A Cozy Country Christmas Anthology by LLC Melange Books

Author:LLC Melange Books [Melange Books, LLC]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: horses, living nativity, grandparents, mother, tree, baking cookies, nativity, holiday traditions, farm girl, christmas
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

THE END

Breath of God

Betsey knew, without opening her eyes, she’d overslept. The sleepy twitter of birds in the trees outside her window had given way to energetic debate, indicating that they were well along with the business of their day.

She sat up. Sunbeams spilling across the hand braided rug confirmed her fear. She was late! She hadn’t made breakfast; she had to get Erik up and both of them ready for school—

“Betsy!” Karl Swenson’s shout silenced the birds and jolted his daughter out of bed.

Tangling her foot in the quilt, Betsy crashed to the floor. Wincing, she scrambled up and grabbed her dressing gown before rushing down the stairs.

Her father stood in front of the stove, glaring into the interior where a fire should be burning. The familiar fragrances of fresh milk and corn wafting from his clothing in place of the scent of coffee only served as an accusation to her dereliction of duty.

Betsy rubbed the sore knee resulting from her fall and hung her head.

“The stove is cold.” Karl’s thick accent emphasized his disgust.

“I overslept, Papa. I’m sorry.”

“The chickens were making such a noise I checked and found out they hadn’t been fed or the eggs collected.” He pointed to a pail near the door, with brown eggs piled inside.

Betsy gulped and looked down at the floor.

“Are you sickening for something?” The dairy farmer took a step closer and peered at his daughter; the bushy, sandy brows which reminded Betsy of sheaves of wheat drew together in a frown. “Your eyes are as red as Mrs. Jeppson’s Sunday hat.”

“I had homework.” Betsy blushed because she hadn’t been doing schoolwork; she’d burned the kerosene lamp by her bed into the early morning hours and wept over the last chapters of Ivanhoe. The love story, so beautiful, had her tears watering the pages like spring showers.

“I have fed and milked the cows. I have a field of corn that needs to be picked. Is a man expecting too much to want food on the table when he comes in for his breakfast?

Six year old Erik, blonde and stocky like his papa, appeared in the doorway with his suspenders trailing to the floor and one shoe on. “Time for breakfast?”

Karl Swenson ignored the hopeful question from his only son. “School foolishness again keeping you from your chores. Clothes need washing. The bread box is nearly empty. Apples are rotting on the ground in the orchard. You stay up late and ruin your eyesight on books. I have no breakfast.” His voice rose with each sentence.

Betsy bit her lip and kneaded a fold of her nightgown. Not just books—she had discovered magazines and several were even now hidden under her bed. Her teacher had encouraged her to borrow them, declaring they would open her eyes to the wide vistas beyond a Minnesota farm. A fascinated Betsy had spent hours studying pictures of faraway places.

“I’m sorry, Papa,” she apologized again, scurrying to the stove. “I can scramble eggs now and I’ll do the baking as soon as I get home from school.

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