Christmas
Stories Yet Untold
part 2
“What do you say, Dad?” Even the
crackling bacon hushed to hear the next few words from George's lips.
Knowing her unpredictable husband held the keys to this particular
Christmas, Iona held her breath. George looked long and evenly at his
son's worried brown eyes. George was a tall man, quick to laugh, but
quick, as well, to dole out a good whipping to his son.
He didn't answer right away, but he
finally broke the still air in their kitchen. “We'll have to wait
and see. Don't rule anything out.” George rubbed his hands over the
Christmas cloth, starched and bravely stretched on the ancient wooden
square table in the kitchen. The table bore the stains of many hog
butcherings and renderings through the years since its purchase for
the 1898 New Year's Eve wedding of Iona's parents. None of that
showed because his wife had taken the time to spread a little beauty
wherever she went. He looked at her straight back and the arch of her
neck. A few brown wisps of hair escaped her French roll bun. He
briefly closed his eyes, willing himself to ease into this Christmas
and not ruin any of her plans. He met the brown eyes of his son and
smiled. “Santa will find a way, I think.” George pulled out his
silver pocket watch and made a big show of winding it a little before
slipping it back in the watch pocket of his ironed overalls.
It seemed strange for a son so tall and
so grown up in many ways to cling to the notion of Santa Claus. It
was nothing to send Gerald on the mail hack to deliver the daily post
throughout the area. It would be years before the family invested in
an International Harvester model A tractor to make the deliveries
easier. A tractor like that would have secured Santa's role in the
Miller family Christmas that year. However, this Sunday held no
modern marvels, no transport through the drifts of snow beginning to
form. And possibly for the last Christmas of his childhood innocence,
Gerald was genuinely worried if Santa could make the trip.
The Sunday before Christmas was a
powerful annual church event, and the fact it fell this year on the
24th increased its hold on the Miller children. The family
attended Mt. Salem Baptist Church, about two and a third miles away.
Normally they would drive their car, but snowy, unplowed roads raised
the question. “Do we get to go even if our Ford won't make it in
the drifts?” They had a 1932 Model B coupe, and George would never
get his vehicle out on a day like this. After the children left the
table, Iona asked, “So, do we stay home and have Christmas without
the program?”
George shook his head. “No. We will
start early, and we'll walk it.” Normally a walk that far would
take about 45 minutes, but through the snow it might be a bit longer.
“We will leave at four,” George sighed. He knew his long legs
would make the trip easily, and he was accustomed to taking the mail
on foot if necessary, but the girls would get really cold.
Iona turned to the chore of finding
enough mittens and scarves, hats and wool sweaters for everyone to
wear inside their warm, everyday coats. Elizabeth and Opal opened the
little closet under the stairs. “What can we wear then?” Opal
wondered, looking through her dresses and wishing for something green
to show off her eyes and soft curls. Her voice trailed off, and a
slight scream escaped her lips.
Elizabeth whirled around to find her
younger sister holding out two new sweaters, one winter green and one
blue and white. “Mama!” they said again together, running to hug
their mother and thank her for the early Christmas gift. “Thank
you, Dad! Thank you, Mama,” their words hung in the air as they
layered on the soft woolen treasures. The sweaters were light weight
and cozy-woolen warm. They listened to the whole story. “So
Grandmother knitted these for us this fall? No wonder she never let
us look in her willow knitting basket,” Elizabeth listened
carefully to the steps involved in this Christmas surprise. She
treasured the love that brought these gifts to her and her sister,
from her parents' early
August order of wool yarn from a farm a
few towns over, to her Grandmother Franks, who had spent hours
knitting on small wooden needles.
Gerald got no sweater that day, and he
believed with all his heart his only chance for a Christmas present
lay with Santa and his ability to walk all over the world and fly his
magical reindeer and sleigh when he could. By the moody gray skies,
Gerald began to steel himself to the thought of an empty Christmas
Eve.
To be continued tomorrow
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