The Christmas Bus Read Free

go.”
    “Oh . . .” Polly appeared stumped now.
    “So it’s just Charles and me this year.”
    “I’d invite you to join us, but we promised Candy and Bill that we’d come to their house this year. We plan to be gone for a whole week.”
    Edith reached over and patted her friend’s hand. “Don’t you worry about us, Polly. We’ll be just fine.”
    But as Edith walked home, she wasn’t so sure. How could it possibly be Christmas with no kids, no grandkids, no happy voices, no pitter-patter of feet going up and down the stairs, no sticky fingerprints to wipe from the big bay window, no wide- eyed expectations as the little ones tried to guess what Santa might be bringing them this year? How could it be Christmas with nothing but quiet emptiness filling up their big old Victorian house? Why, it just didn’t seem possible. It just wasn’t right!
    So, despite the tall, fully decorated tree in the center of town and the big red-and-white candy cane decorations on every street lamp . . . despite the life-size Santa’s-sleigh-and-reindeer stage in the parking lot next to the Oh, Christmas Tree gift shop and despite all the evergreen wreaths and garlands and strings of little white lights around every shop window and roofline . . . well, it just didn’t feel one bit like Christmas knowing that her family wouldn’t be coming home this year.
    Edith glanced up at the cloudless blue sky overhead and realized that the temperature must be approaching the sixties today, and the weather didn’t feel one bit like Christmas either. And with Christmas less than two weeks away . . . Edith sighed. It was just all wrong.

2
    Tonight was midweek service, and as usual, Edith prepared a light meal for Charles and herself. But as they sat at the large dining room table, just the two of them at opposite ends, she decided she could not, or rather she should not, inform him that not even one of their children would be coming for Christmas this year. She would have to save that unfortunate news for later. Nor would she tell him, not now and not ever, about what Polly had mentioned earlier today. No, there was just no sense in repeating something like that. Instead she made pleasant small talk about a radio program that she’d listened to this afternoon while baking six loaves of cranberry nut bread—one, still warm, that they were enjoying along with their dinner, the rest to go into the freezer for later use or to give away to those who expected company for the holidays.
    “It’s hard to believe that it’s December already,” Charles said as he wiped his mouth with a green-and-red-checked napkin. “I think each year passes more quickly than the last.”
    “It probably comes with age,” she said as she began clearing the table. “They say the older you get the faster the days go.”
    “Need any help?” he offered, just like usual.
    And, just like usual—for a Wednesday, that is—she said, “Not tonight, dear. You just go to your study and relax a bit . . . get yourself into the right state of mind for your sermon tonight.”
    He pecked her on the cheek and thanked her for dinner, then went off on his way while she rinsed the dishes and loaded them into the dishwasher. With its red gingham wallpaper and golden wood floors topped with colorful braided rugs, her kitchen was quite a cheerful place—her own private retreat—and she never minded spending time there. Whether it was baking or cleaning or sitting at her little maple desk in the corner, this was her territory, and everyone knew it. She even had a sign posted over the door, politely warning guests that this area was “off-limits.”
    Not that it would be much of a problem during the next two weeks, for as usual, Edith had been careful not to book guests during the weeks before and following Christmas—those were always reserved for family members. And also as usual, the first two weeks of December had been fairly quiet as well. Other than the nice elderly couple