Little Writer by Marina Hill

Author:Marina Hill [Hill, Marina]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Evergreen Books

Chapter 16

Finding Hope

On Christmas morning, I’m the last to wake.

Amy jumps on top of me yelling “It’s Christmas!” and drags me out of bed toward the stairs. She yanks me so hard my socks slip and almost take me to the ground.

“I’m up, I’m up.”

It’s a cozy morning and the aroma of Hannah’s sugar cookies wafts through the house. If there’s one good thing to love about Christmas, it’s Hannah’s famous cookies—the ones she bakes only on this day. Marmee greets me with a strong hug and a loving kiss. Meg bids me a Merry Christmas with a kiss on the cheek, but I barely give her a reaction. I gesture for Beth to stay seated on the couch and lower beside her.

“Merry Christmas, Beth.”

There are few gifts exchanged this year. Last year, I said that Christmas wouldn’t be the same without gifts, but Beth’s health is enough of a present. I hug her a little tighter than I did yesterday.

As the morning ticks by, Teddy and Mr. Laurence make an appearance. Mr. Laurence is here for Beth; they spend most of the time at the piano together. The sight warms me. After dressing in a simple, dark purple dress that buttons up to my neck, Teddy and I sing carols to ruin the beautiful piano playing. My scratchy voice is anything but soothing. He ruffles my curly mop and earns a punch on the arm.

It doesn’t take long for piano playing to tire Beth. She retires into the study to rest on Papa’s couch, not wanting to venture up the stairs. The aroma of apple cider and cinnamon wafts through the house. Teddy holds mistletoe over us, causing me to throw us into a wrestling match. Amy spends half the morning getting ready; I ignore sidelong glances from Meg; the new ink Marmee bought me for Christmas presents itself in poems and quick stories. At midday, Teddy bursts into the parlor with a wild grin on his brown face. He speaks in a breathless voice.

“Here’s another present for the March family.”

My heart lurches at the familiar man standing in the parlor threshold.

“Papa!”

In my flurry of movement, I knock over my new ink. It spills over my short story, but I don’t care. I turn it upright, wipe my inky fingers on my dress, and sprint toward my father. I hear a crash and I think Amy tripped over something. My arms secure around my father’s neck and I inhale the familiar eucalyptus scent. He must have shaved recently.

A grateful sob scratches my throat because mere weeks ago, the world was caving in. Two of the most important people in my life knocked on death’s door and death didn’t answer. The cloud of love that occurs over the next minute passes in a blur. I don’t remember Beth waking up yet her arms wrap snugly around Papa’s torso. Nor do I remember Mr. Brooke walking in, but I see him kiss Meg! Kiss! A flush rushes over his face and he tells a blushing Meg it was an accident, but I’m no fool.

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