A Log Cabin Christmas Read Online Free PDF Page A

replied.
    “Yes, that’s right,” Maddie said. “God greeted your pa with open arms and is taking good care of him. Like He takes care of all His hurting people.” She squeezed Brandon’s hands. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”
    Brandon stared at her but said nothing. She was suddenly aware of a terrible blast of cold air. Donovan had returned and stood by the door watching them, his arms empty. Apparently, he still hadn’t found the woodpile. He studied her for a moment before slamming the door shut and shaking snow off his duster and hat.
    “Is your horse all right?” she asked.
    He nodded. “The chimney keeps the lean-to fairly warm.”
    “That’s good,” she said.
    For the rest of the morning the blizzard raged outside, and tempers flared inside. The sheriff didn’t help matters. He was distant and barely spoke except when absolutely necessary. At times she caught him watching her, but his thoughts remained hidden behind the gloomy mask of his face. No doubt he blamed her for the situation. As if she were responsible for the weather or remoteness of the cabin.
    Now he knelt by the fireplace, breaking up the last of a church pew with blows of a well-aimed ax.
    Sophie punched Jimmy in the arm. “He won’t leave me alone,” she whined for perhaps the hundredth time.
    “Come along, children,” Maddie said, feigning a cheerfulness she didn’t feel. “Tomorrow will be Christmas Eve, and something magical always happens then.”
    At least it always did in Boston. The day before Christmas was when friends and relatives arrived bearing presents and food to share. There was always plenty of roast beef, potatoes, and fruitcake to go around—and what would Christmas be without oysters? Sighing, she pushed such thoughts away. She was homesick enough without making herself more miserable. If only the wind would stop.
    “What about the Christmas program?” Sophie asked. “What if no one can come to see it?”
    “We’ll just have to wait for another day,” Maddie said. “Perhaps after Christmas.”
    “We should do it at the Fourth of July picnic,” Jimmy said, crawling beneath a pew to retrieve chips of wood. “We’ll have Christmas in July.”
    “That’s not funny,” Sophie stormed. “Christmas plays should be at Christmastime. That’s the rule.”
    “I tell you what,” Maddie said. “Let’s play charades.” Whenever she’d suggested playing the game in the past, her pupils had responded with raised hands and loud shouts of “Me first.” Today her suggestion was met with stony-faced indifference.
    “I’m hungry,” Sophie complained.
    “Me, too,” Jimmy said.
    “It’s nice to hear that you two agree on something. See? Already we have a Christmas miracle.” She reached into her supply box for the last of the beef jerky and broke it into three small pieces.
    While handing a piece to Brandon, she inadvertently knocked against Donovan’s arm. The cabin was small, and the ironing-board desk and the remainder of the long, narrow pews took up most of the space, leaving little room for its occupants. It seemed like she could hardly move without bumping into the sheriff, rubbing against his arm, brushing him with the flared hem of her skirt. Earlier they even reached for the poker at the same moment, her hand meeting his on the brass handle.
    Now she quickly pulled away and tried to pretend that nothing had happened. She glanced at him to see if he’d noticed but was unable to tell by his expression. He simply donned his duster and walked outside, presumably to check his horse or the weather. Again.
    Maddie didn’t need to go outside to know that the storm hadn’t let up. Not even Jimmy and Sophie’s shouting match could mute the wind that threatened at times to carry away the roof if not the whole cabin.
    She reached into her supply box, where she kept her special stationery. She used it for progress reports home to parents. It was expensive paper, but desperate times called for