The Christmas Pearl Read Free Page A

ready to be fattened up with all the goodies we had made to eat. By the time the Christmas tree was up and decorated, Gordie and I were bug-eyed trying to catch a glimpse of anything that might resemble a reindeer and our ears were peeled for the jingle of any kind of bell.
    We had a beautiful crèche set that was carefullyarranged on the ancient mahogany entrance-hall table with votive candles nestled in more greens. In retrospect, it was probably a fire hazard! No one seemed to worry about those things then. You might ask why a Protestant household had a painted plaster crèche set. It had been given to us by a Catholic friend of my grandmother. She said it was a beautiful reminder of what the entire holiday was about. She was right! There was just Joseph, Mary, an ox, and a donkey in a humble stable. On Christmas morning we added the Baby Jesus, the shepherds that night, and then we took them away at the beginning of January when the kings arrived. The shepherds had to go back to work, didn’t they?
    The family Bible was opened on another table to a beautiful artist’s rendering of the Nativity scene. Greens surrounded it just so in an Advent wreath of four candles, three purple and one rose-colored. They stood solemnly in shining brass candlesticks around the Bible, lit only at supper. One the first week, two the second…all leading up to the big event.
    We were regular churchgoers, staunch believers in the true meaning of Christmas. Gordie? At his age? Be assured that he was in church and his eyes were squeezed tight while he petitioned the Lord for cowboy guns or a catcher’s mitt. I was right next to him, hands folded thumb over thumb, fingers pointed towardheaven, fervently pleading for a doll that said “mama.” Since we finally had peace on earth and there seemed to be a lot of goodwill toward men, surely it was okay to ask God to help you out with Santa?
    That’s just how the holidays were. We cracked nuts, we made our own decorations and most of our gifts, we went to church, and we waited for Santa. Everyone baked for the holidays—sweets usually. Most people didn’t decorate nearly as much as we did. I’m not sure if we tackled the season with such gusto because my grandmother, mother, and Pearl thought it would keep us busy and out of trouble or perhaps because they just couldn’t stop themselves. It didn’t matter. The house smelled delicious and looked gorgeous from all the greens and baking. Just the fact that we did these things together made us happier than I have ever been since.
    Those days are long gone. Gordie, Pearl, my parents, and grandparents are all gone. My poor sweet husband, Fred, went to glory about ten years ago and I still miss him every day. Life surely is lonely without my darling Fred.
    Gordie, who grew up to be a soldier and was every girl’s sweetheart, died in Normandy, the French shores of the world’s next terrible war. None of us ever recovered. How could we? We were proud and took some solace in the fact that our family had produced someone who died a heroic death, defending our Allies in Europe. Still, the loss of Gordie cut a hole in all of us. We bore invisible punctures of grief forever. My grandfather died when I was just barely out of diapers. My grandmother went to heaven and then we lost Pearl. My beautiful mother died suddenly when I was thirteen. If my father were alive today, he would be one hundred zillion years old, so I’m not being morbid to speak of his demise. I mean, I miss them all. However, I’m not the kind of woman who gets maudlin, most especially over things I can’t control.
    It’s just that things were vastly different then. I’ll tell you this much. Pearl, even my mother, would be appalled by the fake trees and wreaths, inflatable Santas, and that the pecans are so astronomically priced, sold half cleaned and in ugly cellophane bags. Pearl would be deeply disappointed that no one seems to make, eat, or exchange cakes or candies or that