Read Online A Merry Little Christmas by Catherine Palmer - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Catherine Palmer
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sneakers appeared next to Wisdom’s small brown tie-on shoes. “Hi, Dr. Crane. Dad said you invited us to the I-House for Thanksgiving dinner, so here we are.”
Looking up, Lara focused on the tall, slender young man who had welcomed the Murayas into his family—and brought his father into her life.
Benjamin Maddox approached from the rear. “We have green bean casserole, Dr. Crane. The kind you make with cream of mushroom soup and fried onions. That’s about as American as you can get.”
“I made it,” Daniel clarified. “All Ben did was sprinkle the onions on top.”
“Welcome,” Lara said, rising to greet them. “I’m glad you could come.”
“We helped Peter kill the goat, too,” Benjamin said, making a face as he drew a line across his throat with his index finger. “Not fun. But roasting it was cool. The smell of that smoke sticks to your body like a second skin.”
“You can’t wash it off,” Daniel concurred. He spotted the oldest Muraya boy. “Yo, Wisdom! My man!”
Lara swallowed as she faced Benjamin. “So, your father is…?”
“Dad went to Bolivar. That’s where my grandparents live.” He swung away. “Justice, you rascal. Did you know your dog ate my shoe?”
“You left them outside,” the small boy said. “That was unwise.”
“They were muddy from playing football with you.”
“Mdogo will always eat shoes if they are left outside. Even I know this.” Justice’s smile showed a missing front tooth. “Are you going to try that goat we roasted?”
“You bet I am,” Benjamin said, laying his hand on the child’s head. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Lara let out a breath as she turned to meet an Iranian student and his Pakistani roommate. Well, then, that was that. She wouldn’t have to face Jeremiah after all. She had scared him off—which was exactly what she had intended. Now she could stop thinking about him and get back to her normal life.
As the cuckoo inside the Swiss clock in the hall sang out twelve noon, the students and their families began to gather around Lara. Campus rules prevented her from publicly blessing the food, but she was allowed to call for a moment in which everyone could silently offer prayers of thanksgiving. The moment she said, “Amen,” a line began to form at the long buffet table.
Curry, rice, roasted goat, baked plantains, bean stew and dozens of other dishes sat steaming in long rows. Each offering was clearly marked with a small sign stating its country of origin and primary ingredients. Several of the students were Hindus and could not eat beef, while the Muslims could have nothing to do with pork. A few students were total vegetarians who didn’t even eat eggs. With conversation flowing, laughter ringing out and exotic aromas mingling, Lara knew a surge of pure bliss.
This was what she was meant to do. This was who God intended her to be. Tears welled as she reached for a plate.
“Where shall we put the turkey?” Jeremiah Maddox stepped from behind her. With thick oven mitts protecting his hands, he carried a large roasting pan. A white-haired woman and a bald man appeared beside him, their arms filled with cardboard boxes laden with bowls of cranberry sauce, dishes of stuffing and baskets filled with hot rolls.
“There’s room down here, Dad!” Daniel yelled from the far end of the buffet line. “You barely made it. What’s the deal?”
“It’s snowing!” Jeremiah called.
“Snow!” The word echoed across the hall like a hallelujah chorus. Suddenly the line to the buffet table evaporated as Nigerian, Saudi, Colombian and other students from all over the world raced to the door for their first look at the miracle.
“Snow!” someone shouted. “Yes, it is snow indeed!”
“Like sugar,” one student cried.
“Soap flakes!”
“Salt!”
“Feathers!”
“Come, come. Let us go outside and see it!”
The mayhem gave Lara enough time to set down her plate and try to stop her hands from
Looking up, Lara focused on the tall, slender young man who had welcomed the Murayas into his family—and brought his father into her life.
Benjamin Maddox approached from the rear. “We have green bean casserole, Dr. Crane. The kind you make with cream of mushroom soup and fried onions. That’s about as American as you can get.”
“I made it,” Daniel clarified. “All Ben did was sprinkle the onions on top.”
“Welcome,” Lara said, rising to greet them. “I’m glad you could come.”
“We helped Peter kill the goat, too,” Benjamin said, making a face as he drew a line across his throat with his index finger. “Not fun. But roasting it was cool. The smell of that smoke sticks to your body like a second skin.”
“You can’t wash it off,” Daniel concurred. He spotted the oldest Muraya boy. “Yo, Wisdom! My man!”
Lara swallowed as she faced Benjamin. “So, your father is…?”
“Dad went to Bolivar. That’s where my grandparents live.” He swung away. “Justice, you rascal. Did you know your dog ate my shoe?”
“You left them outside,” the small boy said. “That was unwise.”
“They were muddy from playing football with you.”
“Mdogo will always eat shoes if they are left outside. Even I know this.” Justice’s smile showed a missing front tooth. “Are you going to try that goat we roasted?”
“You bet I am,” Benjamin said, laying his hand on the child’s head. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Lara let out a breath as she turned to meet an Iranian student and his Pakistani roommate. Well, then, that was that. She wouldn’t have to face Jeremiah after all. She had scared him off—which was exactly what she had intended. Now she could stop thinking about him and get back to her normal life.
As the cuckoo inside the Swiss clock in the hall sang out twelve noon, the students and their families began to gather around Lara. Campus rules prevented her from publicly blessing the food, but she was allowed to call for a moment in which everyone could silently offer prayers of thanksgiving. The moment she said, “Amen,” a line began to form at the long buffet table.
Curry, rice, roasted goat, baked plantains, bean stew and dozens of other dishes sat steaming in long rows. Each offering was clearly marked with a small sign stating its country of origin and primary ingredients. Several of the students were Hindus and could not eat beef, while the Muslims could have nothing to do with pork. A few students were total vegetarians who didn’t even eat eggs. With conversation flowing, laughter ringing out and exotic aromas mingling, Lara knew a surge of pure bliss.
This was what she was meant to do. This was who God intended her to be. Tears welled as she reached for a plate.
“Where shall we put the turkey?” Jeremiah Maddox stepped from behind her. With thick oven mitts protecting his hands, he carried a large roasting pan. A white-haired woman and a bald man appeared beside him, their arms filled with cardboard boxes laden with bowls of cranberry sauce, dishes of stuffing and baskets filled with hot rolls.
“There’s room down here, Dad!” Daniel yelled from the far end of the buffet line. “You barely made it. What’s the deal?”
“It’s snowing!” Jeremiah called.
“Snow!” The word echoed across the hall like a hallelujah chorus. Suddenly the line to the buffet table evaporated as Nigerian, Saudi, Colombian and other students from all over the world raced to the door for their first look at the miracle.
“Snow!” someone shouted. “Yes, it is snow indeed!”
“Like sugar,” one student cried.
“Soap flakes!”
“Salt!”
“Feathers!”
“Come, come. Let us go outside and see it!”
The mayhem gave Lara enough time to set down her plate and try to stop her hands from
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