Free Never Fear by Heather Graham

His, so he allows us to have gifts on his birthday
instead.”
    “ Oh...” Mohammad said.
Sabra was glad she had paid attention during her church lesson.
Mohammad had a hundred questions about the family’s religion.
Mostly, however, Mohammad asked about Christmas. He had seen a few
American movies on television, but the American traditions did not
well represent the traditions and customs of the Chaldean Catholic
Church. Sabra suspected Mohammad was trying to find a way he too
could receive presents. She would have given him a present, but she
had nothing to give but Bible lessons.
    “ Sabra! Come!” Mother
shouted.
    “ Mohammad! Wash up!” the
boy’s mother ordered.
    The children scrambled to
their families. Since Waleed and his family had invited them in,
pre-dinner rituals had become disport. The families prepared the
meal together, separated to pray in their own rites, then came
together to share in Waleed’s bounty. The Muslim hosts did,
however, take a bit longer to pray their salat than the Christian guests did
to say their simple prayer of thanks.
    “ When will we get to eat
the koleicha you
talk about?” Mohammad ripped a piece of bread off and shoveled rice
and lamb onto the flatbread before the boy stuffed it into his
face. Sabra had told him all about the sweets her family made every
Christmas. In previous years, their neighbors and anyone who
stopped by the house received a portion of the dessert. It was the
one time they could stir up more than blithe indifference from
those they encountered. Sometimes, their neighbors even smiled, and
their friendly next-door neighbors, Malik and his family, counted
the days before Mother delivered to them a hearty
portion.
    “ We will see,” his mother
said. “There are still several days left before they celebrate
Christmas and the market has not been open since the Army fled. If
we cannot buy flour, Aziz and his family may not be able to make
the koleicha .”
    “ But what about the tree?
Sabra says they put up a tree with lights and decorations,”
Mohammad whined.
    “ We cannot put up a tree,”
Mohammad’s father said between chews.
    “ But why?” the child
continued to whine.
    “ We have gone over this
already, Mohammad. If we put up decoration for Christmas, we are
inviting people to come and ask questions. If they find Aziz,
Qadir, and Fahim hiding here, we are all in trouble. God has
charged us to protect them. They are children of Abraham as much as
you and I. We must keep them safe from the Daesh bandits.”
    “ But I want a tree.”
Mohammad threw his bread and rice down.
    “ Mohammad,” Father said.
The boy looked up from his pouting to Sabra’s father. “It does not
matter whether we have a tree or koleicha . These are things created
by men. What matters most, come Christmas, is that good people like
your family are willing to help and protect poor people like my
family. This shows true love, and this love is the greatest gift
which has been given to us by Jesus Christ. If not for that gift,
we would never have been brought together to celebrate
in—”
    The unmistakable sound of a truck
speeding across a desert road crept into the room. The families had
had one scare already, when an Islamic State patrol nudged its way
along the river before turning back.
    “ Go,” Waleed said. Father
snatched up Fahim and grabbed Sabra’s hand, running out the door
into the small courtyard where Waleed’s goats and sheep
scurried.
    Waleed, Father, Qadir, and Mohammad
hurried to roll away two petrol drums from alongside the mud home’s
wall. Waleed had sheltered a fleeing family before and dug out the
hiding place for them. That family had not stayed as long as
Sabra’s, though. They stopped, rested and resupplied off Waleed’s
kindness, and continued onto Baghdad. Father and Waleed, with the
militants so close and patrolling along the river, thought it best
to wait until the Army launched a counterattack. The Army never
came.
    The family crammed