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Since it’s Christmastime I thought I’d share part of a book I’m working on with my Uncle that is a Christmas story. PLEASE leave comments and let me know what you think!
From Chapter Two
Rebecca set the butter on the table next to the rolls, and sat down at the foot.
“Grandma, why do we have the smelly fish stuff every year?” Elizabeth asked, moving the dish of oyster stuffing as far away from herself as possible. We were all squeezed into our dining room, the table at an angle across the room, the chill of the Ohio wind traveling in from the drafty front door.
“Because, sweetie, your namesake, your great-grandma Libby, made it every year, and your grandpa happens to love it.” Rebecca happily piled some on my plate and a dab onto hers.
“It’s the flavor of my childhood holidays,” I announced as I stuffed an oyster into my mouth.
“Well, I just think it smells,” Elizabeth retorted.
“You don’t have to eat it, Elizabeth, OK?” Rachael huffed. “Eat some turkey.” Peyton shot his wife a look, then happily dug into his mashed potatoes.
Madeline gave Tommy a roll and some fruit salad and I watched him grab a piece of kiwi and promptly drop it on the floor.
The table was loaded down with turkey and goose, mashed potatoes, green beans, sweet potatoes, homemade bread, fruit salad, green salad, gravy, oyster stuffing, and chocolate cake. The farmhouse smelled so good, and with the tree up and dressed in its Christmas finest of red and gold, it truly felt like the holidays.
I heard a thump in the living room, and figured a log had fallen in the old-fashioned pot-belly stove back there. But then there was another thump, and the sound of footsteps. Alarmed, I flew up and ran through the kitchen to the back of the house.
I was filled with an utter sense of calm in his presence, to my great surprise. I could feel my jaw drop and for some reason, my old blue eyes filled with tears. There in my living room was Santa Claus himself.
“Well, hello,” he said calmly. “That’s an awful small chimney you have there.”
He was much thinner than I expected; the velvety read suit seemed to engulf his small frame. He wore wire-rim glasses, and yes, his nose and cheeks were quite red.
By this time the rest of the family had rushed into the living room and came to the same quick halt as me.
“Santa!” Tommy cried happily. He ran over to the old man and grabbed him around the leg. “Did you bring me toys?”
“Not yet, little one,” Santa answered, his voice barely audible to any besides Tommy. “It’s not Christmas yet.”
“But we put up the tree!” Tommy insisted.
“Yes, and soon I will be back with those gifts, Tommy,” Santa answered. “But first, I need you and your family to do something for me.”