A Cozy Country Christmas Anthology Read Online Free PDF Page A

always right.” Ellen's vivacious face sobered.
“But as much as you hate the idea, it's urgent that we find the key
and free ourselves.”
    Tim knew he was grinning like an idiot.
“What's wrong with our present situation? I find it quite
cozy.”
    Ellen laughed, a chime sweeter than silver
bells. “I confess, so do I. But I also drank three cups of punch at
the party—and my bathroom is definitely a one-seater.”
    Tim pulled her closer and kissed those
adorably quirking lips, confident that both God, Grandma and
Charlie would approve.
     
    THE END
     

 
    Star of
Bethlehem
     
    A Star and a tree. Such a humble request. The
snow came to just above my ankles, fresh flakes powdering the
shoulders of my coat. The memory of Jill’s wistful brown eyes
haunted me as I struggled to open the sliding door of the barn.
    The calico cat with a crumpled ear, an ever
gracious host, met me as I stepped inside. The cows were standing
patiently in their stalls, waiting for the milkmaid and her
pail.
    I could visualize the noisy chaos within the
house—my four children were making Christmas cookies, candy
sprinkles and drops of icing decorating the floor, their faces, the
tablecloth and, hopefully, a few of the cookies. Steven was
supervising from a kitchen chair, his smashed leg in its bulky cast
propped on a hamper, the leg which was responsible for keeping him
from his winter job as a garage mechanic.
    The chicken coop had been my first stop and
as I spread the corn in the feeder, I had avoided looking at the
heat lamps which would have to be run 24 hours a day in bitter
weather. The heat lamps reminded me of the electric bill lying in
the unpaid pile in the kitchen drawer.
    Tonight was Christmas Eve and before going to
bed I still had to put the yarn hair on Jill’s rag doll, hem
Donna’s skirt and sew the buttons on the boys’ shirts. Christmas
Eve, and there was no tree.
    I had broken the news to the children less
than a week ago. The breakfast table had been the scene of a
stimulating debate as to the placement of the tree and very little
oatmeal was being eaten.
    Jill waved her spoon in ecstasy, seeing inner
visions of evergreen splendor. “I want a star on the tree. A pretty
star like the one I carried in the Christmas play! Jesus was born
under the Christmas star, you know.”
    I could wait no longer. Joining them at the
table, I explained that we couldn’t afford to buy a tree this year.
“We can’t cut down any of the trees Grandpa planted, can we?”
    Four heads shook a vigorous “no”. “But where
will we put our presents?” Lars, age nine, inquired plaintively.
“They always go under the tree.”
    “We’ll find a special spot.” No one smiled.
“Please don’t talk about the tree in front of your father,
children. He feels terrible about being unable to work and I can’t
get a job because he needs special care.”
    My voice broke and Donna jumped up to put her
arms around me. “We can string popcorn and put it on the spruce
outside the family room window. That way the birds will have a
Christmas tree.”
    “Lars and I can have fun making snowmen,”
Jeff chimed in.
    Jill was silent, but a crystal drop rolled
down the babyish cheek and plopped into her untouched oatmeal.
    I was a failure as a mother—couldn’t even
supply a tree to put my homemade gifts under. A honk signaled the
arrival of the bus and triggered a wild scramble for coats, books
and mittens.
    Wrapping a scarf around my kindergartner’s
parka hood, I kissed the tip of her nose. “We’ll have fun this
Christmas, Jill. Leave it to Mommy.”
    The brown eyes looked at me solemnly. “I’ll
ask Jesus for a tree and a star. The star is really for Him.”
    The silence in the barn allowed Jill’s words
to echo in my mind. The radio in the house had been playing
Christmas carols and I switched the radio set on a shelf to the
same station and turned it on, hoping to soothe my inner turmoil. A
tree and a star. Jill prayed every night for