Then the lights came on and way up at the top, the star.
Here. I’ll let her tell you the rest.
I was overcome by the memory of a star from long ago, she wrote. Suddenly I remembered that I had been there before, at that very place, with my father and that he had said the strangest thing. “The city is our jewel—beautiful yet hard.”
I remember at the time I was a little frightened by his voice. There was a depth of sorrow there that I had never heard before. Later I realized he knew what I didn’t, that he was dying.
He must have sensed that I was scared, because when he spoke again I heard the gentle tone I was used to.
“See that star, Anna, there at the very top?” he said. “It’s there to remind us of the beauty, even when all we feel is the hardness.”
Standing there with Sister Frances and the others, I finally understood what my father was trying to tell me, and how much it must have hurt him, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to teach me all the things he wanted to. I felt so proud of him, remembering that moment, and so lucky to have it come back to me. My fears just disappeared.
I looked around and saw the happiness on the faces of the people who were dear to me, and the strangers, too. I looked for you, but couldn’t find you in the crowd. But the crowd no longer scared me because I could see that the people in it were doing just what my father had said to do. They were looking for the beauty.
And they found it. My Tree gave it to them.
He was beautiful, wasn’t he? And I was able to see him, underneath all his finery. It was my Tree after all.
Everyone here at Brush Creek is still talking about how exciting it all was. Otherwise, everything is pretty much back to normal. I’ve been reading about a new variety of tomato I want to try this summer, and puttering around the greenhouse. I’ll be glad when it warms up and I can get out in the garden again.
You must come and visit us soon. I’ve told this year’s group of children all about the Christmas tree and about the clever man who chooses it. They think that must be a wonderful job to have. Just come out to the clearing any day in the early afternoon. You’ll find me there, next to the little Norway spruce the children and I planted this week.
You were right to make me go. You’re a good friend, and for that I thank you.
I had to sit there for quite some time before I could move. My head and my heart were full. Finally, I put the letter in my desk and walked out of my office, feeling strangely light.
I saw my secretary staring at me.
“Well, you look a little happier,” she said. “What did you do? Take a nap?”
“Why shouldn’t I look happy,” I said. “I’m going out to find a Christmas tree.”
Acknowledgments
Special thanks to Bill Clegg, who lit the spark and tended it with great care, to Elsa Burt for her enthusiasm and help, and to Ann Godoff, Kathy Robbins, Janis Donnaud, and Stacy Rockwood. This has been an affectionate collaboration, and our husbands, Bill Abrams and Frank Weber, have been a loving part of it, as have Barbara and Lew Schwartz, Arthur and Lilly Salcman, and Mud and Marge Abrams. We’d also like to thank Sister Stephen and the others at the Carmel Richmond Nursing Home in Staten Island for helping a dear friend, Bruna Alpini; Sister Sarah of the Corpus Christi Monastery in the Bronx; and David Murbach, manager of the gardens division at Rockefeller Center, who thoughtfully explained the ins-and-outs of finding the perfect Christmas tree. We love Christmas at Rockefeller Center so, though we’ve never met the Sisters of Christian Charity in Mendham, New Jersey, we appreciated their gift of a tree in 1995, which touched our hearts and imagination and led us to create our story and pictures.
About the Author
Julie Salamon is an award-winning author and journalist. She has been a reporter and film critic for the Wall Street Journal and the New York Times, and her work has appeared in the New Yorker, Vanity Fair, Vogue, and Harper’s Bazaar, among other publications. Her books include Wendy and the Lost Boys, a biography of playwright Wendy Wasserstein; The Devil’s Candy, a behind-the-scenes account of the 1980s box-office flop Bonfire of the Vanities; and, with illustrator Jill Weber, the New York Times bestseller The Christmas Tree, as well as two middle-grade novels, Mutt’s Promise and Cat in the City. Salamon is also chair of the Bowery Residents’ Committee, a community organization that provides support for individuals who are homeless and struggling with addiction or mental illness in New York City.
About the Illustrator
Jill Weber is an artist, illustrator, and freelance designer. She has collaborated with author Julie Salamon on the New York Times bestseller The Christmas Tree and the middle-grade novels Cat in the City and Mutt’s Promise. Her other illustrated books include Christmas Tree Farm by Ann Purmell, a Junior Library Guild Selection and New York Times Christmas pick; Higher: A Rosh Hashanah Story by Eric A. Kimmel, winner of an Oppenheim Toy Portfolio Gold Seal Award; and The Story of Hanukkah by David A. Adler, a New York Times holiday pick.
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1996 by Julie Salamon and Jill Weber
Cover design by Mauricio Díaz
978-1-5040-3657-3
This edition published in 2016 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
180 Maiden Lane
New York, NY 10038
www.openroadmedia.com
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