“And what did you get, Joy?” Mrs. Leaneon asked the little fourth grader in the front row. Mrs. Leaneon was worn out. She had only started class four minutes ago, and already Broody brought up the one subject that little kids found impossible to drop: Christmas presents. It was a nightmare. Every year, right after Christmas break ended, somebody would bring up presents, and then all the kids would chatter on about it all day, even in the middle of a difficult test. It was terrible, particularly for an elementary school teacher.
It took her a moment to realize that Joy hadn’t answered. “Joy?” Mrs. Leaneon prompted. The girl finally replied, looking strangely content.
“I got a big box of coal.” As Joy said this, there was a huge gasp that came from all corners of the room at once; the children clearly thought that Santa was punishing Joy. Mrs. Leaneon didn’t know what to say. Joy was the sweetest student that had ever entered Mrs. Leaneon’s classroom. Was the coal a cruel joke? And why did Joy look so happy?
“I’m sure Mr. Claus made a mistake,” was all the teacher could think to say.
Joy shook her head. “There was no mistake. I got what I asked for.” Before Mrs. Leaneon could reply, Joy started to explain: “We don’t have electricity. Our stove takes coal, but lately we haven’t been able to afford the coal that would keep the house warm.”
Mrs. Leaneon suddenly knew why Joy was always asking other students for outgrown clothing or leftover pieces from their lunches.
It felt like years had passed before the bell rang at the end of school. When Mrs. Leaneon asked Joy to stay a little longer so that she could write a note to Joy’s mother, Joy looked as if she was trying to figure out what she did wrong. The child was, in fact, shocked when Mrs. Leaneon said she was asking for permission to take Joy clothes shopping, and offered to buy her anything she wanted. “And feel free to drop by for dinner any time.”
Critique: It needs some smoother transitions. And more—more character development and arc, more dialog, more from the students, more internal thought from the teacher, more setting and sensory imagery. What you have is a nugget that needs to be expanded.
What I liked best: I really liked the clever twist of a girl asking for coal.
Publication ready: No. But with some depth and development, I think it has real potential.
Showing posts with label y11C Unpublished. Show all posts
Showing posts with label y11C Unpublished. Show all posts
9/24/11
19 Happily Ever After!
Once upon a time there was a princess who lived in the wintry kingdom of Anolivia. She had reached that age of accountability, where tradition said she must learn homemaking skills. It was Christmas Eve and she had a wonderful breakfast in store for her parents. She was going over the supplies and realized that she didn’t have the eggs and milk that she needed. She knew that she wouldn’t be able to get the needed supplies in the morning. She knew curfew would be coming up very soon and the castle doors would be locked for the night. She and her ladies maid decided to risk it by running out to the dairy shed. They made it out to the shed in good time. They gathered the supplies and they were much more weighed down on the way back to the castle and could not run as fast. They had seen the mean guard at the doors and knew they had to hurry. The hurried back to the castle as fast as they could move. They heard the clock chiming and they could the see the castle doors. The guard was closing the door and he could see and he wasn’t going to wait for them. Just when they thought that they would have to spend the night on the cold steps the white knight appeared to battle the mean guard. They watched as they battled and the white knight prevailed. He showed his true chivalry and held the door open. They were able to save to bring the needed supplies for Christmas breakfast and the white knight saved the day. They were able to spend a wonderful Christmas and lived happily ever after.
Critique: This is not really a short story. It’s a very quick & dirty, bare-bones plot line for a story. You need to beef it up. Give us some characterization, dialog, sensory imagery. We need a character arc, where the princess learns something or grows and changes. And personally, I’d rather see the princess save herself, instead of being rescued by a white knight. It has potential, but it needs work.
What I liked best: That the princess sneaks out to get eggs and milk. Shows she has a bit of a rebellious streak, and I like that. (But not sure it's entirely believable or accurate for a princess in a castle to run out of eggs and milk.)
Publication ready: No.
Critique: This is not really a short story. It’s a very quick & dirty, bare-bones plot line for a story. You need to beef it up. Give us some characterization, dialog, sensory imagery. We need a character arc, where the princess learns something or grows and changes. And personally, I’d rather see the princess save herself, instead of being rescued by a white knight. It has potential, but it needs work.
What I liked best: That the princess sneaks out to get eggs and milk. Shows she has a bit of a rebellious streak, and I like that. (But not sure it's entirely believable or accurate for a princess in a castle to run out of eggs and milk.)
Publication ready: No.
18 The Christmas Angel
“John, don’t be ridiculous.” Sarah’s mother’s voice rang down the hall.
Sarah staggered out of her room and into the hallway rubbing fitful sleep from her eyes. She hesitated, listening to her parents argue. Lately, it seemed that’s all they did.
“C’mon Nikki,” her father said in a gruff voice, “It’s Christmas. Let’s spend it together.”
Sarah’s ears perked up. She couldn’t remember the last time they had all been together as a family.
“You know I have this big project due. The pressure’s on.”
“That’s why it’s such a good idea. You need a break.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Nikki asked.
“Sarah needs your time as well. When’s the last time you kissed her goodnight or read her a bedtime story?”
“Oh please. You know the demands of my job.”
“You’re running, Nikki.”
“Running?” Nikki let out a sharp laugh. “From what?”
“From the past. From Amb—“
“We are not talking about that!”
John voice became gentle. “You’ll have to talk about it sometime.”
Nikki’s voice was hard, “We’re done with this conversation.”
Sarah trudged down the stairs and entered the kitchen. Both of her parents looked up at her.
“Good morning, Pumpkin,” her father said as he set the morning paper on the table.
“Morning,” Sarah mumbled, giving her father a kiss on the cheek.
“Sarah, we’re doing some shopping in town today.” Nikki said.
“Can’t I stay here?” Sarah pouted.
“No. Your father has to work so you’ll be coming with me. Now go get your coat on. I’ll be waiting in the car. We’ll pick up breakfast on the way out.”
Sarah looked at her father dejectedly.
“Don’t worry, Pumpkin,” he said. “Maybe while you’re shopping you can make a wish list for Santa.”
“There is no such thing as Santa,” Nikki called over her shoulder as she walked out the door. “C’mon, Sarah.”
Traveling in silence, Sarah watched the gray clouds out the window. “Do you think it will snow?” she asked her mother.
Nikki shrugged. “Maybe.”
“I hope so. It feels like Christmas when it snows.”
Nikki flipped on the radio and Sarah sat back in her seat, smiling. Christmas was only four days away and she couldn’t wait! A familiar Christmas song began to play.
“Oh, I love this song!” Sarah cried and started singing along.
Nikki abruptly turned the radio off.
“What did you do that for?”
“I don’t feel like listening the radio.”
Sarah folded her arms and stuck out her bottom lip. “Why do you hate Christmas?”
“Don’t start that again.”
“Christmas is fun,” Sarah said, “the lights, the music, the presents…”
“The money.”
“You could go sledding with Dad and me. That’s free.”
Nikki sighed. “Someday you’ll realize that Christmas isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
Sarah shook her head. “I’ll always love Christmas.”
Nikki turned a corner and pulled against the curb. “We’re here.”
Sarah thrilled at the lights and street decorations as she climbed out of the car. “It’s so pretty.”
Her mother grabbed her hand and started walking down the sidewalk. Sarah skipped happily next to her, gazing at the multi-colored lights framing the store windows. The displays in the shops beckoned to her. One window caught her eye and she stopped to stare through the glass. It was a giant toy store.
Inside sat a decorated Christmas tree with a bright red train set—its cars carrying tiny bundles of candy cane and licorice treats—circling it. Underneath the tree sat two of the most perfect glass dolls Sarah had ever seen. The one with tight blonde curls and blue eyes wore a lacy pink dress and matching hat. The other had beautiful red hair, set in ringlets. Her blue dress looked silky and she carried a frilly umbrella.
Sarah turned to her mother. “Can we go in, Mom? Please?”
Nikki pulled on Sarah’s hand. “No. I have a meeting this evening and have to get all of my errands done before it gets too late.”
“But Mom, look at that doll.” Sarah pointed to the glass doll with blonde curls. “It looks just like me.”
Nikki gave a quick glance at the display. “Okay, let’s go.”
“And that other one is so beautiful. Can I have one for Christmas? I don’t care which one.”
“We’ll see.”
“I’ll take really good care of her.”
“Sarah,” Nikki warned, pulling Sarah away from the display.
“But…”
Nikki exhaled in frustration. “You know, I have a schedule to keep. Time does not stand still so that we can look at a bunch of useless toys.”
“But…”
“You are wasting my time.” Nikki pulled hard on Sarah’s hand. “Now come on!”
Sarah jerked back and folded her arms in front of her. “No.”
Nikki’s eyes widened. “You do not tell me ‘no’.”
Sarah’s lower lip began to tremble.
Nikki put her hands on her hips. “Now start moving or you will have no Christmas. Do you understand me?”
“You can’t take away Christmas!” Sarah shouted as tears began to fall down her cheeks.
“Oh, yes I can. You wait and see.”
“I hate you!” Sarah said with gritted teeth and clenched fists.
“Sarah Marie Roberts!”
Sarah gave her mother a seething glare, turned on her heels and ran, ignoring her mother’s calls.
Sarah’s legs burned. It wasn’t until she stopped to catch her breath that she looked up to find the faces of complete strangers surrounding her.
“Mom?” she squeaked, but the sound didn’t carry. The people had fierce looks on their faces and it frightened her. Dashing to the end of the street, she turned into the entrance of a park. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she wandered aimlessly, lost and alone.
Sinking to the ground at the base of an old oak tree, she pulled her legs toward her and wrapped her arms around them. Her body shook with her sobs, the only sound echoing through the empty park.
“Hello there.”
Sarah jumped at the unexpected sound and looked up to see a beautiful young woman in a flowing pink dress standing next to her. This young woman seemed familiar and instead of being afraid, she felt comforted and safe.
“Are you okay?” The young woman asked.
Sarah shook her head. “I’m lost.”
The young woman sat beside Sarah and put her arm around her. “My name is Amberlee. What’s your name?”
“Sarah.”
“That’s a pretty name.”
Sarah gave a shy smile. She looked up at Amberlee and noticed her curly red hair and bright green eyes. “You look just like one of the dolls from the window at the store.”
Amberlee laughed like a tinkling of a bell. “I’d like to see that doll.”
“The other one looked like me,” Sarah said, tugging on her blonde curls. A burst of cold wind blew past them, making Sarah shiver.
“You must be so cold. Here,” Amberlee removed a beautiful white, lacy shawl from her shoulders and draped them around Sarah. “Is that better?”
Sarah nodded. “It does feel better. I just…” She began to cry again. “Can you help me find my mom?”
“Sure, honey. Where did you last see her?”
“At the giant toy store.”
“Well, let’s go there then.”
They stood up and Amberlee took Sarah’s hand as they walked along the path that led to the entrance gate.
“Are you excited for Christmas?” Amberlee asked.
Sarah shrugged. “I guess. My mom hates Christmas.”
“Your mother has had to deal with a lot of heartache and sadness. She’s trying the best she can,” Amberlee said, “but you can help her.”
“I can?”
Amberlee nodded.
“How?”
“There’s a Christmas carol my mother used to sing to me.”
“I love Christmas carols.”
Amberlee started singing, her voice smooth and calming, fit for an angel.
See the babe in the manger
Swaddled and warm
As the angels watch over
Protecting from harm
Silent night, Peaceful night
My soul is at rest
Little babe in the manger
Through him I am blessed
Does he know he’s the Savior
Shepherd to all
If I will but follow
And answer his call
Silent night, Peaceful night
My soul is at rest
Little babe in the manger
Through him I am blessed
He will carry my burdens
He’ll calm my fears
When I pray he will listen
And dry my tears
Silent night, Peaceful night
This comfort so real
Little babe in the manger
His love I feel
Sweet babe in the manger
Before Thee I kneel
“That’s beautiful,” Sarah whispered.
“My mother wrote it.”
“Wow!”
Amberlee laughed. “I’m going to teach it to you. I want you to sing it to your mother.” She kissed Sarah on the head. “It will remind her of the true meaning of Christmas and that the Savior will heal any heartache she has.”
“Okay.”
They spent the rest their walk singing the song. Amberlee would sing a line and then Sarah repeated it. Soon they were singing it together, over and over.
They strode out of the park and into the busy street, where a police officer stood at the corner.
“Sir,” Amberlee said, approaching the officer, “This is Sarah Roberts. She’s lost and looking for her mother.”
“Sarah Roberts? Yes…” He held up his finger, telling them to wait as he spoke into his radio. “Command Center, this is Officer Jones. We’ve got Sarah Roberts. She is safe.”
Amberlee turned to Sarah. “Sweetie, I’ve got to go now. Officer Jones will take good care of you.”
Sarah nodded and began to take the lace shawl off her shoulders but Amberlee stopped her.
“Keep the shawl…to remember me by.”
“I love you,” Sarah said as she held on tight to Amberlee.
“I love you too.”
“I’m going to miss you.”
Amberlee smiled. “I’m sure we’ll see each other again. Remember to sing the Christmas carol to your mom. Help her remember the true meaning of Christmas.”
“I will.”
Amberlee gave Sarah one more quick squeeze and kissed the top of her head. “Goodbye.”
“Goodbye, Amberlee.” Sarah’s eyes filled with tears as she watched Amberlee walk away. She felt as if she had known Amberlee her entire life.
Officer Jones led Sarah to a parking lot holding several police cars. Her mother was standing by one of them.
“Mama,” Sarah squealed as she raced to her mother.
“Sarah!” Nikki stooped down and gathered Sarah up in her arms. “Oh baby, are you alright?” Nikki stroked Sarah’s hair, tears streaming down her face.
Sarah nodded meekly. “I’m okay.” She looked up into her mother’s bloodshot eyes. “I’m sorry I ran away.”
Nikki stood up and addressed Officer Jones, “Thank you so much.”
Officer Jones nodded, “I’m glad everything worked out okay.” He stooped down to look Sarah in the eye. “You take care now.”
“I will.”
“No more running away.”
Sarah shook her head vigorously. “Never.”
“Okay then. Goodbye.”
Sarah waved goodbye and Nikki took her hand and led her to their car. As Sarah started climbing into the back seat, her mother reached out and pulled her into her arms. “I’m so glad you’re safe. I was so worried about you. I prayed that we would find you.”
Sarah’s eyes got big. “But you never pray.”
“This is the first time I’ve prayed in a very long time,” Nikki’s voice cracked.
“God answered your prayer, Mama.” She grinned. “He sent Amberlee to help me.”
Nikki stroked Sarah’s hair. “Who?”
“Amberlee,” Sarah said in a bubbly voice. “She was beautiful. She looked just like the glass doll I saw at the store. She had red hair and sparkling green eyes and she helped me find the policeman and gave me this to keep me warm.” Sarah pointed to the white lacy shawl, still draped across her shoulders.
Nikki reached out with trembling hands and fingered the shawl. Tears sprung to her eyes as she brought her hand to her mouth.
“Mama? Are you okay?”
Nikki shook her head. She tried to speak, but words didn’t come out.
Sarah placed a hand on her mother’s shoulder. “It’s okay, Mama. Amberlee wanted me to sing you a song— See the babe in the manger, swaddled and warm…”
Tears freely fell down Nikki’s cheeks.
“Mama?”
Nikki brushed away the tears with the back of her hand. “I want to show you something.” Digging through a pocket of her purse, she pulled out a rectangle piece of paper and handed it to Sarah.
Sarah looked at the paper and saw the picture of a girl staring up at her. “Mom, it looks like Amberlee.”
“It is Amberlee.”
Sarah gazed up at her mother, confusion filling her eyes.
Nikki studied the picture for a moment. She put her arm around Sarah, pulling her close. “Amberlee is your sister,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “This picture was taken when she was seven—your age.”
“My sister?” Sarah said, gaping at her mother with wide eyes.
“I have a story to tell you. It’s a sad story, but I have a feeling it will end up happy.”
“Okay,” Sarah said, watching her mother intently.
“A long time ago, before you were born, Daddy and I had a little girl. Her name was Amberlee and we loved her very much. She always wanted a little sister and kept asking us when her sister would come to live with us.” Nikki gave Sarah a quick squeeze. “We had a very happy family and Christmas was our favorite time of year.”
“Even yours?” Sarah asked bewildered.
Nikki laughed. “I loved Christmas. Remember the Christmas Carol you just sang to me?”
Sarah nodded.
“I wrote that Carol.”
“You wrote it? Mom, it’s so beautiful.”
“During the Christmas season, I used to sing it to Amberlee every night before bedtime.” Nikki sighed and stared off into space. “Then, seven years ago, just two days before Christmas, a terrible thing happened. Amberlee was crossing the street while walking to her friend’s house and…a car came out of nowhere and hit her.” Nikki shook her head and fingered the shawl on Sarah’s shoulders. Her voice quivered. “I made this shawl for Amberlee when she died.”
Sarah reached over and held her mother’s hand. “Is that why you don’t like Christmas? Because it reminds you of Amberlee?”
“Christmas has been very hard for me since Amberlee died. But now I have a happy Christmas memory—finding you.” She hugged Sarah tight. “I love you, Sarah.”
Sarah hugged her mother back as her body filled with warmth. “I love you, too.”
They sat in each other’s embrace for several minutes, tears streaming down both of their faces. Nikki let go of Sarah and wiped her eyes with her sleeve.
“We’re a mess.”
Sarah laughed.
“I guess we had better get home.”
Sarah awoke to the sun streaming through her window. Sitting up in her bed, she rubbed her eyes. Today was Christmas! She jumped out of bed and threw open the door, running down the hallway and into her parent’s bedroom. Christmas music drifted upstairs from the radio in the kitchen.
“Mom! Dad!” Sarah cried.
“Merry Christmas!” John said as he wrapped Sarah in his arms.
“Merry Christmas, Sweetie,” said Nikki, “Did you sleep well?”
Sarah gave a vigorous nod.
“Are you ready to see the tree?” John asked, rubbing his hands together in anticipation.
“Yes, Yes,” Sarah exclaimed, jumping up and down.
Both Nikki and John laughed.
They all marched down the stairway like toy soldiers. As Sarah turned the corner, she shrieked with delight. In the living room sat a beautiful tree decorated with shiny garland and red and gold bulbs. A beautiful angel topped the tree. Underneath the tree stood a present wrapped in candy cane paper with a big red bow on top.
“For me?” Sarah gasped.
Her father nodded.
She gently ripped the paper to find a white box. She gently opened the lid.
“Oh, Daddy, It looks just like me!”
Inside laid the porcelain doll she had seen at the store. She lifted it out of the box, brushed the wrinkles out of the pink dress and rearranged the blonde curls.
“There’s another present,” Nikki said, nodding her head toward a box wrapped in blue polka dots with a white bow on top.
Sarah gingerly picked up the package and hesitated.
“Go ahead,” her mother urged.
Sarah opened the present to find another white box. She lifted the flap. “Oh,” she gasped as she pulled out the doll with the blue dress and red curls.
“Momma, it looks just like—“
“Amberlee. I know.” Nikki said with a smile.
Sarah held both dolls in her arms and gave them a hug. “Thank you so much.”
“This way you can always remember your sister.” John said as he walked over and put his arm around Nikki.
“I’ll never forget her,” Sarah said, hugging her dolls again.
That night, after her mother and father tucked her in bed and kissed her goodnight, Sarah said a prayer, thanking God for sending Amberlee to help her family. She looked out the window at the lights lining the rooftops and a wave of comfort and warmth washed over her.
“I love you, Amberlee,” she whispered.
She thought she saw a star twinkle a little brighter.
Critique: Mom is too mean in the beginning for such a quick change of heart to be believable. Pacing is inconsistent. It slows down too much when Mom is telling Amberlee’s story.
Personal note: In a realistically based story like this, it always makes me a little uncomfortable when you throw in corporeal visitations from the deceased. I don’t mind dreams or even a waking vision, but when you can hold their hand and they give you their clothing, it sort of creeps me out a little. Maybe it wouldn’t bother other readers.
What I liked best: Great dialog between John and Nikki at the beginning.
Publication ready: Not quite yet, but it has potential.
Sarah staggered out of her room and into the hallway rubbing fitful sleep from her eyes. She hesitated, listening to her parents argue. Lately, it seemed that’s all they did.
“C’mon Nikki,” her father said in a gruff voice, “It’s Christmas. Let’s spend it together.”
Sarah’s ears perked up. She couldn’t remember the last time they had all been together as a family.
“You know I have this big project due. The pressure’s on.”
“That’s why it’s such a good idea. You need a break.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Nikki asked.
“Sarah needs your time as well. When’s the last time you kissed her goodnight or read her a bedtime story?”
“Oh please. You know the demands of my job.”
“You’re running, Nikki.”
“Running?” Nikki let out a sharp laugh. “From what?”
“From the past. From Amb—“
“We are not talking about that!”
John voice became gentle. “You’ll have to talk about it sometime.”
Nikki’s voice was hard, “We’re done with this conversation.”
Sarah trudged down the stairs and entered the kitchen. Both of her parents looked up at her.
“Good morning, Pumpkin,” her father said as he set the morning paper on the table.
“Morning,” Sarah mumbled, giving her father a kiss on the cheek.
“Sarah, we’re doing some shopping in town today.” Nikki said.
“Can’t I stay here?” Sarah pouted.
“No. Your father has to work so you’ll be coming with me. Now go get your coat on. I’ll be waiting in the car. We’ll pick up breakfast on the way out.”
Sarah looked at her father dejectedly.
“Don’t worry, Pumpkin,” he said. “Maybe while you’re shopping you can make a wish list for Santa.”
“There is no such thing as Santa,” Nikki called over her shoulder as she walked out the door. “C’mon, Sarah.”
Traveling in silence, Sarah watched the gray clouds out the window. “Do you think it will snow?” she asked her mother.
Nikki shrugged. “Maybe.”
“I hope so. It feels like Christmas when it snows.”
Nikki flipped on the radio and Sarah sat back in her seat, smiling. Christmas was only four days away and she couldn’t wait! A familiar Christmas song began to play.
“Oh, I love this song!” Sarah cried and started singing along.
Nikki abruptly turned the radio off.
“What did you do that for?”
“I don’t feel like listening the radio.”
Sarah folded her arms and stuck out her bottom lip. “Why do you hate Christmas?”
“Don’t start that again.”
“Christmas is fun,” Sarah said, “the lights, the music, the presents…”
“The money.”
“You could go sledding with Dad and me. That’s free.”
Nikki sighed. “Someday you’ll realize that Christmas isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
Sarah shook her head. “I’ll always love Christmas.”
Nikki turned a corner and pulled against the curb. “We’re here.”
Sarah thrilled at the lights and street decorations as she climbed out of the car. “It’s so pretty.”
Her mother grabbed her hand and started walking down the sidewalk. Sarah skipped happily next to her, gazing at the multi-colored lights framing the store windows. The displays in the shops beckoned to her. One window caught her eye and she stopped to stare through the glass. It was a giant toy store.
Inside sat a decorated Christmas tree with a bright red train set—its cars carrying tiny bundles of candy cane and licorice treats—circling it. Underneath the tree sat two of the most perfect glass dolls Sarah had ever seen. The one with tight blonde curls and blue eyes wore a lacy pink dress and matching hat. The other had beautiful red hair, set in ringlets. Her blue dress looked silky and she carried a frilly umbrella.
Sarah turned to her mother. “Can we go in, Mom? Please?”
Nikki pulled on Sarah’s hand. “No. I have a meeting this evening and have to get all of my errands done before it gets too late.”
“But Mom, look at that doll.” Sarah pointed to the glass doll with blonde curls. “It looks just like me.”
Nikki gave a quick glance at the display. “Okay, let’s go.”
“And that other one is so beautiful. Can I have one for Christmas? I don’t care which one.”
“We’ll see.”
“I’ll take really good care of her.”
“Sarah,” Nikki warned, pulling Sarah away from the display.
“But…”
Nikki exhaled in frustration. “You know, I have a schedule to keep. Time does not stand still so that we can look at a bunch of useless toys.”
“But…”
“You are wasting my time.” Nikki pulled hard on Sarah’s hand. “Now come on!”
Sarah jerked back and folded her arms in front of her. “No.”
Nikki’s eyes widened. “You do not tell me ‘no’.”
Sarah’s lower lip began to tremble.
Nikki put her hands on her hips. “Now start moving or you will have no Christmas. Do you understand me?”
“You can’t take away Christmas!” Sarah shouted as tears began to fall down her cheeks.
“Oh, yes I can. You wait and see.”
“I hate you!” Sarah said with gritted teeth and clenched fists.
“Sarah Marie Roberts!”
Sarah gave her mother a seething glare, turned on her heels and ran, ignoring her mother’s calls.
***
Sarah’s legs burned. It wasn’t until she stopped to catch her breath that she looked up to find the faces of complete strangers surrounding her.
“Mom?” she squeaked, but the sound didn’t carry. The people had fierce looks on their faces and it frightened her. Dashing to the end of the street, she turned into the entrance of a park. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she wandered aimlessly, lost and alone.
Sinking to the ground at the base of an old oak tree, she pulled her legs toward her and wrapped her arms around them. Her body shook with her sobs, the only sound echoing through the empty park.
***
“Hello there.”
Sarah jumped at the unexpected sound and looked up to see a beautiful young woman in a flowing pink dress standing next to her. This young woman seemed familiar and instead of being afraid, she felt comforted and safe.
“Are you okay?” The young woman asked.
Sarah shook her head. “I’m lost.”
The young woman sat beside Sarah and put her arm around her. “My name is Amberlee. What’s your name?”
“Sarah.”
“That’s a pretty name.”
Sarah gave a shy smile. She looked up at Amberlee and noticed her curly red hair and bright green eyes. “You look just like one of the dolls from the window at the store.”
Amberlee laughed like a tinkling of a bell. “I’d like to see that doll.”
“The other one looked like me,” Sarah said, tugging on her blonde curls. A burst of cold wind blew past them, making Sarah shiver.
“You must be so cold. Here,” Amberlee removed a beautiful white, lacy shawl from her shoulders and draped them around Sarah. “Is that better?”
Sarah nodded. “It does feel better. I just…” She began to cry again. “Can you help me find my mom?”
“Sure, honey. Where did you last see her?”
“At the giant toy store.”
“Well, let’s go there then.”
They stood up and Amberlee took Sarah’s hand as they walked along the path that led to the entrance gate.
“Are you excited for Christmas?” Amberlee asked.
Sarah shrugged. “I guess. My mom hates Christmas.”
“Your mother has had to deal with a lot of heartache and sadness. She’s trying the best she can,” Amberlee said, “but you can help her.”
“I can?”
Amberlee nodded.
“How?”
“There’s a Christmas carol my mother used to sing to me.”
“I love Christmas carols.”
Amberlee started singing, her voice smooth and calming, fit for an angel.
See the babe in the manger
Swaddled and warm
As the angels watch over
Protecting from harm
Silent night, Peaceful night
My soul is at rest
Little babe in the manger
Through him I am blessed
Does he know he’s the Savior
Shepherd to all
If I will but follow
And answer his call
Silent night, Peaceful night
My soul is at rest
Little babe in the manger
Through him I am blessed
He will carry my burdens
He’ll calm my fears
When I pray he will listen
And dry my tears
Silent night, Peaceful night
This comfort so real
Little babe in the manger
His love I feel
Sweet babe in the manger
Before Thee I kneel
“That’s beautiful,” Sarah whispered.
“My mother wrote it.”
“Wow!”
Amberlee laughed. “I’m going to teach it to you. I want you to sing it to your mother.” She kissed Sarah on the head. “It will remind her of the true meaning of Christmas and that the Savior will heal any heartache she has.”
“Okay.”
They spent the rest their walk singing the song. Amberlee would sing a line and then Sarah repeated it. Soon they were singing it together, over and over.
They strode out of the park and into the busy street, where a police officer stood at the corner.
“Sir,” Amberlee said, approaching the officer, “This is Sarah Roberts. She’s lost and looking for her mother.”
“Sarah Roberts? Yes…” He held up his finger, telling them to wait as he spoke into his radio. “Command Center, this is Officer Jones. We’ve got Sarah Roberts. She is safe.”
Amberlee turned to Sarah. “Sweetie, I’ve got to go now. Officer Jones will take good care of you.”
Sarah nodded and began to take the lace shawl off her shoulders but Amberlee stopped her.
“Keep the shawl…to remember me by.”
“I love you,” Sarah said as she held on tight to Amberlee.
“I love you too.”
“I’m going to miss you.”
Amberlee smiled. “I’m sure we’ll see each other again. Remember to sing the Christmas carol to your mom. Help her remember the true meaning of Christmas.”
“I will.”
Amberlee gave Sarah one more quick squeeze and kissed the top of her head. “Goodbye.”
“Goodbye, Amberlee.” Sarah’s eyes filled with tears as she watched Amberlee walk away. She felt as if she had known Amberlee her entire life.
***
Officer Jones led Sarah to a parking lot holding several police cars. Her mother was standing by one of them.
“Mama,” Sarah squealed as she raced to her mother.
“Sarah!” Nikki stooped down and gathered Sarah up in her arms. “Oh baby, are you alright?” Nikki stroked Sarah’s hair, tears streaming down her face.
Sarah nodded meekly. “I’m okay.” She looked up into her mother’s bloodshot eyes. “I’m sorry I ran away.”
Nikki stood up and addressed Officer Jones, “Thank you so much.”
Officer Jones nodded, “I’m glad everything worked out okay.” He stooped down to look Sarah in the eye. “You take care now.”
“I will.”
“No more running away.”
Sarah shook her head vigorously. “Never.”
“Okay then. Goodbye.”
Sarah waved goodbye and Nikki took her hand and led her to their car. As Sarah started climbing into the back seat, her mother reached out and pulled her into her arms. “I’m so glad you’re safe. I was so worried about you. I prayed that we would find you.”
Sarah’s eyes got big. “But you never pray.”
“This is the first time I’ve prayed in a very long time,” Nikki’s voice cracked.
“God answered your prayer, Mama.” She grinned. “He sent Amberlee to help me.”
Nikki stroked Sarah’s hair. “Who?”
“Amberlee,” Sarah said in a bubbly voice. “She was beautiful. She looked just like the glass doll I saw at the store. She had red hair and sparkling green eyes and she helped me find the policeman and gave me this to keep me warm.” Sarah pointed to the white lacy shawl, still draped across her shoulders.
Nikki reached out with trembling hands and fingered the shawl. Tears sprung to her eyes as she brought her hand to her mouth.
“Mama? Are you okay?”
Nikki shook her head. She tried to speak, but words didn’t come out.
Sarah placed a hand on her mother’s shoulder. “It’s okay, Mama. Amberlee wanted me to sing you a song— See the babe in the manger, swaddled and warm…”
Tears freely fell down Nikki’s cheeks.
“Mama?”
Nikki brushed away the tears with the back of her hand. “I want to show you something.” Digging through a pocket of her purse, she pulled out a rectangle piece of paper and handed it to Sarah.
Sarah looked at the paper and saw the picture of a girl staring up at her. “Mom, it looks like Amberlee.”
“It is Amberlee.”
Sarah gazed up at her mother, confusion filling her eyes.
Nikki studied the picture for a moment. She put her arm around Sarah, pulling her close. “Amberlee is your sister,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “This picture was taken when she was seven—your age.”
“My sister?” Sarah said, gaping at her mother with wide eyes.
“I have a story to tell you. It’s a sad story, but I have a feeling it will end up happy.”
“Okay,” Sarah said, watching her mother intently.
“A long time ago, before you were born, Daddy and I had a little girl. Her name was Amberlee and we loved her very much. She always wanted a little sister and kept asking us when her sister would come to live with us.” Nikki gave Sarah a quick squeeze. “We had a very happy family and Christmas was our favorite time of year.”
“Even yours?” Sarah asked bewildered.
Nikki laughed. “I loved Christmas. Remember the Christmas Carol you just sang to me?”
Sarah nodded.
“I wrote that Carol.”
“You wrote it? Mom, it’s so beautiful.”
“During the Christmas season, I used to sing it to Amberlee every night before bedtime.” Nikki sighed and stared off into space. “Then, seven years ago, just two days before Christmas, a terrible thing happened. Amberlee was crossing the street while walking to her friend’s house and…a car came out of nowhere and hit her.” Nikki shook her head and fingered the shawl on Sarah’s shoulders. Her voice quivered. “I made this shawl for Amberlee when she died.”
Sarah reached over and held her mother’s hand. “Is that why you don’t like Christmas? Because it reminds you of Amberlee?”
“Christmas has been very hard for me since Amberlee died. But now I have a happy Christmas memory—finding you.” She hugged Sarah tight. “I love you, Sarah.”
Sarah hugged her mother back as her body filled with warmth. “I love you, too.”
They sat in each other’s embrace for several minutes, tears streaming down both of their faces. Nikki let go of Sarah and wiped her eyes with her sleeve.
“We’re a mess.”
Sarah laughed.
“I guess we had better get home.”
***
Sarah awoke to the sun streaming through her window. Sitting up in her bed, she rubbed her eyes. Today was Christmas! She jumped out of bed and threw open the door, running down the hallway and into her parent’s bedroom. Christmas music drifted upstairs from the radio in the kitchen.
“Mom! Dad!” Sarah cried.
“Merry Christmas!” John said as he wrapped Sarah in his arms.
“Merry Christmas, Sweetie,” said Nikki, “Did you sleep well?”
Sarah gave a vigorous nod.
“Are you ready to see the tree?” John asked, rubbing his hands together in anticipation.
“Yes, Yes,” Sarah exclaimed, jumping up and down.
Both Nikki and John laughed.
They all marched down the stairway like toy soldiers. As Sarah turned the corner, she shrieked with delight. In the living room sat a beautiful tree decorated with shiny garland and red and gold bulbs. A beautiful angel topped the tree. Underneath the tree stood a present wrapped in candy cane paper with a big red bow on top.
“For me?” Sarah gasped.
Her father nodded.
She gently ripped the paper to find a white box. She gently opened the lid.
“Oh, Daddy, It looks just like me!”
Inside laid the porcelain doll she had seen at the store. She lifted it out of the box, brushed the wrinkles out of the pink dress and rearranged the blonde curls.
“There’s another present,” Nikki said, nodding her head toward a box wrapped in blue polka dots with a white bow on top.
Sarah gingerly picked up the package and hesitated.
“Go ahead,” her mother urged.
Sarah opened the present to find another white box. She lifted the flap. “Oh,” she gasped as she pulled out the doll with the blue dress and red curls.
“Momma, it looks just like—“
“Amberlee. I know.” Nikki said with a smile.
Sarah held both dolls in her arms and gave them a hug. “Thank you so much.”
“This way you can always remember your sister.” John said as he walked over and put his arm around Nikki.
“I’ll never forget her,” Sarah said, hugging her dolls again.
That night, after her mother and father tucked her in bed and kissed her goodnight, Sarah said a prayer, thanking God for sending Amberlee to help her family. She looked out the window at the lights lining the rooftops and a wave of comfort and warmth washed over her.
“I love you, Amberlee,” she whispered.
She thought she saw a star twinkle a little brighter.
Critique: Mom is too mean in the beginning for such a quick change of heart to be believable. Pacing is inconsistent. It slows down too much when Mom is telling Amberlee’s story.
Personal note: In a realistically based story like this, it always makes me a little uncomfortable when you throw in corporeal visitations from the deceased. I don’t mind dreams or even a waking vision, but when you can hold their hand and they give you their clothing, it sort of creeps me out a little. Maybe it wouldn’t bother other readers.
What I liked best: Great dialog between John and Nikki at the beginning.
Publication ready: Not quite yet, but it has potential.
15 Foreign Exchange
by Teresa Osgood
It was a dark and stormy night. I know, that’s what they all say. Still, the rain pelted the bare trees unmercifully, and the streetlights had been on since three in the afternoon. There was no other way to describe it.
Well, I could also say it was cold. The wind that blew the rain in nearly sideways gusts was a typical moist Mid-Atlantic howler, the kind that makes you feel like your parka is a colander, and your thermal underwear might as well be cheesecloth. But I couldn’t really feel the chill, squashed as I was in the back seat of Dad’s hatchback with my little brother, Jimmy, my big brother, Matt, and Rolf, the German exchange student. Our breath was steaming up the windows, and the air was stale with sweat. Didn’t Rolf ever use deodorant?
I could also say it was Christmas Eve, but that would give you the wrong impression entirely. There were no snowflakes, no sleigh bells, and there was precious little goodwill in the back seat of that car.
"Matt’s on my side," Jimmy whined.
Dad sighed. "Can’t we all be on the same side?"
Usually, when we all went out together, we took Mom’s Oldsmobile. Jimmy had to sit in the middle of the bench seat in front, and I was stuck straddling the hump in the back. We had clambered into the Olds that evening, laden with plates of cookies that we weren’t supposed to eat, and dutifully buckled up.
"Is everyone buckled?" Dad called, then turned the key.
Click.
"Oh, no." Dad tried again.
"Do we need to jump-start it, dear?" Mom asked.
"No, it’s the starter. This car is not going anywhere tonight."
Matt started to look hopeful.
"Then we’ll have to take your car," Mom decided.
Jimmy couldn’t sit on the gearshift, of course, so he squeezed into the narrow confines of the back of the Honda with the rest of us. It was sort of a relief whenever the car stopped and we spilled out into the rain, sloshing up to someone’s front door to give them our goodies. I would have been just as happy to not stand there in the rain, singing, before we handed them over. That was our tradition, though. Rolf loved it, and sang loud enough to cover for a couple of us, so Matt kept his cracking voice down. I was just lazy, and mumbled along.
Except for a certain amount of stinking, Rolf was all right. He could juggle a soccer ball with his knees longer than anyone I knew. He taught me some words that sounded really insulting, but didn’t actually mean anything bad. I secretly didn’t mind giving up my room for him, because I got to play with Jimmy’s toy cars when no one was looking.
We had been going to museums a lot more than usual since Rolf had come, so he could have "cultural experiences." Some of them were pretty dull, like the National Archives. Who wants to look at a bunch of old pieces of paper? But some places had cool stuff, like the light-up map at the Gettysburg battlefield. The National Air and Space Museum was the best. I could have stayed in the old Skylab module for hours, pretending I was an astronaut, all by myself in an alien world.
I wonder if Rolf ever felt that way.
Rolf came to church with us every week, as another cultural experience. The first Sunday I watched him as we drove there in the Olds. There were two or three other churches on the way, and he looked more disappointed as we drove past each one. When we parked at our meetinghouse, he looked upward in dismay.
"What sort of church is this?" he whispered as we followed my parents inside. "Where is the cross?"
"Um. . ." I had never really thought about it before, but I got a clue when we stepped through the double doors. "Jesus was resurrected, right?" I pointed at the painting over the couch in the foyer. "So we don’t put up crosses."
Rolf considered the picture of Jesus and Mary outside the empty tomb, and gave a small nod. But his face fell again when we walked into the unadorned chapel.
The talks that day were about marriage, which didn’t really relate to us kids. The high council speaker was pretty funny, though. When he joked about having his wife iron his socks, I glanced over at Rolf to see if he got it. Rolf glared back at me. I guess he didn’t.
When Mom asked him what he thought about church afterward, he politely said it was nice. I followed him upstairs, though, to see what he really thought.
"You laugh during sermons, and leave Christ out in the hall. What sort of church is it? Heidnisch!" He shut my door in my face.
I looked it up later. "Heathen."
Every Sunday after that, Rolf smiled tolerantly at the giggling girls in the hallway, shook hands with the bishop, and tried to sing the hymns. But he spent most of the three hours at church reading his German Bible.
As Christmas approached, Rolf took a special interest in the mail. Every day he asked if anything had come for him. Every day Mom displayed more cards we received from friends and relatives, or hid packages in her closet, but said, "Sorry, Rolf, nothing today."
We were playing Parcheesi in the living room the day before Christmas, when Rolf spotted the mailman in his yellow slicker, coming up the walk. Rolf met him at the door, gleefully shouting, "It’s here!"
He gathered Mom and Dad and made a little speech before opening the box. "It is the Christmas schmuck from my Oma. Every year she sends. This year, she sent for you, too."
"Schmuck?" Dad repeated. Mom wrinkled her nose.
"Schmuck for the tree," Rolf tried to explain. He handed us each a wad of tissue paper. "Open, open."
Mine was a thin wooden disk with a star design cut out of it. The loop of thread at the top gave it away. "Ornaments?"
"Yes, ornaments. Please hang them on the Tannenbaum." Glad that we understood, Rolf turned his attention back to the box.
"Your grandmother is so sweet, Rolf," Mom said. Then made a face when she thought he wasn’t looking. "They don’t really fit the theme this year," she murmured to Dad.
It was true. She had outdone herself with big, shiny, brightly colored ornaments. Instead of balls, there were onion shapes and long, twisting tubes. Coordinating strings of beads twisted around the cords of jumbo lights. Mom smiled weakly, and placed two of the new ornaments on the side of the tree, nearly out of sight.
Personally, I preferred the wooden silhouettes to the schmuck Mom had put on the branches. "Thanks, Rolf," I said loudly, and hung my star smack in the middle of the tree. Not that he was paying attention to our little drama. After unloading a cookie tin and a wrapped gift that looked awfully sweater-shaped, he picked up one more hunk of tissue paper. As he unwrapped the ornament, his eyes started looking suspiciously bright. He gave his face a rough swipe with the back of his hand, and stuffed the disc in his pocket.
I wondered what was so special about that ornament as it dug into my hip in the back seat of the car. Jimmy poked Matt again, and Matt elbowed him back. Mom started singing, probably hoping to calm them down, or at least drown them out.
"Oh, little town of Bethlehem," she sang in time with the windshield wipers, "how still we see thee lie. . ."
There wasn’t much traffic on the wet streets. It was about as still as you could get in these suburbs.
"Yet in thy dark streets shineth--"
"--the endless traffic light," Dad interrupted.
"Dear!"
Matt and I sniggered.
"Can I have a cookie?" Jimmy asked. "There’s only one plate left."
"Don’t touch those cookies. They are for Sister Larsen."
"Oops," Matt mumbled. It sounded like his mouth was full.
"Sister Larsen?" I asked. Singing to the cantankerous widow didn’t sound like my idea of an exciting end to the evening. "Won’t she be with the Blakes? She usually sits with them at church."
"She and the Blakes have had a, well, misunderstanding. I’m afraid she’ll be alone tonight," Mom said.
Jimmy groaned. "Oh, no. Is she going to adopt us next?"
"She has no grandchildren of her own, so she needs some company. Try to be civil, boys," Dad said firmly. He flipped on the blinker.
"She lives here?" Matt asked. "‘Whiskey Bottom Apartments.’ Classy name "
"That’s a geographic term, you know. ‘Bottom’ refers to the land around a river," Dad explained.
"Yeah, but look at the sign." Matt reached across me to nudge Rolf. "There’s a big bottle of whiskey and a big--"
"Matthew!" Mom couldn’t deny the sign, but she tried to change the subject. "What shall we sing to Sister Larsen?"
Soon we stood in the dingy stairwell. I counted how many times the fluorescent light flicked off. Matt kicked at the steps.
"I don’t think anyone’s coming," Jimmy said. Just then we heard the rattle of a chain, and the door opened a crack.
"Oh, it’s you. Well, come in, then." Sister Larsen shuffled back to her chair.
"Okay, ‘Joy to the World,’" Dad said. "One, two--"
"Stille nacht, heilige nacht," Rolf stepped forward and sang in a surprisingly high voice.
"Alles schläft; einsam wacht," Jimmy joined in. Surprised, I stared at him. "Learned it in school," he whispered, and they went on. I started humming the familiar tune, and my parents added alto and bass parts. It sounded pretty good.
When the song ended, Rolf crossed the tiny living room with one step, and dug something out of his pocket. "I give this to you. Please take it."
Sister Larsen held the ornament up to the light. A small building had been carved into it, with a pointy roof and a cross on top. The old woman looked up at Rolf in wonder. "Danke," she whispered.
Immediately he knelt beside the chair and began pouring out his soul to her in German. Sister Larsen waved for us to sit down, and listened intently. Mom sat on the faded couch. Dad and Matt sat down too, and sank to the middle with her. Jimmy and I settled on the floor, and stroked the cats that came to investigate us.
"What is he so upset about?" Mom wondered.
I caught a couple of words. Kirche. Heidnisch. "He thinks we’re not very Christian, Mom."
"What?" Her surprised look soon gave way to thoughtfulness.
Finally Rolf slowed down. He blew his nose on the tissue Sister Larsen handed him, then looked over at us. "I am sorry. She looks so much like my Oma. I think of home."
"I’m sorry, too," Mom said to Sister Larsen. "Rolf got carried away."
"No, no, it’s all right. I understand."
"Where did you learn German, Sister Larsen?" Dad asked.
"In Germany, of course, at my mother’s knee," she answered. "When Jack brought me here after the war, I found that being German was rather unpopular. He took me to church and I learned to speak like an American."
"I had no idea," Mom said, as if she should have known.
"After Jack died in Korea, I managed to make ends meet. But I have never been able to go back to Germany. Thank you for this piece of home, Rolf." She held his chin in her hand, and studied his face. "Now, tell me about your grandmother. What is her name?"
"Lilli Mueller."
"I knew a Lilli, once. Bring me that picture, young man." She pointed straight behind me. Turning around, I saw a framed black-and-white image of two young ladies wearing hats. I placed it in her wrinkled hands.
Rolf stared at it, speechless. Finally he whispered, "Oma has the same photo. When I asked about it, she only said, ‘Anna is gone, gone.’"
Sister Larsen reached for another tissue. "Is she still alive, then? After I married, I tried to send letters. They came back to me, long after I sent them. I did not know if the mail was bad, or if my family moved, or died . . . Lilli is my sister."
Mom wiped her eyes on her scarf, and even Dad was blinking a lot. "Wow, what a coincidence," Matt proclaimed in the silence.
"No, no, a blessing. See, Rolf, the Holy Ghost is with the Latter-day Saints, too. He brought you here tonight."
"But," Rolf started to protest.
"No, Christ is not in paintings or tapestries. He is in our scriptures, our prayers." She handed Rolf a book bound in battered blue leather. "This is my gift to you. You need it more than I do, now."
"Das Buch Mormon?" Rolf looked unsure, but he held it to his chest.
"Sit with me on Sunday, and I will show you Christ among the Latter-day Saints. Now, help me up, and let’s sing again."
We all stood, and linked our arms like Rolfe and Sister Larsen did. They started to sway as we sang.
"How silently, how silently
The wondrous gift is given!
So God imparts to human hearts
The blessings of his heaven.
No ear may hear his coming;
But in this world of sin,
Where meek souls will receive him, still
The dear Christ enters in."
The stormy sky was still dark as we walked outside muffled in new hand-knit scarves, but I did not notice the wind or the rain. The back seat of the car held us in a brotherly hug. All the way home, all the way through Christmas, even, I felt warm from the inside out.
Critique: Uhmmm. Trying to think of something critical to say and the only thing I can come up with is I’m not sure how old the narrative character is or if it’s a boy. That needs to be more clear. But other than that, I loved it! The only perfect score from me this year and the only one that made me cry.
What I liked best: Loved the writing style and the message.
Publication ready: YES!!!
It was a dark and stormy night. I know, that’s what they all say. Still, the rain pelted the bare trees unmercifully, and the streetlights had been on since three in the afternoon. There was no other way to describe it.
Well, I could also say it was cold. The wind that blew the rain in nearly sideways gusts was a typical moist Mid-Atlantic howler, the kind that makes you feel like your parka is a colander, and your thermal underwear might as well be cheesecloth. But I couldn’t really feel the chill, squashed as I was in the back seat of Dad’s hatchback with my little brother, Jimmy, my big brother, Matt, and Rolf, the German exchange student. Our breath was steaming up the windows, and the air was stale with sweat. Didn’t Rolf ever use deodorant?
I could also say it was Christmas Eve, but that would give you the wrong impression entirely. There were no snowflakes, no sleigh bells, and there was precious little goodwill in the back seat of that car.
"Matt’s on my side," Jimmy whined.
Dad sighed. "Can’t we all be on the same side?"
Usually, when we all went out together, we took Mom’s Oldsmobile. Jimmy had to sit in the middle of the bench seat in front, and I was stuck straddling the hump in the back. We had clambered into the Olds that evening, laden with plates of cookies that we weren’t supposed to eat, and dutifully buckled up.
"Is everyone buckled?" Dad called, then turned the key.
Click.
"Oh, no." Dad tried again.
"Do we need to jump-start it, dear?" Mom asked.
"No, it’s the starter. This car is not going anywhere tonight."
Matt started to look hopeful.
"Then we’ll have to take your car," Mom decided.
Jimmy couldn’t sit on the gearshift, of course, so he squeezed into the narrow confines of the back of the Honda with the rest of us. It was sort of a relief whenever the car stopped and we spilled out into the rain, sloshing up to someone’s front door to give them our goodies. I would have been just as happy to not stand there in the rain, singing, before we handed them over. That was our tradition, though. Rolf loved it, and sang loud enough to cover for a couple of us, so Matt kept his cracking voice down. I was just lazy, and mumbled along.
Except for a certain amount of stinking, Rolf was all right. He could juggle a soccer ball with his knees longer than anyone I knew. He taught me some words that sounded really insulting, but didn’t actually mean anything bad. I secretly didn’t mind giving up my room for him, because I got to play with Jimmy’s toy cars when no one was looking.
We had been going to museums a lot more than usual since Rolf had come, so he could have "cultural experiences." Some of them were pretty dull, like the National Archives. Who wants to look at a bunch of old pieces of paper? But some places had cool stuff, like the light-up map at the Gettysburg battlefield. The National Air and Space Museum was the best. I could have stayed in the old Skylab module for hours, pretending I was an astronaut, all by myself in an alien world.
I wonder if Rolf ever felt that way.
Rolf came to church with us every week, as another cultural experience. The first Sunday I watched him as we drove there in the Olds. There were two or three other churches on the way, and he looked more disappointed as we drove past each one. When we parked at our meetinghouse, he looked upward in dismay.
"What sort of church is this?" he whispered as we followed my parents inside. "Where is the cross?"
"Um. . ." I had never really thought about it before, but I got a clue when we stepped through the double doors. "Jesus was resurrected, right?" I pointed at the painting over the couch in the foyer. "So we don’t put up crosses."
Rolf considered the picture of Jesus and Mary outside the empty tomb, and gave a small nod. But his face fell again when we walked into the unadorned chapel.
The talks that day were about marriage, which didn’t really relate to us kids. The high council speaker was pretty funny, though. When he joked about having his wife iron his socks, I glanced over at Rolf to see if he got it. Rolf glared back at me. I guess he didn’t.
When Mom asked him what he thought about church afterward, he politely said it was nice. I followed him upstairs, though, to see what he really thought.
"You laugh during sermons, and leave Christ out in the hall. What sort of church is it? Heidnisch!" He shut my door in my face.
I looked it up later. "Heathen."
Every Sunday after that, Rolf smiled tolerantly at the giggling girls in the hallway, shook hands with the bishop, and tried to sing the hymns. But he spent most of the three hours at church reading his German Bible.
As Christmas approached, Rolf took a special interest in the mail. Every day he asked if anything had come for him. Every day Mom displayed more cards we received from friends and relatives, or hid packages in her closet, but said, "Sorry, Rolf, nothing today."
We were playing Parcheesi in the living room the day before Christmas, when Rolf spotted the mailman in his yellow slicker, coming up the walk. Rolf met him at the door, gleefully shouting, "It’s here!"
He gathered Mom and Dad and made a little speech before opening the box. "It is the Christmas schmuck from my Oma. Every year she sends. This year, she sent for you, too."
"Schmuck?" Dad repeated. Mom wrinkled her nose.
"Schmuck for the tree," Rolf tried to explain. He handed us each a wad of tissue paper. "Open, open."
Mine was a thin wooden disk with a star design cut out of it. The loop of thread at the top gave it away. "Ornaments?"
"Yes, ornaments. Please hang them on the Tannenbaum." Glad that we understood, Rolf turned his attention back to the box.
"Your grandmother is so sweet, Rolf," Mom said. Then made a face when she thought he wasn’t looking. "They don’t really fit the theme this year," she murmured to Dad.
It was true. She had outdone herself with big, shiny, brightly colored ornaments. Instead of balls, there were onion shapes and long, twisting tubes. Coordinating strings of beads twisted around the cords of jumbo lights. Mom smiled weakly, and placed two of the new ornaments on the side of the tree, nearly out of sight.
Personally, I preferred the wooden silhouettes to the schmuck Mom had put on the branches. "Thanks, Rolf," I said loudly, and hung my star smack in the middle of the tree. Not that he was paying attention to our little drama. After unloading a cookie tin and a wrapped gift that looked awfully sweater-shaped, he picked up one more hunk of tissue paper. As he unwrapped the ornament, his eyes started looking suspiciously bright. He gave his face a rough swipe with the back of his hand, and stuffed the disc in his pocket.
I wondered what was so special about that ornament as it dug into my hip in the back seat of the car. Jimmy poked Matt again, and Matt elbowed him back. Mom started singing, probably hoping to calm them down, or at least drown them out.
"Oh, little town of Bethlehem," she sang in time with the windshield wipers, "how still we see thee lie. . ."
There wasn’t much traffic on the wet streets. It was about as still as you could get in these suburbs.
"Yet in thy dark streets shineth--"
"--the endless traffic light," Dad interrupted.
"Dear!"
Matt and I sniggered.
"Can I have a cookie?" Jimmy asked. "There’s only one plate left."
"Don’t touch those cookies. They are for Sister Larsen."
"Oops," Matt mumbled. It sounded like his mouth was full.
"Sister Larsen?" I asked. Singing to the cantankerous widow didn’t sound like my idea of an exciting end to the evening. "Won’t she be with the Blakes? She usually sits with them at church."
"She and the Blakes have had a, well, misunderstanding. I’m afraid she’ll be alone tonight," Mom said.
Jimmy groaned. "Oh, no. Is she going to adopt us next?"
"She has no grandchildren of her own, so she needs some company. Try to be civil, boys," Dad said firmly. He flipped on the blinker.
"She lives here?" Matt asked. "‘Whiskey Bottom Apartments.’ Classy name "
"That’s a geographic term, you know. ‘Bottom’ refers to the land around a river," Dad explained.
"Yeah, but look at the sign." Matt reached across me to nudge Rolf. "There’s a big bottle of whiskey and a big--"
"Matthew!" Mom couldn’t deny the sign, but she tried to change the subject. "What shall we sing to Sister Larsen?"
Soon we stood in the dingy stairwell. I counted how many times the fluorescent light flicked off. Matt kicked at the steps.
"I don’t think anyone’s coming," Jimmy said. Just then we heard the rattle of a chain, and the door opened a crack.
"Oh, it’s you. Well, come in, then." Sister Larsen shuffled back to her chair.
"Okay, ‘Joy to the World,’" Dad said. "One, two--"
"Stille nacht, heilige nacht," Rolf stepped forward and sang in a surprisingly high voice.
"Alles schläft; einsam wacht," Jimmy joined in. Surprised, I stared at him. "Learned it in school," he whispered, and they went on. I started humming the familiar tune, and my parents added alto and bass parts. It sounded pretty good.
When the song ended, Rolf crossed the tiny living room with one step, and dug something out of his pocket. "I give this to you. Please take it."
Sister Larsen held the ornament up to the light. A small building had been carved into it, with a pointy roof and a cross on top. The old woman looked up at Rolf in wonder. "Danke," she whispered.
Immediately he knelt beside the chair and began pouring out his soul to her in German. Sister Larsen waved for us to sit down, and listened intently. Mom sat on the faded couch. Dad and Matt sat down too, and sank to the middle with her. Jimmy and I settled on the floor, and stroked the cats that came to investigate us.
"What is he so upset about?" Mom wondered.
I caught a couple of words. Kirche. Heidnisch. "He thinks we’re not very Christian, Mom."
"What?" Her surprised look soon gave way to thoughtfulness.
Finally Rolf slowed down. He blew his nose on the tissue Sister Larsen handed him, then looked over at us. "I am sorry. She looks so much like my Oma. I think of home."
"I’m sorry, too," Mom said to Sister Larsen. "Rolf got carried away."
"No, no, it’s all right. I understand."
"Where did you learn German, Sister Larsen?" Dad asked.
"In Germany, of course, at my mother’s knee," she answered. "When Jack brought me here after the war, I found that being German was rather unpopular. He took me to church and I learned to speak like an American."
"I had no idea," Mom said, as if she should have known.
"After Jack died in Korea, I managed to make ends meet. But I have never been able to go back to Germany. Thank you for this piece of home, Rolf." She held his chin in her hand, and studied his face. "Now, tell me about your grandmother. What is her name?"
"Lilli Mueller."
"I knew a Lilli, once. Bring me that picture, young man." She pointed straight behind me. Turning around, I saw a framed black-and-white image of two young ladies wearing hats. I placed it in her wrinkled hands.
Rolf stared at it, speechless. Finally he whispered, "Oma has the same photo. When I asked about it, she only said, ‘Anna is gone, gone.’"
Sister Larsen reached for another tissue. "Is she still alive, then? After I married, I tried to send letters. They came back to me, long after I sent them. I did not know if the mail was bad, or if my family moved, or died . . . Lilli is my sister."
Mom wiped her eyes on her scarf, and even Dad was blinking a lot. "Wow, what a coincidence," Matt proclaimed in the silence.
"No, no, a blessing. See, Rolf, the Holy Ghost is with the Latter-day Saints, too. He brought you here tonight."
"But," Rolf started to protest.
"No, Christ is not in paintings or tapestries. He is in our scriptures, our prayers." She handed Rolf a book bound in battered blue leather. "This is my gift to you. You need it more than I do, now."
"Das Buch Mormon?" Rolf looked unsure, but he held it to his chest.
"Sit with me on Sunday, and I will show you Christ among the Latter-day Saints. Now, help me up, and let’s sing again."
We all stood, and linked our arms like Rolfe and Sister Larsen did. They started to sway as we sang.
"How silently, how silently
The wondrous gift is given!
So God imparts to human hearts
The blessings of his heaven.
No ear may hear his coming;
But in this world of sin,
Where meek souls will receive him, still
The dear Christ enters in."
The stormy sky was still dark as we walked outside muffled in new hand-knit scarves, but I did not notice the wind or the rain. The back seat of the car held us in a brotherly hug. All the way home, all the way through Christmas, even, I felt warm from the inside out.
Critique: Uhmmm. Trying to think of something critical to say and the only thing I can come up with is I’m not sure how old the narrative character is or if it’s a boy. That needs to be more clear. But other than that, I loved it! The only perfect score from me this year and the only one that made me cry.
What I liked best: Loved the writing style and the message.
Publication ready: YES!!!
14 The Package
Sarah and her brother had made the same walk home from school so many times; she was convinced she had memorized every rock and shrub along the way.
Today was no different than so many others that had passed before in that respect. Ben, walking ahead of her, as usual, looking around for a stone of suitable weight and size that could serve as a projectile against the unsuspecting lizard or grass snake. While she, thinking about the day’s lessons, somewhat, but more about the handsome boy who sat behind her in class.
It was during times such as these that she enjoyed their walk home the most. The air was crisp and cool, yet today the thunderclouds to the west troubled her. Not the rain, mind you. That she could deal with and even enjoyed, especially at nightfall. No, it was the driving wind that preceded the storm which concerned her more.
So today, especially, as she saw the clouds begin to form, she hastened her steps, catching up with Ben.
“Hey sis, when you gonna stop daydreamin’ and start payin’ more ‘tention in Grammar? The ol’ man’s gonna catch ya one o’ these days and I sure wanna be around when that happens!”
Sarah dismissed the remark. Besides, she smiled to herself, she was one of the top students in the class.
And so soon, she thought, the daylight disappears even before nightfall: The clouds had now blanketed the setting sun, leaving a faint glow, almost like an aura surrounding billows of blackening doom.
“Come on, Ben, let’s get going,” she urged her brother, “I think it’s gonna be rainin’ before we get home.”
Ben was almost giddy as he started whirling around in circles. “Whadda sissy! ‘Sides, I ain’t had a good bath in days!”
Sarah shook her head. Why did he have to be my brother – she thought to herself.
The road continued to wind and as soon as the pair made their way to the top of a fairly steep rise, off ahead to the left sat a woman – all alone – sitting by herself on a large boulder. The two youngsters slowed their pace to hesitant steps.
From a distance, especially at this time of day, it was difficult to recognize appearances. As Ben and Sarah walked on, veering somewhat to the right and away from the stranger, they noticed she was more like an older girl. Sort of reminded Sarah of her older sister.
Cautiously the two continued their walk on the opposite side of the road, noticing that the woman was holding a rather strange package, of sorts.
It was kind of big, but not bulky, and looked like an old burlap sack, folded about in half. The kind father used for storing his potatoes.
Sarah thought to herself then whispered to Ben, “I wonder what’s in the sack.”
“Groceries, most likely.” Then it was Ben’s turn to urge the pair onward. “Now never you mind, Sarah, let’s get on home.”
As they approached a point just opposite of the near-motionless figure, the woman looked up, staring right at them. Then she smiled.
Sarah stopped.
“C’mon, let’s go!” Ben tugged at his sister’s sleeve.
Sarah looked at the woman, sitting there all alone, on the side of the road, holding her sack of provisions.
How odd, she thought.
Ben tugged again but Sarah remained unmoved.
Then, for no reason at all, Sarah slowly crossed the road.
“SARAH!” in the loudest whisper he could muster, Ben shook his head as he proceeded toward home. “All right then with ya – see ya later.”
Ignoring her brother’s pleadings, Sarah couldn’t quite seem to keep her eyes off the woman’s face. Or off the smile that just stayed there, smiling.
And then, as unexpected as a bolt of invisible lightning, all at once a thousand freezing darts whipped through her thin dress. And the winds came.
Unrelenting and without warning, nearly pushing her off her feet, the chill was like nothing she had ever felt before.
Sitting before her, the woman clutched her package even tighter, shivering as day turned to twilight in a frigid heartbeat. Yet the smile remained, unbroken.
How puzzling, Sarah thought, pondering the eerie scene as she stopped just an arm’s length away from the strange young woman.
“Hel-lo” Sarah stuttered, more out of nervous embarrassment than cold.
Their eyes continued their uninterrupted union.
“Hello,” replied the stranger, as she looked down at Sarah’s sandaled feet. “You must be cold, my dear.”
“Nah – I mean, no ma’am, I’m fine.” Sarah thought for a moment. “Why are you sitting here all alone?”
“Oh, I’m not alone.” The woman adjusted the package on her lap. “I’m waiting for my husband. He’ll be along shortly.”
Sarah smiled, then turned to leave, then stopped. Looking again at the woman, “are you sure you’ll be okay?”
“Oh yes, I’ll be all right, thank you.”
Then – from no apparent outward or external cause – the package moved.
Maybe she was simply adjusting it on her lap, Sarah thought to herself.
No… there! It moved again!
Sarah bent her head down and was very self-consciously staring as the woman pealed back part of the burlap to reveal a tiny hand and arm.
Sarah’s eyes grew big as saucers.
“You have a – a baby?”
The woman smiled. “Yes, I have a child.”
Sarah stammered. “But … isn’t he, isn’t she … cold?”
The woman smiled. “No - we’re doing all right,” as she cradled the package in her arm. Guess it ain’t groceries - Sarah thought to herself – then breathed a heavy sigh as she turned to see her brother far ahead down the road, looking back himself to see what was keeping his sister.
And the wind – the terrible cold – she hadn’t even given it another thought, until now. She took her scarf and wrapped it tightly around her neck and face.
From here, though scarcely a few more minutes walk, home seemed so very far away.
Then she was off – like a frightened cat on the run, Sarah sprinted to catch up with her brother.
Then, just as abruptly, she stopped.
The wind that had so cruelly penetrated her to the bone had also cleared the air – and, looking up, Sarah saw the stars beginning to emerge, one by one; like diamonds against a curtain of grayish-black.
She looked down, shivering as the wind took its toll on her exposed feet and legs. Then, as if in a dream, she turned back again to the woman, sitting on the rock, clutching the burlap “package”.
Sarah walked up to her; and, without saying a word, quickly removed her scarf – “Here. This is for your baby,” handed the scarf to the stranger then ran to join her brother now far off in the distance.
As she ran, tears filled Sarah’s eyes and her heart swelled.
Much as she wanted to, she could not look back.
However - if she had, she would have seen the woman sitting frozen – not from the cold, but in surprised astonishment at a young girl’s act of unselfish kindness . . .
The days became months, which became years – so many years.
Ben had quickly and entirely forgotten the incident, busying himself with his own life and pursuits.
Sarah, likewise, had grown and matured – but had not altogether forgotten that day, so many years before, that day of the frigid wind.
It was on evenings such as this one, as she looked up at the ebony sky, with its sea of glistening stars, holding the child of her own child in her time-wrinkled arms, when she would pause and ponder.
Reflecting on the singular event of years long past, Sarah could still remember how she felt after she handed the woman her scarf; and how often the feeling would return, but only at very special times.
She wondered what ever became of the young woman, who sat by the side of the road, and the package that she held.
Sitting, waiting patiently and faithfully, in the cold at the end of the day, for her husband to join her, as Sarah and her brother made their way from school, as they had done so many times before, to their home . . .
in Bethlehem.
Critique: You have a good idea. I really like the twist at the end. However, in trying to setting a secret until then, you don’t give us near enough sense of place. Your narrative is very poetic in places, but the dialog feels jarring. You have some grammar and structural issues, and we need deeper characterization. You could add more depth to the story and still have Bethlehem be a sweet surprise at the end. The idea has some real potential, but the delivery needs work.
What I liked best: That we’re not sure until the end that it’s Bethlehem.
Publication ready: No. It needs polishing.
Today was no different than so many others that had passed before in that respect. Ben, walking ahead of her, as usual, looking around for a stone of suitable weight and size that could serve as a projectile against the unsuspecting lizard or grass snake. While she, thinking about the day’s lessons, somewhat, but more about the handsome boy who sat behind her in class.
It was during times such as these that she enjoyed their walk home the most. The air was crisp and cool, yet today the thunderclouds to the west troubled her. Not the rain, mind you. That she could deal with and even enjoyed, especially at nightfall. No, it was the driving wind that preceded the storm which concerned her more.
So today, especially, as she saw the clouds begin to form, she hastened her steps, catching up with Ben.
“Hey sis, when you gonna stop daydreamin’ and start payin’ more ‘tention in Grammar? The ol’ man’s gonna catch ya one o’ these days and I sure wanna be around when that happens!”
Sarah dismissed the remark. Besides, she smiled to herself, she was one of the top students in the class.
And so soon, she thought, the daylight disappears even before nightfall: The clouds had now blanketed the setting sun, leaving a faint glow, almost like an aura surrounding billows of blackening doom.
“Come on, Ben, let’s get going,” she urged her brother, “I think it’s gonna be rainin’ before we get home.”
Ben was almost giddy as he started whirling around in circles. “Whadda sissy! ‘Sides, I ain’t had a good bath in days!”
Sarah shook her head. Why did he have to be my brother – she thought to herself.
The road continued to wind and as soon as the pair made their way to the top of a fairly steep rise, off ahead to the left sat a woman – all alone – sitting by herself on a large boulder. The two youngsters slowed their pace to hesitant steps.
From a distance, especially at this time of day, it was difficult to recognize appearances. As Ben and Sarah walked on, veering somewhat to the right and away from the stranger, they noticed she was more like an older girl. Sort of reminded Sarah of her older sister.
Cautiously the two continued their walk on the opposite side of the road, noticing that the woman was holding a rather strange package, of sorts.
It was kind of big, but not bulky, and looked like an old burlap sack, folded about in half. The kind father used for storing his potatoes.
Sarah thought to herself then whispered to Ben, “I wonder what’s in the sack.”
“Groceries, most likely.” Then it was Ben’s turn to urge the pair onward. “Now never you mind, Sarah, let’s get on home.”
As they approached a point just opposite of the near-motionless figure, the woman looked up, staring right at them. Then she smiled.
Sarah stopped.
“C’mon, let’s go!” Ben tugged at his sister’s sleeve.
Sarah looked at the woman, sitting there all alone, on the side of the road, holding her sack of provisions.
How odd, she thought.
Ben tugged again but Sarah remained unmoved.
Then, for no reason at all, Sarah slowly crossed the road.
“SARAH!” in the loudest whisper he could muster, Ben shook his head as he proceeded toward home. “All right then with ya – see ya later.”
Ignoring her brother’s pleadings, Sarah couldn’t quite seem to keep her eyes off the woman’s face. Or off the smile that just stayed there, smiling.
And then, as unexpected as a bolt of invisible lightning, all at once a thousand freezing darts whipped through her thin dress. And the winds came.
Unrelenting and without warning, nearly pushing her off her feet, the chill was like nothing she had ever felt before.
Sitting before her, the woman clutched her package even tighter, shivering as day turned to twilight in a frigid heartbeat. Yet the smile remained, unbroken.
How puzzling, Sarah thought, pondering the eerie scene as she stopped just an arm’s length away from the strange young woman.
“Hel-lo” Sarah stuttered, more out of nervous embarrassment than cold.
Their eyes continued their uninterrupted union.
“Hello,” replied the stranger, as she looked down at Sarah’s sandaled feet. “You must be cold, my dear.”
“Nah – I mean, no ma’am, I’m fine.” Sarah thought for a moment. “Why are you sitting here all alone?”
“Oh, I’m not alone.” The woman adjusted the package on her lap. “I’m waiting for my husband. He’ll be along shortly.”
Sarah smiled, then turned to leave, then stopped. Looking again at the woman, “are you sure you’ll be okay?”
“Oh yes, I’ll be all right, thank you.”
Then – from no apparent outward or external cause – the package moved.
Maybe she was simply adjusting it on her lap, Sarah thought to herself.
No… there! It moved again!
Sarah bent her head down and was very self-consciously staring as the woman pealed back part of the burlap to reveal a tiny hand and arm.
Sarah’s eyes grew big as saucers.
“You have a – a baby?”
The woman smiled. “Yes, I have a child.”
Sarah stammered. “But … isn’t he, isn’t she … cold?”
The woman smiled. “No - we’re doing all right,” as she cradled the package in her arm. Guess it ain’t groceries - Sarah thought to herself – then breathed a heavy sigh as she turned to see her brother far ahead down the road, looking back himself to see what was keeping his sister.
And the wind – the terrible cold – she hadn’t even given it another thought, until now. She took her scarf and wrapped it tightly around her neck and face.
From here, though scarcely a few more minutes walk, home seemed so very far away.
Then she was off – like a frightened cat on the run, Sarah sprinted to catch up with her brother.
Then, just as abruptly, she stopped.
The wind that had so cruelly penetrated her to the bone had also cleared the air – and, looking up, Sarah saw the stars beginning to emerge, one by one; like diamonds against a curtain of grayish-black.
She looked down, shivering as the wind took its toll on her exposed feet and legs. Then, as if in a dream, she turned back again to the woman, sitting on the rock, clutching the burlap “package”.
Sarah walked up to her; and, without saying a word, quickly removed her scarf – “Here. This is for your baby,” handed the scarf to the stranger then ran to join her brother now far off in the distance.
As she ran, tears filled Sarah’s eyes and her heart swelled.
Much as she wanted to, she could not look back.
However - if she had, she would have seen the woman sitting frozen – not from the cold, but in surprised astonishment at a young girl’s act of unselfish kindness . . .
The days became months, which became years – so many years.
Ben had quickly and entirely forgotten the incident, busying himself with his own life and pursuits.
Sarah, likewise, had grown and matured – but had not altogether forgotten that day, so many years before, that day of the frigid wind.
It was on evenings such as this one, as she looked up at the ebony sky, with its sea of glistening stars, holding the child of her own child in her time-wrinkled arms, when she would pause and ponder.
Reflecting on the singular event of years long past, Sarah could still remember how she felt after she handed the woman her scarf; and how often the feeling would return, but only at very special times.
She wondered what ever became of the young woman, who sat by the side of the road, and the package that she held.
Sitting, waiting patiently and faithfully, in the cold at the end of the day, for her husband to join her, as Sarah and her brother made their way from school, as they had done so many times before, to their home . . .
in Bethlehem.
Critique: You have a good idea. I really like the twist at the end. However, in trying to setting a secret until then, you don’t give us near enough sense of place. Your narrative is very poetic in places, but the dialog feels jarring. You have some grammar and structural issues, and we need deeper characterization. You could add more depth to the story and still have Bethlehem be a sweet surprise at the end. The idea has some real potential, but the delivery needs work.
What I liked best: That we’re not sure until the end that it’s Bethlehem.
Publication ready: No. It needs polishing.
12 The Lights of Christmas
Perhaps this may not be considered a story, it may be an event, a happening, a moment in time, it was however, something to treasure in my book of memories. I have decided however to tell this as a cherished Christmas story because it happened to me.
The year had not been a particularly good one, if I mentioned divorce that would fill in all the necessary questions, possibly the answers as well. Let’s say I found myself single, not of my choice. I had been left with the financial responsibility and the task of raising the last two of my four daughters.
The Christmas season was approaching and since this was my first without a real strong financial support besides me things were looking pretty gloomy. Even though I was working two jobs I really did not have the means or the nature to have a lot of Christmas Spirit. The girls and I had moved into a very small house in a medium neighborhood, not fancy or high end, but workable. The girls were both in their early teens and did not say too much about how things were; they just knew it was a rough time.
One particular night I had an occasion to go to a church house for Relief Society board meeting. I was picked up by the President and left my daughter at home with her friend, our Bishop’s son.
Those two had adventures written all over their faces. Mostly during that period of time in their lives it was watching scary movies, making munchies, eating an incredible amount of sunflowers seeds and just hanging out. I had left without any instructions or particular chores to be done just that I would be back in an hour or so.
Like all women that I know, I took the opportunity to visit while going to my meeting and I recall, had even talked about the lack of Christmas Spirit being a part of my home that year. I had always decorated a Christmas tree and we have never gone without some Christmas. However some years were better than others. There was always something under the tree. This was not really a test year to see how we were going to do as a family, just a year when I did not have a lot of hope or warm fuzzes about the meaning of the Christmas season and what it meant for me.
“Anyho” as my daughter likes to say, I was chatting and feeling rather down as we drove home from the meeting and knowing my house was around the corner I looked ahead as we turned down the street to a sight, that to this day, still, brings tears to my eyes when I recall the next precious moments when time stood still.
Ablaze in all of the possible glory that could be had, one house on our block was newly decorated with multi colored Christmas lights outlining the roof. There was no Santa or dancing reindeer, angels were not singing in a heavenly choir, just a beautiful simple strand of lights declaring to the world that Christmas was coming.
A hush fell over me as I marveled at the sight. My tears freely flowed trying to exclaim to my driver, joys of joys, wonder of wonder, that is was my house that was decorated. There was more excitement that I could express that night when I realized it was the two kids I had left watching movies who had dug out our Christmas lights, climbed up on the roof and strung them along the edge. How they ever did it without ladders and in the dark of night I will never know.
The lights gave to me that night the knowledge and hope that life goes on even during trials and tribulations. It was a message of the Christmas Spirit. Giving of oneself and time not necessarily material things but something else that can make a huge difference. It brought peace and comfort and assurance that life does go on.
Like the babe in the manger whose love brought awareness to the world, this also gave to me the knowledge that I too was loved and someone cared enough to give me this simple gift. I began that year a tradition that I have loved and kept every Christmas since. This included some decorations, simple as they might be, and putting Christmas lights on the OUTSIDE of my home. I also now take advantage of driving around the city finding homes and places that display the lights of the season. Finding time to enjoy and listen to Christmas harmonies which can bring thoughts of peace to the world to those who will listen. I enjoy finding places where I can sing along when possible. I have thoroughly enjoyed the songs of Christmas which tell of hope and the happiness of the Christmas Spirit that can be found.
Christmas had become a joy and not a burden to me.
Critique: What a wonderful experience! I’ve had one similar to that and it did, indeed, touch my heart, as it did yours. As for a short story, you’ve got a straightforward narrative here and there really needs to be more in the way of characterization, dialog, setting, sensory imagery, plot. It would need more work to be a true short story. But again, what a great experience and awesome memory for you.
What I liked best: The idea that God blesses us through the actions of others.
Publication ready: No. It needs more development.
The year had not been a particularly good one, if I mentioned divorce that would fill in all the necessary questions, possibly the answers as well. Let’s say I found myself single, not of my choice. I had been left with the financial responsibility and the task of raising the last two of my four daughters.
The Christmas season was approaching and since this was my first without a real strong financial support besides me things were looking pretty gloomy. Even though I was working two jobs I really did not have the means or the nature to have a lot of Christmas Spirit. The girls and I had moved into a very small house in a medium neighborhood, not fancy or high end, but workable. The girls were both in their early teens and did not say too much about how things were; they just knew it was a rough time.
One particular night I had an occasion to go to a church house for Relief Society board meeting. I was picked up by the President and left my daughter at home with her friend, our Bishop’s son.
Those two had adventures written all over their faces. Mostly during that period of time in their lives it was watching scary movies, making munchies, eating an incredible amount of sunflowers seeds and just hanging out. I had left without any instructions or particular chores to be done just that I would be back in an hour or so.
Like all women that I know, I took the opportunity to visit while going to my meeting and I recall, had even talked about the lack of Christmas Spirit being a part of my home that year. I had always decorated a Christmas tree and we have never gone without some Christmas. However some years were better than others. There was always something under the tree. This was not really a test year to see how we were going to do as a family, just a year when I did not have a lot of hope or warm fuzzes about the meaning of the Christmas season and what it meant for me.
“Anyho” as my daughter likes to say, I was chatting and feeling rather down as we drove home from the meeting and knowing my house was around the corner I looked ahead as we turned down the street to a sight, that to this day, still, brings tears to my eyes when I recall the next precious moments when time stood still.
Ablaze in all of the possible glory that could be had, one house on our block was newly decorated with multi colored Christmas lights outlining the roof. There was no Santa or dancing reindeer, angels were not singing in a heavenly choir, just a beautiful simple strand of lights declaring to the world that Christmas was coming.
A hush fell over me as I marveled at the sight. My tears freely flowed trying to exclaim to my driver, joys of joys, wonder of wonder, that is was my house that was decorated. There was more excitement that I could express that night when I realized it was the two kids I had left watching movies who had dug out our Christmas lights, climbed up on the roof and strung them along the edge. How they ever did it without ladders and in the dark of night I will never know.
The lights gave to me that night the knowledge and hope that life goes on even during trials and tribulations. It was a message of the Christmas Spirit. Giving of oneself and time not necessarily material things but something else that can make a huge difference. It brought peace and comfort and assurance that life does go on.
Like the babe in the manger whose love brought awareness to the world, this also gave to me the knowledge that I too was loved and someone cared enough to give me this simple gift. I began that year a tradition that I have loved and kept every Christmas since. This included some decorations, simple as they might be, and putting Christmas lights on the OUTSIDE of my home. I also now take advantage of driving around the city finding homes and places that display the lights of the season. Finding time to enjoy and listen to Christmas harmonies which can bring thoughts of peace to the world to those who will listen. I enjoy finding places where I can sing along when possible. I have thoroughly enjoyed the songs of Christmas which tell of hope and the happiness of the Christmas Spirit that can be found.
Christmas had become a joy and not a burden to me.
Critique: What a wonderful experience! I’ve had one similar to that and it did, indeed, touch my heart, as it did yours. As for a short story, you’ve got a straightforward narrative here and there really needs to be more in the way of characterization, dialog, setting, sensory imagery, plot. It would need more work to be a true short story. But again, what a great experience and awesome memory for you.
What I liked best: The idea that God blesses us through the actions of others.
Publication ready: No. It needs more development.
9/23/11
10 Our Christmas Spirit
Way before dawn Christmas morning, my little sister tugged at me, sobbing, “Tommy, wake up! I heard a noise so I snuck down to see Santa. There was a big lumpy ghost floating around the tree!”
“There’s no such thing as ghosts,” I told her. “Maybe you saw Santa’s toy bag.”
“Santa’s bag is red, and it doesn’t float,” she wailed.
“Shh. It would if he brought balloons.” I knew that was a stretch, but I had to keep her quiet. “It must have been a burglar. Keep quiet in case he’s still here. And you’d better hide.” I was out of bed, looking for a weapon, but Jenny clung to me so tight I could hardly move.
Her chin quivered. “Nuh-uh. I’m not stayin’ here alone. Let’s go down and tell Mommy.”
“I don’t think she can stand any more bad news. I heard her on the phone after dinner. She was crying again. . .” I didn’t finish because Jenny knew the reason.
“What are we gonna do, Tommy?” Tears rolled down her cheeks.
“We can’t call 9-1-1. We gotta keep Mom from worrying, at least until she feels better. First, let’s make sure the burglar’s gone.” I didn’t tell her my knees were shaking like her lip was.
“Ghost,” Jenny corrected, tightening her grip as we tiptoed downstairs into the kitchen. I grabbed Mom’s rolling pin as Jenny turned on the light. Nobody there.
We checked under the tree. There was nothing left. “The ghost stole it,” Jenny cried.
Jenny’s like that, see? Once she makes up her mind, it stays made up. So I gritted my teeth as we snuck around, checking everywhere else. No ghost but no burglar either. We found zero presents where we saw Mom hide them before and none where we didn’t see her hide them. We knew where they should have been, and weren’t. Mom didn’t know how sneaky we could be.
Jenny sighed, wiping her eyes. “Now what?” At least she’d calmed down some.
“We let Mom sleep while we draw some nice pictures. She won’t know we ever bought her bubble-bath and perfume. She’ll probably like our pictures even better. You know Mom.”
Jenny brightened and then frowned, “What about us?”
“I’ll make you something too. Not a real doll like you wanted, but a paper doll. With real clothes cut from rags. Okay?”
Jenny actually smiled. “Okay, but won’t Mommy ask what happened to the doll she promised Santa would bring? And what about your new bat and ball?”
I thought for a minute. “We’ll say we got up early and already opened Santa’s presents and put them away as part of our gift to her.” That might even shock Mom out of her sadness.
We got to work, sitting at the kitchen table. We were almost finished when the front door rattled. Grabbing both the rolling pin and Jenny, I turned off the light and pushed her ahead of me, upstairs. As we reached the top a floorboard creaked below. I turned just as Jenny’s ghost appeared. Panicking, I hurled my missile and the lumpy white shape dropped.
“Ooooohhh!” it wailed, writhing in very ghostly fashion about half a foot above the floor.
Behind me, Jenny squeaked. “Told you it was a ghost!”
“Uh-oh,” I said. A rolling pin would’ve gone right through a ghost.
“What’s going on?” Mom shouted, charging out of her bedroom. She flipped on the light and started crying when she saw the gifts spilling from the big white laundry bag. Then she ran forward and practically fell all over the man in a camouflage uniform on the floor underneath it. She kissed his dark face and ruffled his darker hair. No wonder we couldn’t see him before.
“I’m home early, honey, trying to bring you the Christmas Spirit,” said Dad. “Surprise.”
I think Dad was most surprised of all. I doubt he’ll try that trick again after learning the hard way—his safe return from the war brought us all the Christmas spirit we need.
Critique: You have a good idea but have some issues with the delivery. Needs a much stronger sense of place, sensory imagery, and some foreshadowing about Dad. As written, there are too many unanswered questions, such as why did the ghost/Dad take the gifts? Why is Mom said? Also, we need more characterization on Tommy and Jenny. Great story idea but needs to be fleshed out.
What I liked best: The ghost. Awesome! And that Dad is in the military. Very timely.
Publication ready: No. Needs work, but this has some real potential.
“There’s no such thing as ghosts,” I told her. “Maybe you saw Santa’s toy bag.”
“Santa’s bag is red, and it doesn’t float,” she wailed.
“Shh. It would if he brought balloons.” I knew that was a stretch, but I had to keep her quiet. “It must have been a burglar. Keep quiet in case he’s still here. And you’d better hide.” I was out of bed, looking for a weapon, but Jenny clung to me so tight I could hardly move.
Her chin quivered. “Nuh-uh. I’m not stayin’ here alone. Let’s go down and tell Mommy.”
“I don’t think she can stand any more bad news. I heard her on the phone after dinner. She was crying again. . .” I didn’t finish because Jenny knew the reason.
“What are we gonna do, Tommy?” Tears rolled down her cheeks.
“We can’t call 9-1-1. We gotta keep Mom from worrying, at least until she feels better. First, let’s make sure the burglar’s gone.” I didn’t tell her my knees were shaking like her lip was.
“Ghost,” Jenny corrected, tightening her grip as we tiptoed downstairs into the kitchen. I grabbed Mom’s rolling pin as Jenny turned on the light. Nobody there.
We checked under the tree. There was nothing left. “The ghost stole it,” Jenny cried.
Jenny’s like that, see? Once she makes up her mind, it stays made up. So I gritted my teeth as we snuck around, checking everywhere else. No ghost but no burglar either. We found zero presents where we saw Mom hide them before and none where we didn’t see her hide them. We knew where they should have been, and weren’t. Mom didn’t know how sneaky we could be.
Jenny sighed, wiping her eyes. “Now what?” At least she’d calmed down some.
“We let Mom sleep while we draw some nice pictures. She won’t know we ever bought her bubble-bath and perfume. She’ll probably like our pictures even better. You know Mom.”
Jenny brightened and then frowned, “What about us?”
“I’ll make you something too. Not a real doll like you wanted, but a paper doll. With real clothes cut from rags. Okay?”
Jenny actually smiled. “Okay, but won’t Mommy ask what happened to the doll she promised Santa would bring? And what about your new bat and ball?”
I thought for a minute. “We’ll say we got up early and already opened Santa’s presents and put them away as part of our gift to her.” That might even shock Mom out of her sadness.
We got to work, sitting at the kitchen table. We were almost finished when the front door rattled. Grabbing both the rolling pin and Jenny, I turned off the light and pushed her ahead of me, upstairs. As we reached the top a floorboard creaked below. I turned just as Jenny’s ghost appeared. Panicking, I hurled my missile and the lumpy white shape dropped.
“Ooooohhh!” it wailed, writhing in very ghostly fashion about half a foot above the floor.
Behind me, Jenny squeaked. “Told you it was a ghost!”
“Uh-oh,” I said. A rolling pin would’ve gone right through a ghost.
“What’s going on?” Mom shouted, charging out of her bedroom. She flipped on the light and started crying when she saw the gifts spilling from the big white laundry bag. Then she ran forward and practically fell all over the man in a camouflage uniform on the floor underneath it. She kissed his dark face and ruffled his darker hair. No wonder we couldn’t see him before.
“I’m home early, honey, trying to bring you the Christmas Spirit,” said Dad. “Surprise.”
I think Dad was most surprised of all. I doubt he’ll try that trick again after learning the hard way—his safe return from the war brought us all the Christmas spirit we need.
Critique: You have a good idea but have some issues with the delivery. Needs a much stronger sense of place, sensory imagery, and some foreshadowing about Dad. As written, there are too many unanswered questions, such as why did the ghost/Dad take the gifts? Why is Mom said? Also, we need more characterization on Tommy and Jenny. Great story idea but needs to be fleshed out.
What I liked best: The ghost. Awesome! And that Dad is in the military. Very timely.
Publication ready: No. Needs work, but this has some real potential.
08 Alexa's Custom Cookies
by Annaliese Lemmon
“Time to get up, Alexa,” Kelly opened the door to her ten-year-old daughter’s room. Alexa lay on her stomach, with her knees tucked up under her. Her face was pulled back in a grimace. The blankets spilled onto the floor. “Are you ok?”
“No,” Alexa groaned. “I must have eaten some gluten at Olivia’s last night.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. What did you have?” Kelly sat on the bed and pulled strands of Alexa’s brown hair from her face.
“Swedish meatballs and rice, so I don’t know where it came from. Her mom said she didn’t use flour in the sauce to thicken it.”
“Did she tell you what was in the meatballs? What did she use to replace the breadcrumbs?”
“There’s breadcrumbs in meatballs?” She sighed. “I should have known to ask about those too. I hate being a celiac. I wish I didn’t have to worry about every little thing that I eat.”
“I know, sweetie, I know.” Kelly kissed Alexa’s cheek. She worried as much as Alexa, and probably more, that the food she cooked didn’t get contaminated with any grains containing gluten. Her heart ached that this time she hadn’t been able to protect her daughter. “I’d make it go away if I could. Unfortunately, we just have to deal with it.”
Alexa sighed again and closed her eyes.
“What if I made you something special while you stay home from school? What would you like?”
After a few moments, Alexa asked, “Can you make sugar cookies?”
“Sugar cookies? Are you sure you don’t want something chocolate?”
“Rachel is having friends over tonight to decorate sugar cookies for Christmas. I’m definitely not going now, but I thought it would be nice to host my own party where I can actually eat the cookies.”
“That sounds like fun. Though I’ve not made gluten free sugar cookies before. I’ll have to see if I can find a recipe. Do you want anything to eat now?”
Alexa shook her head.
“All right. Just let me know when you’re hungry.”
After Kelly made her husband’s lunch and pushed her son Tristen out the door so he wouldn’t miss the bus, she sat down with her gluten free cookbooks. While they had recipes for other cookies, there weren’t any for plain sugar cookies. Undaunted, Kelly turned to her favorite cooking blogs and searched until she found a recipe. She printed it out and headed to the kitchen.
As Christmas carols played from her smart phone, she tied her gingerbread man apron on and opened the pantry. The recipe called for a generic gluten free flour mix, so she pulled down her rice flour, tapioca starch, and potato starch and measured out her usual ratios. When it was time to roll the dough, it was sticky even after chilling for two hours. Still, Kelly grinned as she pressed the snowman, Christmas tree, and candy cane cookie cutters into the dough. Until now, they had only been used for Jell-O Jigglers. Alexa was finally going to be able to participate in this Christmas tradition. Maybe they would actually leave cookies for Santa this year instead of fudge.
When she opened the oven, she closed her eyes and inhaled the sweet buttery aroma. Alexa wandered into the kitchen as Kelly started removing the cookies from the tray. Kelly handed one to Alexa on a spatula. “How is it?”
Alexa frowned slightly. “It needs milk and frosting.”
Kelly tried a snowman cookie. It had a light buttery taste, but it crumbled to powder in her mouth, sucking up all the moisture. “You’re right.” She poured herself a glass of milk and dunked her hatless snowman in. When she pulled him back out, he was missing his head and an arm as well. After she made some frosting, they spread it on the cooled cookies, but the cookies broke apart beneath the pressure of the frosting knives.
“Stupid cookies,” Alexa muttered as her third cookie dissolved into crumbs on her plate.
Kelly patted Alexa’s hand. “Don’t worry. I’ll make another batch.”
After cleaning the kitchen, Kelly went back to the blog to see what she may have done wrong. The gluten free mix that they used involved bean flour. She generally avoided bean flour when making sweets, afraid that the beany flavor would come through. But the flavor wasn’t really noticeable when she used the bean flour to make breads. Maybe she was worrying for no reason, and the beans would hold the cookies together. The next day, she made the recipe again, following the flour ratio provided on the site. When Alexa and Tristen got home from school, she had a plate of cookies and bowl of frosting waiting for them.
These cookies held together as they were frosted. But the butter flavor was completely overpowered by the sour and bitter tang from the bean flour. Tristen took one bite and said “My cookies are better” before running to escape Alexa’s arm jab and Kelly’s scolding.
“Don’t worry, I’ll try again,” Kelly said.
Kelly went back to the internet. The only recipes she could find either called for a generic mix, which, as she had found, might not give her the results she wanted, or called for flours like amaranth and mochi that she didn’t have in her pantry. She hated the idea of buying a bag just to use a cup. So she did what she’d done before finding these blogs – she set out to create the recipe herself.
Kelly went to the kitchen with her pink polka dot recipe journal in her hand. She had slightly over two weeks before the kids would be out of school, and then six days until Christmas. Her previous failures told her that this was a recipe that was going to take a lot of experimentation to get right. If she wanted a chance for a usable sugar cookie before Christmas, she was going to have to bake at least a batch a day.
She tried adding more starch. The cookies just fell apart easier. She tried using the ratios found in chocolate chip cookies. They didn’t hold their shapes. She tried nut flours, more eggs, less starch. Some were too grainy. Most crumbled when cool. She tried increasing the xanthan gum, which helps bind ingredients in gluten free cooking. They held together, but had a slight sour taste to them.
After trying the twelfth batch, Alexa asked, “Mom, are you going to be able to get a good recipe before school ends? Olivia’s going out of town as soon as vacation starts.”
“I don’t know. Sometimes it takes a long time to perfect a recipe. Remember those doughnuts?”
“Yeah. That took forever”
“Well, if I can’t get them done for Christmas, I’m sure I can get some for Valentine’s Day. How does that sound?”
“I really wanted to have the party for Christmas. What if I ate a couple of these while everyone else had regular cookies?”
“That could work, but it doesn’t sound fun if you have to force yourself to eat them.”
“I’ll be fine.”
That’s what Alexa had said a couple years ago when she didn’t want to take her gluten free cupcake to Rachel’s birthday party. So Kelly had let her go without it, and as predicted, Alexa came home depressed and hungry. This time wouldn’t be any different if she didn’t get these cookies right. “Let me try a few more experiments. I have three more days.”
“OK.” Alexa dragged out the letters with a sigh.
When Alexa left to do homework, Kelly dumped the cookies into the trash. Not only was she running out of time, but the grocery bills were mounting. How many dollars worth of ingredients had she dumped into the trash? It surely hadn’t surpassed the cost of Alexa’s new video game, right? She didn’t really want to find out, just like she didn’t want the scale to tell her what all these samples had done to her waistline.
Finally, two days before school ended for the year, she pulled a batch out of the oven that had held their shapes. She took a bite. It actually tasted good. It had a hint of almond, and the texture was nice and chewy. A couple hours later, she tried another. It still tasted good, and it didn’t crumble when frosted!
When the kids got back from school, Kelly started washing dishes so she wouldn’t be hovering while Alexa tasted the cookies. Alexa sat at the counter, then took her time in selecting a snowman cookie and slathering it with frosting. She took a bite. As she chewed, her eyes slowly grew round. “This one’s a keeper,” she said as she took another bite. “Can I invite my friends over right now?”
“Go for it.”
As Alexa ran for the phone, she called to Tristen. “These cookies are actually good!”
Tristen came to the counter to try one. “Not bad.” He grabbed a second cookie and headed back to the sofa to watch TV.
In a couple of hours, three of Alexa’s friends had arrived to frost and decorate the cookies. Kelly listened to them chat from the adjacent room. “Are all of these really gluten free?” Olivia asked.
“Yep,” Alexa said.
“I never would have guessed.”
Kelly grinned, the stress from the last couple weeks vanished. She’d hit the gold standard in gluten free baking – where even gluten eaters enjoyed it. But that didn’t measure up to the joy from making something that her daughter enjoyed eating.
Critique: This is a great way to raise awareness of celiac’s, but you need a little more tension and conflict to make it a really good story. It starts good, but slows down when Mom is trying all the recipes. Add some tension there. The ending is also a bit of a so-what. Add something from Alexa about how wonderful the party was and/or something about making more for Santa. And it definitely should include the recipe!
What I liked best: The uniqueness of the celiac twist.
Publication ready: Close. Jazz it up just a little.
“Time to get up, Alexa,” Kelly opened the door to her ten-year-old daughter’s room. Alexa lay on her stomach, with her knees tucked up under her. Her face was pulled back in a grimace. The blankets spilled onto the floor. “Are you ok?”
“No,” Alexa groaned. “I must have eaten some gluten at Olivia’s last night.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. What did you have?” Kelly sat on the bed and pulled strands of Alexa’s brown hair from her face.
“Swedish meatballs and rice, so I don’t know where it came from. Her mom said she didn’t use flour in the sauce to thicken it.”
“Did she tell you what was in the meatballs? What did she use to replace the breadcrumbs?”
“There’s breadcrumbs in meatballs?” She sighed. “I should have known to ask about those too. I hate being a celiac. I wish I didn’t have to worry about every little thing that I eat.”
“I know, sweetie, I know.” Kelly kissed Alexa’s cheek. She worried as much as Alexa, and probably more, that the food she cooked didn’t get contaminated with any grains containing gluten. Her heart ached that this time she hadn’t been able to protect her daughter. “I’d make it go away if I could. Unfortunately, we just have to deal with it.”
Alexa sighed again and closed her eyes.
“What if I made you something special while you stay home from school? What would you like?”
After a few moments, Alexa asked, “Can you make sugar cookies?”
“Sugar cookies? Are you sure you don’t want something chocolate?”
“Rachel is having friends over tonight to decorate sugar cookies for Christmas. I’m definitely not going now, but I thought it would be nice to host my own party where I can actually eat the cookies.”
“That sounds like fun. Though I’ve not made gluten free sugar cookies before. I’ll have to see if I can find a recipe. Do you want anything to eat now?”
Alexa shook her head.
“All right. Just let me know when you’re hungry.”
After Kelly made her husband’s lunch and pushed her son Tristen out the door so he wouldn’t miss the bus, she sat down with her gluten free cookbooks. While they had recipes for other cookies, there weren’t any for plain sugar cookies. Undaunted, Kelly turned to her favorite cooking blogs and searched until she found a recipe. She printed it out and headed to the kitchen.
As Christmas carols played from her smart phone, she tied her gingerbread man apron on and opened the pantry. The recipe called for a generic gluten free flour mix, so she pulled down her rice flour, tapioca starch, and potato starch and measured out her usual ratios. When it was time to roll the dough, it was sticky even after chilling for two hours. Still, Kelly grinned as she pressed the snowman, Christmas tree, and candy cane cookie cutters into the dough. Until now, they had only been used for Jell-O Jigglers. Alexa was finally going to be able to participate in this Christmas tradition. Maybe they would actually leave cookies for Santa this year instead of fudge.
When she opened the oven, she closed her eyes and inhaled the sweet buttery aroma. Alexa wandered into the kitchen as Kelly started removing the cookies from the tray. Kelly handed one to Alexa on a spatula. “How is it?”
Alexa frowned slightly. “It needs milk and frosting.”
Kelly tried a snowman cookie. It had a light buttery taste, but it crumbled to powder in her mouth, sucking up all the moisture. “You’re right.” She poured herself a glass of milk and dunked her hatless snowman in. When she pulled him back out, he was missing his head and an arm as well. After she made some frosting, they spread it on the cooled cookies, but the cookies broke apart beneath the pressure of the frosting knives.
“Stupid cookies,” Alexa muttered as her third cookie dissolved into crumbs on her plate.
Kelly patted Alexa’s hand. “Don’t worry. I’ll make another batch.”
After cleaning the kitchen, Kelly went back to the blog to see what she may have done wrong. The gluten free mix that they used involved bean flour. She generally avoided bean flour when making sweets, afraid that the beany flavor would come through. But the flavor wasn’t really noticeable when she used the bean flour to make breads. Maybe she was worrying for no reason, and the beans would hold the cookies together. The next day, she made the recipe again, following the flour ratio provided on the site. When Alexa and Tristen got home from school, she had a plate of cookies and bowl of frosting waiting for them.
These cookies held together as they were frosted. But the butter flavor was completely overpowered by the sour and bitter tang from the bean flour. Tristen took one bite and said “My cookies are better” before running to escape Alexa’s arm jab and Kelly’s scolding.
“Don’t worry, I’ll try again,” Kelly said.
Kelly went back to the internet. The only recipes she could find either called for a generic mix, which, as she had found, might not give her the results she wanted, or called for flours like amaranth and mochi that she didn’t have in her pantry. She hated the idea of buying a bag just to use a cup. So she did what she’d done before finding these blogs – she set out to create the recipe herself.
Kelly went to the kitchen with her pink polka dot recipe journal in her hand. She had slightly over two weeks before the kids would be out of school, and then six days until Christmas. Her previous failures told her that this was a recipe that was going to take a lot of experimentation to get right. If she wanted a chance for a usable sugar cookie before Christmas, she was going to have to bake at least a batch a day.
She tried adding more starch. The cookies just fell apart easier. She tried using the ratios found in chocolate chip cookies. They didn’t hold their shapes. She tried nut flours, more eggs, less starch. Some were too grainy. Most crumbled when cool. She tried increasing the xanthan gum, which helps bind ingredients in gluten free cooking. They held together, but had a slight sour taste to them.
After trying the twelfth batch, Alexa asked, “Mom, are you going to be able to get a good recipe before school ends? Olivia’s going out of town as soon as vacation starts.”
“I don’t know. Sometimes it takes a long time to perfect a recipe. Remember those doughnuts?”
“Yeah. That took forever”
“Well, if I can’t get them done for Christmas, I’m sure I can get some for Valentine’s Day. How does that sound?”
“I really wanted to have the party for Christmas. What if I ate a couple of these while everyone else had regular cookies?”
“That could work, but it doesn’t sound fun if you have to force yourself to eat them.”
“I’ll be fine.”
That’s what Alexa had said a couple years ago when she didn’t want to take her gluten free cupcake to Rachel’s birthday party. So Kelly had let her go without it, and as predicted, Alexa came home depressed and hungry. This time wouldn’t be any different if she didn’t get these cookies right. “Let me try a few more experiments. I have three more days.”
“OK.” Alexa dragged out the letters with a sigh.
When Alexa left to do homework, Kelly dumped the cookies into the trash. Not only was she running out of time, but the grocery bills were mounting. How many dollars worth of ingredients had she dumped into the trash? It surely hadn’t surpassed the cost of Alexa’s new video game, right? She didn’t really want to find out, just like she didn’t want the scale to tell her what all these samples had done to her waistline.
Finally, two days before school ended for the year, she pulled a batch out of the oven that had held their shapes. She took a bite. It actually tasted good. It had a hint of almond, and the texture was nice and chewy. A couple hours later, she tried another. It still tasted good, and it didn’t crumble when frosted!
When the kids got back from school, Kelly started washing dishes so she wouldn’t be hovering while Alexa tasted the cookies. Alexa sat at the counter, then took her time in selecting a snowman cookie and slathering it with frosting. She took a bite. As she chewed, her eyes slowly grew round. “This one’s a keeper,” she said as she took another bite. “Can I invite my friends over right now?”
“Go for it.”
As Alexa ran for the phone, she called to Tristen. “These cookies are actually good!”
Tristen came to the counter to try one. “Not bad.” He grabbed a second cookie and headed back to the sofa to watch TV.
In a couple of hours, three of Alexa’s friends had arrived to frost and decorate the cookies. Kelly listened to them chat from the adjacent room. “Are all of these really gluten free?” Olivia asked.
“Yep,” Alexa said.
“I never would have guessed.”
Kelly grinned, the stress from the last couple weeks vanished. She’d hit the gold standard in gluten free baking – where even gluten eaters enjoyed it. But that didn’t measure up to the joy from making something that her daughter enjoyed eating.
Critique: This is a great way to raise awareness of celiac’s, but you need a little more tension and conflict to make it a really good story. It starts good, but slows down when Mom is trying all the recipes. Add some tension there. The ending is also a bit of a so-what. Add something from Alexa about how wonderful the party was and/or something about making more for Santa. And it definitely should include the recipe!
What I liked best: The uniqueness of the celiac twist.
Publication ready: Close. Jazz it up just a little.
9/20/11
03 The Village of Santa's Elves
Here we are again, the end of summer, fall is just around the corner.Before we know it, Christmas will be here.
I have been requested to write a Children's Christmas story.
As I worked on this story, I was reminded of a little girl, with only one wish for Christmas.....
(She wanted an Elf of her own.)
Now being an Elf, working all year long on toys, gifts and goodies for all children of the world, I have decided that this year you will all receive the story as to how we Elves came to live with Santa and Mrs. Clause.
Box 11
1rst Street
North Pole
Canada
H0H 0H0
A wise person once said, “If you need help, just ask and you shall receive”
Well years ago, the world as we know it was not as populated as it is now, there were not as many families with children, as there is now at Christmas time.
Santa and Mrs. Clause, built all the toys themselves, as the years went by , Santa became increasingly busier and busier. Toy making was being started as early as New Years day, just to make sure all the children would have their Christmas wishes come true.
Every year, more and more families had children, making it harder , for Santa to keep up.
Until one Christmas eve, he was so tired. He actually missed a tiny village on his midnight run around the world.
Santa had returned to the North Pole without realizing his mistake, and had directly went for a nap.
Dasher one of his trusted reindeer, Mrs. Clause and Ralph a stable hand were cleaning up the sleigh when they discovered some magic left in the Santa sack.
Well now we will have to wake Santa up, and let him know what has happened.
Comet in all his glory stood up and suggested that they do the delivery, and let poor old Santa sleep.
However try as they might, they could not get the sleigh off the ground without Santa at the reins. Even Mrs. Clause, tried but her hands were to small to hold the reins properly.
Well, this is a fine pickle she announced, I will just go and get Santa up from his nap.
Mrs. Clause went into her kitchen, and began whipping up Santa's favorite foods. There was chocolate cake, Sundays, Gingerbread and four different kinds of Cookies, she knew as soon as he smelled the treats , he would wake instantly, and want to snack on them.
To her surprise he not only woke up , he was so hungry he ate everything she had prepared. While Santa was filling up on goodies, Mrs. Clause hurriedly explained what had happened on his flight around the world. Santa was shocked, how could he completely forget a whole village.
Now in the stables there was a commotion going on......Ralph the stock hand and the reindeer knew Santa was getting way to busy to keep up with all the toy building and a one night flight , to ensure all boys and girls would get their Christmas wish.
The reindeer and the stalk hands reached for the radio, and even though it was the middle of the night and all hope seemed lost, they put out an emergency call that was heard around the world by the ears of all who were awake to hear it.............
Well at the time of the night there are no that many people awake in the world.
The night sky was dark and the wind whipped around the sleigh, making it hard for the reindeer to stay on course, using a little of the magic, to keep them flying straight.
As they were flying a message came across Santas radio. It was Mrs. Clause informing Santa , that a little village just outside the south pole had heard of their request for help.
Now this really upset Santa , for this was the same small village he had forgotten on his first flight of the night.
The winds were up and it was so cold that ice was forming in front of them , making it hard for them to see. Almost there he calls out, as the reindeer, start their decent , veering a little to the right so as not to land on a polar bears head.
The ground was frozen , the reindeer, practically slid down the lane into the village, stopping in front of the town hall.
Santa knew the village well, his gift to them every year was wood and coal to keep their houses and families warm. Jumping out of his sleigh, he realized that he was much to jolly to enter the front door of any of the buildings. He grabbed his sack and with some magic, he was able to go down the chimney, onto a cold bed of ashes.
Once inside, he looked around at all the tiny faces,
Before Santa had a chance to speak, an elderly elf stepped forward, with an outstretched hand , introducing himself as Tony , The Toymaker, Town Mayor. This is my wife Estella he said proudly , and my children, Eva, Elgin, Everett, Ellouise and the twins babies Evelyn & Eliotte. Stepping aside the rest of the villagers came up and introduced themselves and their families.
Now Santa being a bit upset over his own mistake, knowing that this little village was the one he missed on his earlier flight, walked across the town hall to the door.......he needed time to think, and went outside , settling his rump in a snowbank.
Ralph his stable hand, then informed that this tiny village, had been the ones to answer the emergency call.
Santa immediately jumped to his feet, went back into the town hall, as he approached Mr. Toymaker, he said.....Tony there is a way to we can all help each other.
I seem to need more and more help each year,, just getting all the toys built and ready for Christmas. I would like for you and your village to come back to the North Pole with me.
Now Tony did not think this was such a good Idea, for the Elves could only live where it is cold and snowy all year round, and the North pole, well he did not know anything about it.
As elves we have special diets, of candy, cookies, snow cones and sweet sugary syrup. It keeps our energy up and going and we are able to withstand just about any storm the winter can throw at us.
Santa was not discouraged, he assured the Elves , the north pole , covered in snow, would be ideal for their village, as for the sweet and tasty diet you need , that too is not a problem.
All the villagers crowded around Santa, and Tony , wanting to go to the north pole, with a few well placed pleases and excitement on every little elves face............Tony gave in and accepted Santa's offer.
Letting everyone know that this decision cannot be changed, as they rushed from house to house, each packing a suitcase.
Ralph the stable hand stuck his head in the door and announced that the moonlight would soon be gone and the reindeer were worried that the flight back, may not be safe in the daylight, for the brightness of the rising sun could hurt their eyes, which means they may have to alter their flight plan, Taking the long way home would mean they would need more magic for the reindeer to fly the sleigh.
Santa and Ralph lifted every child into the sleigh and created room for all the adults, and were soon on their way, having enough time before the moon started setting. The headed due North.
What a shock for Mrs. Clause when the sleigh pulled up on the snow covered driveway, weaving a bit to the left , and knocking down the snowman she had just finished building.
All the Elves scurried down off the sleigh and set to fixing the snowman, while Santa explained what was happening.
Well then , lets see if we can make room for our guests then , said Mrs. Clause, as she set about producing little beds, linens and preparing dinner for all of them.
As Santa had promised, we found the north pole perfect for us, we built our village and a huge toy factory. We work all year long with Santa, making all the newest and best toys for all the children of the world to enjoy every Christmas.
Critique: First the bad news. Punctuation, spelling, grammar, POV, characters, plot, structure all need a lot of work. But the good news is, I think it has potential. I’ve sent extensive notes to the author and if rewritten, it could be a really cute picture book.
What I liked best: The idea of Santa needing help and the elves coming to the rescue.
Publication ready: No. This needs work before it’s ready to publish, but it has a whole lot of potential!
I have been requested to write a Children's Christmas story.
As I worked on this story, I was reminded of a little girl, with only one wish for Christmas.....
(She wanted an Elf of her own.)
Now being an Elf, working all year long on toys, gifts and goodies for all children of the world, I have decided that this year you will all receive the story as to how we Elves came to live with Santa and Mrs. Clause.
THE VILLAGE OF SANTA'S ELVES
Box 11
1rst Street
North Pole
Canada
H0H 0H0
A wise person once said, “If you need help, just ask and you shall receive”
Well years ago, the world as we know it was not as populated as it is now, there were not as many families with children, as there is now at Christmas time.
Santa and Mrs. Clause, built all the toys themselves, as the years went by , Santa became increasingly busier and busier. Toy making was being started as early as New Years day, just to make sure all the children would have their Christmas wishes come true.
Every year, more and more families had children, making it harder , for Santa to keep up.
Until one Christmas eve, he was so tired. He actually missed a tiny village on his midnight run around the world.
Santa had returned to the North Pole without realizing his mistake, and had directly went for a nap.
Dasher one of his trusted reindeer, Mrs. Clause and Ralph a stable hand were cleaning up the sleigh when they discovered some magic left in the Santa sack.
Well now we will have to wake Santa up, and let him know what has happened.
Comet in all his glory stood up and suggested that they do the delivery, and let poor old Santa sleep.
However try as they might, they could not get the sleigh off the ground without Santa at the reins. Even Mrs. Clause, tried but her hands were to small to hold the reins properly.
Well, this is a fine pickle she announced, I will just go and get Santa up from his nap.
Mrs. Clause went into her kitchen, and began whipping up Santa's favorite foods. There was chocolate cake, Sundays, Gingerbread and four different kinds of Cookies, she knew as soon as he smelled the treats , he would wake instantly, and want to snack on them.
To her surprise he not only woke up , he was so hungry he ate everything she had prepared. While Santa was filling up on goodies, Mrs. Clause hurriedly explained what had happened on his flight around the world. Santa was shocked, how could he completely forget a whole village.
Now in the stables there was a commotion going on......Ralph the stock hand and the reindeer knew Santa was getting way to busy to keep up with all the toy building and a one night flight , to ensure all boys and girls would get their Christmas wish.
The reindeer and the stalk hands reached for the radio, and even though it was the middle of the night and all hope seemed lost, they put out an emergency call that was heard around the world by the ears of all who were awake to hear it.............
SANTA NEEDS HELP!!!!!!PLEASE CALL THE NORTH POLE!!!!!!
464646@SANTA'S VILLAGE, EXT., 9627 (THE STABLES)
464646@SANTA'S VILLAGE, EXT., 9627 (THE STABLES)
Well at the time of the night there are no that many people awake in the world.
The night sky was dark and the wind whipped around the sleigh, making it hard for the reindeer to stay on course, using a little of the magic, to keep them flying straight.
As they were flying a message came across Santas radio. It was Mrs. Clause informing Santa , that a little village just outside the south pole had heard of their request for help.
Now this really upset Santa , for this was the same small village he had forgotten on his first flight of the night.
The winds were up and it was so cold that ice was forming in front of them , making it hard for them to see. Almost there he calls out, as the reindeer, start their decent , veering a little to the right so as not to land on a polar bears head.
The ground was frozen , the reindeer, practically slid down the lane into the village, stopping in front of the town hall.
Santa knew the village well, his gift to them every year was wood and coal to keep their houses and families warm. Jumping out of his sleigh, he realized that he was much to jolly to enter the front door of any of the buildings. He grabbed his sack and with some magic, he was able to go down the chimney, onto a cold bed of ashes.
Once inside, he looked around at all the tiny faces,
Before Santa had a chance to speak, an elderly elf stepped forward, with an outstretched hand , introducing himself as Tony , The Toymaker, Town Mayor. This is my wife Estella he said proudly , and my children, Eva, Elgin, Everett, Ellouise and the twins babies Evelyn & Eliotte. Stepping aside the rest of the villagers came up and introduced themselves and their families.
Now Santa being a bit upset over his own mistake, knowing that this little village was the one he missed on his earlier flight, walked across the town hall to the door.......he needed time to think, and went outside , settling his rump in a snowbank.
Ralph his stable hand, then informed that this tiny village, had been the ones to answer the emergency call.
Santa immediately jumped to his feet, went back into the town hall, as he approached Mr. Toymaker, he said.....Tony there is a way to we can all help each other.
I seem to need more and more help each year,, just getting all the toys built and ready for Christmas. I would like for you and your village to come back to the North Pole with me.
Now Tony did not think this was such a good Idea, for the Elves could only live where it is cold and snowy all year round, and the North pole, well he did not know anything about it.
As elves we have special diets, of candy, cookies, snow cones and sweet sugary syrup. It keeps our energy up and going and we are able to withstand just about any storm the winter can throw at us.
Santa was not discouraged, he assured the Elves , the north pole , covered in snow, would be ideal for their village, as for the sweet and tasty diet you need , that too is not a problem.
All the villagers crowded around Santa, and Tony , wanting to go to the north pole, with a few well placed pleases and excitement on every little elves face............Tony gave in and accepted Santa's offer.
Letting everyone know that this decision cannot be changed, as they rushed from house to house, each packing a suitcase.
Ralph the stable hand stuck his head in the door and announced that the moonlight would soon be gone and the reindeer were worried that the flight back, may not be safe in the daylight, for the brightness of the rising sun could hurt their eyes, which means they may have to alter their flight plan, Taking the long way home would mean they would need more magic for the reindeer to fly the sleigh.
Santa and Ralph lifted every child into the sleigh and created room for all the adults, and were soon on their way, having enough time before the moon started setting. The headed due North.
What a shock for Mrs. Clause when the sleigh pulled up on the snow covered driveway, weaving a bit to the left , and knocking down the snowman she had just finished building.
All the Elves scurried down off the sleigh and set to fixing the snowman, while Santa explained what was happening.
Well then , lets see if we can make room for our guests then , said Mrs. Clause, as she set about producing little beds, linens and preparing dinner for all of them.
As Santa had promised, we found the north pole perfect for us, we built our village and a huge toy factory. We work all year long with Santa, making all the newest and best toys for all the children of the world to enjoy every Christmas.
Critique: First the bad news. Punctuation, spelling, grammar, POV, characters, plot, structure all need a lot of work. But the good news is, I think it has potential. I’ve sent extensive notes to the author and if rewritten, it could be a really cute picture book.
What I liked best: The idea of Santa needing help and the elves coming to the rescue.
Publication ready: No. This needs work before it’s ready to publish, but it has a whole lot of potential!
9/19/11
02: Savanna's Christmas Miracles
by Kasey Eyre
Savanna Clark winced as she flipped through the stack of bills on her desk and compared them with the amount available in her checking account. The numbers didn’t add up. Clicking her mouse a few times, Savanna reluctantly transferred money from their dwindling savings account to cover the bills. After writing the checks and getting everything stamped and ready for the mailbox, Savanna pushed herself up from the desk and then wandered into the kitchen.
Looking at the calendar above the phone in the kitchen, Savanna noticed it was only ten days until Christmas. Usually, Savanna had Christmas planned out months in advance; the gifts were all purchased well before Thanksgiving, hidden away in her closet where her curious boys couldn’t find them. But the past two years had changed all that. It had been difficult with all of the pay cuts her husband had received at work and this year wasn’t looking any better. Last Christmas had been small with simple gifts, but the boys hadn’t seemed to notice, thankfully. Savanna was worried about this year, though. She still hadn’t bought any Christmas gifts because there was no longer extra money at the end of the month. Savanna felt tears of frustration prick her eyes as she thought about her three boys waking up Christmas morning to no gifts under the tree.
Savanna shook her head and took a deep breath, determined not to cry. She wasn’t going to let herself get down. Despite their financial troubles, Christmas was still the family’s favorite time of year and she wanted to make sure everyone enjoyed it as much as they could. She knew her and her husband would figure out something for gifts for their boys. In the meantime, Savanna started humming a Christmas carol to try and put herself more in the spirit of the season as she put away clean dishes and tidied up the kitchen. When she heard the front door open a few minutes later Savanna frowned. It wasn’t time for the boys to come home from school yet.
Savanna walked through the kitchen into the living room to find her husband slumped over on the couch, his head resting in his hands. She walked over to him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.
“Michael, why are you home so early? Are you sick?”
Michael looked up at Savanna and with pain in his eyes replied, “I got laid off today.”
After dinner that evening Michael and Savanna sat at the kitchen table while the boys were in their bedroom playing a board game. They had papers scattered on the table, a calculator in the center of the mess.
Michael wrote something down on a piece of paper and then punched some numbers into the calculator. “We have enough in savings to pay the mortgage and bills for the next two months, but that’s it. We can’t spend even a penny on anything extra.”
“But what about Christmas?” Savanna’s voice trembled as she tried to hold back the tears.
Michael shook his head. “We can’t afford gifts. We can barely afford groceries. Hopefully I can get some handyman jobs until I can find something permanent. But with the way things are now, I might be out of a job for a while. Let’s just pray the boys understand.”
Savanna felt fear and uncertainty creep into her. She was scared about what was going to happen, but she wanted more than anything to give her boys a good Christmas. They deserved at least a little Christmas joy. But it seemed hopeless. She and Michael didn’t even feel right asking their parents for help. It seemed everyone was struggling this year.
Michael placed his hand over Savanna’s and smiled weakly at her. “We’ll figure out something. We just need to have faith.”
Savanna nodded and smiled back. Faith. With it being Christmastime that should be something that came easily, but it seemed like the more faith she tried to have the worse off they were.
The boys came running into the kitchen then. Savanna wiped her eyes and smiled while Michael picked up the papers and calculator and cleared the table. The boys were hungry and wanted a treat, but Savanna looked through the almost-empty cabinets and couldn’t find anything to give them.
“I need to go grocery shopping,” she admitted, thinking of the small amount she would have to spend on food.
Michael clapped his hands together. “Well, I’ve got something for you. When I was little your grandma would make something that we always thought was a special treat.”
The boys sat at the table while Michael busied himself at the kitchen counter.
“Dad, what are you making?” ten year-old Brad asked, craning his neck trying to see around his father’s large frame.
Michael grinned as he came to the table with three plates. He placed the plates in front of each boy. “Here you go! This is Grandma’s special recipe for sugar cookies.”
The boys looked at the slice of bread on their plates with doubt.
“It’s just bread and butter and sugar,” Will frowned and poked the bread with his finger.
Trent took a bite. “Mmmm. It’s good Dad! Grandma was a good cook.” His wide smile showed off his two missing front teeth.
Everyone laughed. The boys ate their treat while Michael told them stories about growing up on the farm and Savanna made hot chocolate for everyone. After the stories they played a game and then got the kids off to bed. Savanna stood at the doorway to the boys’ room and felt a swelling in her chest. Earlier that day she had felt so dismal, their financial worries taking over. But now, looking at her boys all snuggled in their beds sleeping peacefully, she had joy in her heart. She was going to have faith that things would work out. For these boys she had to.
Savanna was about to leave for the grocery store when Trent came bursting through the front door.
“Mom! I found a dollar!” He waved the green bill in his hand and ran up to her. “I was walking back from the park with Dad and Will and I found a dollar on the street. Dad said I could keep it. Can I go to the store with you and spend it? Please?”
“Calm down,” Savanna said holding up her hands. “Yes, you can go to the store with me. What are you going to buy?”
Trent twisted his mouth as he thought. “Maybe a candy bar or a pack of gum. Then I can share it with Will and Brad.”
“Go get in the car. You can figure it out on the way there.”
When they got to the grocery store, Trent skipped through the parking lot chattering on and on about what he wanted to buy. He stopped suddenly when he saw a man dressed as Santa standing outside the entrance to the store ringing a bell.
“What is that Santa doing, Mom?” Trent asked.
Savanna pointed. “See that bucket? People put money in there and Santa gives the money to people who need it so they can buy food for Christmas dinner.”
“You mean some people don’t have money to buy food?”
Savanna nodded, feeling a knot in her throat. “Some people don’t.”
Trent took the dollar bill out of his pocked and looked at it carefully in his hand. Then, he marched up to Santa and put the bill in the bucket. Savanna felt her eyes fill with tears as she watched her son give up something he wanted to help someone else. Savanna reached into her purse. She didn’t have very much money for groceries that day, but she knew she had more then some people. Pulling out a few bills, Savanna placed them in the bucket as well.
Santa rang his bell and smiled. “Thank you and Merry Christmas!”
Five days before Christmas Savanna was in the kitchen making dinner when Brad came in from outside.
“Did you finish pulling weeds in Mr. McGill’s yard?” she asked her son.
Brad nodded grabbing a clean cup from the dishwasher and filling it with water from the tap. “Dad is still over there. He had a leaky pipe or something so Dad’s fixing it.”
Michael got home just as Brad was setting the table for dinner. Savanna pulled a casserole dish of macaroni and cheese out of the oven.
“Brad, go tell your brothers that dinner is ready.” Savanna placed the casserole dish onto the table.
Michael was washing his hands when the boys ran into the kitchen and tumbled into their seats. Michael sat down, but before saying a blessing over the food he turned to Brad.
“What did Mr. McGill say to you when you went in the house to get a trash bag?”
Brad shrugged. “Just that is was nice to have some company.”
Michael shook his head. “I think he’s been awfully lonely since his wife died. He talked non-stop while I fixed that pipe.”
Brad jumped up from the table. “We should take him some dinner. We should all go over there and eat with him.”
Savanna started to protest. The macaroni and cheese, frozen peas and canned peaches wasn’t much of a meal to share with someone. But the determination on Brad’s face stopped her. “Let’s get this food packed up and head over.”
The boys shouted and laughed as they put foil over the food and grabbed something to carry. As they walked down the street to Mr. McGill’s house they were full of cheerful chatter. They reached the old man’s house and Brad proudly knocked on the door. When Mr. McGill answered there was a surprised look on his face as he saw the entire Clark family on his porch holding dishes of food.
“We wanted to bring you dinner and thought we could all eat together,” Brad said.
Mr. McGill gasped, his hand covering his mouth. “What a wonderful surprise,” he replied. Opening the door wide, Mr. McGill ushered the family in.
After dinner that evening, Mr. McGill pulled Savanna aside as the boys and Michael cleared the table. “Thank you. This is the first home cooked meal I’ve had in a long time. You were an answer to my prayers.”
Savanna reached up to give Mr. McGill a hug. “You are welcome for dinner any time,” she whispered and Mr. McGill could only nod his reply.
On Christmas Eve, Savanna stood in the living room and stared at the blank space under the Christmas tree that was usually full of gifts. What surprised her most of all was that her three sons had not once asked why there were no gifts under the tree this year. She wondered if they would be disappointed the next morning. She wished there was something she could do to give them at least one gift to open.
Savanna’s thoughts were interrupted when she saw Will rummaging around in the hall closet.
“What are you looking for?” Savanna asked.
Will stuck his head out of the closet. “Where is that Christmas wrapping paper from last year?”
Savanna’s heart leaped. “What do you need it for?” she asked carefully.
“I was over at Jake’s playing and he told that for Christmas this year their family was taking gifts to the kids at the women’s shelter tonight. I thought I could give some of my toys.”
Savanna walked over to the closet and found the paper high on a shelf. “What are you going to give?”
Will shrugged his shoulders. “I have lots of toys. I was thinking maybe I could give my baseball and mitt or one of my board games.”
Savanna gave her son a hug. “I think that’s a good idea.” She handed Will the wrapping paper and watched him run off to his room. Savanna went into her own room and closed the door. She knelt down beside her bed and started to pray. Even though her boys seemed to be fine, she was still the one running low on faith.
Christmas Eve dinner was usually ham and scalloped potatoes, green beans, homemade rolls with cranberry jam, Will’s favorite Jell-o and pumpkin pie for dessert. This year Savanna made rolls and placed them on the table along with fixings for ham sandwiches made with cold cuts she found on sale at the deli. She did have a pumpkin pie, even if it was store bought. It was cheaper to buy an already made pie then get everything she needed to bake one herself. She hesitated calling the boys for dinner, but was surprised when they came to the table excited at the prospect of making their own sandwiches.
“Can we eat on the floor in the living room with just the Christmas lights on?” Trent asked.
The family settled on a blanket, their sandwiches on napkins and cups of water sitting on the coffee table that had been pushed aside. As they ate they told stories of past Christmases, the boys reminiscing about their favorite gifts. It was next that Trent finally told the secret he and his brothers had been keeping for the past two weeks.
“We didn’t write letters to Santa this year,” he blurted out, getting dirty looks from Will and Brad.
“You weren’t supposed to tell!” Brad shouted.
“What’s going on?” Michael asked. He looked from Brad to Will to Trent. Brad, the oldest of the three spoke up.
“We heard you talking one night about not having money for gifts. So we decided we wouldn’t ask for anything, even from Santa.” He shot a look at Trent who started to frown.
“We thought because Christmas was for Jesus’ birthday we’d do nice things for other people, instead of being sad about not getting new toys,” Will added.
This time Savanna didn’t stop the tears from falling. She grabbed her sons and pulled them into a hug. “You’re my three little miracles this year.”
Michael stood up from the floor and clapped his hands. “Let’s go caroling!”
“What?” Trent asked raising his eyebrows.
Savanna laughed, “You hate singing,” she teased.
“Well, these boys have put me in the Christmas spirit. Everyone grab your coats and shoes. We’ll make our way down the street and then stop by Mr. McGill’s and invite him over for pie.”
When everyone was bundled in their coats the Clark family walked outside and started singing Christmas carols. They walked to their neighbors on either side of them and then across the street. At one house they were handed a plate of homemade goodies as a thank you for the caroling. At another home, the neighbor handed Savanna a bag of old toys she had been meaning to bring over for the boys. Her kids no longer played with them and she thought the Clark boys would like them. By the time they made it to Mr. McGill’s house Savanna’s arms were full of things from their neighbors.
Michael knocked on Mr. McGill’s door and the boys started to rambunctiously sing “Jingle Bells”. When Mr. McGill came to the door he was laughing.
“I could hear you when you were all the way down the street,” he chuckled.
Savanna invited him over for pie and Mr. McGill happily accepted their invitation.
They stayed up late that Christmas Eve, eating pie and the treats from their neighbor, drinking hot cocoa, singing songs and telling stories. Before Mr. McGill left for the evening and the boys went to bed. Michael read the story of Jesus’ birth from the Bible. As she drifted off to sleep that night, Savanna felt peace for the first time that Christmas season. Her three boys, her Christmas miracles, had reminded her that Christmas was more than having a pile of gifts under the tree; it was about giving.
The next morning Savanna woke up to the excited whispers of her boys. She shook Michael and together they stumbled into the living room to see why their boys were up so early. Michael and Savanna found their three boys sitting in front of the Christmas tree, the lights casting a warm glow on their faces. Under the tree was a small stack of gifts. Savanna gasped and turned to Michael. He just shrugged.
“I have no idea where those gifts came from,” he whispered to his wife.
Savanna knelt down in front of the Christmas tree to examine the boxes. There was one for each of member of the family.
“I guess Santa brought gifts, after all,” Savanna said.
Trent reached for the gift with his name on it and shook his head. “I think this year our gifts came from Jesus.”
Critique: Watch out for passive voice. Give us a little more personality in the family and for Savanna, deeper characterizations. Both of those issues could be helped with a little more dialog. Needs more sensory imagery. A couple of plot issues but has potential.
What I liked best: The sweet Christmas feeling. The children being so willing to give to others and to go with the spirit of the holiday and the family bringing their elderly neighbor into their celebrations.
Publication ready: Not quite yet. There are some characterization issues that need to be worked out and it needs to be tightened up. But overall, it's close.
Savanna Clark winced as she flipped through the stack of bills on her desk and compared them with the amount available in her checking account. The numbers didn’t add up. Clicking her mouse a few times, Savanna reluctantly transferred money from their dwindling savings account to cover the bills. After writing the checks and getting everything stamped and ready for the mailbox, Savanna pushed herself up from the desk and then wandered into the kitchen.
Looking at the calendar above the phone in the kitchen, Savanna noticed it was only ten days until Christmas. Usually, Savanna had Christmas planned out months in advance; the gifts were all purchased well before Thanksgiving, hidden away in her closet where her curious boys couldn’t find them. But the past two years had changed all that. It had been difficult with all of the pay cuts her husband had received at work and this year wasn’t looking any better. Last Christmas had been small with simple gifts, but the boys hadn’t seemed to notice, thankfully. Savanna was worried about this year, though. She still hadn’t bought any Christmas gifts because there was no longer extra money at the end of the month. Savanna felt tears of frustration prick her eyes as she thought about her three boys waking up Christmas morning to no gifts under the tree.
Savanna shook her head and took a deep breath, determined not to cry. She wasn’t going to let herself get down. Despite their financial troubles, Christmas was still the family’s favorite time of year and she wanted to make sure everyone enjoyed it as much as they could. She knew her and her husband would figure out something for gifts for their boys. In the meantime, Savanna started humming a Christmas carol to try and put herself more in the spirit of the season as she put away clean dishes and tidied up the kitchen. When she heard the front door open a few minutes later Savanna frowned. It wasn’t time for the boys to come home from school yet.
Savanna walked through the kitchen into the living room to find her husband slumped over on the couch, his head resting in his hands. She walked over to him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.
“Michael, why are you home so early? Are you sick?”
Michael looked up at Savanna and with pain in his eyes replied, “I got laid off today.”
After dinner that evening Michael and Savanna sat at the kitchen table while the boys were in their bedroom playing a board game. They had papers scattered on the table, a calculator in the center of the mess.
Michael wrote something down on a piece of paper and then punched some numbers into the calculator. “We have enough in savings to pay the mortgage and bills for the next two months, but that’s it. We can’t spend even a penny on anything extra.”
“But what about Christmas?” Savanna’s voice trembled as she tried to hold back the tears.
Michael shook his head. “We can’t afford gifts. We can barely afford groceries. Hopefully I can get some handyman jobs until I can find something permanent. But with the way things are now, I might be out of a job for a while. Let’s just pray the boys understand.”
Savanna felt fear and uncertainty creep into her. She was scared about what was going to happen, but she wanted more than anything to give her boys a good Christmas. They deserved at least a little Christmas joy. But it seemed hopeless. She and Michael didn’t even feel right asking their parents for help. It seemed everyone was struggling this year.
Michael placed his hand over Savanna’s and smiled weakly at her. “We’ll figure out something. We just need to have faith.”
Savanna nodded and smiled back. Faith. With it being Christmastime that should be something that came easily, but it seemed like the more faith she tried to have the worse off they were.
The boys came running into the kitchen then. Savanna wiped her eyes and smiled while Michael picked up the papers and calculator and cleared the table. The boys were hungry and wanted a treat, but Savanna looked through the almost-empty cabinets and couldn’t find anything to give them.
“I need to go grocery shopping,” she admitted, thinking of the small amount she would have to spend on food.
Michael clapped his hands together. “Well, I’ve got something for you. When I was little your grandma would make something that we always thought was a special treat.”
The boys sat at the table while Michael busied himself at the kitchen counter.
“Dad, what are you making?” ten year-old Brad asked, craning his neck trying to see around his father’s large frame.
Michael grinned as he came to the table with three plates. He placed the plates in front of each boy. “Here you go! This is Grandma’s special recipe for sugar cookies.”
The boys looked at the slice of bread on their plates with doubt.
“It’s just bread and butter and sugar,” Will frowned and poked the bread with his finger.
Trent took a bite. “Mmmm. It’s good Dad! Grandma was a good cook.” His wide smile showed off his two missing front teeth.
Everyone laughed. The boys ate their treat while Michael told them stories about growing up on the farm and Savanna made hot chocolate for everyone. After the stories they played a game and then got the kids off to bed. Savanna stood at the doorway to the boys’ room and felt a swelling in her chest. Earlier that day she had felt so dismal, their financial worries taking over. But now, looking at her boys all snuggled in their beds sleeping peacefully, she had joy in her heart. She was going to have faith that things would work out. For these boys she had to.
Savanna was about to leave for the grocery store when Trent came bursting through the front door.
“Mom! I found a dollar!” He waved the green bill in his hand and ran up to her. “I was walking back from the park with Dad and Will and I found a dollar on the street. Dad said I could keep it. Can I go to the store with you and spend it? Please?”
“Calm down,” Savanna said holding up her hands. “Yes, you can go to the store with me. What are you going to buy?”
Trent twisted his mouth as he thought. “Maybe a candy bar or a pack of gum. Then I can share it with Will and Brad.”
“Go get in the car. You can figure it out on the way there.”
When they got to the grocery store, Trent skipped through the parking lot chattering on and on about what he wanted to buy. He stopped suddenly when he saw a man dressed as Santa standing outside the entrance to the store ringing a bell.
“What is that Santa doing, Mom?” Trent asked.
Savanna pointed. “See that bucket? People put money in there and Santa gives the money to people who need it so they can buy food for Christmas dinner.”
“You mean some people don’t have money to buy food?”
Savanna nodded, feeling a knot in her throat. “Some people don’t.”
Trent took the dollar bill out of his pocked and looked at it carefully in his hand. Then, he marched up to Santa and put the bill in the bucket. Savanna felt her eyes fill with tears as she watched her son give up something he wanted to help someone else. Savanna reached into her purse. She didn’t have very much money for groceries that day, but she knew she had more then some people. Pulling out a few bills, Savanna placed them in the bucket as well.
Santa rang his bell and smiled. “Thank you and Merry Christmas!”
Five days before Christmas Savanna was in the kitchen making dinner when Brad came in from outside.
“Did you finish pulling weeds in Mr. McGill’s yard?” she asked her son.
Brad nodded grabbing a clean cup from the dishwasher and filling it with water from the tap. “Dad is still over there. He had a leaky pipe or something so Dad’s fixing it.”
Michael got home just as Brad was setting the table for dinner. Savanna pulled a casserole dish of macaroni and cheese out of the oven.
“Brad, go tell your brothers that dinner is ready.” Savanna placed the casserole dish onto the table.
Michael was washing his hands when the boys ran into the kitchen and tumbled into their seats. Michael sat down, but before saying a blessing over the food he turned to Brad.
“What did Mr. McGill say to you when you went in the house to get a trash bag?”
Brad shrugged. “Just that is was nice to have some company.”
Michael shook his head. “I think he’s been awfully lonely since his wife died. He talked non-stop while I fixed that pipe.”
Brad jumped up from the table. “We should take him some dinner. We should all go over there and eat with him.”
Savanna started to protest. The macaroni and cheese, frozen peas and canned peaches wasn’t much of a meal to share with someone. But the determination on Brad’s face stopped her. “Let’s get this food packed up and head over.”
The boys shouted and laughed as they put foil over the food and grabbed something to carry. As they walked down the street to Mr. McGill’s house they were full of cheerful chatter. They reached the old man’s house and Brad proudly knocked on the door. When Mr. McGill answered there was a surprised look on his face as he saw the entire Clark family on his porch holding dishes of food.
“We wanted to bring you dinner and thought we could all eat together,” Brad said.
Mr. McGill gasped, his hand covering his mouth. “What a wonderful surprise,” he replied. Opening the door wide, Mr. McGill ushered the family in.
After dinner that evening, Mr. McGill pulled Savanna aside as the boys and Michael cleared the table. “Thank you. This is the first home cooked meal I’ve had in a long time. You were an answer to my prayers.”
Savanna reached up to give Mr. McGill a hug. “You are welcome for dinner any time,” she whispered and Mr. McGill could only nod his reply.
On Christmas Eve, Savanna stood in the living room and stared at the blank space under the Christmas tree that was usually full of gifts. What surprised her most of all was that her three sons had not once asked why there were no gifts under the tree this year. She wondered if they would be disappointed the next morning. She wished there was something she could do to give them at least one gift to open.
Savanna’s thoughts were interrupted when she saw Will rummaging around in the hall closet.
“What are you looking for?” Savanna asked.
Will stuck his head out of the closet. “Where is that Christmas wrapping paper from last year?”
Savanna’s heart leaped. “What do you need it for?” she asked carefully.
“I was over at Jake’s playing and he told that for Christmas this year their family was taking gifts to the kids at the women’s shelter tonight. I thought I could give some of my toys.”
Savanna walked over to the closet and found the paper high on a shelf. “What are you going to give?”
Will shrugged his shoulders. “I have lots of toys. I was thinking maybe I could give my baseball and mitt or one of my board games.”
Savanna gave her son a hug. “I think that’s a good idea.” She handed Will the wrapping paper and watched him run off to his room. Savanna went into her own room and closed the door. She knelt down beside her bed and started to pray. Even though her boys seemed to be fine, she was still the one running low on faith.
Christmas Eve dinner was usually ham and scalloped potatoes, green beans, homemade rolls with cranberry jam, Will’s favorite Jell-o and pumpkin pie for dessert. This year Savanna made rolls and placed them on the table along with fixings for ham sandwiches made with cold cuts she found on sale at the deli. She did have a pumpkin pie, even if it was store bought. It was cheaper to buy an already made pie then get everything she needed to bake one herself. She hesitated calling the boys for dinner, but was surprised when they came to the table excited at the prospect of making their own sandwiches.
“Can we eat on the floor in the living room with just the Christmas lights on?” Trent asked.
The family settled on a blanket, their sandwiches on napkins and cups of water sitting on the coffee table that had been pushed aside. As they ate they told stories of past Christmases, the boys reminiscing about their favorite gifts. It was next that Trent finally told the secret he and his brothers had been keeping for the past two weeks.
“We didn’t write letters to Santa this year,” he blurted out, getting dirty looks from Will and Brad.
“You weren’t supposed to tell!” Brad shouted.
“What’s going on?” Michael asked. He looked from Brad to Will to Trent. Brad, the oldest of the three spoke up.
“We heard you talking one night about not having money for gifts. So we decided we wouldn’t ask for anything, even from Santa.” He shot a look at Trent who started to frown.
“We thought because Christmas was for Jesus’ birthday we’d do nice things for other people, instead of being sad about not getting new toys,” Will added.
This time Savanna didn’t stop the tears from falling. She grabbed her sons and pulled them into a hug. “You’re my three little miracles this year.”
Michael stood up from the floor and clapped his hands. “Let’s go caroling!”
“What?” Trent asked raising his eyebrows.
Savanna laughed, “You hate singing,” she teased.
“Well, these boys have put me in the Christmas spirit. Everyone grab your coats and shoes. We’ll make our way down the street and then stop by Mr. McGill’s and invite him over for pie.”
When everyone was bundled in their coats the Clark family walked outside and started singing Christmas carols. They walked to their neighbors on either side of them and then across the street. At one house they were handed a plate of homemade goodies as a thank you for the caroling. At another home, the neighbor handed Savanna a bag of old toys she had been meaning to bring over for the boys. Her kids no longer played with them and she thought the Clark boys would like them. By the time they made it to Mr. McGill’s house Savanna’s arms were full of things from their neighbors.
Michael knocked on Mr. McGill’s door and the boys started to rambunctiously sing “Jingle Bells”. When Mr. McGill came to the door he was laughing.
“I could hear you when you were all the way down the street,” he chuckled.
Savanna invited him over for pie and Mr. McGill happily accepted their invitation.
They stayed up late that Christmas Eve, eating pie and the treats from their neighbor, drinking hot cocoa, singing songs and telling stories. Before Mr. McGill left for the evening and the boys went to bed. Michael read the story of Jesus’ birth from the Bible. As she drifted off to sleep that night, Savanna felt peace for the first time that Christmas season. Her three boys, her Christmas miracles, had reminded her that Christmas was more than having a pile of gifts under the tree; it was about giving.
The next morning Savanna woke up to the excited whispers of her boys. She shook Michael and together they stumbled into the living room to see why their boys were up so early. Michael and Savanna found their three boys sitting in front of the Christmas tree, the lights casting a warm glow on their faces. Under the tree was a small stack of gifts. Savanna gasped and turned to Michael. He just shrugged.
“I have no idea where those gifts came from,” he whispered to his wife.
Savanna knelt down in front of the Christmas tree to examine the boxes. There was one for each of member of the family.
“I guess Santa brought gifts, after all,” Savanna said.
Trent reached for the gift with his name on it and shook his head. “I think this year our gifts came from Jesus.”
Critique: Watch out for passive voice. Give us a little more personality in the family and for Savanna, deeper characterizations. Both of those issues could be helped with a little more dialog. Needs more sensory imagery. A couple of plot issues but has potential.
What I liked best: The sweet Christmas feeling. The children being so willing to give to others and to go with the spirit of the holiday and the family bringing their elderly neighbor into their celebrations.
Publication ready: Not quite yet. There are some characterization issues that need to be worked out and it needs to be tightened up. But overall, it's close.
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