Christmas Eve by Verna Hargrove (well read books .txt) 📕

CHRISTMAS EVE

by

Verna Hargrove

December 24, 1950.
We woke up to snow that morning. After a breakfast of toast and oatmeal, my sister, Lorraine, and I got our sleds out of the barn and climbed the steep hill behind our farmhouse. After an hour of going up and sliding down the hill, we were called inside to help bake Christmas cookies.
Our mother had the cookie dough ready in a big ball on the table. While Lorraine rolled the dough out on the floured breadboard, I found the cookie cutters. We cut trees, bells and stars, and then we placed them on the baking sheet. “Set the timer for seven minutes,” said Mother. “We don't like our cookies hard.”
The aroma of hot cookies soon filled the room. “M-m-m.”
Once the cookies were baked and decorated, it was time for lunch. “Can we skip the Campbell vegetable soup and just have cookies for lunch?” I asked.
“Of course not,” said Lorraine. “Mother would never allow that.”
Mother raised her eyebrows. “You got that one right.”
As usual I was disappointed, but I could not let my feelings show. Not on Christmas Eve.
After lunch, we cleaned off the table and got out the gift wrapping paper. We two girls took a different end of the table to wrap our gifts, being careful not to peak at each other. I gave Lorraine a musical jewelry box with a dancing ballerina inside. I was so excited. I knew she would love it.
The Christmas tree was all lit up in front of the living room window. We all had gone to the woods a week earlier to chop it down. And then we strung popcorn to hang on it, along with the colored lights.
“I just love the smell of pine,” said seven-year-old Lorraine.
I agreed. I was only five, but I felt the energy in the air.
Mother baked pumpkin and mincemeat pies in the afternoon. Lorraine and I got the dust cloth and dust mop and cleaned the house. Our grandparents were coming the next day for Christmas dinner, and we wanted the house to be pretty.
We lived on a farm in Colorado, so our dad had gone to the fields to work all day. After a supper of cornbread and milk, Dad went back out to milk the cows. That meant that the magic of Christmas would begin soon. The charm was hidden in our parents bedroom, and we weren't allowed in there. We both hoped there was a doll for each of us in the magic room.
Once we heard the back door open, we knew Santa was on his way. Lorraine and I ran to the living room and took our seats. Mother walked in with a plate of cookies and a wide grin on her face.
I squealed.
“Sh-h,” said Mother. “Santa is coming.”
I zipped my lips and listened.
The door of the magic room opened. I held my breath and waited.
“Ho, ho, ho.” Only the real Santa would say that.
“He's here,” said Mother, wide-eyed.
Santa walked into the room and stood by the glittering tree. We waited while Santa passed out the small packages under the tree. We opened each others gifts and said, “thank you.” Lorraine gave me a set of play dishes.
Now I was ready for my surprise inside Santa's bag. My imagination soared, and excitement mounted inside my chest. I crossed my fingers.
Dropping his bag to the floor, Santa removed two boxes and handed one to each of us girls. My heart skipped a beat, as I opened my box. There she was, my dream doll with a frilly pink dress and a fluffy bonnet to match. Blond curls framed her face. I immediately fell in love with my gorgeous doll.
I smiled and thanked Santa.
My Santa did not wear a red suit and shiny boots, but rather a plaid shirt and blue jeans. His work boots were dirty from barn muck, but I didn't care. He wore a Santa mask like they sold at a five and dime store. It had a white wig and beard attached under the red stocking cap.
He smiled back at me. His eyes behind the mask looked so much like my dad. But he was the real Santa, not my dad. My dad could not be there anymore than Clark Kent and Superman could be in the same room at the same time. We knew that and did not care. Besides, my parents were poor, and could not afford such a beautiful doll.
Santa ate his cookies and drank a glass of milk. “I must go now,” he said. “I still have to deliver toys to children around the world.”
He walked outside where it was snowing, and disappeared into the dark.
“Goodbye Santa,” I said. “We'll see you next year.” I pulled my doll to my chest, hugging her tightly.


843 words

Text: Verna Hargrove
Images: Verna Hargrove
Editing: Verna Hargrove
Translation: English
Publication Date: 12-01-2012

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