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A Christinas S’turn
June Mack, ’46
“Owe must be poor to know the luxury of giving "—George Eliot.
Rosa trekked automatically about
their one big room, getting things ready
for dinner; but if someone had asked
her she could not have told what she
was doing, so far away her mind was.
Christmas was just three days off. and
she was twisting and turning in her
thoughts to figure out a good meal for
that day, what with the rent-man come
twice already. Big Abe’s back still kill
ing him, and Sukey (their pig) stolen
away. Sow peas and molasses could
do for other days, even Thanksgiving.
But Christmas was different. She just
must get together something different
for Christmas.
She could see it all so clearly, how
she wanted it. The kitchen could look
elegant, even if Big Abe hadn’t got
round to putting paint on the floor,
yet. He once called that main room of
theirs her heart, and she guessed maybe
it was. The bright green safe in the
corner, now, with the red roses she had
cut out of the seed catalog and pasted
on straight, above the doors-—-she never
tired of noticing how elegant it made
that part of the room look. She had
painted the sturdy table the same green,
too, and the little table that held the
water bucket. Over that bucket she had
stuck a pretty picture of a flower gar
den with every color of flower in it you
could imagine, and a nice white picket
fence, that had been a whole page in
the same catalog she cut the roses out
of. She liked to look at that picture,
and then look out of doors and shut
her eyes, imagining that the garden
was out there, instead of the bare red
dirt. When the boys brought the wood
from the stretch of woods near Turpen
tine Creek, it would burn so snappy
and warm in the big square stove, and
smell the room up so good, it was
something like Christmas even without
the food. But that wouldn't fill their
stomachs, nothing of the kind. She
must have something different to put
on that table — something brown and
something green and something yellow,
like the pictures she had seen. Maybe
even a little something red. too.
W ouldn’t that be elegant! Rosa sighed.
Big Abe, coming in just at that mo
ment, thought that somehow he was
the cause of that sigh, and creaked
shamefacedly across the floor to his
chair at the side of the table by the
cupboard (Rosa liked the opposite
side, so she could see the roses while
she ate her peas), and sat down. He
had a patient face, one that made you
feel like doing something for him but
that you forgot about the next minute.
Rosa and their five children never
bothered him for anything. They knew
he would do what he could for them,
when he could. And that was that.
The opening of the pot called the
noses of the young ones to the table,
from a mysteriously silent hour or more
in the adjoining room, the bedroom.
Abe asked the blessing—he was good at
that, just like a preacher — and they
filled up.
The children slipped away again,
as they finished, into the bedroom, and
Rosa followed them with her eyes, an
ache in her heart guessing the anxious
secrecy of their Christmas prepara
tions, the desire to burst into a thunder
storm of weeping against their poverty
almost winning out over her long-
practiced self-control. Abe finished,
stood behind her chair with his stubby
cheek against her kerchiefed head the
shadow of a second, as usual, and went
out. Rosa cried just a little. Then
went to thinking hard.
Christmas Eve night she scarcely
noticed the children’s stockings being
nailed onto the green cupboard. She
would have called out in sharp pain if
she had. Nor had she been aware of
the absence of Tim and Jason, the big
ger boys, for more than a day, now.
She had had her own things to think
about. Her eggs she had exchanged
for the prettiest red cranberries and
some sugar and some flavoring, at the
junction store near South Point; and
her butter had bought flour and salt,
a grand bunch of greens, and rice.
Mis’ Perkins down the road had let her
have six big yams, real bright orange
yams. And she had some pecan nuts,
from the yard. Everything but the
something brown for the middle of the
table. She wished she just had some
meat! Better go to bed now. and stop
wishing about it.
How she slept so late next morning.
Rosa never knew. W hat with the war
time and no sun, it was twelve o’clock
by the one-legged Baby Ben propped
against the Bible on the green what
not by the window. Curious thing
about it was that the children must
have made up their bed. or else not
have slept in it at all, the room was
so straight. And that smell coming
from the other room: what on earth
was it? Thick, and fat-like, and nau
seating if you wanted to think it was.
Like a fresh-killed pig. Wonder what
it could be?
And pig it was, of all things —
among other things.
The oil cloth on the table was what
she really saw first. A large, tan-col
ored square, with a deep green border
all around, and a row of the prettiest
little red roses you ever saw. Oh. Oh!
Then, the brown paint on the floor,
around the cupboard (to show how it
would look when he had finished it,
Big Abe explained; he hadn’t been
able to get the paint until the night
before, and was afraid to put it down
where they needed to walk ). The stock
ings dangling below the safe bulged
with pecan nuts — it looked like —
and a white cambric hanky with a
name on it in red ink stuck out of
each. A baby pine tree on the table
where the water bucket usually stood
had pretty little pictures of flowers
and vegetables stuck on every branch,
and a gorgeous silver bell, a bought
bell, on the top.
The smell, though, brought her eyes
to the stove, and the life that centered
about it. Etta Mae and Sue stood at
one end of the half-skinned— Sukey!
Where had they found Sukey? Fleet-
ingly, Rosa smiled as she realized that
here was her “something brown.” But
in the next moment her country
woman's insight took her across the
room to the day’s work that rested
on that stove. Without a word she
grabbed the knife from Abe’s ineffec
tive hands, and set about cutting down
slabs of rich, redolent fat. It would
be night before dinner would be start
ed. But Rosa sang in her heart. For
Christmas had surely come to their
cabin!