Read Online For the Love of Christmas by Jeanne Bice - Free Book Online

Horton had arranged in our first grade classroom. She finished decorating and turned to us. “Kids, Christmas is coming soon. Who wants to draw names?”
    â€œMe! Me! Me!” rang out while hands shot up.
    Even Alfred raised his hand. Alfred, who wore dirty, ragged overalls to school although the other boys wore jeans. Miss Horton had told us his mother was sick and asked everybody to be nice to him.
    â€œAw, Alfred, you won’t get to draw names,” said Helen.
    Mrs. Horton clapped her hands firmly and frowned. “Shhhh, Helen. That’s enough. Now everyone get your permission slips signed so you can draw. We’ll set a limit of fifty cents.”
    Not used to being scolded, Helen dropped her head until her long golden hair, so pretty even the teachers talked about it, covered her face.
    The bell rang. Brenda snatched the white fuzzy cap with its rabbit-fur pom-poms from my head. “You can wear it again tomorrow,” she promised.
    The teacher turned to me. “Honey, wearing that cap all day and then taking it off to go outside makes the bitter cold hurt worse.”
    â€œThat’s okay, Miss Horton. When I get off the bus, I wear my headscarf the rest of the way home.” My grandma had given me a frayed silk scarf I carried in my coat pocket. Besides, wearing Brenda’s cap all day made it worth the extra chill. It was even worth putting up with Alfred.
    Alfred used to sit behind Helen, pulling her hair with his grubby hands. When she complained to the teacher, Mrs. Horton asked me to trade seats with Helen. So now Alfred pulled the pom-poms that dangled down the back of my head. Though I hated his teasing, I didn’t complain. Instead, Brenda noticed and swapped seats with me.
    My excitement built at the idea of drawing names as the school bus bumped down the washboard road and screeched to a halt in front of the little country store. I rushed up the aisle and awaited my turn to hop down the steps. I crossed the road with nary a thought of anything except getting home. Even the chilling winds blasting down the face of Fancy Gap Mountain didn’t slow me down.
    By the time I ran the half mile home and pushed through the weathered wood door of our two-room farmhouse, I was struggling for breath. Mama pulled me close to the potbellied stove and stoked logs until the fire roared to life. “Now tell me what your hurry’s about.”
    She looked doubtful when I told her about drawing names. “How much are you supposed to spend?”
    â€œJust fifty cents, Mama, and I’ll get a present, too.”
    My excitement at the prospect must have glowed brighter than my chapped cheeks, because Mama’s eyes never left my face. Even at six years old, I knew she was thinking how hard fifty cents came.
    â€œMaybe we can figure something out,” she finally said. “Just remember, though. You might give something good and get nothing much in return.”
    I was willing to take the chance. I couldn’t wait to draw names.
    Next morning Mrs. Horton put slips of paper in a bag and told each of us to pull one out. “Don’t tell anyone but me whose name you got. I’ll make a list in case anyone forgets. You keep it a secret.”
    But not everyone did.
    â€œWhose name you got, Alfred?” someone asked.
    â€œHelen’s,” he sang out with a grin. Helen crinkled her nose.
    The last morning of school before holiday vacation, the air on the bus had an electric buzz. Every hand held a present. I’d gotten lucky. Grandma had brought us two boxes of chocolate-covered cherries. Mama let us eat from one box but saved the other for my gift exchange. Alfred clutched a battered package, paper dirty and torn.
    One by one, Mrs. Horton distributed presents according to the list on her desk. When she picked up Alfred’s torn package, she had the attention of every child in the room. In her other hand, she held a soft-looking package wrapped in