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  A Girl Named Christmas

  A Girl Named Christmas

  A Girl Named Christmas

  by

  Kimberlee R. Mendoza

  A Girl Named Christmas

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  A Girl Named Christmas

  COPYRIGHT © 2007 by Kimberlee R. Mendoza

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by Kim Mendoza

  The Wild Rose Press

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0706

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First White Rose Edition, 2007

  Published in the United States of America

  A Girl Named Christmas

  Dedication

  As I near my reunion, I have to thank Lisa, Diane, Kris, Eric & Jason for making my high school years memorable.

  A Girl Named Christmas

  A Girl Named Christmas

  Chapter One

  Chris made her way down the carpeted steps, each board squeaking against her weight. There was a time when she was too skinny. Though she still would be considered thin by most, her hips were indeed rounder and her middle a bit fluffier. However, she was encouraged when the stairs squeaked under her feline’s soft paws, as well.

  The lower level of the cottage was dark and smelled of smoke and vanilla. A few embers still burned in the fireplace and smoke still lingered from a stick of incense lit earlier that evening. She touched her foot to the cold, wood floor and recoiled at its icy touch. Quickly, she darted across the room on tiptoes, anxious to rest her feet on the Indian rug. Overshooting her mark, she knocked her shin on the coffee table. “Ouch!” She fumbled for the lamp, flipped it on, and grabbed her leg. A small raspberry decorated the surface of her skin. Lovely.

  A chill floated through the house and she retrieved an afghan from the back of the couch and hugged it close. Her flannel nightgown did little against the winter chill caused by Lake Erie. It froze over weeks ago and the weigh of snow had caused all life to slumber. She wished she could do the same. Maybe then she could forget tomorrow and what the day meant. Big breath in. She swung her eyes from the TV on her left to the rocking chair, then to the unlit tree in the corner. A sigh escaped her lips. Why am I so down about Christmas this year? It was her birthday, after all. Yes, and my fortieth to be exact. She had lived through a deadly disease to see it. So, why am I not rejoicing? Thanking God I’m alive.

  The silence of the two-story cottage reminded her of her solitude. Forever the spinster living only with her matronly sister and a cat named Mike. She pushed her legs out along the couch and reached for the TV remote. Her hand grazed a package strategically placed in the middle of the oak table. She smiled. Her sister Martha loved to give. It was an amazing quality.

  Chris opened the card and read,

  Dearest Sister,

  May your next forty years be merry and bright. You mean the world to me.

  Thank you for sticking by my side all these years. May God grant your wishes this year.

  Love,

  Marty

  Chris dabbed at her eyes and lifted the corners of the paper. Inside laid a leather journal with her name pressed in the lower left corner. She fanned the pages, willing herself to be more grateful. Though the sentiment was there, the empty book mocked her. Just another place to write down my failures and reveal my lonely heart.

  “God, is there no hope for me in this life? My dreams and wishes are so far from reality.” She sniffed. ”How I wish I could go back a few decades.”

  “Who are you talking to?”

  Chris jumped at the sound of Marty’s voice. “You startled me.” She held her chest willing her heart to slow its pace. “I thought you went to bed.”

  “Well, I could easily say the same about you.” Marty came around the blue-gingham sofa and sat next to her sister. “Are you okay? You look a bit gray.”

  “I’m fine. Thank you for the gift, Marty.” She slid the journal on the coffee table. “It was very sweet.”

  “You used to be a writer. I thought maybe if you had something to write in, you might get back to it again.” Marty gave her a tight grin, her eyes revealing her constant worry.

  No use in making her stress more. “Thank you. I can’t wait to use it.” Chris offered a forced smile. Her sister nodded and sat on the edge of the rocking chair. Age had been kind to her. Her hair was still thick and red like it had been thirty years ago. Her brown eyes were full of life and though she’d had a rough life, her smile always remained present.

  “I think I’m going to stay up for a little while longer,” Chris said.

  “Are you sure? You don’t want to exhaust yourself; after all, a bunch of family and friends are coming for your birthday tomorrow.”

  Don’t remind me. Chris shook her head. “No, they’re coming for Christmas.”

  Marty cocked her head sideways. “When was the last time you saw the whole family and our closest friends coming together for Christmas?”

  She pursed her lips. “Um…I think I was fifteen. Right before...” Even at the thought of Elijah, her heart accelerated. She hadn’t seen him in about three decades, and yet, she could still remember the feelings he elicited in her. She sighed.

  “Before Mom died.”

  Chris glanced up. “Right. Before Mom died.”

  “Well, don’t stay up too late. Okay?” Marty. Always the mother figure. She kissed Chris goodnight and walked back up the stairs.

  Chris stared at the tree. Ornaments from their childhood filled every branch. The clay candy cane she’d made in second grade. The glass Santa she’d made in fifth. The dove Mom bought at the fair. The… Wait. What is that doing there? She stood and walked to the tree. A silver cross hung right in front. She fingered the sprayed wood carving and lifted it from its perch. The meaning behind the token hurt even now. Marty, please don’t try to help me. I hid this for a reason.

  Holding it tight in a cupped hand, she returned to the sofa. Her coffee table had a door that opened on the side. She pulled the handle and stuffed the cross inside on top of an array of books.

  She flopped back on the couch and turned on the TV. The ambient noise crashed in the silent house like a tidal wave. She snapped it back off and shifted to the other arm of the chair. Her gaze drifted to the door that held her treasure. Fine. She reached in and lifted the ornament. As she stared at it dangling in front of her face, tears filled her eyes.

  Lowering it, the journal caught her eye. She needed a release. Writing had always made her feel better as a kid. She reached for the leather-bound book and flipped to the first empty page. A pen stuck out of a loop inside. She withdrew it and began to write:

  December 24, 1980

  Tomorrow, I turn forty. All the happiness I felt as a youth washes away with the realization I will never marry. I will always be as I am today but I was happy once. Wasn’t I?

  Thoughts of her childhood seeped out into her mind, pouring through the cobwebs of denial. She lay against the pillow, remembering when her heart felt more.

  A Girl Named Christmas

  A Girl Named Christmas

  Chapter Two

  November, 1955

  Chris came barreling down the s
teps in her family cottage and stopped. Her little sister, Amy, leaned on her elbows with her nose pressed against the window. Her bobby-socked feet stuck out under her frilly dress, tapping like a happy dog.

  “Amy, what are you looking at?”

  “The gardener’s son.” She twirled her blonde ponytail, not taking her eyes from the window.

  “Pete has a son?”

  “Uh huh. And he’s dreamy.” She snapped her gum and sighed.

  Chris shook her head. “Oh, brother.” She walked over to the window and ducked down. The lot was empty. “I don’t see anybody.”

  There was a knock at the door. Both girls shifted their gaze, startled.

  Chris crossed to the door and pulled it open. “Can I help y…” Her voice trailed in an oblivion of butterflies. The cutest guy she had ever seen smiled down at her. His blue eyes were slightly covered by wisps of light brown hair. Though he couldn’t have been more than seventeen, he had well-defined chest muscles and strong arms. Dirt smeared his taut white t-shirt and sweat beaded his brow.

  “My dad went to town to get some seed, but he wanted me to start digging for potatoes, and I need some tools from the shed.” He jammed his hands in back pockets. “But I don’t know the combination.”

  Shed? What’s a shed? “Sure,” she heard herself say.

  Amy bounded off the couch and pushed in front of Chris. “I’ll help him, Christmas.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “Christmas? Like the holiday?”

  She blinked. “I was born on Christmas Day.”

  “Huh? And my first thought was that you were born on Easter.” He winked.

  Though his flip comment annoyed her as much as she hated her name, she smiled. “Right.”

  Amy grabbed his hand. “This way, Elijah.”

  “Elijah?” Chris met his eyes.

  He stuck out his free hand. “Elijah Thompson. Named after that guy in the Bible.”

  She glanced down at his dirt covered hand and then back to his face. He followed the path of her gaze and wiped his hand on his jeans. “Sorry, forgot I’ve been out clawing the mud.”

  “Come on,” Amy said, pulling him away. “I can get you in the shed.”

  “I’ll see you later,” he said to Chris.

  She nodded. “Sure. Bye.”

  He walked out the door and around the path that led to the shed in back.

  Chris rushed in the kitchen and peeked out. She could see him standing in the yard, while Amy prattled on about who knows what. Chris’ twelve-year-old sister had to be the most boy-crazy person who ever lived in Ashtabula County. Boys who weren’t old enough for girls stayed clear of her and boys who had discovered girls spent every free moment at school trying to win her affection. She was petite in frills and quite pretty with golden blonde hair, hazel eyes and a sprinkle of freckles across her nose.

  Chris, on the other hand, had lots of “boy” friends, none of them in line for her affection. Not surprising. In her mind, the male species was good for playing ball or climbing trees. She kept her brown hair pulled back and had never worn an ounce of makeup. She preferred hand-me-down jeans and baggy flannel shirts to hide her annoying curves, rather than wear dresses and gloves. Her older sister, Barbara, said Chris was blessed with a great body and she should want to show it off, which, of course, was absurd. Chris would be happy with the figure of a five-year-old. Breasts just got in the way of all the fun stuff.

  Elijah pivoted his neck around and his eye caught hers.

  Chris ducked down, her cheeks hot. She spun around the tiled floor and sat for a moment. She started to peek again, when she heard the screen door open in the living room.

  “Chris, where are you?” Barbara yelled.

  Chris glanced back out the window and made a dash through the kitchen’s swinging door. “Here.”

  “I have the most amazing news.” Barbara unwrapped from her pink cardigan and laid it on the back of the couch. “Remember Tom?”

  Of course. How could I forget? Her sister had been mooning over the redheaded jock for months. “Yeah, sure. What about him?”

  “He asked me to the Winter Sock Hop.” She squealed, then covered her mouth.

  Chris’ eyes went wide. “Mom said yes?”

  Barbara flopped down on arm of the sofa and frowned. “I didn’t ask her yet.”

  There was an unwritten rule in the Blevins’s house. It didn’t matter how boy crazy the Blevins sisters were or weren’t. They couldn’t date until they were of marrying age, which came at the completion of college. “You’re not even eighteen years old and you’re still in high school. There is no way Mom will let you go. You know that.”

  “My birthday is less than two months away and I only have half a year left of school.” She fluffed her brunette, shoulder-length bob. “Besides, I’m not going to college.”

  Chris opened her mouth to retort that decision, when Amy flung open the screen door, spun around and fell dramatically on the couch, practically knocking Barbara off with her foot.

  “I just talked to the cutest boy I’ve ever seen. I’m in love for sure.”

  Barbara pushed Amy’s leg. “Oh, is Tom here?”

  Amy sat up on her elbows. “Very funny. I was talking about Elijah.”

  “Who’s Elijah?”

  “Apparently, the gardener has a son,” Chris said dryly.

  Barbara raised her eyebrows with a smile. “And he’s cute?”

  “Yes!” Amy jumped up smiling, then scowled. “Wait! No way. I saw him first. He’s mine!”

  “Amy, you’re only twelve.” Chris shifted her weight to her other hip. “He’s at least five or six years older than you.”

  “There’s no way Mom will let you date a guy that much older than you,” Barbara said.

  A creeping sensation of annoyance crawled up Chris’ back. Why do these conversations always unnerve me? Boys. Who cares? Every time her sisters went there, Chris buried her head in a book to block out their existence. It was trivial, useless conversation. Their mother wouldn’t budge. End of story. Get over it and find a new diatribe. The guy debate was stale.

  “I know. Mom isn’t going to let anyone date anyone. I just like to flirt.” Amy pulled a pillow in her lap and pushed it under her chin.

  “Don’t say that.” Barbara tossed another pillow at her. “I’m counting on Mom getting over that notion and letting me go.”

  “Ha! You’re more likely to get into Yale with your D average.” Chris smirked.

  Barbara’s eyes narrowed through her horn-rimmed glasses. “I told you. I’m not going to college.”

  “Thanks for emphasizing my point.” She crossed to the couch and pulled her copy of Tennessee Williams’ The Glass Menagerie from the side of the seat cushion. She had planned to study for literature class before the ruckus started. Dropping to the floor, she opened to the dog-eared page. “I don’t get what all the fuss is about. Why do you guys fawn over those boys anyway?”

  Amy gasped. “How can you say that? Boys are delicious.”

  Chris rolled her eyes. “They’re not food, Amy.”

  “You don’t understand, Amy.” Barbara spun around and faced Chris with a smirk. “Our dear sister would rather have her head in a book or climb a tree, than look at boys.”

  Chris had listened to Barbara make fun of her a million times before. It still hurt. “It’s better than chasing after something you can’t have. I’d rather be sensible than stupid.”

  “You mean boring.” Amy giggled.

  “Call me what you want but don’t come crying to me when your heart gets broken.” She shifted her glare to Barbara. “Or when Mom says, ‘no’.”

  Barbara shook her head. “Just wait, someday you’ll fall in love and you’ll see that the heartache is so worth it.”

  Marty walked in the front door, her red hair covered by a polka-dot scarf and bulky cream sweater pulled tight around her chest. “What’s worth it?”

  “Boys,” said Barbara. “Dating.”

  Amy giggled, wh
ich sounded more like a tittering bird, than an actual laugh.

  Marty tossed her purse on the small table by the door and knelt to remove her galoshes. “Who’s dating?”

  “No one,” Chris said.

  “Yet.” Amy turned away, hiding a smile behind her hand.

  Marty caught her eye. “You better just get that idea out of your head now. When I was thirteen, I kissed a boy on the cheek. Totally innocent moment, but Mom grounded me for three months.” She unraveled from her scarf and removed her sweater. “Stay clear of the boys, girls. You don’t want to see the wrath of Mom.”

  “Well, that’s no fun.” Amy pouted and rested her arm and chin on the back of the couch. She looked like the cartoon dog, Droopy.

  “Why is Mom so old fashioned anyway?” Barbara wilted into the rocking chair and pouted. “It’s 1955 for goodness sakes.”

  “I agree with Mom. Waiting is good,” Chris said, without looking up from her play.

  “You always were the sensible one.” Marty came around the couch and sat.

  Amy blew through her lips. “Don’t you mean the dull one?”

  Chris sneered. “Thanks, Amy. I love you, too.”

  She smiled and kissed the air.

  The door opened and their mother flowed into the room like a model on a runway. Chris always admired her mother. Even in her nurses’ uniform she emitted beauty. Her auburn hair was pulled tight into a bun. Her brown eyes sparked with joy. She had high cheekbones, ruby lips and a figure that any fifty-year-old woman would kill for.

  “My gorgeous girls all here to welcome me. Hello, dears.” She went around the room and kissed each cheek. “So, what’s on the topic of discussion today?”

  “Boys,” Chris said.

  Their mother didn’t flinch. “Well, I hope there was some wisdom in that banter.”

  Barbara and Amy exchanged looks, then suppressed a laugh.

  Chris shook her head and dived back into her play. Act II. But her eyes blurred. For years, she had been just fine without idealizing boys. What’s the big deal anyway? Through the living room window, she caught a glimpse of Elijah carrying a bag of fertilizer across the lawn. Her heart lurched. She stuffed her nose back in the pages and sighed. I’ll be just fine for many more.