A Cozy Country Christmas Anthology

by Melange Books, LLC

  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.

  The situation was totally crazy, but Ellen's extended family took both it and Tim in stride. Dinner was served buffet style in a kitchen crowded with people, casseroles, and an enormous punch bowl. Grandma led them all in prayer before presiding over the chaos, a smile wreathing a face as wrinkled as the raisins spotting the rice pudding.

  With a plate of food balanced awkwardly on his knee, Tim laughed over the retelling of family holiday stories. He enjoyed watching the play of expression on Ellen's vivid face.

  Tim had grown up an only child. If his mother were here, she'd be appalled by the shabby furnishings and disgusted by the loud voices and hearty laughter. She would have fainted if a child scuffed his shoes on the carpet, much less spilled punch as a brown-eyed tot did here tonight. But in this household, family reigned supreme, each person an integral part of a loving, complete picture of togetherness.

  Eating a piece of pecan pie, Tim savored the warmth of Ellen's leg against his as they crowded together on the sofa. Looking up, he caught sight of Charlie, who was gazing at his mother with a sorrowful expression that tugged at Tim's heart.

  Grandma Maria opened her presents, insisting as each package was placed in her lap that the giver “shouldn't have bothered.” Tim applauded with the others when the wizened little woman opened Ellen's gift; a shimmering pink silk slip, and let out a squeal of pleasure. The back of Ellen's hand brushed Tim's as they tried to coordinate their clapping.

  Ellen's perfume blended with the scent of the evergreen branches. She was so precious—and he had no claim on her except for the thin metal circles which temporarily linked them.

  Suddenly, Tim felt like an outsider, doomed to be forever shut out of the warmth of family life. He bit his lip, murmuring an inward prayer for strength.

  Turning to Tim with a smile, Ellen said, “I think we 'd better go so you can get on with whatever you were doing when we kidnapped you.”

  Their coats lay across their laps. Because of the handcuffs, they each had been forced to leave an arm in one sleeve. With the ease of long familiarity, Tim reached over to help Ellen pull her coat up and around her shoulders.

  In the doorway, Ellen turned. “'Merry Christmas, everybody!”

  “Mom!” Charlie pointed upward, his eyes sparkling. “You're standing under the mistletoe!”

  Tim knew his duty. “So we are,” he said promptly and bent to place a tender kiss on Ellen's mouth.

  He wanted to prolong the intimacy. The kiss must have betrayed his feelings—when they parted, Ellen gazed up at him in surprise. A delicate flush mounted in her cheeks.

  Both adults were silent in the elevator, with Charlie yawning and heavy-eyed. As they walked toward the bus stop, the boy's feet dragged.

  “Come here, sweetie,” Ellen said. “I'll carry you.

  “Let me.” Tim boosted the child into his arms.

  Charlie snuggled his head against Tim's shoulder in a gesture of complete trust. Above, the stars gleamed in competition with the street lights. Tim walked slower, pretending his lagging pace was due to his burden, but he didn't want the trip to end. This is sheer lunacy, he thought, his heart swelling, but I love it!

  Ellen's home was in a modest neighborhood where houses were decorated with Santas, snowmen, and multiple strings of lights. Snow frosted the bushes; a wooly white cap covered each roof.

  “Let's get Sleepyhead tucked in and then look for the key,” Ellen suggested as she unlocked the front door. “'I hope it's still in the box where Charlie found the handcuffs.”

  Tim nodded, looking at the evergreen standing in the corner with its popcorn chains, the candle in the window, and a nativity scene, all evidence that Ellen had tried to make this a normal Christmas.

  “Are you happy, Mom?” Charlie asked drowsily as his mother tucked him into bed.

  “Yes, munchkin.” Ellen bent to kiss him.

  Tim admired a close-up view of the sweep of dark hair falling away from the delicate nape of her neck.

  “I knew he was the right one 'cause he smiled at the kids sleddin' in the window. I asked God to get you a really good present,” the boy murmured obscurely and fell asleep.

  Ellen closed the bedroom door behind them. “What was he mumbling about?”

  Tim indicated their metal bond. “Me, I think.”

  She stared up at him, her lips parted.

  “He sees how much you're hurting without David,” Tim explained.

  “When he saw us together, he must have decided I was just what you needed for Christmas. I guess he thinks I'm an answer to his prayers.”

  Ellen's free hand flew to her throat. “And are you?" she asked, her voice a mere whisper, her gaze downcast.

  Tim cupped her chin with his free hand, gently compelling her to look at him. Somewhere downstairs, a clock struck midnight. By unspoken consent they kissed. Breathless, they reluctantly pulled apart.

  “I'm glad God had Charlie bring us together,” Tim whispered, smoothing back Ellen's hair. “I feel reborn. It's a miracle wrought by a very small Christmas angel named Charlie.

  Tonight I met a woman whose loveliness of spirit makes me long to know her better. If someone handed me the key to these handcuffs, I'd throw it away.”

  “Christmas is the time for miracles. Grandma says so, and she's always right.” Ellen's vivacious face sobered. “But as much as you hate the idea, it's urgent that we find the key and free ourselves.”

  Tim knew he was grinning like an idiot. “What's wrong with our present situation? I find it quite cozy.”

  Ellen laughed, a chime sweeter than silver bells. “I confess, so do I. But I also drank three cups of punch at the party—and my bathroom is definitely a one-seater.”

  Tim pulled her closer and kissed those adorably quirking lips, confident that both God, Grandma and Charlie would approve.

  THE END

  Star of Bethlehem

  A Star and a tree. Such a humble request. The snow came to just above my ankles, fresh flakes powdering the shoulders of my coat. The memory of Jill’s wistful brown eyes haunted me as I struggled to open the sliding door of the barn.

  The calico cat with a crumpled ear, an ever gracious host, met me as I stepped inside. The cows were standing patiently in their stalls, waiting for the milkmaid and her pail.

  I could visualize the noisy chaos within the house—my four children were making Christmas cookies, candy sprinkles and drops of icing decorating the floor, their faces, the tablecloth and, hopefully, a few of the cookies. Steven was supervising from a kitchen chair, his smashed leg in its bulky cast propped on a hamper, the leg which was responsible for keeping him from his winter job as a garage mechanic.

  The chicken coop had been my first stop and as I spread the corn in the feeder, I had avoided looking at the heat lamps which would have to be run 24 hours a day in bitter weather. The heat lamps reminded me of the electric bill lying in the unpaid pile in the kitchen drawer.

  Tonight was Christmas Eve and before going to bed I still had to put the yarn hair on Jill’s rag doll, hem Donna’s skirt and sew the buttons on the boys’ shirts. Christmas Eve, and there was no tree.

  I had broken the news to the children less than a week ago. The breakfast table had been the scene of a stimulating debate as to the placement of the tree and very little oatmeal was being eaten.

  Jill waved her spoon in ecstasy, seeing inner visions of evergreen splendor. “I want a star on the tree. A pretty star like the one I carried in the Christmas play! Jesus was born under the Christmas star, you know.”

  I could wait no longer. Joining them at the table, I explained that we couldn’t afford to buy a tree this year. “We can’t cut down any of the trees Grandpa planted, can we?”

  Four heads shook a
vigorous “no”. “But where will we put our presents?” Lars, age nine, inquired plaintively. “They always go under the tree.”

  “We’ll find a special spot.” No one smiled. “Please don’t talk about the tree in front of your father, children. He feels terrible about being unable to work and I can’t get a job because he needs special care.”

  My voice broke and Donna jumped up to put her arms around me. “We can string popcorn and put it on the spruce outside the family room window. That way the birds will have a Christmas tree.”

  “Lars and I can have fun making snowmen,” Jeff chimed in.

  Jill was silent, but a crystal drop rolled down the babyish cheek and plopped into her untouched oatmeal.

  I was a failure as a mother—couldn’t even supply a tree to put my homemade gifts under. A honk signaled the arrival of the bus and triggered a wild scramble for coats, books and mittens.

  Wrapping a scarf around my kindergartner’s parka hood, I kissed the tip of her nose. “We’ll have fun this Christmas, Jill. Leave it to Mommy.”

  The brown eyes looked at me solemnly. “I’ll ask Jesus for a tree and a star. The star is really for Him.”

  The silence in the barn allowed Jill’s words to echo in my mind. The radio in the house had been playing Christmas carols and I switched the radio set on a shelf to the same station and turned it on, hoping to soothe my inner turmoil. A tree and a star. Jill prayed every night for Jesus to bring her a tree and a star.

  If I couldn’t supply a tree, would her faith be shattered? Seated on the milking stool, I leaned my head against the warmth of Buttercup’s flank, and ran through a mental list of friends who would be happy to loan me the money. Steven’s pride would be hurt, however, realizing as he did that it couldn’t be paid back. The doctor, the hospital and the various utility companies all claimed first priority.

  Dippy, part-Siamese, as his crossed eyes attested, rubbed his cheek against my leg and purred. He was waiting for a squirt of milk and I obliged. Opening his mouth wide, he gulped happily and licked off the drops which had spattered across his whiskers.

  As I fed Fawn, I began to feel more at peace. The animals, the scent of straw from the loft and the manger I was filling with hay reminded me of a stable in long ago Bethlehem. Jesus was born in humble circumstances among the animals and grain because there was no room in the inn.

  I froze, pitchfork upraised. No room in the inn? There was no room in my heart for Him, either. My worries about bills, the children and Steven had crowded out the love and warmth of the Christ Child. No wonder I stumbled from task to task with a heavy heart.

  I found myself singing along with the radio, anxious to get back to get back into the house and enjoy the wonder and majesty of Christmas with my family; the tinsel and glitter now seemed unimportant—we had each other.

  I poured some milk into a pan for the cats and wished them all a “Merry Christmas” before going back out into the falling snow, the lights form the kitchen beckoning me with their warmth and cheer.

  Jill was very quiet during supper. Throughout the day she had kept checking the spot in the family room she had reserved for her “tree” in hopes that it had been delivered, but without success.

  After the meal, Donna and I cleared the table and Lars brought the family Bible to his father for the reading of the Christmas Story.

  Steven had just reached the point where the wise men inform King Herod, “For we have come to worship Him,” when the strains of “Silent Night” became audible.

  Jeff ran to the window. “Look, everybody! We’ve got carolers!” There was a scraping of chairs as his brother and sisters ran to join him.

  The snow fell softly, muffling the sound of young voices. I opened the window and we listened as our visitors sang three more songs. Donna and Lars ran outside to invite them in for cookies and hot chocolate. Al Miller, a Sunday School teacher and a good friend, was the leader of the group and warned his charges to wipe their feet on the mat before turning to Steven.

  “We brought you a surprise,” Al said. “I sent some of the older boys back out to get it.”

  The surprise was a three-foot-tall evergreen set in a tree holder and decorated with construction paper chains and handmade ornaments. Jill danced around excitedly, stepping on people’s feet and strewing cookie crumbs on the family room carpet as the tree was carried in in triumph.

  Her cup of joy overflowed, however, when Al reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a star trimmed in glittering gold. “This belongs on top of the church tree,” he told Jill. “But I thought it might be happier here for a few days.”

  He lifted Jill so she could place it on the top of the tree. The chatter of people in the kitchen rang in my ears as I stared at the sweet smelling evergreen.

  Al grinned at my shocked expression. “My Sunday School class wanted to do something special for a family and I happened to think of you and Steven. They’ve been slaving away on ornaments and paper chains for a month—just as excited about their surprise as this little sprout seems to be.” He nodded at Jill who was seated cross-legged before the tree, head tilted back as she gazed up at the star.

  I managed to stammer our thanks and Steven pressed Al’s hand fervently. At the door, our good friend stopped to slip an envelope into my hand. “A Christmas angel left this at the church office for you folks.”

  He winked and began shepherding his charges, who were making snow angels with Jeff and Lars on our front lawn, toward the SUV and the van.

  I counted the bills inside the envelope. I would be able to pay the utility bills and there was enough left over for groceries.

  The vehicles pulled out of the yard in a flurry of snow, snatches of “God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen” drifting back to my ears.

  The falling flakes melted and mixed with the warm tears on my cheeks as I whispered, “Let nothing you dismay—remember Christ our Savior was born on Christmas Day.”

  I looked up into a haze of white, and although I couldn’t see it, I knew the Star of Bethlehem shone over our house that night.

  THE END

  In For A Penny

  When he first mentioned the weekend visit, Rob talked of going alone. Slipping into his role of a surgeon preparing a patient for the upcoming ordeal, his words flowed.

  Like a distracted patient, however, Dorothy’s hearing turned selective with only fragmented phrases washing over her: “Back before you know it”...“Only gone two days”...“We’ll both feel better when it’s over...”

  “I’m going with you, Rob.” Her firm tone silenced his unspoken protest.

  After a moment of staring, eyes narrowed, he scowled, turned, and stalked out of the condo. Biting her lip, Dorothy accepted this retreat, although she still struggled every moment with the knowledge that he’d walked out on her emotionally months ago.

  So she’d laid down an ultimatum and now they were trapped together in the car, with unspoken awkwardness separating them from their destination.

  As the sun glinted without mercy off the windshields of oncoming cars, stabbing through the protection of her sunglasses, Dorothy wondered whether, when Rob said, “we’ll both feel better when it’s over,” he’d been referring to this weekend, their marriage or the birth of the new life stirring within her.

  “Tell me about your grandfather,” she said, the words spilling out and sending ripples to disturb the silence.

  Rob hesitated. With her intimate knowledge of his thought processes, Dorothy could almost see him marshalling his words into orderly statements as though setting a row of delicate stitches. She waited with outward patience, the sharp edges of her fingernails gouging the palms of her hands.

  As her husband swung the wheel in a left turn, Dorothy’s gaze snagged on his left wrist. Tanned, softly curling golden hairs, strong, but marred by the clinical precision of his TAG Heuer wristwatch. Her nails dug deeper—she’d been hoping he would leave it behind. The ever present symbol that time served as the master of their relationship st
irred a faint nausea within her. She’d asked, no, begged, Rob to leave his watch behind on this trip.

  “My grandfather isn’t a guy you can peg into a hole. He’s not someone comfortable in society and he’s never had much money.” The sting of the unspoken “unlike your family” echoed in Dorothy’s head.

  Another pause as Rob kept his gaze locked on the traffic ahead. “Ham’s over eighty now and a widower.”

  The marriage counselor’s admonition, “Pretend you’re on a first date this weekend,” jabbed at Dorothy. But communication between them had become a nightmarish blind date of walking on eggshells, fumbling for words and tense silences. She shared the blame equally but didn’t know how to break the cycle.

  Again, the sunlight highlighted her husband’s capable hands as he maneuvered the Mercedes through heavy traffic spewing out of the city and heading north. A weekly exodus to wide-open spaces, one they’d never made. She continued to stare at Rob’s hands. The hands of a healer, yet he refused to mend their marriage.

  Dorothy yanked her thoughts off that gloomy track and launched another conversational probe. “What did Ham do for a living?” She winced. Her laugh sounded like a titter in her too critical ears. “I assume he’s retired.”

  “Ham’ll never retire, not completely.” Rob snorted as a reluctant grin teased his lips. The car accelerated to move around a slower vehicle. Another moment, then Rob blurted, “He was a cowboy.”

  Dorothy hated the paper-thin defensiveness that coated his words, the subtle accusation of snobbishness. Then the import crashed in on her. “A cowboy?!!”

  Her husband’s studied attention to his driving left no room for her to maneuver. She blanked out her thoughts, determined not to let him win by getting angry and lashing back.

  With one hand, she caressed her midriff. Such turmoil had to be bad for the baby. A baby scheduled to be born into a home so blessed with the material and yet so poor in the emotional. Would this tiny life be raised in a two parent home?