Tracie Peterson Read Free

kind of you. A fine treat indeed,” Ruth declared with a smile. Mrs. Mendelson made the worst fruitcake of anyone in the entire community, but the woman was nearly eighty years old and it brought her such delight that Ruth would never have said otherwise.
    “My daughter sent me money for the bus!” Mrs. Mendelson proudly declared. “She wants me to spend Christmas and New Year’s up there.”
    Ruth nodded. “I think that’s wonderful, Mrs. Mendelson. Of course, we shall miss you while you’re gone. I know you’ll be missed at church, especially in the choir.”
    The old woman beamed. “Well, I was once the most sought-after soprano in Westfield, where I grew up.”
    Ruth had heard these stories a thousand times if she’d heard them once. It was the reason she mentioned the choir in the first place. The old woman had few laurels to live on, but the choir, her fruitcake, and her beloved family were her crowning jewels.
    “Oh dear,” Mrs. Mendelson said, hearing the four o’clock whistle blow down at the river dock. “I must hurry. I’ll talk to you when I get back.” She pulled her coat tight with one hand and gave a little wave with the other. “You have a merry Christmas, Ruthie!”
    “I will, Mrs. Mendelson. You do the same.”
    Ruth watched as the old woman toddled off to her small two-story house. Such a sweet old woman! Shaking her head, Ruth glanced down at the fruitcake and made her way into her own house. She could already imagine the comments from her family.
    As if on cue, Helen, the baby of the family at thirteen, stuck her head out of the kitchen as Ruthie came through the front door. “I saw you with Mrs. Mendelson. That can only mean she’s given you another fruitcake.”
    “What are you complaining about?” Rachel declared. The eldest Bennett daughter pulled on an apron as their mother entered the kitchen. “You’ve only had to eat them for thirteen years. I’ve been suffering through them for nineteen.”
    “Now, girls,” Ruth said, smiling, “she means well and it gives her pleasure.”
    “I remember Pop said that even Joe Bloom’s pigs wouldn’t touch the stuff,” Helen declared with a giggle.
    “Nevertheless, we shall honor the kindness,” Ruth replied. She placed the cake on the counter and hurried out of her coat.

    Rachel Bennett watched her mother with a deep sense of admiration. There was no other woman in the world Rachel respected as much as she did her mother. Leaving the kitchen, Rachel pulled a hanger from the closet. “Here, let me,” she said. “You should warm up by the stove.”
    Ruth kissed her daughter on the cheek, then turned to see what Helen was up to. Rachel put the coat in the closet and quietly joined the others in the kitchen. She listened as Helen gave an animated speech about her desire to obtain her very own radio.
    “It would make the perfect Christmas gift,” Helen hinted.
    Rachel turned away, smiling. Helen had been trying to talk her parents into buying her a radio for the past year. Drawing a large yellow glass bowl from the cupboard, Rachel began sifting flour while Helen continued her plea. Christmas gifts were the last thing on Rachel’s mind, however. Instead, she thought of the war and of Kenny and how lonely it was without him. Of course, he’d been gone from the house for some time, but there were always the letters. And those, coupled with a strong bond of sibling love—a bond even miles of ocean couldn’t break—had given Rachel and Kenny an ongoing relationship that only strengthened. With Kenny’s death, the letters had come to an end, but not the bond of love between them.
    “Is that the front door?” Ruth questioned.
    Rachel put aside her memories to listen. She nodded. “I think so.”
    Ruth frowned. “Perhaps Mrs. Mendelson forgot to tell me something.”
    “Maybe she’s brought us another cake,” Helen offered. She gave her reddish brown pigtails a toss over her shoulder before putting her attention back on