Stories

Credit and the Christmas Doll / By Reba Roscoe

The sound of the wagon wheels bumping over the frozen ground woke me. I jumped from my bed and began to dress. Why had Papa left me behind? "This is Christmas Eve," I told myself. "Why did he leave so early? He knew I wanted to go to town with him."

I rushed down the open, cold hall to the kitchen. It smelled so good, baking biscuits and frying bacon, and was so warm from the wood stove. But something was wrong. Mama looked like she had been crying. She usually was singing - her singing was the only music in our house. How could Mama be sad this day, one of the best days of the year? And why had Papa not taken me with him?

Questions about the day and Mama and Papa kept bothering me. Mama set up the churn and began to make the butter. But still no smile and no song. Finally I asked, "Mama, what is wrong?" She stopped churning and said, "You know we don't have very much money this year. Remember when the hot winds blew and no rain came during the summer, and the corn plants burned to a crisp? I don't think Santa Claus will be coming this year. It's been a bad year."

"Well," I said to myself, "what does this bad year have to do with it? How can hot winds keep Santa from coming?" I had always been told be good and Santa will come and if you are bad, Santa will not come. So what was this all about? But since Mama had said, "This is the way it is," then it must be true.

I went to my room and got Alice. She was the rag doll Santa had brought last Christmas. She was just a stuffed rag doll but I loved her so much. "Alice," I asked, "what is happening? Mama says Santa is not coming this year. You were up there with Santa last year and you should know. What can we do? Mama is so unhappy."

Alice just snuggled closer to me and smiled her small secret smile. "I'll tell you what Alice. If Santa isn't coming, you are going to have to be my Christmas doll again this year. I did want a doll with a real face - but I love you so much, you will do."

I washed Alice's face and hoped it would dry before night. I combed her stringy hair and found a piece of red ribbon in Mama's sewing basket. "Alice," I said, "we are lucky you have a beautiful dress." Then my plans for the night began.

A few days before Papa had gone into the woods and cut a Holly tree. He and Mama placed it in the corner of their room, which was our living room. It had no tinsel or trimmings, but it did not need any. It was covered with clusters of shiny bright red berries that glowed against the dark green leaves. I took my old rocker, polished it and placed it under the tree.

Papa did not get home until almost dinner time. But what a difference his coming made. He was smiling, Mama was laughing, dinner was ready and the kitchen was so warm and lovely.

"Bob," Mama asked, "How did you do it?"

"Jennie," he replied, holding her tight, "credit just stepped in and helped me."

(Continued)