A MISSOURI CHRISTMAS

America had just climbed from the deep trenches of war. Briefly, there was a semblance of peace on earth for a family living in an old white Missouri farmhouse.

This mother and father with three small daughters had no wealth but their home was filled with love this Christmas Eve. Fudge had been made on the wood stove in the kitchen. The father had brought home a tree on the horse-drawn sled he used to transport the water barrel back and forth from the creek to the house. The tree stood in the front room, laden with strings of popcorn and colored paper chains, strung by the loving hands of the three girls. There was no electricity to illuminate this splendor. No matter, the miracle of it all shimmered in the eyes of the children.

Due to an injury, the father had not gone to fight though he would have. No one close to them had failed to return home. The girls didn't notice that their uncles never talked of their war experiences, or that a ghost of horror often invaded the twinkles of their eyes.

Their childish thoughts were on Christmas presents. One each was all that could be afforded. This was accepted if not entirely understood. After deciding they each wanted a sled they had exciting thoughts of flying over snowdrifts that often reached the fence tops. Some of their classmates at their one-roomed country school would not have any presents. If they could have chosen just one surely it would have been to see their fathers alive and home again.

The two older girls were certain in their choice but the youngest wavered between a sled and a teddy bear. It was a hard choice. Santa was all-powerful, wasn't he? Surely he could provide a sled as well as a teddy? But she had been assured there would be only one gift for each girl. Reluctantly, she chose the sled.

She was saddened by the decision but the delicious smell of applesauce cake, made from apples stored away in the root cellar, brightened her mood. The spicy scent mingled with the fresh sharp tang of drying pine needles. The tantalizing combination was enough to make all dreams possible.

Everything was ready for Christmas dinner. Chickens had had their heads removed with a quick deft twist of the mother's wrist. Now, with their insides stuffed with bread, sage, and other secrets they nestled in a pan of river ice, waiting their turn in the wood-burning oven. Fresh baked bread with golden crust concealing the inner warmth of white delight drew all to linger in the warmth of the kitchen for a moment longer. Just a small slice thickly spread with the sweet butter the girls had churned, or a tiny bit of pumpkin pie, made from those golden globes from the garden? But no, early to bed was the loving order.

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