Read Online The Christmas Portrait by Phyllis Clark Nichols - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Phyllis Clark Nichols
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tent, and you’ll probably have a few more tents in your lifetime. But you remember, a couple of years ago you made a choice to live your life God’s way and accept what Christ did for you on the cross. That means your permanent address is in heaven, so don’t you be wasting time. You be like your mama, good and kind, always helping folks who hardly even have a tent. Then one of these days, you’re going to have the most beautiful mansion you can imagine to live in forever, and I’m going to be your next-door neighbor.” Granny laughed then and got up off that old rotten log, and we walked all the way home holding hands.
I didn’t understand it so much then, but I did when Mama died. Granny Grace knew Mama was going to heaven soon, and she was thinking about what Mama’s mansion might be like.
I was glad Granny Grace told me all that last summer. I didn’t want to waste any time. I wanted to gather some bricks for my mansion in heaven. I wanted to be Laramie’s Somebody, so I patted Granny on the back while she was driving and said, “Yes, ma’am. We can invite Laramie over anytime you want to.”
Granny Grace slowed down at the red light, and when she saw no one was coming, she just kept driving toward the farm.
Chesler stopped singing. “Granny Grace, is it okay now to run red lights?”
“No, it is not, but I need to get home in a hurry. Something’s in the oven, and if the deputy stops me, I’ll just invite him home with me for charred chicken pot pie.” Granny hardly slowed down when she turned off the dirt road onto the lane going down to her place. We rounded the curve to the carport leading out back on two wheels.
Grady met us before we could open the doors to the truck, and the smell of chicken pot pie met us at the back door. Pot pie was one of Daddy’s favorites, so Granny was going to make him smile tonight. Granny Grace laid her keys on the counter and put on her red Christmas apron and told us we could go look under her Christmas tree to see if there were any presents with our names on them. Chesler took off so fast he probably left skids marks on the oak floor trying to get to the tree first. When I walked into the room, I looked at the tree and stopped.
Chesler headed for the boxes and started pushing them, looking for his own name.
I grabbed his shoulder. “Quit what you’re doing and look. Look at the top of the tree.”
He crawled out backward from under the tree and rose up on his knees. His eyes got as big as saucers. “Is that the redbird Aunt Susannah gave us?”
“Uh-huh.”
Granny had put Aunt Susannah Hope’s redbird on top of her tree. But somehow, seeing that bird on the top of a Christmas tree didn’t bother me near as much as seeing it in a cage. And if it did, I wasn’t about to say a word about it.
Chesler didn’t say anything either. He just shrugged and went back to digging through the presents. I was right. Daddy smiled big when he smelled the chicken and saw the steam rising out of Granny Grace’s pot pie in the middle of the table. “A perfect ending to a perfect day.” That meant he’d had a quiet day at the station, with no injuries, accidents, or anybody real sick. Daddy liked quiet days. Mama used to ask him how his day was. “Fine, good, or perfect” meant nothing happened. But when he said, “Let’s talk about that later,” I knew it meant something not good. Daddy didn’t like to talk about bad things in front of me and Chesler.
After we ate, Daddy asked Granny if she had two pieces of paper and two pens. “It’s time Chesler and Kate wrote their letters to Santa. Got to mail them in the morning if they’re going to reach the North Pole in time. Christmas is coming up fast.”
Granny Grace brought the paper and pens to the table, and she sat down next to Chesler. He couldn’t write so fine, and Daddy said the writing had to be good so Santa Claus could read it. Chesler may not write very well, but he didn’t have any trouble
I didn’t understand it so much then, but I did when Mama died. Granny Grace knew Mama was going to heaven soon, and she was thinking about what Mama’s mansion might be like.
I was glad Granny Grace told me all that last summer. I didn’t want to waste any time. I wanted to gather some bricks for my mansion in heaven. I wanted to be Laramie’s Somebody, so I patted Granny on the back while she was driving and said, “Yes, ma’am. We can invite Laramie over anytime you want to.”
Granny Grace slowed down at the red light, and when she saw no one was coming, she just kept driving toward the farm.
Chesler stopped singing. “Granny Grace, is it okay now to run red lights?”
“No, it is not, but I need to get home in a hurry. Something’s in the oven, and if the deputy stops me, I’ll just invite him home with me for charred chicken pot pie.” Granny hardly slowed down when she turned off the dirt road onto the lane going down to her place. We rounded the curve to the carport leading out back on two wheels.
Grady met us before we could open the doors to the truck, and the smell of chicken pot pie met us at the back door. Pot pie was one of Daddy’s favorites, so Granny was going to make him smile tonight. Granny Grace laid her keys on the counter and put on her red Christmas apron and told us we could go look under her Christmas tree to see if there were any presents with our names on them. Chesler took off so fast he probably left skids marks on the oak floor trying to get to the tree first. When I walked into the room, I looked at the tree and stopped.
Chesler headed for the boxes and started pushing them, looking for his own name.
I grabbed his shoulder. “Quit what you’re doing and look. Look at the top of the tree.”
He crawled out backward from under the tree and rose up on his knees. His eyes got as big as saucers. “Is that the redbird Aunt Susannah gave us?”
“Uh-huh.”
Granny had put Aunt Susannah Hope’s redbird on top of her tree. But somehow, seeing that bird on the top of a Christmas tree didn’t bother me near as much as seeing it in a cage. And if it did, I wasn’t about to say a word about it.
Chesler didn’t say anything either. He just shrugged and went back to digging through the presents. I was right. Daddy smiled big when he smelled the chicken and saw the steam rising out of Granny Grace’s pot pie in the middle of the table. “A perfect ending to a perfect day.” That meant he’d had a quiet day at the station, with no injuries, accidents, or anybody real sick. Daddy liked quiet days. Mama used to ask him how his day was. “Fine, good, or perfect” meant nothing happened. But when he said, “Let’s talk about that later,” I knew it meant something not good. Daddy didn’t like to talk about bad things in front of me and Chesler.
After we ate, Daddy asked Granny if she had two pieces of paper and two pens. “It’s time Chesler and Kate wrote their letters to Santa. Got to mail them in the morning if they’re going to reach the North Pole in time. Christmas is coming up fast.”
Granny Grace brought the paper and pens to the table, and she sat down next to Chesler. He couldn’t write so fine, and Daddy said the writing had to be good so Santa Claus could read it. Chesler may not write very well, but he didn’t have any trouble
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