Read Online Christmas Visitor by Linda Byler - Free Book Online

cookies in milk, he seemed happily oblivious to the unbelievable mess around them.
    They filled the sugar cookies with the various kinds of fruit fillings. Then they baked oatmeal raisin and chocolate chip cookies and date pinwheels. They made gingersnaps and molasses cookies with one side dipped in white chocolate. Mamie wanted to make chocolate cut out cookies, but Ruth refused, saying the singing was only three days away and when did she think she was going to clean?
    Mamie plunked herself down on a flour-dusted kitchen chair and said she’d never get ready, that was all there was to it. Ruth eyed her neighbor’s girth and imagined every extra movement of hers was balanced by plenty of extra calories. She’d guarantee Mamie had eaten ten cookies in the past few hours. It was actually scary.
    â€œYou know you’re going to become diabetic?”
    â€œWhat? Me?”
    Mamie was horrified, till Ruth assured her she was joking. In truth, she wasn’t completely.
    At the end of the day, the smells, the sounds, and bustle of baking at Mamie’s house put Ruth’s home in stark contrast as she headed back with her tired children to a cold, dark house, the absence of Ben felt in every room. She’d stoke the coal stove in the basement, light the warm propane lamp, and bravely go ahead for the children’s sake, getting them to bed without fights as best she could.
    Thanksgiving was spent with her family, a day of feasting on roast turkey and sweet potato casserole, surround by all of her dear family with every face a homecoming for her spirit.
    Mam glided smoothly between stovetop and table, serving and barking orders. Her daughters scuttled to obey, pushing children aside in the process.
    Twelve o’clock was not allowed to arrive until everyone was seated, the water poured, and heads bent in prayer. As always, Mam accomplished her goal and even ahead of time — the long hand on the clock pointing to the ten, the short hand to the twelve.
    The children had a great time at Doddy (Grandfather) Lapp’s, but anticipation ran high to continue their wonderful day at Ephraim’s. They put Pete in the barn at home, unharnessed him, and fed him a good amount of oats and hay. In the house, they stoked the fire, washed a few faces, combed hair, dabbed at a few spots on the girls’ pinafore-style aprons, and waited till Roy dashed to his room to change into a pair of black school trousers — he had spilled gravy all over his legs. Then they were off down the road to the neighbors’ Thanksgiving hymn singing.
    The wind was spiked with wet coldness, the forerunner of a chilly November rain, so they wasted no time getting to the brightly lit shop at Ephraim’s. Buggies were being parked with teams approaching from either direction, so Ruth huddled the children to the side of the road, out of the way of approaching hooves and steel wheels.
    She could always tell the difference between the young men’s teams and the teams belonging to families. The youth drove horses with plenty of speed or style, sometimes both, and their harnesses were decked out in flashes of silver or chrome. The battery-powered lights on their buggies also outnumbered those of their parents, whose teams had only the necessary headlights, blinking orange taillights, and the reflective, slow-moving vehicle emblem — a triangle of orange in obedience to Pennsylvania laws of the road.
    Often the youth decorated their slow-moving vehicle signs with stickers from amusement parks or their favorite football teams, which was tolerated in varying degrees. Some older members of the community smiled knowingly, while others frowned.
    The shop at Ephraim’s was a haven of warmth and light. Some of the glossy church benches had been set on trestles to form a long table with the remaining benches on either side and the German songbooks stacked neatly along the makeshift table.
    Off to the side, Mamie had set up two