Sara and Jenny Lorings’ mother wants them to remember her always. That’s why, on their first Christmas with their new stepmother, she is going to make sure that they never ever forget her, that no one does. Not after they find the poem and all the other little surprises she has left behind for them, especially the Christmas gift.
The Loring house was a mile out of town. The road wound through winter
woods under a cloud-cast sky, and the only spot of color in this
landscape of bare branches and white snow on frozen ground was a yellow
school bus making its homeward trip.
Most of the children had already been let off, and the scanty group of
remaining children sang "Jingle Bells" in piping voices as the trees
sped by the windows and school days were left behind for two wonderful
weeks of Christmas vacation.
The bus stopped at the Loring driveway to let off one small girl, who
was in too much of a hurry to answer the driver's last cheery call:
"Merry Christmas!"
As the bus drove off along the wintry road edged with snow and leafless
trees, Jenny Loring raced up the driveway and along the side of the
house toward the kitchen door. Her face was bright with excitement. Dark
hair streamed below a red knit cap with a pompon.
Overhead the graceful shade trees of summer stood starkly bare against
the graying December sky. In the summer peony bushes bloomed along the
driveway, but the summer flowers were gone and all the warm golden light
of summer days.
Smoke rose from the chimney of the house and blew away into the wind.
Indoors, lamps were already lighted; winter afternoons were short.
Jenny burst into the kitchen with such a rush that Mrs. Dow, neatly
trimming a pie crust, looked up with surprise -- but Jenny flew right by
her. "Where's Daddy?"
Before Mrs. Dow could answer, Jenny was gone, running through the
kitchen and along the polished hall floor toward the living room.
"He might be almost anywhere." Mrs. Dow continued the conversation to an
empty room. She was a tall large-boned woman with a bun of gray hair at
the back of her head. She nodded to herself as she spoke, trimming
expertly at the pie crust. "He might be in his study. Or he might be
upstairs."
She thought a bit.
"Maybe he's in the living room. Yes, that's probably where he is, I
would think."
Mrs. Dow was used to Jenny. Jenny came and went like a bird on the wing,
living in a place Mrs. Dow could only faintly recall: childhood. A land
of enchantment from which Mrs. Dow had long ago departed.
* * *
But Mr. Loring wasn't in the living room. Only Margaret and
Sara were there, sorting through Christmas ornaments they had brought
down from the upstairs storage closet.
The room was strewn with boxes of fragile colored balls. A flimsy
cardboard package of icicles lay on the seat of a chair, spilling
silvery strands upon the cushion.
Margaret had untangled a string of Christmas lights and was testing them
just as Jenny came running to the door. The bulbs lighted up in a blaze
of red and green and blue and yellow, just as Jenny popped in -- and she
stopped short for a moment, taking in this glorious sight of lights and
ornaments and boxes.
Margaret looked up with a smile. She was a pretty woman with soft yellow
hair and gray-blue eyes, and she was happy to be getting out Christmas
things on this cold December afternoon in the firelight and lamplight.
All the happiness of this was on her face. And now Jenny was home to
join in.
"Jenny--"
But Jenny ran across the room, where Sara knelt beside a large box,
drawing out another string of lights. Sara, who was thin and quiet, was
tall for her age, and she never rushed into rooms glowing with news.
About the Author
Carol Beach York has a long list of juvenile novels to her credit including REMEMBER ME WHEN I’M DEAD, I WILL MAKE YOU DISAPPEAR and THE WITCH LADY MYSTERY. Born and raised in Chicago, she sold her first story to Seventeen magazine. She contributed many storied and articles to magazines in both the juvenile and adult markets, in addition to her activity as a novelist.
