My next door neighbor was a prune.

I don’t mean any disrespect, but she really looked like a four-and-a-half foot prune. I don’t have a picture of her but the two closest descriptions of her I can give is either a prune or ET’s grandmother.
I really am not trying to be disrespectful! I remember her in the fondest of terms.

We called her Granny. If she went by any other name I never knew it or have long since forgotten it. She kept mostly to herself and would often be seen with a walking stick in hand carrying her wrinkled body through neighborhood alley’s.

Her granddaughter (in her 70’s) spoke a little English and told us that Granny had come from Mexico in her late 70’s after her husband passed away and had stopped celebrating her birthday at 97 (which had been some years before I knew her).

Most people stayed away from Granny. Not only was she very old, but she didn’t speak English and wore a variety of tattered clothes. This grandmother several times over helped raise several generations of younguns’.

There would come a time when Granny would find herself alone. And when she was, my mother would make a little extra at suppertime and my sister I would take it over to Granny’s house.

Granny would never come to the door although she might occasionally pull back a curtain and peer through the window at us, her eyes partially hidden by the flowing wrinkles on her face.

So we learned to leave the meal on her doorstep and knock.  Once we were a safe distance away we would see her hand reach outside the door and the plate and its contents would disappear inside.

The next morning we would hear a knock on our front door, by the time we got there Granny was gone, but she left behind a clean plate with a stack of homemade tortillas still warm from the pan.

Soon it became a neighborly ritual; we would supply her supper and she made sure we were never without fresh tortillas. Granny would never let us actually thank her or even talk to her, but she understood what my family was doing and she appreciated it and even without words she let us know of her gratitude.

One Christmas, after we had read Luke, chapter two, opened presents and were enjoying the holiday, I heard the doorbell ring. I didn’t suspect Granny because she always knocked.

When I reached the front door I had to look down and I saw a short, toothless, wrinkled lady grinning from ear to ear. She held out a plate of Christmas Tamales and said, “Mattie Chitzmats”.

I was so startled to hear Granny speak that her very broken English words didn’t register right away. By the time I realized that she had personally wished my family a Merry Christmas she was backing away, waving and grinning.

This beautiful, wonderful, toothless prune of a granny had shared Christmas cheer with my family.

As I recall those were the only two words I ever heard Granny say, but her life spoke volumes. And in that moment of Christmas cheer I came to realize the arrival of our Savior Jesus Christ continues to leave a lasting impression on regular people.

He didn’t come just for those of us who speak English. He didn’t come just for those who attend church in their very best clothing. He didn’t come just for those who had a particular color of skin. He didn’t even come just for those who were wrinkle-free.

He came for me. He came for you. And He came for Granny.

A smooth skinned baby and a wrinkled old woman. This, my friends, is the story of a Christmas past and the best Christmas present.

Mattie Chitzmats to all and to all – Jesus Christ.

by Glenn A. Hascall

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It was the week before Christmas, and the dolls In the toy-shop played together all night. The biggest one was from Paris.

One night she said, “We ought to have a party before Santa Claus carries us away to the little girls. I can dance, and I will show you how.”

“I can dance myself if you will pull the string,” said a “Jim Crow” doll.

“What shall we have for supper?” piped a little boy-doll in a Jersey suit. He was always thinking about eating.

“Oh, dear,” cried the French lady, “I don’t know what we shall do for supper!”

“I can get the supper,” added a big rag doll. The other dolls had never liked her very well, but they thanked her now. She had taken lessons at a cooking-school, and knew how to make cake and candy. She gave French names to everything she made, and this made it taste better. Old Mother Hubbard was there, and she said the rag doll did not know how to cook anything.

They danced in one of the great shop-windows. They opened a toy piano, and a singing-doll played “Comin’ through the Rye,” The dolls did not find that a good tune to dance by; but the lady did not know any other, although she was the most costly doll in the shop. Then they wound up a music-box, and danced by that. This did very well for some tunes; but they had to walk around when it played “Hail Columbia,” and wait for something else.

The “Jim Crow” doll had to dance by himself, for he could do nothing but a “break-down.” He would not dance at all unless some one pulled his string. A toy monkey did this; but he would not stop when the dancer was tired.

They had supper on one of the counters. The rag doll placed some boxes for tables. The supper was of candy, for there was nothing in the shop to eat but sugar hearts and eggs. The dolls like candy better than anything else, and the supper was splendid. Patsy McQuirk said he could not eat candy. He wanted to know what kind of a supper it was without any potatoes. He got very angry, put his hands into his pockets, and smoked his pipe. It was very uncivil for him to do so in company. The smoke made the little ladies sick, and they all tried to climb into a”horn of plenty” to get out of the way.

Mother Hubbard and the two waiters tried to sing “I love Little Pussy;” but the tall one in a brigand hat opened his mouth wide, that the small dollies were afraid they might fall into it. The clown raised both arms in wonder, and Jack in the Box sprang up as high as me could to look down into the fellow’s throat.

All the baby-dolls in caps and long dresses had been put to bed. They woke up when the others were at supper, and began to cry. The big doll brought them some candy, and that kept them quiet for some time.

The next morning a little girl found the toy piano open. She was sure the dolls had been playing on it. The grown-up people thought it had been left open the night before; but they do not understand dolls as well as little people do.

by Viola Roseborough

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The little girl came into her papa’s study, as she always did Saturday morning before breakfast, and asked for a story. He tried to beg off that morning, for he was very busy, but she would not let him. So he began:

“Well, once there was a little pig—”

She put her hand over his mouth and stopped him at the word. She said she had heard little pig-stories till she was perfectly sick of them.

“Well, what kind of story shall I tell, then?”

“About Christmas. It’s getting to be the season. It’s past Thanksgiving already.”[Pg 4]

“It seems to me,” her papa argued, “that I’ve told as often about Christmas as I have about little pigs.”

“No difference! Christmas is more interesting.”

“Well!” Her papa roused himself from his writing by a great effort. “Well, then, I’ll tell you about the little girl that wanted it Christmas every day in the year. How would you like that?”

“First-rate!” said the little girl; and she nestled into comfortable shape in his lap, ready for listening.

“Very well, then, this little pig—Oh, what are you pounding me for?”

“Because you said little pig instead of little girl.”

“I should like to know what’s the difference between a little pig and a little girl that wanted it Christmas every day!”

“Papa,” said the little girl, warningly, “if you don’t go on, I’ll give it to you!” And at this her papa darted off[Pg 5] like lightning, and began to tell the story as fast as he could.

Well, once there was a little girl who liked Christmas so much that she wanted it to be Christmas every day in the year; and as soon as Thanksgiving was over she began to send postal-cards to the old Christmas Fairy to ask if she mightn’t have it. But the old fairy never answered any of the postals; and after a while the little girl found out that the Fairy was pretty particular, and wouldn’t notice anything but letters—not even correspondence cards in envelopes; but real letters on sheets of paper, and sealed outside with a monogram—or your initial, anyway. So, then, she began to send her letters; and in about three weeks—or just the day before Christmas, it was—she got a letter from the Fairy, saying she might have it Christmas every day for a year, and then they would see about having it longer.[Pg 6]

The little girl was a good deal excited already, preparing for the old-fashioned, once-a-year Christmas that was coming the next day, and perhaps the Fairy’s promise didn’t make such an impression on her as it would have made at some other time. She just resolved to keep it to herself, and surprise everybody with it as it kept coming true; and then it slipped out of her mind altogether.

She had a splendid Christmas. She went to bed early, so as to let Santa Claus have a chance at the stockings, and in the morning she was up the first of anybody and went and felt them, and found hers all lumpy with packages of candy, and oranges and grapes, and pocket-books and rubber balls, and all kinds of small presents, and her big brother’s with nothing but the tongs in them, and her young lady sister’s with a new silk umbrella, and her papa’s and mamma’s with potatoes and pieces of coal wrapped up in tissue-paper, just as they[Pg 7] always had every Christmas. Then she waited around till the rest of the family were up, and she was the first to burst into the library, when the doors were opened, and look at the large presents laid out on the library-table—books, and portfolios, and boxes of stationery, and breastpins, and dolls, and little stoves, and dozens of handkerchiefs, and ink-stands, and skates, and snow-shovels, and photograph-frames, and little easels, and boxes of water-colors, and Turkish
paste, and nougat, and candied cherries, and dolls’ houses, and waterproofs—and the big Christmas-tree, lighted and standing in a waste-basket in the middle.

She had a splendid Christmas all day. She ate so much candy that she did not want any breakfast; and the whole forenoon the presents kept pouring in that the expressman had not had time to deliver the night before; and she went round giving the presents she had got for other people, and came home and ate[Pg 8] turkey and cranberry for dinner, and plum-pudding and nuts and raisins and oranges and more candy, and then went out and coasted, and came in with a stomach-ache, crying; and her papa said he would see if his house was turned into that sort of fool’s paradise another year; and they had a light supper, and pretty early everybody went to bed cross.

Here the little girl pounded her papa in the back, again.

“Well, what now? Did I say pigs?”

“You made them act like pigs.”

“Well, didn’t they?”

“No matter; you oughtn’t to put it into a story.”

“Very well, then, I’ll take it all out.”

Her father went on:

The little girl slept very heavily, and she slept very late, but she was wakened at last by the other children dancing[Pg 9] round her bed with their stockings full of presents in their hands.

“What is it?” said the little girl, and she rubbed her eyes and tried to rise up in bed.

“Christmas! Christmas! Christmas!” they all shouted, and waved their stockings.

“Nonsense! It was Christmas yesterday.”

Her brothers and sisters just laughed. “We don’t know about that. It’s Christmas to-day, anyway. You come into the library and see.”

Then all at once it flashed on the little girl that the Fairy was keeping her promise, and her year of Christmases was beginning. She was dreadfully sleepy, but she sprang up like a lark—a lark that had overeaten itself and gone to bed cross—and darted into the library. There it was again! Books, and portfolios, and boxes of stationery, and breastpins—

[Pg 10]

“You needn’t go over it all, papa; I guess I can remember just what was there,” said the little girl.

Well, and there was the Christmas-tree blazing away, and the family picking out their presents, but looking pretty sleepy, and her father perfectly puzzled, and her mother ready to cry. “I’m sure I don’t see how I’m to dispose of all these things,” said her mother, and her father said it seemed to him they had had something just like it the day before, but he supposed he must have dreamed it. This struck the little girl as the best kind of a joke; and so she ate so much candy she didn’t want any breakfast, and went round carrying presents, and had turkey and cranberry for dinner, and then went out and coasted, and came in with a—

“Papa!”

“Well, what now?”[Pg 11]

“What did you promise, you forgetful thing?”

“Oh! oh yes!”

Well, the next day, it was just the same thing over again, but everybody getting crosser; and at the end of a week’s time so many people had lost their tempers that you could pick up lost tempers anywhere; they perfectly strewed the ground. Even when people tried to recover their tempers they usually got somebody else’s, and it made the most dreadful mix.

The little girl began to get frightened, keeping the secret all to herself; she wanted to tell her mother, but she didn’t dare to; and she was ashamed to ask the Fairy to take back her gift, it seemed ungrateful and ill-bred, and she thought she would try to stand it, but she hardly knew how she could, for a whole year. So it went on and on, and it was Christmas on St. Valentine’s Day and Wash[Pg 12]ington’s Birthday, just the same as any day, and it didn’t skip even the First of April, though everything was counterfeit that day, and that was some little relief.

After a while coal and potatoes began to be awfully scarce, so many had been wrapped up in tissue-paper to fool papas and mammas with. Turkeys got to be about a thousand dollars apiece—

“Papa!”

“Well, what?”

“You’re beginning to fib.”

“Well, two thousand, then.”

And they got to passing off almost anything for turkeys—half-grown humming-birds, and even rocs out of the Arabian Nights—the real turkeys were so scarce. And cranberries—well, they asked a diamond apiece for cranberries. All the woods and orchards were cut down for Christmas-trees, and where[Pg 13] the woods and orchards used to be it looked just like a stubble-field, with the stumps. After a while they had to make Christmas-trees out of rags, and stuff them with bran, like old-fashioned dolls; but there were plenty of rags, because people got so poor, buying presents for one another, that they couldn’t get any new clothes, and they just wore their old ones to tatters. They got so poor that everybody had to go to the poor-house, except the confectioners, and the fancy-store keepers, and the picture-book sellers, and the expressmen; and they all got so rich and proud that they would hardly wait upon a person when he came to buy. It was perfectly shameful!

Well, after it had gone on about three or four months, the little girl, whenever she came into the room in the morning and saw those great ugly, lumpy stockings dangling at the fire-place, and the disgusting presents around everywhere,[Pg 14] used to just sit down and burst out crying. In six months she was perfectly exhausted; she couldn’t even cry any more; she just lay on the lounge and rolled her eyes and panted. About the beginning of October she took to sitting down on dolls wherever she found them—French dolls, or any kind—she hated the sight of them so; and by Thanksgiving she was crazy, and just slammed her presents across the room.

By that time people didn’t carry presents around nicely any more. They flung them over the fence, or through the window, or anything; and, instead of running their tongues out and taking great pains to write “For dear Papa,” or “Mamma,” or “Brother,” or “Sister,” or “Susie,” or “Sammie,” or “Billie,” or “Bobbie,” or “Jimmie,” or “Jennie,” or whoever it was, and troubling to get the spelling right, and then signing their names, and “Xmas, 18—,” they used to write in the gift-books, “Take it,[Pg 15] you horrid old thing!” and then go and bang it against the front door. Nearly everybody had built barns to hold their presents, but pretty soon the barns overflowed, and then they used to let them lie out in the rain, or anywhere. Sometimes the police used to come and tell them to shovel their presents off the sidewalk, or they would arrest them.

“I thought you said everybody had gone to the poor-house,” interrupted the little girl.

“They did go, at first,” said her papa; “but after a while the poor-houses got so full that they had to send the people back to their own houses. They tried to cry, when they got back, but they couldn’t make the least sound.”

“Why couldn’t they?”

“Because they had lost their voices, saying ‘Merry Christmas’ so much. Did I tell you how it was on the Fourth of July?”[Pg 16]

“No; how was it?” And the little girl nestled closer, in expectation of something uncommon.

Well, the night before, the boys stayed up to celebrate, as they always do, and fell asleep before twelve o’clock, as usual, expecting to be wakened by the bells and cannon. But it was nearly eight o’clock before the first boy in the United States woke up, and then he found out what the trouble was. As soon as he could get his clothes on he ran out of the house and smashed a big cannon-torpedo down on the pavement; but it didn’t make any more noise than a damp wad of paper; and after he tried about twenty or thirty more, he began to pick them up and look at them. Every single torpedo was a big raisin! Then he just streaked it up-stairs, and examined his fire-crackers and toy-pistol and two-dollar collection of fireworks, and found that they were nothing but sugar and[Pg 17] candy painted up to look like fireworks! Before ten o’clock every boy in the United States found out that his Fourth of July things had turned into Christmas things; and then they just sat down and cried—they were so mad. There are about
twenty million boys in the United States, and so you can imagine what a noise they made. Some men got together before night, with a little powder that hadn’t turned into purple sugar yet, and they said they would fire off one cannon, anyway. But the cannon burst into a thousand pieces, for it was nothing but rock-candy, and some of the men nearly got killed. The Fourth of July orations all turned into Christmas carols, and when anybody tried to read the Declaration, instead of saying, “When in the course of human events it becomes necessary,” he was sure to sing, “God rest you, merry gentlemen.” It was perfectly awful.

[Pg 18]
The little girl drew a deep sigh of satisfaction.

“And how was it at Thanksgiving?”

Her papa hesitated. “Well, I’m almost afraid to tell you. I’m afraid you’ll think it’s wicked.”

“Well, tell, anyway,” said the little girl.

Well, before it came Thanksgiving it had leaked out who had caused all these Christmases. The little girl had suffered so much that she had talked about it in her sleep; and after that hardly anybody would play with her. People just perfectly despised her, because if it had not been for her greediness it wouldn’t have happened; and now, when it came Thanksgiving, and she wanted them to go to church, and have squash-pie and turkey, and show their gratitude, they said that all the turkeys had been eaten up for her old Christmas dinners, and if she would stop the Christmases, they[Pg 19] would see about the gratitude. Wasn’t it dreadful? And the very next day the little girl began to send letters to the Christmas Fairy, and then telegrams, to stop it. But it didn’t do any good; and then she got to calling at the Fairy’s house, but the girl that came to the door always said, “Not at home,” or “Engaged,” or “At dinner,” or something like that; and so it went on till it came to the old once-a-year Christmas Eve.

The little girl fell asleep, and when she woke up in the morning—

“She found it was all nothing but a dream,” suggested the little girl.

“No, indeed!” said her papa. “It was all every bit true!”

“Well, what did she find out, then?”

“Why, that it wasn’t Christmas at last, and wasn’t ever going to be, any more. Now it’s time for breakfast.”

The little girl held her papa fast around the neck.[Pg 20]

“You sha’n't go if you’re going to leave it so!”

“How do you want it left?”

“Christmas once a year.”

“All right,” said her papa; and he went on again.

Well, there was the greatest rejoicing all over the country, and it extended clear up into Canada. The people met together everywhere, and kissed and cried for joy. The city carts went around and gathered up all the candy and raisins and nuts, and dumped them into the river; and it made the fish perfectly sick; and the whole United States, as far out as Alaska, was one blaze of bonfires, where the children were burning up their gift-books and presents of all kinds. They had the greatest time!

The little girl went to thank the old Fairy because she had stopped its being Christmas, and she said she hoped she would keep her promise and see that[Pg 21] Christmas never, never came again. Then the Fairy frowned, and asked her if she was sure she knew what she meant; and the little girl asked her, Why not? and the old Fairy said that now she was behaving just as greedily as ever, and she’d better look out. This made the little girl think it all over carefully again, and she said she would be willing to have it Christmas about once in a thousand years; and then she said a hundred, and then she said ten, and at last she got down to one. Then the Fairy said that was the good old way that had pleased people ever since Christmas began, and she was agreed. Then the little girl said, “What’re your shoes made of?” And the Fairy said, “Leather.” And the little girl said, “Bargain’s done forever,” and skipped off, and hippity-hopped the whole way home, she was so glad.

“How will that do?” asked the papa.[Pg 22]

“First-rate!” said the little girl; but she hated to have the story stop, and was rather sober. However, her mamma put her head in at the door, and asked her papa:

“Are you never coming to breakfast? What have you been telling that child?”

“Oh, just a moral tale.”

The little girl caught him around the neck again.

“We know! Don’t you tell what, papa! Don’t you tell what!”

Story by W. D. Howells

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During the Christmas Season the usually stoic lobby of First State Bank of Raton was
transformed into a Christmas wonderland, and this Christmas Eve was no different.
Wreaths and garlands graced the walls, and centerpieces made from pinecones were at
each teller station. The female tellers and bank officers all wore cute little elf outfits,
though the men still wore their usual suits and ties. Only the younger ones were bold
enough to don a bright Christmas tie.

At the far end of the lobby three eight-foot tables were crammed with cakes, cookies,
snacks, eggnog, and punch in a huge crystal punch bowl. A ten-foot tall Christmas tree,
decorated with multi-colored ornaments, garlands, twinkling lights, and tinsel dominated
the center of the lobby. Under the tree were brightly wrapped packages of all shapes and
sizes, merely empty boxes of course, but what Christmas tree wouldn’t have presents
stuffed beneath it?

Sitting next to the tree in a great stuffed armchair sat Santa Claus…AKA Charlie Wagner.
Charlie was uncomfortable in the hot Santa suit and the itchy white beard, but he loved
playing Santa Claus. He had never played Santa for the bank’s annual Christmas open
house before, but his friend Shannon, who was the Public Relations Manager of the bank,
had asked him if he could…and Shannon Smith was a woman he could NEVER say no to.

Charlie simply adored Shannon. To him she was probably the most beautiful and sweet
woman in the world, though he never dared to let her know he felt that way. Charlie
didn’t feel he was worthy of a woman like Shannon, let alone think she was attracted to
him at all. She was a bright and beautiful woman, climbing the ladder to success, the best
part of her life still ahead of her. On the other hand Charlie thought of himself as a
washed-up old has-been who had fallen off that ladder years ago. He had once been an
ambitious and successful community leader and businessman. Then his wife divorced
him, he lost his home, his business fell on lean times, and he lost all confidence in
himself…he burned out.

As Charlie sat in his place as Santa Claus, he watched Shannon move around the lobby
performing her duties as hostess of the event. He never ceased to marvel at her grace,
beauty, and especially her smile that seemed to not only brighten the room, but his heart
as well. He remembered how she had offered to pay him to play Santa for the bank and
the look of disappointment on her face when he declined. Broke as he was, he couldn’t
accept any money, even from a bank. He knew she was just trying to help him out, as a
lot of his good friends had done after he fell on hard times, but taking money to play
Santa on Christmas Eve just didn’t seem right.

Charlie carefully adjusted the pillow he had duct-taped to his belly before the next child
climbed into his lap. He was a bull of a man at over six feet tall, but hardly fat. People
milled all around the bank lobby talking, laughing, and enjoying the snack feast at the
refreshment table. A few children ran about playing, but the majority of them waited
patiently for their turn to see Santa Claus and share their Christmas wishes. Charlie
greeted each one with a hearty “Ho, Ho, Ho”, which sometimes scared the more timid
young ones into tears and wails. Charlie was good with kids though, and after a bit even
the most frightened child would be sitting in his lap laughing and giggling.

Charlie’s full attention was on all of the children gathered about him, so he jumped
slightly, almost bouncing a young boy right off of his knee, when Shannon came up next
to him, leaned down and whispered in his ear.

“Does Santa need a break for a little while, or maybe some punch?”

Charlie turned and met Shannon’s beautiful eyes for what seemed like an eternity, before
averting his own, hoping the great white beard hid his blush.

“No ma’am, I’m just fine for now,” he croaked.

Shannon’s smile made his heart melt and his legs go weak.

“Well I want to thank you for doing this for me…us, Charlie. I really appreciate it. I can’t
think of anyone who is a better Santa Claus than you.”

Charlie blushed again, not sure what to say. He thought it funny that she was so easy to
talk to sometimes, yet at other times his tongue felt like a pound of chopped liver and
forgot how to form words.

“Anytime you need a Santa Claus, you can count on me Shannon,” he finally replied.

Charlie almost fainted when she gave him a light kiss on his Santa cap and walked away,
finally sending the boy on his lap tumbling to the floor with a surprised squeal. The boy
jumped up, indignant, and scolded Charlie.

“Gee Santa, you need to get your mind off the babes and onto business…I thought you
were married to some old lady at the North Pole anyway?”

Charlie blushed deep red as both adults and children began to laugh. He wasn’t sure if
they were laughing at him or at the unexpected comments from such a small boy. He
regained his composure quickly though, a quick-witted response coming to mind almost
immediately, but he held his tongue, thinking a Santa should not say such things.

Charlie didn’t notice that Shannon had turned a short distance away, watching him with a
twinkle in her eyes. She knew he had a crush on her. It wasn’t something he hid very
well. The thought made her both uncomfortable and flattered all at the same time.

Though she had known Charlie for nearly ten years, she had never gotten to know him
that well. They never had the same circle of friends and rarely met outside of business
related functions. Shannon knew she could always count on him to help out when she had
a problem requiring someone with his skills and experience, and she had always
reciprocated by throwing some bank business his way. When he was doing work for the
bank he never failed to drop by her office to chat for awhile, always bright and cheerful,
which ran counter to the rumor mill wisdom that made him out to be a grouchy bully. He
had always treated her with respect and gentleness, and somehow she knew that was the
real Charlie.

Shannon had never really considered getting into a relationship with another man since
her divorce and a few painful relationships afterward. Her children and her career were
the most important things to her, and while she missed having a man to share her life
with, she didn’t miss the pain that caring for one always seemed to bring her. She felt
comfortable around Charlie…safe even, but she was always careful not to give him any
signals that might lead him on. He had made a few shy attempts to show her that he cared
for her, sometimes sending her flowers or a card. She always thanked him, but never let
him see how flattered and happy those gifts really made her.

As she watched him now, bringing such joy into the eyes of every child in the room,

Shannon couldn’t help but feel pride in him. Life had thrown him a lot of curve balls the
past few years, and a lesser man would probably have sunk himself into a bottle of
whiskey…but not Charlie. Despite his misfortunes he never quit fighting to rebuild his
life, and more importantly, never quit giving of himself to help other people as he was
now. She remembered the fierce pride that radiated from his eyes, overcoming the pain
and hurt that usually resided in them, as he declined any payment for playing Santa Claus
today. As much as she wanted to help him, she couldn’t help but respect him and his
wishes. She wished she could see that fire in his eyes more often.

Just then Charlie glanced over at her, noticed she was watching him, and turned away
quickly, his blush obvious even behind the white Santa beard. Shannon couldn’t help but
giggle as she turned back to her duties, thinking, “He’s so darn cute when he does that!”

*****

As the afternoon began to grow late, the number of children gathered around Charlie
began to slowly subside. After a while he was alone again. The few children remaining in
the lobby had already seen him and were now enjoying cookies and punch at the
refreshment table. Charlie stood and stretched, holding the beard carefully as he yawned.

He turned to survey the remaining people in the bank, looking for Shannon in particular.

He loved to watch her while she went about her work. She was always friendly and
warm; giving everyone a smile and making them feel welcome. That smile was no
painted on beauty queen smile either. It was genuine, and in Charlie’s mind the all-time
most beautiful smile he’d ever seen.

Charlie’s mind got lost watching Shannon for only few moments before a slight tug on his
sleeve brought him back to earth. He looked down to see a small girl with the biggest
brown eyes he’d ever seen looking up at him shyly, but with no trace of fear.

“Are you really Santa Claus?” she whispered hopefully.

Charlie let out a hearty Santa laugh and dropped down to one knee.

“Well as a matter of fact I am…and I’ll bet your name is…Mary?”

“Nope.”

“Jennifer?”

“Nuh uh.”

“Crystal?”

“Wrong again, Santa!”

Charlie rubbed his beard thoughtfully.

“Oscar?”

The little girl giggled and shook her head.

“OK darlin’, Santa must be getting old…help me out?”

She giggled again before whispering “Wendy Garcia.”

“WENDY! I knew it!”

Little Wendy giggled some more, then her big brown eyes turned serious.

“Can I sit on your lap?”

Charlie laughed again while sitting down into his chair and patting his knee. “Climb
aboard Miss Wendy Garcia!”

Charlie helped her up onto his knee and waited while she settled in before asking, “What
can Santa do for you this fine afternoon, Wendy?”

“Well I need to ask you for something.”

“Ask away young lady. What can Santa get you for Christmas this year?”

“A Christmas tree,” she said matter-of-factly.

“A Christmas tree?”

“Yes, a Christmas tree, but not a very big one.”

Charlie paused a moment, rubbing his beard thoughtfully.

“Didn’t your Mommy and Daddy get a tree this year?”

Wendy looked Charlie straight in the eye.

“I don’t have a Daddy, and Mommy is in Hollywood so she can be an actress, and can’t
come home for Christmas. I live with my Grandma and Grandpa.” She pointed across the
lobby.

Charlie followed her finger and picked out an old couple sitting at a desk opposite of one
of the loan officers. The old man was dressed in a faded old flannel shirt, patched blue
jeans, and a beat up straw hat. His face was creased and withered from many years of
sun, wind, and rain. His wife was a plump friendly looking woman wearing a simple
housedress and a worn knit shawl. The old man twiddled his thumbs nervously between
his knees as the loan officer spoke on the phone.

Charlie turned his attention back to the little girl.
“Your grandparents look like they are very nice people, Wendy, and I’m sure that your

Mommy misses you dearly. Just think, someday when she’s a famous movie star you’ll
both live in a big mansion in Beverly Hills…right next door to Harrison Ford!”

Wendy’s eyes lit up.

“Yes, won’t it be cool?”

Then she looked at Charlie with a quizzical expression. “But I don’t think I’d want to live
next door to a car lot!”

She rolled her eyes at Charlie as they exchanged a look, then a hug.

“Never mind darlin’,” he grinned. “OK now, what about this tree business? Won’t your

Grandma and Grandpa get you one this year?”

Wendy sighed.

“We never get a tree, Grandpa says we ain’t got room for one. That’s why I want just a
little tree, one I could fit in my bedroom.”

She paused a moment, then whispered, “Can you keep a secret?”

Charlie looked serious and crossed his heart with his finger.

“Santa’s no snitch darlin’. Your secret is safe with me.”

Wendy looked at him for a moment, then a look of satisfaction came over her face as she
continued to whisper.

“Well Grandma and Grandpa don’t have much money. They don’t know I was listening,
but I heard them talking. They came down here to the bank to get money so they could
buy me a Christmas present. I don’t need anything, but I don’t want to hurt their feelings
either. Christmas isn’t about presents anyway, it’s about the baby Jesus…isn’t it Santa?”

Charlie looked into Wendy’s big brown eyes for a moment. He just wanted to take that
wonderful little girl into his arms and hug her. After hearing so many children asking for
expensive toys all day, it warmed his heart to hear this little angel speak of the true
meaning of Christmas.

“Yes Wendy, you’re one hundred percent right. You sure are smart for such a little girl.

So you’ve never had a Christmas tree?”

“Nope.”

Charlie rubbed his beard again, seriously deep in thought.

“Here I go again. I’m gonna get myself involved in things that ain’t my business. What the
heck, it’s Christmas. What can they do, shave my head and send me to Bosnia?”

A tug on his fake beard brought Charlie’s attention back to Wendy.

“I don’t mean to be pushy, Santa, but Grandpa looks like he’s ready to go. Do you think
you could just throw a little tree on your sleigh for me tonight? I won’t ask for anything
else, but I’ve always dreamed of having a Christmas tree like everyone else.”

Charlie smiled, but before he could speak he noticed the old couple getting up from the
loan officer’s desk and walking away, an obvious look of pain and disappointment on
their faces. He took young Wendy in his arms and lifted her back onto the floor as he
stood.

“Yes Wendy, you’ll get your tree. I promise. In fact if you’ll excuse me I’ll get right to
work on it!”

Wendy could only watch as Charlie walked quickly across the lobby to the loan officer’s
desk. Bob, the loan officer looked up, somewhat surprised to see Santa Claus leaning
over the front of the desk, beard draped over his computer screen.

“What can I do for you Charlie…or should I say Santa Claus?”

Charlie ignored his arrogant tone.

“Bob, tell me something. Did those two old folks get their loan?”

Bob shook his head. “No. Their only income is Social Security, and they are way too
deep into debt.”

“Well how much did they want?”
Bob snickered. “One hundred dollars. We don’t make loans that small.”

Charlie felt his blood begin to boil. He leaned over the desk until he was eye to eye with
the loan officer. Bob didn’t like the look he saw in those eyes, and he liked Charlie’s
growling whisper even less.

“You mean to tell me you turned down a loan for a measly $100 on Christmas Eve?” He
let Bob stew under his glare before continuing. “My gosh Bob, you’ve always been a
putz, but I never figured you for a Scrooge. A big shot like you couldn’t just loan them
folks the money yourself? You blow that much cash going to Happy Hour!”

As Charlie rose and turned in disgust, Bob regained his courage and hissed, “Maybe that’s
why I’ve got money and you don’t, loser!”

Charlie turned back to Bob, his eyes cold and hard. He fought the urge to reach out and
grab him by the neck and throttle him, knowing Santa beating up on someone, even if he
was a jerk, would not look good. Charlie changed tactics, his eyes softening.

“OK Bob, you have a job to do, I understand that. The old man upstairs would probably
kick your butt for making a loan like that. Tell you what, we can skin this cat another
way. How about you just give them the hundred bucks you owe me for playing Santa? I
know I’ve got another hour, but what the heck, how about paying me now?”

Charlie gave Bob his best used-car salesman look. Bob started to agree…then caught
himself and laughed at Charlie.

“Nice try pal, but you agreed to play Santa for free. I wasn’t born yesterday. A deal is a
deal, we don’t owe you a cent.”

Charlie muffled a growl, then grinned innocently at Bob.

“Well you can’t fault a guy for trying Bob. I guess you’re just too smart for me. OK, how
about you just loan me $100?”

Bob just laughed. “Sorry Charlie, you’re probably a worse risk than those old folks are. I
bet you don’t have more than a dollar in your pocket, do you?”

Charlie gave Bob a confident look.

“Wrong answer Bob. I may not have a hundred bucks, but I’ve got lots more than a
dollar.” He had one dollar and twelve cents to be exact. Charlie saw the old couple
walking towards the door, motioning Wendy to follow. His mind raced furiously, then an
alternate plan hatched in his mind. He turned and gave Bob his most intimidating glare.

“I’ll deal with you later, count on it,” he hissed before turning and running across the
lobby. Shannon’s eyes were not the only ones in the room that were surprised by Santa’s
sudden urge to emulate an OJ Simpson commercial as Charlie leapt over a couch on a
dead run towards her.

“Charlie what are you doing?” she whispered as he pulled up in front of her, his breathing
coming just a bit heavy.

“Shannon, I can’t explain now. There’s no time. I need a favor?”
Shannon looked at Charlie, sizing him up for a moment before shaking her head.

“Of course, Charlie, if I can.”

“Do you see those old folks and that cute little girl heading towards the door? I need you
to stop them, stall them, keep them here until I get back?”

“Get back? Where are you going?”

“I just need to run home and grab something. I promise I’ll explain later. I want you to
think over a second favor while I’m gone too…lend me a hundred bucks?”

Before Shannon could say anything he turned and ran to the door before the old couple
could open it.

“Wait folks. You can’t leave yet. Do you see that pretty girl standing over there? She
needs to talk to you. I think you won the door prize or something.”

Before they could reply, he winked at Wendy and ran out the door, leaving the old couple
staring after him in confusion as Shannon walked over to greet them, just as confused as
they were.

*****

From the vantage point of his fully windowed office above the lobby, bank president
Frank Talbot had been watching as his Santa Claus went berserk, then ran out of the
building.

“That darn Charlie,” he thought out loud. “I knew we shouldn’t have let that loose cannon
play Santa Claus. That lout has been nothing but a pain in my neck as long as I’ve known
him. I imagine I’d better go down and find out what’s going on before I call the police. It
would be best to keep this as quiet as possible. I spend money on these dog-and-pony
shows for good publicity, not bad. I hope the moron doesn’t come back with an Uzi and
really ruin my Christmas.”

Talbot thought about that as he walked down his carpeted private staircase.
“Maybe I’d better call the cops anyway?”

*****

Charlie was out of breath after running the three blocks to his small bungalow, all uphill.
His beard was hanging halfway off his face, and the Santa costume was soaked with
sweat. He burst through the door and stopped, seeing what he came for immediately. He
quickly walked over to the buffet and picked up his small, one foot tall, artificial
Christmas tree, careful not to disturb any of the dozen small red ornaments he had
hanging from it. He didn’t even shut the door as he walked quickly back into the dusky
late afternoon, carefully balancing the tree as he made his way down the hill back to the
bank.

*****

Shannon knew her boss had probably been watching everything from his office perch. He
was always watching, like a hawk looking for prey.

“Come to think of it, he even looks like a hawk.”

She tried to act casual as he walked across the lobby toward her with a stern look on his
face. She hoped Charlie would get back soon, with a darn good story to boot.

“Ms. Smith, just what in the name of Michael is going on down here?”

Shannon hated the patronizing, scolding-father voice he always addressed her in. She
knew he thought of her as just a dumb blonde, and had only hired her because of her
looks. She didn’t care. She was good at her job, and everyone else knew it. She didn’t
need his approval, but she did need the paycheck he signed, so she just did her job and let
him think whatever he wanted.

“Well Mr. Talbot, it seems that Charlie had a sudden emergency, but I’m sure he’ll be
right back.”

Before she could continue, Bob the loan officer leaned over Talbot’s shoulder and
whispered in his ear. Talbot’s eyes grew wide as he listened.

“Call 911 now,” he instructed before turning back to Shannon.

“Ms. Smith, Bob says that Charlie tried to extort money from this bank, and flew into a
rage when Bob called his bluff.”

“Mr. Talbot, I don’t think Char…”

“There’s no time to discuss this, Shannon. I think Charlie is going to come back with a
gun and rob us. You know as well as I that men who fall on hard times, like Charlie,
often get depressed, suicidal and violent this time of year. I want you to help escort all of
the customers out of the bank. Bob is calling the police now. With any luck they’ll catch

Charlie outside before he comes back.”

Shannon opened her mouth to protest, but Talbot turned and began to walk away before
noticing Wendy and her grandparents sitting on the couch.

“I’m sorry folks, it’s closing time now. It is Christmas Eve after all, and we’d like to get
our employees home to enjoy Christmas with their families. Thank you so much for
coming, and Merry Christmas.”

Shannon felt helpless as Talbot ushered the Garcias to the door. Then the door opened
and her heart lifted, only to be disappointed when instead of Charlie, Police Chief Stan
Sandoval and two SWAT team members burst through the open door. Despite her worry,
she couldn’t help but giggle at the serious looks on their faces.

The giggle turned into a laugh a few moments later as Charlie walked nonchalantly
through to door, unnoticed by anyone but her, balancing a tiny Christmas tree in his right
hand. He walked right over to the Police Chief, still unnoticed by anyone as they
exchanged frantic words. He tapped the Chief on the shoulder.

“What happened Stan, somebody rob the place?”

“Not yet Charlie…CHARLIE!”

Every eye in the room turned to Charlie. Talbot turned white, and almost fainted when
one of the SWAT officers leveled his M16 at Charlie and hollered, “FREEZE AND

DROP IT SCUMBAG!”

Charlie gave the young cop a momentary look, then turned to Chief Sandoval.

“You think you could call off your hound dawg there, Stan? Does he think I’ve got a gun
hidden in this itty-bitty Christmas tree…or does he just have some kind of sick

Santa/Rambo thing goin’ on?”

Chief Sandoval had an amused, but pained look on his face as he turned to his young
officer.

“Carl, put the darn gun down. You ain’t even bright enough to realize I never gave you
any bullets for that thing.”

He turned to Charlie and rolled his eyes. “Kids.”

Charlie just grinned.

“So what’s going on here, Stan? Why all the hardware?”

Sandoval looked at Charlie seriously.

“Mr. Talbot says you got into a mad rage and stormed out, threatening to come back with
a gun and kill everyone.”

Charlie laughed a belly laugh that would make the real Santa proud, then looked over at
the still ill-looking Talbot.

“Hi, Frank! Funny I don’t remember you even being down here with the rest of us peons
all day, let alone talking to you. Where did you get such a fool idea? I just ran home to
get this little Christmas tree. I promise it won’t hurt you, unless you’re allergic to little
fake trees? Perhaps someone spiked your eggnog…you don’t look so good.”

Talbot glared at Charlie.

“I didn’t think any such thing. I just got bad information from a moron who used to work
for me…Bob?”

Bob deflated like a balloon as every eye turned to him. Talbot felt more in control now.

“You’re fired, Bob.”

Bob collapsed into a chair, dumbfounded at his sudden misfortune. Charlie looked over at
him and winked.

“Merry Christmas, Bob. Good thing you didn’t loan me that money, seems you might be
needing it.”

Bob ignored the comment and sulked. Chief Sandoval looked around the room and
motioned to his officers.

“Well, it looks like there’s nothing for us to do here. Carl, Kevin, you boys had best git
home and put them guns up before you hurt yourselves. I promise you’ll get to play
commando again soon. In the meantime, those cookies over there look like some kind of
contraband…I’d better taste them to be certain though”

“I think I’ll join you Chief.” Talbot took the Chief by the arm and led him to the
refreshment table, talking to him like a long lost son each step of the way.

“…have I told you what a great job your department is doing…”

Shannon walked over to Charlie, her eyes still moist from laughing at the ludicrous
events. He avoided her eyes as she stood in front of him, looking him over with a smile
on her face. She took his chin gently into her hand and raised his head, looking him in the
eye with amusement.

“So cowboy, you still haven’t told me what this is all about. Why did you go home to get
that cheap, but cute, little Kmart tree?”

Charlie grinned sheepishly, but before he could answer a young voice piped out from
below them.

“It’s for me!”

Charlie and Shannon looked down to see little Wendy, staring at the tree in Charlie’s
hand, her eyes wide with excitement. Shannon looked at Charlie, her eyes soft and moist.

“Is that what this is all about?”

Charlie looked into Shannon’s eyes, and she could see that his were a bit moist as well,
not to mention the cat-that-ate-the-canary grin on his face.

“She’s never had a tree, and she wanted a small one. I figured this little thing of mine was
perfect for her. Her grandparents had no money to buy her any presents, and your bank
wouldn’t loan them a measly hundred bucks. I sure don’t have a hundred bucks, but I had
this tree. I couldn’t let that cute, young gal go home empty handed.”

“That’s what you wanted the hundred dollars for…to give to them?”

“Yep,” Charlie was embarrassed, “I’ll pay you back, you know I will.”

Shannon was silent for a moment, then looked at Charlie sternly.

“No, Charlie.”

“No?”

“No, I won’t lend you the money.” Her stern look melted into a big smile, “But I will give
it to them, as my Christmas gift.”

Charlie was speechless, and before he could utter a word Shannon reached over and
kissed him lightly on the cheek, before walking over to where the elder Garcias were still
sitting. Mr. and Mrs. Garcia exchanged a look as she approached, both wondering if this
bank was loco all the time. Charlie sighed, then knelt down next to Wendy.

“Is this tree OK, darlin?”

“Oh yes Santa, it’s just the best tree I’ve ever seen, it’s perfect!” Charlie smiled.

“Sweetie, I gotta tell ya, I’m not really Santa Claus.”

Wendy just grinned as she hugged Charlie tight, giving him a kiss on the well-disheveled
beard before whispering, “Oh yes you are.” Charlie’s heart melted. He returned her hug
and wished her a very Merry Christmas.

“Santa had better be going now. You don’t want me to be late tonight do you?”

Wendy looked at him sadly, but smiled.

“Well you don’t have to come to my house, Santa, you’ve already given me the best

Christmas present I’ve ever had. I love you.”

Charlie smiled, trying to control the tears welling up in his eyes as he turned and walked
towards the door. Shannon was busy trying to convince the Garcias to accept the crisp
new 100-dollar bill in her hand, and didn’t notice as he walked out the door and into the
crisp Raton night.

*****

As Charlie shuffled up the walk to his house, he noticed that he had left the door standing
wide open.

“With my luck I probably got robbed by now.”

He dismissed the thought quickly. They didn’t have many burglaries in a town like Raton,
and many people never bothered locking their doors. He also noticed that his dog Jake
was quiet out in the back yard. He’d have been barking up a storm had someone been in
the house.

Charlie walked in the door and fumbled for the light switch. When the light came on he
started for the back door to let Jake inside, but stopped almost immediately. He took a
step backward and turned the light switch back off, rubbing his eyes in the darkness for a
moment before turning it back on. He thought he might have been seeing things the first
time, but he was wrong.

In the corner of the living room stood a six-foot tall Christmas tree, decorated to the hilt,
a small angel dressed in silk perched at the top. Charlie walked closer to the tree,
dumbfounded. He spotted a note wedged between a few branches. He took the note and
unfolded it.

People always ask me how I can be everywhere at once on Christmas Eve. I usually just
give them a grin and a wink, but the truth is that people like you are the reason. You are
the “real” Santa Claus, Charlie. Merry Christmas! Kris Kringle

Charlie read the note a dozen times before shaking his head with a chuckle, walking to
the back door to let the dog in.

“Thanks, Santa.” He whispered.

*****
Jake, a large black Labrador, lay curled at Charlie’s feet, sleeping contentedly now that
the only master he had ever known was home, where he belonged. Charlie sat on the
couch, staring at the photos of his kids on the wall, tears in his eyes. The biggest regret in
his life was the fact that he couldn’t be there to watch his children grow into fine young
adults, to help them through the pains of growing up. He especially missed them at
Christmas. He remembered how their eyes would light up when they awoke on Christmas
morning to find that Santa had visited once again.

Charlie sighed and turned his stare to the blank TV screen. He’d usually be watching a
Christmas classic like “It’s a Wonderful Life”, or “Miracle on 34th Street”, but he couldn’t
afford to keep the cable hook up. He had a VCR, but didn’t even have enough money to
rent a movie. He’d been contemplating selling the TV and VCR too, but knew he’d be
lucky to get 20 dollars for either of them.

Charlie was starting to doze off when a knock on the door and Jake’s sharp bark alerted
him. He stood and yawned, momentarily not sure of his surroundings. He walked to the
door trying to shake the cobwebs out of his head. When Charlie opened the door he did a
double take, and rubbed his eyes. A large fir tree took up the entire doorway, then moved
slightly to the side revealing the bright smiling face of Shannon Smith.

“Are you going to make the kids and I stand here holding this tree, Charlie, or are you
going to help us get it inside?”

Now fully awake, Charlie took charge of the tree, dragging it into the house, followed by
Shannon’s young son and daughter, each carrying an armload of packages while their
mother went back to the car to grab some more. They gave Charlie a funny look when
they spied the decorated Christmas tree, but Charlie motioned for them to keep silent. He
propped the tree into a corner and ran out after Shannon in his bare feet.

“What are you doing here Shannon?” he asked, thinking he sounded awfully rude.
Shannon stood and looked at him for a moment with a smile, her eyes bright, then she
began stacking packages into his arms.

“Well Charlie, since you went and gave away your Christmas tree, I figured you might
need another one. Of course I couldn’t trust you to decorate it properly, so I had to get
some ornaments and tinsel for it too. You have had a long day though, and I didn’t want
you to wear yourself out decorating the tree by yourself, so the kids and I decided we
should help you. Since it might take awhile, and you probably didn’t eat tonight, I
brought some food and snacks, and even some nice old Christmas movies.”

Shannon paused and reached back into the car. The mountain of bags and boxes she had
stacked into his arms hid Charlie’s face.

“Of course it’s been a long day for me too, so I brought this to help take the edge off!”
Shannon was still smiling as she raised a bottle of wine so Charlie could see it through
the mountain of packages.

“Shannon, I gotta tell you something…”

“Shh Charlie, not while you’re holding all of that stuff. Take it into the house and then
come back to help me with just one more thing.”

Charlie dutifully carried the load into the house, deposited the packages, and walked back
out the door. Shannon stood in the middle of the walk, her hands behind her back.

“C’mere cowboy, I’ve got something for you.”

Charlie walked to her, still confused and a bit in shock. His confused look soon grew into
a big grin as Shannon removed her hand from behind her back, holding a small piece of
mistletoe. She held it over her head and grinned mischievously at Charlie.

“Now you have to kiss me Charlie…it’s the law. You don’t want me to have to call the
SWAT team do you?”

Charlie took Shannon gently into his arms, confusion still all over his face. When they
kissed, all confusion disappeared.

They stood and looked into each other’s eyes for a moment, then were interrupted by a
timid question from Shannon’s son, standing in the doorway.

“Mom? Why did we bring a Christmas tree when he already has one?”
Now it was Shannon’s turn to be confused as she looked back up at Charlie.

“I thought you didn’t have a tree, Charlie.”

Charlie grinned sheepishly “I didn’t.”

“Did someone else bring you a tree before I did?”
Charlie began laughing, and Shannon could not help but notice that his eyes were
laughing as well.

“Yes darlin, somebody got here before you did.”

“Well? Who was it?”

“The note said Kris.”

“Chris? Chrissy Morgan from the bank? I always knew she was after you.”

Charlie was beginning to enjoy this game.

“No, not Chrissy Morgan.”

“Well tell me who then?”

Charlie continued to be teasingly evasive and she kept grilling him with questions as they
walked into the house, hand in hand, their eyes never leaving each other. The distant
tingle of sleigh bells drifted on the cold night wind as Charlie closed the door.

By Daniel ‘Chip’ Ciammaichella

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I hurried into the local department store to grab some last minute Christmas gifts. I looked at all the people and grumbled to myself. I would
be in here forever and I just had so much to do. Christmas was beginning to become such a drag. I kinda wished that I could just sleep through Christmas. But I hurried the best I could through all the people to the toy department. Once again I kind of mumbled to myself at the prices of all these toys. And wondered if the grandkids would even play with them.

I found myself in the doll aisle. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a little boy about 5 holding a lovely doll. He kept touching her hair and he held her so gently. I could not seem to help myself. I just kept looking over at the little boy and wondered who the doll was for. I watched him turn to a woman and he called his aunt by name and said, “Are you sure I don’t have enough money” She replied a bit impatiently, “You know that you don’t have enough money for it. The aunt told the little boy not to go anywhere that she had to go get some other things and would be back in a few minutes. And then she left the aisle. The boy continued to hold the doll.

After a bit I asked the boy who the doll was for. He said, “It is the doll my sister wanted so badly for Christmas. She just knew that Santa would
bring it.” I told him that maybe Santa was going to bring it. He said “No, Santa can’t go where my sister is…I have to give the doll to my Momma to take to her”. I asked him where his sister was.

He looked at me with the saddest eyes and said “She has gone to be with Jesus”. My Daddy says that Momma is going to have to go be with her. My heart nearly stopped beating. Then the boy looked at me again and said, “I told my Daddy to tell Momma not to go yet. I told him to tell her to wait till I got back from the store”. Then he asked me if I wanted to see his picture. I told him I would love to. He pulled out some pictures he’d had taken at the front of the store. He said “I want my Momma to take this with her so she don’t ever forget me.” “I love my Momma so very much and I wish she did not have to leave me”. “But Daddy says she will need to be with my sister.”

I saw that the little boy had lowered his head and had grown so very quiet. While he was not looking I reached into my purse and pulled out a handfull of bills. I asked the little boy, “Shall we count that money one more time?” He grew excited and said “Yes, I just know it has to be enough”. So I slipped my money in with his and we began to count it.

Of course it was plenty for the doll. He softly said, “Thank you Jesus for giving me enough money.” Then the boy said “I just asked Jesus to give me enough money to buy this doll so Momma can take it with her to give to my sister.” “And he heard my prayer”. “I wanted to ask him for enough to buy my Momma a white rose, but I didn’t ask him, but he gave me enough to buy the doll and a rose for my Momma.” “She loves white roses so very very much”.

In a few minutes the aunt came back and I wheeled my cart away. I could not keep from thinking about the little boy as I finished my shopping in a totally different spirit than when I had started. And I kept remembering a story I had seen in the newspaper several days earlier about a drunk driver hitting a car and killing a little girl and the Mother was in serious condition. The family was deciding on rather to remove the life support. Now surely this little boy did not belong with that story.

Two days later I read in the paper where the family had disconnected the life support and the young woman had died. I could not forget the little boy and just kept wondering if the two were somehow connected. Later that day, I could not help myself and I went out and bought some white roses and took them to the funeral home where the young woman was. And there she was holding a lovely white rose, the beautiful doll, and the picture of the little boy in the store.

I left there in tears, my life changed forever. The love that little boy had for his little sister and his mother was overwhelming. And in a split second a drunk driver had ripped the life of that little boy to pieces. “We make a living by what we get; We make a life by what we give.”

from: http://www.annien.com
Submitted by:  John London

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As the sun set over the snow-capped peaks of the Sangre DeCristo mountains, its fading
light gave the panorama of plains and mesas to the east an eerie, supernatural glow. Even
after being born and raised near here, 30 miles north in Raton, New Mexico and having
traveled this stretch of I-25 countless times since moving to Denver, Jed Cooper was still
awestruck by the powerful raw beauty of this country.

As a nationally respected independent security consultant, Jed spent more time on the
road than anywhere else, which was just fine with him, even on this Christmas Eve. He
had never married, and his parents had passed on years ago. He had no real roots or
family, and therefore no commitments. Despite the nationwide nature of his profession,
he rarely traveled in airplanes. Sure, planes are much faster, but someone else had control
over his fate, something he could never be comfortable with. Besides, he enjoyed driving
and relished seeing everything America had to offer, from ground level.
Jed glanced at his watch, “Almost five, should be home by nine or so, plenty early
enough for a quick one at the Grizzly Rose and a good night’s sleep.”

Tomorrow would be Christmas Day, not that it really mattered. Other than dressing up as
Santa, and doing some time at the shelter for homeless families, Christmas day held little
else that was special to him.
Jed always became a bit melancholy as he drove through this area. Raton reminded him
of his childhood, his parents, and most of all, his high school sweetheart. Jenny was his
first, and only love. Whenever he passed through, he thought about Jenny.
“I wonder where she is, what she’s doing, or if she’s even still alive,” he thought to
himself. “Is she married? Dumb question, of course she is, probably has grandkids by
now. Wonder if she stayed in Raton, or went off to the big city, like we’d always dreamed
we would…”

Throughout high school, Jed Cooper and Jenny Valerio had been together, going steady
they called it then. They loved each other, and were certain they’d be married someday.
But life, and fate, is sometimes cruel to young lovers. Soon after graduation, Jed was
drafted for Vietnam. Jenny begged and pleaded with Jed not to go.
“I’d rather live as a fugitive in Canada, with you at my side, than lose you to some damn
war nobody believes in.” Jenny would sob, tears rolling down her young face, “If you go,
I can’t wait for you, I couldn’t bear the pain.”

Jed was torn between his love for Jenny, and his duty to his country, but in the end Jed
knew what he had to do. “I have to go, Jen. I couldn’t live with myself if I ran away from
this, and you couldn’t either. Don’t worry, I’ll get back O.K.”
Jenny wasn’t convinced, and being young and hurt, she threw a tantrum and told Jed
sharply, “It’s obvious you don’t love me as much as you love the thought of war and
adventure in some rice paddy half a world away. Go on and go. I don’t want to see or hear
from you ever again.”

She didn’t mean it, but she couldn’t bring herself to take it back. She knew in her heart
that Jed was the only man she could ever love.
Jed wasn’t too worried about Jenny, and he told his friends, “She’ll get over it, and she’ll
love me even more when I come home with a shirt full of medals.”

He still wasn’t worried when, the next evening, he saw Jenny at the A&W, parked with
the quarterback of the football team. Jed and Brad Simmons had been rivals since
kindergarten, and Jed figured, “She’s just trying to make me jealous.”
When Jenny didn’t even show up to see him off to boot camp, Jed began to wonder if he
might have really lost her. When she wouldn’t return his letters, or take his phone calls,
he was convinced she no longer cared. He had a leave coming after boot camp, but
heartbroken, he went straight to Vietnam instead.

In Vietnam, survival was top priority, though he thought of nothing but Jenny in his rare
moments of peace and solitude. Jed found that war really was hell, especially this one. He
did what he could to survive, and mourned the loss of many friends. One especially hot
and rainy night his platoon was overrun by Viet Cong forces and the heroism Jed
displayed, by carrying his badly wounded platoon sergeant through enemy infested jungle
to the safety of Da Nang, earned him the Congressional Medal of Honor.

Jed’s parents were absent on the day that the President of the United States draped the
Medal around his neck. His Commanding Officer had assured him that passage to the
Washington D.C ceremony had been approved for his folks, and soon after the affair Jed
found out the reason for their absence: While driving to the Albuquerque airport, his
parents were involved in an automobile accident. There were no survivors.

After losing his parents, the military became his only family. He never went back to
Raton, even for his parents’ funeral. He made a career out of the Marine Corps, then
started his own security business in Denver after he retired. He never even stopped in

Raton for gasoline, if he could help it. The memory of his parents and the love he left
behind was just too painful.
As the miles continued to roll by, taking him closer to the hometown of his childhood,

Jed wished to himself that he could somehow change the past. How grand his life would
have been, if he’d only had Jenny and his parents there to share it with him. With that
thought, he willed Jenny, his folks, and Raton out of his mind. “They’re gone, and you
can’t change the past, dummy.”
As Jed continued to guide his Corvette northward through the crisp New Mexico winter
dusk, he noticed the peak called “Eagle Tail” just to the east.

“Used to be some good deer hunting up there,” he remembered, “got a nice ten point buck
my first time.”
As he gazed up at the peak, now littered with radio towers, he saw an object flying just
above the mountain’s mesa-like base, in his direction.

“Kind of small for a military jet.” he thought. Military planes from Cannon and Kirtland
often flew at low altitude in this area.
As the object grew near, he was sure that it wasn’t a military jet, or any other kind of
airplane for that matter.

“What the…” he exclaimed out loud, as the craft neared. “It can’t be…naw…”
He quickly rubbed his eyes and set them back onto the highway. The object seemed to be
a sleigh, pulled by nine tiny reindeer. The white beard and red suit of the driver were
plainly visible, as well as the bright red nose of the lead reindeer.

“I’ve gotta be imagining things,” Jed muttered as he turned his head for another look. As
quickly as he turned his head, Jed instinctively ducked as the sleigh bore down, on a
collision course. As the sleigh buzzed Jed’s Corvette, he lost control, crashed through a
barbed wire fence and traveled several meters, until he ended up under the bridge
spanning the Canadian River, swamped. As the car lurched to a sudden stop in the river,

Jed’s head bounced off of the steering wheel, knocking him out cold.
It took Jed a few minutes to orient himself once he regained his senses. The winter sun
had disappeared behind the mountains to the west and the air had gotten much colder.

The cold Canadian River water, now up to his neck, didn’t help matters much. Jed
couldn’t force the car door open, but he was able to escape through the driver’s side
window.

Cold, wet and near hypothermia, Jed rescued his now wet jacket from the sinking car,
climbed up the riverbank and started walking as quickly as possible northward on the
interstate toward the lights of Raton. Jed soon lost all feeling in his outstretched thumb,
but the exercise generated enough body heat to keep him going. Despite his predicament,
his mind began racing.

“Am I going nuts? Everybody knows that Santa Claus is just a myth, but the Santa piloted
sleigh was sure real enough. Was it my imagination? Was I hallucinating? Did I really get
buzzed by flying reindeer?”

As Jed continued to plod up the highway, questioning his sanity and the events that led to
his crash, he didn’t notice the passenger car that had slowed and pulled to the shoulder
behind him. The car’s horn caught his attention and he turned towards it, startled.
“What happened, mister. You need a lift to town?”
“What happened, yea, that’s a good question.” Jed retorted sarcastically.
J
ed thought to himself, “I can’t tell these people what really happened, or at least what I
THINK happened. I’d be sent to the cracker factory pretty darn quick, though a nice cozy
rubber room does sound kind of good right now.”
Jed walked over to the driver of the car. “I swerved to miss a deer. Ended up in the river.
I would sure appreciate a lift into Raton.”

The driver, a young, good-looking fella, smiled and opened the rear door. “Climb on in.

The wife brought along a thermos of hot coffee, you’re welcome to have some.”
After Jed settled into the rear seat, he saw that the young man was not alone. A pretty,
twenty-something girl, with dark hair, doe-like brown eyes, and golden skin, occupied the
passenger seat. In the middle was a child seat, filled with the bundled up form of a young
boy. There was something about the girl; like he had seen her before, but he couldn’t
quite put his finger on it.

“I appreciate the ride, young man, and this coffee sure hits the spot, ma’am. My name is
Jed. I used to live around here, a long time ago. You can just drop me off at the nearest
telephone.”

“No trouble, Jed. My name is Mike Johnson. This is my wife, Emily, and this little fella
here is our son, Josh. We live in Las Vegas, but Emily’s family lives in Raton and luckily
for you her Uncle Joe owns a towing company. Don’t you worry about a thing. Nothing’s
gonna be open tomorrow, it being Christmas and all. You just spend the night with us, at
Emily’s mom’s place. She’s a great cook, and you can use the telephone to call your
family. Uncle Joe will tend to your car after Christmas dinner, but I don’t think that you’ll
be driving it again anytime soon. Day after Christmas we should be able to hook you up
with a rental. Or maybe your wife could drive down and fetch you?”

“I’m not married. In fact I’ve really got no place that I need to be, or anyone who will
worry about me. I’ve been alone for quite a long time.”

“Then it’s settled. You’ll spend Christmas with us.”
“I wouldn’t want to trouble you any…”
“No trouble,” Mike’s wife chimed in, “Momma would love the company of a fine looking
gentleman like you… once you dry out.”

Jed took an immediate liking to the young couple. “What the heck, a good home-cooked
meal and a warm bed sure beats a motel. I accept your invitation, and I sure appreciate
the hospitality. Merry Christmas to you both.”
Emily’s eyes brightened as she exclaimed, “That’s what Christmas is all about, Jed.
People caring for other people.”

Jed winked, as young Josh peered over the car seat eyeing him curiously. As they drove
into Raton Jed noticed that the names of most of the stores had changed, but that
downtown Raton still looked much as it had twenty-five years earlier. As the car cruised
slowly up Main, Jed’s throat tightened at the sight of all the downtown Christmas
decorations, and the large Christmas tree right smack in the Main street median. The
buildings, the tree, and the decorations, combined with the backdrop of imposing snowcovered
mesas leading up to Raton Pass made downtown Raton look like Christmas
heaven. He immediately regretted ever leaving his hometown.
As the car continued up Main, through the railroad underpass and east on Sugarite, Jed’s
senses were filled with memories of many of the places he saw. Much of the town had
changed, but some places were the same as he remembered them. The Johnsons left him
to his silence, until they pulled into the driveway of a small, well-kept house on Garcia
Street. The twinkling lights of a Christmas tree escaped through the drapes of the front
picture window.

“Look Josh, we’re here. Let’s go in and give Grandma a great big hug,” Emily cooed as
she bundled the child into his coat.

Mike Johnson turned to Jed. “I’d appreciate some help with the packages in the trunk,
Jed.”

“No problem, Mike. Glad to help out.”

As Jed and the young family entered the house Emily called out,

“Momma, we’re here and we brought some company.”

A female voice answered from a hallway, “I’ll be out in a second, Emmy. Who have you
brought with you?”

Jed’s ears homed in on the voice from the hallway; there was something familiar about it.
When the woman entered the room, the packages in Jed’s arms, as well as his jaw,
dropped to the floor and his body stiffened with surprise and emotion.

“Momma, this is…”

“Jed…” the woman squeaked, as tears welled up in her big brown eyes.

“Momma, you know this man?”

For what seemed to be eternity, Jed couldn’t make a sound come from his mouth. Finally
he was able to choke out, “Jenny. My God.”

Jenny rushed to Jed’s arms, and as he embraced her it seemed that all the years they had
been apart just disappeared. Mike and Emily could only stare, dumbfounded, as the two
childhood sweethearts hugged and wept. Little Josh wasn’t the least concerned.

“Grandma, I want some candy.”

Over the dinner table, Jed and Jenny caught up on the events of their lives over the last
twenty-five years. Mike and Emily tried to remain politely silent, but could not help
asking Jed about wartime experiences. Josh, of course, was another matter. He demanded
constant attention, as children do, until finally Jenny convinced him that it was bedtime.
“The faster you get to sleep, the sooner Santa can deliver your presents.”

Mike and Emily excused themselves to put little Josh to bed, and Jed could hear their
excited whispers, when they thought they were out of earshot. For a time, he could only
gaze at Jenny, drinking in her every feature, amazed at the way time had made her even
more beautiful. Jenny gazed back at him, looking directly into his eyes, thanking the Lord
for bringing him back to her. Jed broke the silence.

“So who did you finally marry?”
He noticed her eyes widen, as if she had forgotten something, and she did not answer
immediately. Jed could just imagine an angry husband storming into the room at just that
moment. The tears that began clouding her eyes made him fear the worst. Jenny’s voice
was little more than a whisper when she answered.
“I never married, Jed. You’re the only man I’ve ever loved.”
Jed’s heart nearly melted, “And I still love you, Jen…” Then a sudden thought crossed his
mind. His voice was strained with emotion when he finally continued, “…then who is
Emily’s father?”
“You are, my darling, I’m so sorry that I never…”

Before she could finish, there was a sharp crack as the back of Jed’s chair met the floor,
after he fainted for the first time in his life.
The next day, as Jed and Mike followed Joe Valerio’s Mega-wrecker down I-25 to
retrieve Jed’s car, both men were silent, lost in deep thought. Both thought about how
strange and wonderful the twists and turns of life can be, and wondered just how
independent from fate they really were. Jed knew that he would never leave Jenny again.

He would marry her, as he always knew he would as a teen. After so many years apart,
every moment together would be treasured and from now on, every Christmas would be
even more magical. Of course, no Christmas would ever be as special as this one had.
As they approached the Canadian River Bridge, Jed was suprised to see that his car had
been removed from the river, and sat sparkling clean on the shoulder, the sun glistening
off the brightly polished chrome.
“Did the State Police already send a wrecker?”
“Could be”, Mike replied, “looks like you got a ticket on the windshield.”

Jed got out of Mike’s car, and walked over to his own. There was no evidence of the
Christmas Eve accident. In fact, the car hadn’t looked this good since it was new. Jed
reached out and took the slip of paper from beneath the wiper blade. It wasn’t a ticket, but
just a plain piece of white paper, with a short hand written note. As Jed read the note, he
broke out in hysterical laughter.
Confused, Mike asked, “What is it, Jed?”
“Nothing,” he laughed, “just a note from a good friend.”
Despite the confused look on Mike’s face, Jed stuffed the note into his pocket. He’d read
it to Jenny later.

DEAR JED, SORRY ABOUT YOUR CAR, RUDOLPH IS GETTING OLD AND HIS
EYESIGHT ISN’T TOO GOOD, BUT I THINK THAT YOU’LL FORGIVE ME. YOU
AND JENNY CAN TELL YOUR GRANDSON HOW GRANDPA GOT RUN OVER
BY A REINDEER. MERRY CHRISTMAS.
SANTA

By Daniel ‘Chip’ Ciammaichella

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Just a week before Christmas I had a visitor. This is how it happened. I just finished the household chores for the night and was preparing to go to bed when I heard a noise in the front of the house. I opened the door to the front room, and to my surprise, Santa himself stepped out from behind the Christmas tree. He placed his finger over his mouth so I would not cry out. “What are you doing?” I started to ask him.

The words choked in my throat, as I saw he had tears in his eyes. His usual jolly manner was gone. Gone was the eager boisterous soul we all know.  He then answered me with a simple statement, TEACH THE CHILDREN! I was puzzled: What did he mean? He anticipated my question, and with one quick movement brought forth a miniature toy bag from behind the tree.

As I stood there bewildered, Santa said, Teach the Children! Teach them the old meaning of Christmas. The meaning that a now-a-day Christmas has forgotten!

Santa then reached in his bag and pulled out a FIR TREE and placed it on the mantle. Teach the Children that the pure green color of the  stately fir tree remains green all year round, depicting the everlasting hope of mankind.  All the needles point heavenward, making it a symbol of man’s thoughts turning
toward heaven.

He again reached into his bag and pulled out a brilliant STAR. Teach the Children that the star was the heavenly sign of promises long ago.   God promised a Savior for the world, and the star was the sign of fulfillment of that promise.

He then reached into the bag and pulled out a CANDLE. Teach the Children that the candle symbolizes that Christ is the light of the world, and when we see this great light we are reminded of He who displaces the darkness.

Once again he reached into his bag and then removed a WREATH and  placed it on the tree. Teach the Children that the wreath symbolizes the eternal nature of love. Real love never ceases. Love is one continuous round of affection.

He then pulled out from his bag an ornament of HIMSELF. Teach the Children that Santa Claus symbolizes the generosity and good will we feel during the month of December.

He reached in again and pulled out a HOLLY LEAF. Teach the Children the holly plant represents immortality. It represents the crown of thorns worn by our Savior. The red holly berries represent blood shed by Him.

Next he pulled out a GIFT from the bag and said, “Teach the Children that God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son. Thanks be to God for His  unspeakable gift. Teach the Children that the wise men bowed before the holy babe and presented Him with gold, frankincense, and myrrh. We should give gifts in the same spirit as the wise men.”

Santa then reached in his bag and pulled out a CANDY CANE and hung it on the tree. Teach the Children that the candy cane represents the shepherd’s crook. The crook on the shepherd’s staff helps bring back strayed sheep from the flock. The candy cane is the symbol that we are our brother’s keeper.

He reached in again and pulled out an ANGEL. Teach the Children that it was the angels that heralded in the glorious news of the Savior’s birth. The angels sang ‘Glory to God in the highest, on earth, peace and good will.’

Suddenly I heard a soft twinkling sound, and from his bag he pulled out a BELL. Teach the Children that as the lost sheep are found by the sound of a bell, it should bring people to the fold. The bell symbolizes guidance and return.

Santa looked at the tree and was pleased. He looked back at me and I saw the twinkle was back in his eyes. He said, “Remember, teach the Children the true meaning of Christmas, and not to put me in the center, for I am but a humble servant of the One who is, and I bow down and worship Him, our Lord, our God.”

Author Unknown

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Pa never had much compassion for the lazy or those who squandered their means and then never had enough for the necessities.  But for those who were genuinely in need, his heart was as big as all outdoors.   It was from him that I learned the greatest joy in life comes from giving, not from receiving.

It was Christmas Eve 1881.  I was fifteen years old and feeling like the world had caved in on me because there just hadn’t been enough money to buy me the rifle that I’d wanted for Christmas.  We did the  chores early that night for some reason.  I just figured Pa wanted a little extra time so we could read in the Bible.

After supper was over I took my boots off and stretched out in front of the fireplace and waited for Pa to get down the old Bible.  I was still feeling sorry for myself and, to be honest, I wasn’t in much  of a mood to read Scriptures. But Pa didn’t get the Bible, instead he bundled up again and went outside. I couldn’t figure it out because we had already done all the chores. I didn’t worry about it long though, I was too busy wallowing in self-pity.  Soon  Pa came back in.  It was a cold clear night out and there was ice in his beard. “Come on, Matt,” he said. “Bundle up good, it’s cold out tonight.” I was really upset then. Not only wasn’t I getting the rifle for Christmas, now Pa was dragging me out in the  cold, and for no earthly reason that I could see.  We’d already done all the chores, and I couldn’t think of anything else that needed doing, especially not on a night like this.  But I knew Pa was not very patient at one dragging one’s feet when he’d told  them to do something, so I got up and put my boots  back on and got my cap, coat, and mittens.  Ma gave me a mysterious smile as I opened the door to leave the house.  Something was up, but I didn’t know what..
Outside, I became even more dismayed. There in front of the house was the work team, already hitched to the big sled.  Whatever it was we were going to do wasn’t going to be a short, quick, little job.   I could tell. We never hitched up this sled unless we were going to haul a big load.  Pa was already up on the seat, reins in hand.  I reluctantly climbed up beside him.  The cold was already biting at me.  I wasn’t happy.  When I was on, Pa pulled the sled  around the house and stopped in front of the woodshed.  He got off and I followed. “I think we’ll put on the high sideboards,” he said.  “Here, help me.”  The high sideboards!  It had been a bigger job than I wanted to do with just the low sideboards on, but whatever  it was we were going to do would be a lot bigger with the high side boards on.

After we had exchanged the sideboards, Pa went into the woodshed and came out with an armload of wood – the wood I’d spent all summer hauling down from the mountain, and then all Fall sawing into blocks  and splitting. What was he doing?  Finally I said something.  “Pa,” I asked, “what are you doing?”  You been by the Widow Jensen’s lately?” he asked. The Widow Jensen lived about two miles down the road.  Her husband had died a year or so before and left her with three children, the oldest being eight.  Sure, I’d been by, but so what?
Yeah,” I said, “Why?”

“I rode by just today,” Pa said. “Little Jakey was out digging around in the woodpile trying to find a few chips. They’re out of wood, Matt.”  That was all he said and then he turned and went back into the woodshed for another armload of wood. I followed him.  We loaded the sled so high that I began to wonder if the horses would be able to pull it.  Finally, Pa called a halt to our loading, then we went to the smoke house and Pa took down a big ham and a side of bacon. He handed them to me and told me to put them in the sled and wait.  When he returned he was carrying a sack of flour over his right shoulder and a smaller sack of something in his left hand. “What’s in the little sack?” I asked.  Shoes, they’re out of shoes.  Little Jakey just had gunny sacks wrapped around his feet when he was out in the woodpile this morning.  I got the children a little candy too.  It just wouldn’t be Christmas without a  little candy.”

We rode the two miles to Widow Jensen’s pretty much in silence.  I tried to think through what Pa was doing.  We didn’t have much by worldly standards.  Of course, we did have a big woodpile, though most  of what was left now was still in the form of logs that I would have to saw into blocks and split before we could use it.  We also had meat and flour, so we could spare that, but I knew we didn’t have any money, so why was Pa buying them shoes and candy?  Really,  why was he doing any of this?  Widow Jensen had closer neighbors than us; it shouldn’t have been our concern.

We came in from the blind side of the Jensen house and unloaded the wood as quietly as possible, then we took the meat and flour and shoes to the door.  We knocked.  The door opened a crack and a timid  voice said,  “Who is it?”  “Lucas Miles, Ma’am, and my son, Matt, could we come in for a bit?”

Widow Jensen opened the door and let us in.  She had a blanket wrapped around her shoulders.  The children were wrapped in another and were sitting in front of the fireplace by a very small fire that hardly  gave off any heat at all.  Widow Jensen fumbled with a match and finally lit the lamp.

“We brought you a few things, Ma’am,” Pa said and set down the sack of flour.  I put the meat on the table.  Then Pa handed her the sack that had the shoes in it.  She opened it hesitantly and took the shoes out one pair at a time.  There was a pair for her and one for each of the children – sturdy shoes, the best, shoes that would last.  I watched her carefully.  She bit her lower lip to keep it from trembling and then tears filled her eyes and started running down her cheeks.  She looked up at Pa like she wanted to say something, but it wouldn’t come out.
“We brought a load of wood too, Ma’am,” Pa said.  He turned to me and said, “Matt, go bring in enough to last awhile.  Let’s get that fire up to size and heat this place up.”  I wasn’t the same person when I went back out to bring in the wood. I had a big lump in my throat and as
much as I hate to admit it, there were tears in my eyes too.  In my mind I kept seeing those three kids huddled around the fireplace and their mother standing there with tears running down her cheeks with so much gratitude in her heart that she couldn’t speak.

My heart swelled within me and a joy that I’d never known before, filled my soul.  I had given at Christmas many times before, but never when it had made so much difference.  I could see we were literally  saving the lives of these people.

I soon had the fire blazing and everyone’s spirits soared.  The kids started giggling when Pa handed them each a piece of candy and Widow Jensen looked on with a smile that probably hadn’t crossed her face for a long time.  She finally turned to us. “God bless you,” she said. “I know the Lord has sent you.  The children and I have been praying that he would send one of his angels to spare us.”

In spite of myself, the lump returned to my throat and the tears welled up in my eyes again.  I’d never thought of Pa in those exact terms before, but after Widow Jensen mentioned it I could see that it was probably true.  I was sure that a better man than Pa had never walked the earth.  I started remembering all the times he had gone out of his way for Ma and me, and many others.  The list seemed endless as I thought on it.
Pa insisted that everyone try on the shoes before we left.  I was amazed when they all fit and I wondered how he had known what sizes to get.  Then I guessed that if he was on an errand for the Lord that  the Lord would make sure he got the right sizes.

Tears were running down Widow Jensen’s face again when we stood up to leave.  Pa took each of the kids in his big arms and gave them a hug.  They clung to him and didn’t want us to go.  I could see that they missed their Pa, and I was glad that I still had mine.
At the door Pa turned to Widow Jensen and said, “The Mrs. wanted me to invite you and the children over for Christmas dinner tomorrow.  The turkey will be more than the three of us can eat, and a man can get cantankerous if he has to eat turkey for too many meals.  We’ll be by to get you about eleven.  It’ll be nice to have some little ones around again.  Matt, here, hasn’t been little for quite a spell.”  I was the youngest.  My two brothers and two sisters  had all married and had moved away.

Widow Jensen nodded and said, “Thank you, Brother Miles.  I don’t have to say, May the Lord bless you, I know for certain that He will.”

Out on the sled I felt a warmth that came from deep within and I didn’t even notice the cold.  When we had gone a ways, Pa turned to me and said, “Matt, I want you to know something.  Your ma and me have  been tucking a little money away here and there all year so we could buy that rifle for you, but we didn’t have quite enough. Then yesterday a man who owed me a little money from years back came by to make things square.  Your ma and me were real excited,  thinking that now we could get you that rifle, and I started into town this morning to do just that, but on the way I saw little Jakey out scratching in the woodpile with his feet wrapped in those gunny sacks and I knew what I had to do.  Son, I spent the money  for shoes and a little candy for those children. I hope you understand.”

I understood, and my eyes became wet with tears again.  I understood very well, and I was so glad Pa had done it.  Now the rifle seemed very low on my list of priorities.  Pa had given me a lot more.  He  had given me the look on Widow Jensen’s face and the radiant smiles of her three children.

For the rest of my life, whenever I saw any of the Jensens, or split a block of wood, I remembered, and remembering brought back that same joy I felt riding home beside Pa that night. Pa had given me much  more than a rifle that night, he had given me the best Christmas of my life.

Author Unknown

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Kit and Kat were very cute and very curious kittens. One day Kit and Kat watched as their round-round Food Lady did something very interesting. First she brought to the big room with the sunny windows large boxes which smelled strange – they smelled yummy.

Then Food Lady took out some spiky green brushes from the biggest box. She laid the spiky brushes out on the floor and studied a crumpled piece of white paper with black markings on it. She said, “hummm, hummm.” She looked up to see Kit and Kat chewing on one of the spiky brushes. “Kit and Kat! Shoo-shoo-shoo little cats,” she yelled.

Kit and Kat went skittering to the other side of the room. But slowly, very slowly, they crept back to the brushes and hid behind them. Now the lady was putting together a stick with feet which stood straight up. Kit wondered about this new stick. Kat wondered… “was it a climbing stick?”

When the lady went to pick up a brush, Kit and Kat decided to try out Food Lady’s new stick. “O-o-oh so nice to scratch, meeow,” they purred as they climbed up the stick. “Meeow!” they screamed as the stick crashed to the floor. “Kit and Kat!” yelled Food Lady. “Shoo-shoo little cats.”

Food Lady began to stick the green brushes to the stick with the feet. When Food Lady was finished, all the brushes were gone from the floor. Kit and Kat had to rub their eyes. “What’s this? A tree? In the house? Yippee!” Kit and Kat ran round and round the house celebrating their good luck. They were so happy that they had to share their happiness with the Food Lady. Kit and Kat leapt at the Food Lady but they only got as high as her knees. Out came their claws. Rip went Food Lady’s nylons. “Kit and Kat!” yelled Food Lady. “Shoo-shoo-shoo, little cats.”

Kit and Kat went running …..to their new tree! Up the trunk they skittered and skattered. “This new tree sways a lot,” thought the kittens. “This tree is going to fall down! Meow! Meeeow!” yelled the kittens as the green brush tree came crashing to the floor. “Kit and Kat!” yelled Food Lady. “Shoo-shoo-shoo, little cats.”

Food Lady picked up the tree and opened another box. Kit and Kat just had to see, so they perched on the arm of a chair near the box. The Food Lady unwrapped an object which had many coloured balls attached in a long string. She wrapped first one string then another round and round the green brush tree. As she was doing this, Kit and Kat leaned way out over the box to see what else was inside. Bump! Thump! Kit and Kat fell into the box. Soft tissue broke their fall and they burrowed down deep into the box. Then they waited. And waited.

The Food Lady unwrapped one object, then another, and placed them on the tree. She picked out one, two, three… suddenly Kit stretched out her paw, stretched out her claws, and swat went Kit at the Food Lady’s hand. “Ouch!” she yelled. “Kit and Kat, shoo-shoo-shoo little cats.” But Kit and Kat were stuck. As hard as they tried, they could not get untangled from the stuff in the box. Food Lady tried to help them out but Kit and Kat were all claws and teeth. Food Lady tried to be patient. Food Lady tried to be kind. But Kit and Kat would have none of it. Finally, out sprang Kit and out sprang Kat. They both ran behind the piano and hid.

Shortly after that, two pairs of shiny eyes peered out from behind the piano. Two pair of eyes full of mischief and fun. The tree looked different. It now had interesting objects hanging all over it. Food Lady was hanging metal strings on the tree. They made the tree look like a frosted cake. “Yum, frosting,” thought the kittens. “Let’s taste some.” Kit and Kat crept from their hiding place and tiptoed up to the tree. First they ate one and then two of the shiny, stringy frostings. “Yuck! No taste.” “Blah, it’s like a fir ball!” “Cough,” went Kit. “Choke,” went Kat. And up came the wet, soggy tinsel. “Kit and Kat! Shoo-shoo-shoo little cats,” said the Food Lady.

The cats ran, but not very far, because something very extraordinary happened. Something which made them turn and look. The tree was bright, the tree was glowing. It twinkled, it flashed. The kittens were scared. The kittens ran away as fast as they could but as they hit the kitchen floor they lost control. Skitter, scatter, crash. They fell over their bowls. Water and food covered the kitchen floor.

“Kit and Cat,” said Food Lady. “I am tired of saying … Kit and Kat! Shoo-shoo-shoo little cats. Let’s give you some time out.” The Food lady scooped up Kit and Kat and put them into the room with the loud flushing well and the drip drip spouts. They liked this room so they were not too sad. As the door closed, Kit and Kat looked for the roll of soft paper which was fun to scratch and unravel on the bathroom floor.

Meanwhile, the Food Lady cleaned up the kitchen floor and placed more colourful objects throughout the house. She took out her recipe box and planned her baking and cooking of wonderful Christmas foods.

When she was finished, she went to let Kit and Kat out of the bathroom. Kit and Kat were curled up on a pile of crumpled and torn toilet paper, sound asleep. The food lady shook her head and smiled. “Kit and Kat, you busy, busy kittens. You’re both so cute. I love you just the way you are.” And as time passed, Kit and Kat grew up to be just as loving as the Food Lady but they were still very busy cats at Christmas time. They were forgiven, for as we all know, not one creature on this earth is perfect.

by Linda Hastings

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It was Christmas Eve, and the family circle of Luke Steffink, Esq., was aglow with the amiability and random mirth which the occasion demanded. A long and lavish dinner had been partaken of, waits had been round and sung carols; the house-party had regaled itself with more caroling on its own account, and there had been romping which, even in a pulpit reference, could not have been condemned as ragging. In the midst of the general glow, however, there was one black unkindled cinder.
Bertie Steffink, nephew of the aforementioned Luke, had early in life adopted the profession of ne’er-do-weel; his father had been something of the kind before him. At the age of eighteen Bertie had commenced that round of visits to our Colonial possessions, so seemly and desirable in the case of a Prince of the Blood, so suggestive of insincerity in a young man of the middle-class. He had gone to grow tea in Ceylon and fruit in British Columbia, and to help sheep to grow wool in Australia. At the age of twenty he had just returned from some similar errand in Canada, from which it may be gathered that the trial he gave to these various experiments was of the summary drum-head nature. Luke Steffink, who fulfilled the troubled role of guardian and deputy-parent to Bertie, deplored the persistent manifestation of the homing instinct on his nephew’s part, and his solemn thanks earlier in the day for the blessing of reporting a united family had no reference to Bertie’s return.
Arrangements had been promptly made for packing the youth off to a distant corner of Rhodesia, whence return would be a difficult matter; the journey to this uninviting destination was imminent, in fact a more careful and willing traveller would have already begun to think about his packing. Hence Bertie was in no mood to share in the festive spirit which displayed itself around him, and resentment smouldered within him at the eager, self-absorbed discussion of social plans for the coming months which he heard on all sides. Beyond depressing his uncle and the family circle generally by singing “Say au revoir, and not good-bye,” he had taken no part in the evening’s conviviality.
Eleven o’clock had struck some half-hour ago, and the elder Steffinks began to throw out suggestions leading up to that process which they called retiring for the night.

< 2 >
“Come, Teddie, it’s time you were in your little bed, you know,” said Luke Steffink to his thirteen-year-old son.
“That’s where we all ought to be,” said Mrs. Steffink.
“There wouldn’t be room,” said Bertie.
The remark was considered to border on the scandalous; everybody ate raisins and almonds with the nervous industry of sheep feeding during threatening weather.
“In Russia,” said Horace Bordenby, who was staying in the house as a Christmas guest, “I’ve read that the peasants believe that if you go into a cow-house or stable at midnight on Christmas Eve you will hear the animals talk. They’re supposed to have the gift of speech at that one moment of the year.”
“Oh, DO let’s ALL go down to the cow-house and listen to what they’ve got to say!” exclaimed Beryl, to whom anything was thrilling and amusing if you did it in a troop.
Mrs. Steffink made a laughing protest, but gave a virtual consent by saying, “We must all wrap up well, then.” The idea seemed a scatterbrained one to her, and almost heathenish, but if afforded an opportunity for “throwing the young people together,” and as such she welcomed it. Mr. Horace Bordenby was a young man with quite substantial prospects, and he had danced with Beryl at a local subscription ball a sufficient number of times to warrant the authorised inquiry on the part of the neighbours whether “there was anything in it.” Though Mrs. Steffink would not have put it in so many words, she shared the idea of the Russian peasantry that on this night the beast might speak.
The cow-house stood at the junction of the garden with a small paddock, an isolated survival, in a suburban neighbourhood; of what had once been a small farm. Luke Steffink was complacently proud of his cow-house and his two cows; he felt that they gave him a stamp of solidity which no number of Wyandottes or Orpingtons could impart. They even seemed to link him in a sort of inconsequent way with those patriarchs who derived importance from their floating capital of flocks and herbs, he-asses and she-asses. It had been an anxious and momentous occasion when he had had to decide definitely between “the Byre” and “the Ranch” for the naming of his villa residence. A December midnight was hardly the moment he would have chosen for showing his farm-building to visitors, but since it was a fine night, and the young people were anxious for an excuse for a mild frolic, Luke consented to chaperon the expedition. The servants had long since gone to bed, so the house was left in charge of Bertie, who scornfully declined to stir out on the pretext of listening to bovine conversation.

< 3 >
“We must go quietly,” said Luke, as he headed the procession of giggling young folk, brought up in the rear by the shawled and hooded figure of Mrs. Steffink; “I’ve always laid stress on keeping this a quiet and orderly neighbourhood.”
It was a few minutes to midnight when the party reached the cow-house and made its way in by the light of Luke’s stable lantern. For a moment every one stood in silence, almost with a feeling of being in church.
“Daisy — the one lying down — is by a shorthorn bull out of a Guernsey cow,” announced Luke in a hushed voice, which was in keeping with the foregoing impression.
“Is she?” said Bordenby, rather as if he had expected her to be by Rembrandt.
“Myrtle is –”
Myrtle’s family history was cut short by a little scream from the women of the party.
The cow-house door had closed noiselessly behind them and the key had turned gratingly in the lock; then they heard Bertie’s voice pleasantly wishing them good-night and his footsteps retreating along the garden path.
Luke Steffink strode to the window; it was a small square opening of the old-fashioned sort, with iron bars let into the stonework.
“Unlock the door this instant,” he shouted, with as much air of menacing authority as a hen might assume when screaming through the bars of a coop at a marauding hawk. In reply to his summons the hall-door closed with a defiant bang.
A neighbouring clock struck the hour of midnight. If the cows had received the gift of human speech at that moment they would not have been able to make themselves heard. Seven or eight other voices were engaged in describing Bertie’s present conduct and his general character at a high pressure of excitement and indignation.
In the course of half an hour or so everything that it was permissible to say about Bertie had been said some dozens of times, and other topics began to come to the front — the extreme mustiness of the cow-house, the possibility of it catching fire, and the probability of it being a Rowton House for the vagrant rats of the neighbourhood. And still no sign of deliverance came to the unwilling vigil-keepers.
Towards one o’clock the sound of rather boisterous and undisciplined carol-singing approached rapidly, and came to a sudden anchorage, apparently just outside the garden-gate. A motor-load of youthful “bloods,” in a high state of conviviality, had made a temporary halt for repairs; the stoppage, however, did not extend to the vocal efforts of the party, and the watchers in the cow-shed were treated to a highly unauthorised rendering of “Good King Wenceslas,” in which the adjective “good” appeared to be very carelessly applied.

< 4 >
The noise had the effect of bringing Bertie out into the garden, but he utterly ignored the pale, angry faces peering out at the cow-house window, and concentrated his attention on the revellers outside the gate.
“Wassail, you chaps!” he shouted.
“Wassail, old sport!” they shouted back; “we’d jolly well drink y’r health, only we’ve nothing to drink it in.”
“Come and wassail inside,” said Bertie hospitably; “I’m all alone, and there’s heap’s of ‘wet’.”
They were total strangers, but his touch of kindness made them instantly his kin. In another moment the unauthorised version of King Wenceslas, which, like many other scandals, grew worse on repetition, went echoing up the garden path; two of the revellers gave an impromptu performance on the way by executing the staircase waltz up the terraces of what Luke Steffink, hitherto with some justification, called his rock-garden. The rock part of it was still there when the waltz had been accorded its third encore. Luke, more than ever like a cooped hen behind the cow-house bars, was in a position to realise the feelings of concert-goers unable to countermand the call for an encore which they neither desire or deserve.
The hall door closed with a bang on Bertie’s guests, and the sounds of merriment became faint and muffled to the weary watchers at the other end of the garden. Presently two ominous pops, in quick succession, made themselves distinctly heard.
“They’ve got at the champagne!” exclaimed Mrs. Steffink.
“Perhaps it’s the sparkling Moselle,” said Luke hopefully.
Three or four more pops were heard.
“The champagne and the sparkling Moselle,” said Mrs. Steffink.
Luke uncorked an expletive which, like brandy in a temperance household, was only used on rare emergencies. Mr. Horace Bordenby had been making use of similar expressions under his breath for a considerable time past. The experiment of “throwing the young people together” had been prolonged beyond a point when it was likely to produce any romantic result.
Some forty minutes later the hall door opened and disgorged a crowd that had thrown off any restraint of shyness that might have influenced its earlier actions. Its vocal efforts in the direction of carol singing were now supplemented by instrumental music; a Christmas-tree that had been prepared for the children of the gardener and other household retainers had yielded a rich spoil of tin trumpets, rattles, and drums. The life-story of King Wenceslas had been dropped, Luke was thankful to notice, but it was intensely irritating for the chilled prisoners in the cow-house to be told that it was a hot time in the old town tonight, together with some accurate but entirely superfluous information as to the imminence of Christmas morning. Judging by the protests which began to be shouted from the upper windows of neighbouring houses the sentiments prevailing in the cow-house were heartily echoed in other quarters.

< 5 >
The revellers found their car, and, what was more remarkable, managed to drive off in it, with a parting fanfare of tin trumpets. The lively beat of a drum disclosed the fact that the master of the revels remained on the scene.
“Bertie!” came in an angry, imploring chorus of shouts and screams from the cow-house window.
“Hullo,” cried the owner of the name, turning his rather errant steps in the direction of the summons; “are you people still there? Must have heard everything cows got to say by this time. If you haven’t, no use waiting. After all, it’s a Russian legend, and Russian Chrismush Eve not due for ‘nother fortnight. Better come out.”

After one or two ineffectual attempts he managed to pitch the key of the cow-house door in through the window. Then, lifting his voice in the strains of “I’m afraid to go home in the dark,” with a lusty drum accompaniment, he led the way back to the house. The hurried procession of the released that followed in his steps came in for a good deal of the adverse comment that his exuberant display had evoked.

It was the happiest Christmas Eve he had ever spent. To quote his own words, he had a rotten Christmas.

by Saki

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