UNIT 21 The Perfect Christmas Tree

The fresh green smell of Christmas filled the house

and the sight of the tree took your breath away.
Striped candy canes were evenly distributed
and colorful paper chains,
swans, lambs, donkeys and horses
draped aesthetically on the branches
to compliment the red and gold bulbs.
The white silvery winged angel stood at the very top
watching over the entire tree.
I also placed a cassette player
for some Christmas songs.
It was a beautiful tree;
and I knew it deserved a good feedback.
Morris, that's my husband's nickname,
said I was a fanatic about my tree.
I couldn't help it.
It was just my way.
It was a lovely tree,
from the angel on top to the miniature manger
my great grandfather made underneath.
Grandma told us he carved it
the first year they were married.
She loved telling stories of knitting scarves
and mittens for presents.
They lived on the plains in a small clay
and lumber house for their first four years.
When Laura and I were children,
story telling became an integral
part of the family's tradition.
It was the climax of every night.
We put the manger under the tree
when the decoration was done
and waited for Christmas Eve
when Papa read the Bible stories.
Only then were we ready to put the Baby in the manger.
Laura has eleven grandchildren and we have two.
Cindy and Mark,
my daughter Joanne's identicaltwins,
are 14 years old and live in Kansas City.
We'll see them in February,
but I do miss them all at Christmas.
It seems a shame how families move away,
but I am thankful for the invention of telephone.
That night I admired the tree critically.
"Morris, don't you think it's a pretty tree?"
My husband looked up from his periodical and said,
"yes, Cora, overall it's a very nice tree,as always."
We plugged the lights in when the sun went down
and ate peanut butter sandwiches and cheesecakes.
I looked at the tree and couldn't denote
why it didn't seem to be perfect enough.
"Cut it out,Cora, you'll make yourself crazy.
It's a very nice tree, really.
Come on look, it's snowing,"
his words led me to the opaque bay through the window.
I sat down on the sofa next to my husband
and picked up the TV Guide.
Just as Morris pushed the "ON" button
to watch a basketball tournament,
the doorbell rang.
The man who pushed the bell
was covered with the new fallen snow.
He was dressed warmly enough
but he looked as though
he had been outside a long time.
"Please, may I use your telephone?" he asked.
There had been so many warnings
about people doing horrible things
once they got into someone's house,
my first thought was don't let him in.
"I have had car trouble,
my car battery got busted," he said.
"I had to walk about a mile
before I saw your chimney smoke
and the lights shinning in the window.
I guess a lot of people aren't hometonight."
He looked so cold and before I could evaluate him
Morris led him into the hall and closed the door.
He said his family was in the car
wrapped in blankets.
They were on the way to his mother-in-law's house.
Morris took the stranger back to the car.
The young couple and their three children
had started out after work.
According to their timetable,
they were expected to arrive at
their destination four hours ago.
Thirty minutes after they left
Morris and the man were back with the whole family.
I had poured coffee
and made a few strawberry sandwiches.
Morris wasn't able to get the car started.
The man carried four-year-old Katherine.
She was named after her grandmother.
I asked if she was Kathy.
"No, I'm Katherine." she said.
The little boy was only two years older than Katherine.
He held shyly to his father's coat.
"Is this Gramma's?" he asked his mother.
"No, honey, this is someone else's gramma."
The young mother'swhite wool stole
slipped from her dark hair.
She bound the baby in a blue blanket
and maybe it was the light's flare
reflecting from the ceiling's dome in the hall
or maybe it was the special night,
but just at that moment she looked like the Madonna.
Her big brown eyes were filled with tenderness
as she touched the baby.
I felt what she felt.
I am a mother myself, you know.
She smiled at me,
like the smile of an innocent angel,
without any impurity.
"What a miracle you two are,
to take us in," she said.
"I was afraid something had happened to Kevin."
She laid the baby on my cherry patterned sofa.
I poured the coffee and served the sandwiches.
David, the little boy,
and Katherine ate slices of bacon and toast.
Then we all went back into the living room
with more coffee and cookies.
Morris made telephone calls
and left messages on answering machines,
doubtful that anyone would answer on Christmas Eve.
I poured a cup of coffee for the young mother
and asked her name.
She smiled that Madonna smile and said.
"Maryann."
"Let me hold the baby while you drink your coffee." I said.
"I think I can remember how."
"Look at the pretty tree,Mama."
The little boy said.
"Yes, it's a pretty tree,honey." I said,
"Look at the manger.
It's a token from my great grandfather.
He made it a long time ago."
"Can I hold the little wooden baby?" He asked.
"No, David, just look at it." His mother said.
"Of course, you can hold it." I said.
I handed the carved baby Jesus to the little boy.
His little fingers felt the smooth wood
and he kissed the carving.
Then his father gently put the Baby back into the manger.
We talked and tried to decide what to do next.
Kevin had kept calling his mother-in-law repeatedly.
Finally, at 10∶00 o'clock
the man from John's garage
came with a red wrecker truck.
Morris and Kevin went with him
and at the minimum of twenty minutes they were back.
The Kevin's family were ready to proceed with their trip.
They all bundled into their warm clothing
and Maryann kissed us goodbye.
The baby had been sleeping most of the time
when they were in our house.
When she put his blankets around him,
she handed him to me.
She put the white stole back on her black hair
and I looked at the baby.
He opened his eyes and I knew
he was too young to smile,
but I told you—he did.
I would never forget the look
on that infant face.
Maybe it was the special night or,
as I said,
maybe the hall light cast a reflection,
but in the blanket around the baby's head,
brightness glowed.
They started out the door.
"Wait!" I yelled.
I put the carved infant Jesus into David's hand.
"I will never forget you." I said.
"Nor we you," said the father,
"or your kindness to strangers."
As they drove out of sight
Morris and I came back into the warm room.
The Bible was on the coffee table
where Morris put it after he had read to me earlier.
The draft from the door turned the fine Bible pages.
We sat down and glanced at the holy book,
"Anyone who takes care of a little child
like this is caring for me!"
I leaned back into my husband's arms
and looked at my Christmas tree.
IT WAS A PERFECT CHRISTMAS TREE!