Free The Christmas Portrait by Phyllis Clark Nichols Page A

works hard at taking on responsibilities that aren’t really hers, but you have to let her, you know, and you have to let her be a little girl sometimes too.”
    “That’s the hardest part, knowing when. She’s like a mother hen to Chesler most of the time, and then I look in on her sleeping some nights, and she looks like my little baby girl. I’m not sure she’s buying all this Santa stuff this year. I think her mama dying just took some of the magic out of her little-girl life.”
    “You’re probably right about that, John.” Granny chuckled. “Diana made our lives more fun, didn’t she?”
    “Yes, she did. Man, I really miss her. I knew how sick she was for a year, and I still wasn’t prepared for her dying. My life’ll never be the same.”
    “Your life will be different, but it will be good again, John. You hold on to that. It will be good again.”
    I walked into the room. Granny was washing dishes, and Daddy was putting the milk in the refrigerator. “Got everything, little peep?”
    “Yes, sir. Chesler’s coming.”
    “Good. Granny tells me you’re inviting the little Fields girl over to play next week. I think that’ll be a good thing to do.”
    “Granny said we could come out here to play.”
    “She did, did she? Well, if she’s having chicken pot pie for lunch, then I’m coming to play too.” He patted Granny’s shoulder.
    Chesler dragged his bag into the kitchen, and Granny dried her hands on her Christmas apron and followed us to the back door. She kissed Chesler, and she hugged Daddy and me. Granny’s got comfortable arms, like my favorite pillow. “Okay, you call Laramie and ask her if she can come on Tuesday.” Then I saw her wink at Daddy.

C HAPTER S EVEN
    A LL THE WAY home Chesler talked about his Christmas list. “Man, when I get my new skates, I can cut figure eights on Granny Grace’s pond just like you, Daddy. But what if Santa thinks I shouldn’t have the train track and the rod and reel? I don’t know how he’s going to pick which one to bring.” Chesler was so wound up I wondered when he was going to stop to breathe. “I like them both, but if he can only bring one, let me think. I hope it’s the rod and reel, then when the pond thaws out, we can go fishing with my new fishing rod. And . . .” He sat in the backseat yapping like he thought someone was listening to him. When he quit talking, he started singing Christmas songs.
    It had snowed most of the day, but finally it was slowing a bit. The streets were quiet, because most folks were home on Sunday night at nine o’clock. We had been gone all day, Daddy at work, and me and Chesler at church with Granny, so I knew the house would be cold.
    When Daddy turned onto Creek Meadow, he said, “Nothing warms up a cold house like a fire. Let’s build us one, roast some marshmallows, and watch a movie.”
    “But, Daddy, it’s bedtime,” I reminded him.
    “Hey, did you forget? You’re out for the holidays, and I don’t have to go in so early tomorrow. Maybe we could just forget about bedtime tonight and sleep in tomorrow morning and have waffles for breakfast.”
    That meant cold waffles . . . or cold eggs. Daddy hadn’t figured out how to cook yet so we never got both of them hot at the same time.
    Daddy pulled up the driveway and pressed the button for our garage door. “I’m making chili tomorrow night because Uncle Luke’s coming home from medical school for the holidays, and he loves chili.” Daddy was always happy when his brother was around. Uncle Luke was the only close family Daddy had left, since his parents died before I was born and his aunts and uncles had moved away from the area. Two whole weeks with Uncle Luke. Maybe Miss Applegate would be coming over a lot. She could help me with my drawing.
    We climbed out of the car, and Daddy let us in through the kitchen. “Go put on your pajamas, and I’ll get the fire started. Then we’ll have a family meeting and vote on what movie to