy this time.”

With a charming tilt of her head, she smiled
ruefully at Tim. “How do you feel about going to a family party
with a pair of lunatics?”

Half an hour later, Tim found himself sharing
a seat on a bus. In that span of time, he'd learned that the
woman's name was Ellen, her husband had been a policeman, and
Christmas Eve was not the ideal time to find a place where
handcuffs can be removed.

“My husband was killed by a kid high on
crack.” Ellen leaned over to breathe the words into Tim's ear, so
that Charlie, crowded on her other side, couldn't overhear. “'I
kept his badge and handcuffs as a remembrance for Charlie when he's
older.”

“Losing his father must have been rough on
your son,” Tim offered gruffly.

“Charlie misses David.” Ellen looked down at
her lap. “Holidays are difficult.”

In her wistful tone, Tim heard the echo of
endless, lonely nights spent in a home where joy and happiness had
once dwelt. On impulse, he said, “This season has been difficult
for me, too. My ex-wife recently moved to Georgia with our
daughter.”

Ellen squeezed his hand in sympathy. “You
must miss her dreadfully.”

Tim nodded. If he could
speak without bursting into tears, he'd confess that he'd give
anything to undo what he'd done.

What had his single-minded
climb up the career ladder gotten him? An expensive, soulless
condominium, a corner office—and handcuffed to a stranger on
Christmas Eve. In pursuing success, he'd ignored the principles for
maintaining a healthy marriage, and now he was reaping the unhappy
harvest.

“Thanks for understanding.” Ellen shifted and
the handcuffs chinked musically. “Grandma Maria would be devastated
if I missed the family party. After I put in an appearance, we'll
go to my place and dig out the key.”

Surprised exclamations greeted their arrival
at the apartment which was their destination.

An elderly woman bustled up and threw her
arms around Ellen. “Merry Christmas! Who is this nice person?” Her
gaze devoured Tim. “Finally took an old lady's advice, eh?'”

“'Yes, Grandma. But good men are difficult to
find, so when I finally met another great guy, I made sure he
couldn't get away.” Ellen held up her hand, her sleeve falling away
to reveal that the two of them were joined together.

The sight was greeted with stunned silence,
broken by gusts of laughter, after Ellen explained their
predicament. Realizing that his companion was dearly loved by those
present, Tim sensed a general disappointment that he hadn't chosen
to accompany her of his own volition.