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

bright tissue paper and yarn.
    Mrs. Horton walked toward me and paused. I waited, half expecting Alfred’s present. Instead, she held out her other hand. I reached for the package and squeezed. It felt as furry as a fuzzy cap!
    Then Mrs. Horton stopped in front of Helen’s desk. At first Helen drew back like she wouldn’t take Albert’s gift, but she finally held out her hand.
    She ripped the torn paper away to expose an old battered doll, a mop-headed imitation of Raggedy Ann. I remembered seeing the same doll at the beginning of school. Alfred’s sister had carried it around, crying and hugging it under her chin. It was dirty and ragged even then.
    Helen stared at the doll for the longest time. Then her face crumpled and tears streamed down her chin.
    Alfred looked like he’d been slapped. He blinked rapidly.
    Mrs. Horton reached over to me, “Honey, would you trade presents with Helen?”
    I hesitated a long minute before I grudgingly held out my unwrapped gift to Helen. Brenda slipped under the teacher’s arm. “Please, Mrs. Horton, let her keep it. I brought that gift. Helen has no need for it. She already has one like it.”
    Brenda offered Helen the nicely wrapped exchange present she hadn’t yet opened and reached for the doll. She hugged it tightly under her chin.
    Alfred let out a sigh I could almost feel. A smile tickled the corners of his mouth and quickly spread into a grin.
    I hurried home that evening, loving the way the furry pom-poms of my brand new hat tickled as they swung in the wind. I told Mama how I almost lost it for the dirty Raggedy Ann. “Mama, Alfred’s sister really loved that doll.”
    â€œYes, but she loves Alfred, too. When he didn’t have ­anything else to give, she let him take the doll.”
    â€œBut why did Brenda want it?”
    â€œI don’t suspect she really did.” Mama slipped an arm around my shoulders and gave me a squeeze. “But, young as she is, Brenda truly knows a gift from the heart when she sees one.”

Unto You a Child Is Born
    By Helen Colella
    â€œT his year,” I announced, “Andy will attend Christmas service with us instead of going to the nursery.” Some family members murmured that he wasn’t old enough. Not old enough to understand the solemnity of the occasion. Not old enough to grasp the meaning of the occasion. Not old enough to sit still.
    But I felt that my five-year-old son was ready. “He’s going,” I insisted.
    When he entered St. Peter’s Church, Andy pointed. “Look, Dad, green wreaths, like the ones at our house.”
    We made our way down the aisle.
    â€œLook, Mom, red Christmas flowers like the ones at our house.”
    Because I didn’t want him to miss anything, we slid onto the front row pew. Andy immediately spotted the life-sized Nativity scene at the altar.
    â€œWow, a big manger, almost like the one at our house.”
    Shimmering candles cast a warm, calming glow throughout the service. Andy quietly sat and listened to the story of the Nativity, to the angelic voices of the choir, and to enthusiastic parishioners singing the Christmas hymns.
    So far so good, I thought, impressed when my son even seemed to listen to the priest. After the final blessing, Andy asked if we could get closer to the altar.
    He studied the holy scene and pointed. “There’s Baby Jesus in the manger. And there’s Mary and Joseph kneeling next to him.” Then he named each animal in the stable. He mooed like a cow, baaed like a sheep, bleated like a camel. He even brayed like a donkey. His sound effects were crisp, clear—and loud enough to elicit the grins of others who lingered.
    Andy pointed again at the figures. “Three wise men with gifts for Baby Jesus.”
    I nodded. “Did you like being at the ‘big people’ service?”
    â€œI liked it fine, but . . .” A small frown pinched his