Author’s notes: This story was written for the annual Jix author Secret Santa. The original recipient, who chose the criteria, was Mary N. (Dianafan). Merry Christmas, Mary! I hope you enjoyed the story. As Mary is my regular editor, I could not expect her to edit her own present, so Mal very kindly volunteered to edit. Thanks, Mal! I really appreciate your help on this story, and that you laughed in the right places. Merry Christmas, everyone!

Friday, December 22^nd, 2006

A few stray snowflakes glimmered in the headlights as twenty-two-year-old Mart Belden carefully guided the car along Glen Road towards his parents’ home. Beside him, his wife of six months was gazing out at what could be seen of the familiar landscape. A soft sigh escaped her lips. She knew that Mart would not consciously notice; he was too intent on his task of driving. Seeing the turn-off approaching, Diana smoothed her hair and straightened her posture in preparation for their arrival. The car slowed and soon the lights of Crabapple Farm shone out to them. As the engine stopped, the door of the farmhouse flew open and Trixie came running out to greet them.

“I thought you’d never get here,” she exclaimed, dragging on her brother’s arm to make him get out of the car faster. “We’ve got so much to do between our latest group project and the damage to the garage roof and all the regular holiday things. You’d better take your bags into the guest room, first, and change your clothes. Di needs to come with us – we really need her artistic abilities – and you need to go and help Dad out in the garage.”

“You don’t think I could have a cup of coffee or something first?” her brother asked, dryly.

Trixie rolled her eyes. “And have you eat everything in sight? I don’t think so. Come on, Di. I’ll explain on the way.” Taking her friend’s arm, she led the way, chattering as they walked. “Honey and I started on a project to make Christmas gifts for a family near here, the Jacksons. They’ve got three little children, and their house burned down a few days ago, and Honey’s made some rag dolls for the two little girls, but we’re having trouble with their faces and we thought maybe you could help with that. After that, we need someone to repaint some wooden toys we found for those kids. Then, we’re thinking of looking over what we have to do for tomorrow’s baking. And while we’re doing that, Mart can help Dad fix the hole in the garage roof, where a big branch fell through it, before any more snow falls. There isn’t any forecast, but you know weathermen.”

“You know, Trixie,” Diana hedged, “I’m kind of tired from the drive. Do you think Mart and I could get settled in a little before we start work?”

“But there’s so much to do!” Trixie waved the objection away as if it were a stray moth. “You’ll feel better once you start. You should see the dolls Honey’s made. They’re just the cutest things. I’m sure you’ll be able to figure out the trouble with their faces right away. Let’s go upstairs right now and Mart can fix up your luggage.”

Diana cast a pleading look back at Mart, who was consumed with silent mirth at his sister’s antics and did not even notice. Trixie threw open the front door and was practically dragging her friend through the house. Momentarily resigned to her fate, Di took a few fleeting glances at her surroundings as they flew past, noting the well-laden, but not particularly artistic tree, a few well-worn decorations scattered around the living room and the single red candle on the shelf above the fireplace. She thought, with regret, of the beautiful old nativity that she had left behind in their apartment. It dated from the time when her family had lived in a small and shabby apartment in Sleepyside, and several of the pieces had been mended, but she loved it and had been delighted when her mother allowed her to take it when she left home. It was a surprise to learn how much she missed the old, familiar things of Christmases past.

Trixie was still intent on leading Diana upstairs, when to Diana’s immense relief, they were met by Helen Belden, who had an entirely different idea of what should happen next. After bestowing a kiss of greeting on each of her guests, she gently escorted the pair to their room and invited them to settle in, promising hot drinks and snacks in a few minutes’ time.

“But, Moms,” Trixie wailed, “we really need their help. Can’t they unpack later?”

Helen smiled at Diana, ushered her daughter out and firmly shut the guest room door. Trixie’s continued protests faded into the distance. With another sigh, Diana sank onto the bed. Mart turned on her with a look of concern.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, sitting next to her and taking her hand in his. He pulled her closer for a kiss. “Are you regretting the decision to come here instead of Arizona? Or, is it just Hurricane Trixie? Maybe we could get a room at the Glen Road Inn, or something.”

She shook her head. “It’s not Trixie. And it’s not exactly a regret. I mean, I love your family and I usually feel at home here and all of the reasons we chose to have the holiday with your family instead of mine still make sense and I know we made the right decision…” Diana sighed once more, her shoulders drooping as she did so. “I just didn’t expect to feel so out of place, I guess, and I do miss my family.”

“I’m sorry,” Mart murmured, his lips caressing her cheek. “I would be happy anywhere, so long as I had you with me. We’ll have next Christmas with your family; I promise.”

Soft tapping on the door interrupted the moment. At their reply, the door opened to reveal Helen Belden and a heavy tray of refreshments. She placed the tray on a side table and backed towards the door.

“Take your time,” she suggested with a smile. “Trixie’s projects can all wait for tomorrow and your father came in from the garage long ago. Is there anything else I can get you?”

They assured her that they were fine and she slipped away. Pushing away her pensive mood with a deliberate effort, Diana picked up her mug of hot chocolate and took a tentative sip. She hid a smile at the look of rapture on Mart’s face as he eyed the assortment of his mother’s home-made cookies, fingers raised and twitching slightly as he struggled to make a selection. The difficult decision made, he closed his eyes in appreciation of the chocolate chip cookie he had chosen.

“Mmm,” he breathed, mouth still full. “I’ve really missed Moms’ cooking.” His eyes flew open as the full implications of that statement struck home. “I like your cooking too,” he hastily added.

Diana smiled. “I know,” she assured him. “And I know what you mean.”

Half an hour later, the pair were refreshed and well settled-in to their room. By mutual consent, they set off to find the rest of their friends and family and spend some time catching up. While Mart went to the kitchen to talk with his parents, Diana gritted her teeth and set off upstairs to Trixie’s room, where she could hear her friend in enthusiastic conversation. Hesitating on the threshold, she was surprised to suddenly find herself in the midst of a strong hug.

“Oh, I’ve missed you so much!” Honey cried, right in her ear. “I’m so glad you and Mart are here, now, and as soon as Dan gets here tomorrow night and Brian gets here on Sunday morning, it’ll be just like old times, only I don’t think we’ve ever had a Christmas with every one of the Bob-Whites in Sleepyside, all at the same time, but if we had, it would’ve been like this and I’m so excited!”

Relaxing a little, Diana returned the hug and allowed herself to be led inside the room. Trixie’s bed was strewn with toys and clothes in various states near completion, along with some of the materials needed to finish them. The dolls she had mentioned earlier were among these things, looking quite strange without their faces. Next to them, a blue rabbit was propped, with a face that seemed full of mischief.

“This one is for the older girl,” Honey explained, pointing to the nearest doll. “Her name is Kelly – the girl, I mean; not the doll. The other doll is for the middle child, Sarah. I made the rabbit for the little boy, Adam, and he’s turned out so naughty-looking that Trixie calls him Peter Rabbit, so we bought a copy of the book to go with him, and then, of course, we had to buy books for the girls as well. And I’ve made dresses for the girls, but we bought some clothes for little Adam, because I didn’t think he would really appreciate clothes because he’s only one year old, and he is a boy, after all.”

“They’re all lovely, Honey, especially the dolls,” Diana complemented, picking up the nearest one and examining it. “I love her pretty dress.”

“I thought of you when I chose that lavender material,” Honey admitted, smiling. “And I thought of you again when I couldn’t figure out what I’d done wrong with the faces. We’ve already sent some things for the parents, but I thought something hand-made would be better for the children, so we asked Mrs. Andersen – she lives down Glen Road, past Mrs. Elliot’s place and that’s where the family is staying – what she thought they’d like and she gave us a few ideas, and we’ve already promised Mrs. Andersen that we’d drop the children’s things by first thing tomorrow morning, right after breakfast, but I don’t think the little girls would like them without any eyes and mouths. Can you tell me what I’ve done wrong?”

Diana took the paper that Honey held out to her and compared it to the doll’s face. Taking a fresh sheet and a pencil, she set to work and in a few minutes had produced a pattern quite similar to Honey’s original, but with a few subtle differences. In a few minutes more, she had drawn a second face so that the two dolls would not be identical.

“How are these?” she asked, setting down her pencil.

Honey placed a pattern on top of a doll and nodded eagerly. “They’re perfectly perfect. Thank you so much, Di! They’re so much better than I could do and even more than the one that came with the pattern – it was just ugly.”

Without delay, Honey set about marking the faces on the dolls and cutting out felt pieces for the lips and the irises of the eyes. Trixie covered the floor with old newspapers and spread out the wooden toys that needed finishing. Diana was relieved to find that most of the painting was done and that she was only expected to add a few details here and there – the face on a wooden pull-along dog, stars on a train and so on.

As they worked, the three young women talked and laughed and Diana almost felt normal again. Their conversation ranged along all of the old topics that they had talked over so many times before – study and boyfriends and Bob-White projects; families and common friends; the tasks at hand and things they would like to do in future. As they shared together, the time flew past and the gifts were one by one made complete.

Finally, the three finished their work and cleared away the mess. Diana looked at the row of wooden toys set out to dry on the desk. Their new paint made them look fresh and bright. On a seat nearby, Honey had set out the dolls and some pretty dresses she had also made. A deep feeling of satisfaction filled Diana and she smiled at her friends.

“I hope they’ll like them,” Honey fretted, a slight frown creasing her brow.

“I’m sure they will,” Diana answered, giving her friend a hug. “I can’t believe how much you’ve done in a couple of days. You must have been working non-stop.”

Honey shook her head. “I had the dolls cut out and partly pieced together from another project last year, so it wasn’t quite as much as you’d think. And anyway, it was nothing. They’ve lost everything and we have so much – more than we ever need. I just wish we could do more.”

Before Diana could do more than smile at this expression of the Bob-White spirit, Honey glanced at her watch and then jumped to her feet, crying, “Oh, heavens! Look at the time. I’ve got to get home and sort through the other gifts we have at home before bed, or I’ll never get up in time in the morning.” She hugged each of her friends in turn, repeating how glad she had been to see Di, before rushing downstairs.

“I think I’ll call it a night, too,” Diana decided, as she saw the light of another project in Trixie’s eyes. “See you in the morning, Trixie.”

Her sister-in-law nodded, though a slight disappointment showed in her face. A moment later it was gone. “We’ve got a lot to do tomorrow, so maybe that’s a good idea. Good night!”

A loud thumping on the guest room door awoke Diana in the morning. It was immediately followed by Trixie’s voice, imploring the pair to get up and moving as there was lots of work to do. Diana squeezed her eyes shut and pulled the covers up and over her face. Mart tugged them back down, leaning on one elbow to look down on her.

“Do you think you can hide from Trixie when there’s projects to work on?” he asked in amusement. His arm snaked across her waist, pulling her closer, and his lips brushed her forehead. “She’ll be dragging the covers off the bed in a minute if you don’t get up of your own accord. Unless, of course, we start on something that she’d rather not interrupt.”

Laughing, as he waggled his eyebrows, she tilted her face to be kissed. He obliged and time stood still as they became entwined in each other’s arms. At some point a little later, the pounding started up on the door again. Receiving no answer to her summons, Trixie opened the door. Diana felt her husband reaching across to the bedside table, even as he continued to kiss her. The object he threw at Trixie hit the wall instead and fell, with a thump, to the floor.

“Get off of her,” she directed her brother, exasperation clear in her voice. “There’s work to do and we don’t have time for that.”

“That’s what you think,” he replied, redoubling his efforts and kissing his way down Di’s neck. “Go away, Trixie.”

She made a frustrated sound. “Fine. Stay in bed, then. But don’t blame me if there’s no blueberry pancakes left by the time you drag yourselves to the breakfast table.”

Mart let out a whimper. “I have to choose? That’s not fair.”

His wife took pity on him and, placing a hand on his shoulder, gently pushed him away. “Let’s go get those pancakes,” she suggested with a smile. “You might need the energy for later.”

Breakfast was not quite ready when the pair reached the kitchen, eliciting a scowl from Mart. His mother soon pressed him into service, however, so that he had no time to pout about the extra few minutes he could have spent in bed. It was not long before the meal was served and they were all eating and talking together. As they were finishing, Honey arrived at the farm, arms filled with rolls of wrapping paper, Christmas ribbons and bows.

“I thought it would be more exciting for the children if the presents were wrapped, so I wrapped the things that I had for them at home and I thought I’d come early and wrap the others now,” she explained. “Does that sound like a good idea? I can pop upstairs and get started while you eat.”

Receiving full approval, Honey did so as the others finished up. They had tidied the kitchen and done the dishes by the time that Honey rejoined them, carrying a pile of bright parcels. Trixie raced up the stairs to collect the few that her friend was not able to carry and soon the three were heading down the driveway in Honey’s car. It was a short trip along Glen Road to the house where the family were staying, in the spare bedrooms of an older couple whose grown-up children would not be home for Christmas. As they walked up the short flight of steps to the front porch, the sound of children’s voices carried out to their ears.

“It sounds like they’re happy here,” Honey noted, smiling at her friends around the pile of parcels in her arms.

She rapped on the brass door knocker and immediately the sounds from inside changed to those of excitement. A thunder of small footsteps approached the door, but it was a few moments before an adult joined the children to actually open the door. A small, elderly lady smiled to see the visitors and beckoned them inside.

“Come in, come in,” she cried, guiding the little ones out of the way and bringing the whole group into the living room. “It’s so good of you to come and help the poor dears. Now, you I know, of course,” she continued, squeezing Honey’s arm, “and I’ve known Trixie since she was a tiny thing.”

“This is my brother Mart’s wife, Diana,” Trixie explained, shutting the door behind herself. “She only got in last night, but she’s been a big help getting everything ready, Mrs. Andersen.”

Meanwhile, the three children were cavorting around their legs, trying to see what was in the packages. The eldest child, a girl of about five or six with long, dark braids, could contain her excitement no longer. “Are those for us?” she asked, jumping up and down. “Did you bring me a present? Can I open it right now?”

Honey smiled at the children. “Yes, these are for the three of you, but you’ll have to ask whether you can open them now, or if you have to wait until Christmas.”

“Mommy! Mommy!” the older two started yelling at the tops of their voices. “Can we open the presents now? Please, Mommy?”

A slim, dark-haired woman, with an anxious expression hurried out from a back room, stopping short in surprise at seeing the three Bob-White girls with their arms filled with parcels. Mrs. Andersen made the introductions, gently drawing the young mother to sit down.

“We brought some presents for the children, Mrs. Jackson,” Honey explained. “I don’t know whether you’d prefer that they wait…”

The anxiety drained from the young mother’s face and she smiled. “I think I’m as curious as they are to find out what’s in all of those beautiful packages. Let’s have them open them now.”

The children cheered and bounced up and down, until the three visitors began to distribute gifts. The two girls ripped into their packages with gusto, squealing in delight with one item, then moving on to the next. Their little brother unwrapped the rabbit first and sat down to hug it, ignoring the rest of his parcels. Meanwhile, the girls had discovered their dolls, and Diana saw the nervousness on Honey’s face disappear as they both hugged them and then held them up to show their mother. The dresses were also appreciated, with both girls wanting to try them on immediately.

The three Bob-Whites stayed long enough to ensure that the dresses fit and to see Mrs. Jackson help her youngest child unwrap the rest of his gifts, then they took their leave. Diana’s last glance of the family was of the little boy, still clinging to the toy rabbit.

“I’m so glad we did that,” Honey declared, as they travelled back along Glen Road. “It feels so good to make people happy that way.”

Her friends could only agree.

Back at the farm, Helen Belden had begun the preparations for the day’s baking. Several old, hand-written recipe cards were set out on the counter, with the ingredients and equipment needed. Christmas music played on the small CD player which had been set on top of the refrigerator and Diana heard her mother-in-law humming along to The Little Drummer Boy as the three entered.

“I’ve sent the men and Bobby out,” Helen told them, as she handed out aprons. “We’ll have a girls’ morning and see how much we can get done without their interruptions.”

“What are we doing first, Moms?” Trixie asked, while tying her apron strings.

Helen picked up a recipe card and handed it to her daughter. “I thought that you and Honey could make some shortbread while Diana and I started on your Grandma Belden’s recipe for almond meringue cookies. Then, while your dough is chilling, you can start on the sugar cookies. Do you think you could do that?”

“Sure thing,” Trixie replied, pulling a large bowl towards herself. “You start on the measuring, Hon, and I’ll cut up the cherries to press in the tops. Then, while you’re mixing, I’ll do the measuring for the next recipe.”

As the other two set about their assigned tasks, Helen began to talk about what she and Diana were about to do.

“My mother-in-law taught this recipe to me the first Christmas that Peter and I were married,” she explained. “It’s apparently an old family recipe that has been passed down through the generations, but this copy is in her hand-writing. I’ll warn you now that there are certain people in this family who become quite upset if this recipe does not make an appearance at Christmas time. Once, I decided to make Grandma Belden’s gingerbread cookies instead and there was quite a backlash.”

Trixie laughed. “I think you can guess who was the most upset. You’re going to be making those every Christmas for the rest of your life, Di!”

“It’s not at all difficult,” Helen assured her. “It just takes a little patience and some good, hard work beating the egg-whites – and some peace and quiet, which is why I usually wait until the house is empty to make them. I always tell the family it’s a Christmas treat only. If you give in and make it at other times of the year, you’ll never have any peace. Are we ready to begin?”

Diana found the process of learning an old family recipe from Helen to be very reassuring. She loved the idea that Belden women had been doing this same thing for countless years, and that she would continue the tradition in turn, perhaps one day passing it on to her own daughter-in-law. To have her two best friends sharing the kitchen with them made it even more special. It was with satisfaction that she turned out the first batch.

“Hey, they look great, Di,” Trixie exclaimed, leaving the sugar cookies she was cutting out to come and take a closer look. “They look just the same as when Moms does them.”

“Didn’t you think I could do it?” Diana asked, torn between amusement and the urge to burst into tears.

Her sister-in-law blushed. “Sorry. That’s not what I meant. I meant they don’t look that way when I make them, but you seem to have the touch.”

“She is Mrs. Belden,” Honey pointed out with a laugh, “and I can’t imagine Mrs. Belden not being a fabulous cook, so of course she is one. All you have to do, Trixie, is get married and you won’t be a Belden any more, you’ll be Mrs. Somebody-else – Frayne, for example.”

Trixie’s face reddened slightly with embarrassment and she screwed up her nose. “And have to learn someone else’s family recipes? I don’t think so. I’m happy to stay single for the moment and not have to deal with anyone else’s traditions.”

“I didn’t really think about Christmas traditions before I got married,” Diana admitted. “I don’t think it even entered my mind.”

With a groan, Trixie slapped a hand over her eyes, inadvertently dusting herself with flour. “Did I just open my mouth to change feet? I meant that between our traditions and the ones you’re bringing we’ve got enough for the moment without adding any more. I didn’t mean that we couldn’t add anything of yours, Di.”

“What are your family’s traditions for Christmas, Di,” Honey asked, while continuing to ease intricate snowflake cut-outs onto a tray. “I mean, the ones that are different from the Beldens’.”

Diana closed her eyes for a moment and thought about the things she was missing the most and those she did not mind missing at all. She decided to start on a positive note. “Well, we haven’t had a baking day like this since my father made his money. Ever since then, Mummy has always had the kitchen staff order in the best things that money could buy, so my sisters and I have missed out on all the fun of making them ourselves. I like this way much better. I’ll be sorry, though, if I don’t get to go to Midnight Mass. And I wish I’d gotten to help decorate the nursery Christmas tree with my brothers and sisters this year. The big tree downstairs is done by professional decorators, of course, but we always had another one that we could have however we liked.”

“I’ve always loved that your family did that,” Honey commented, a wistful smile on her face. “It always made me wish for younger brothers and sisters so that I could justify doing the same thing at Manor House.”

Diana smiled. “It’s lots of fun, playing Christmas music while we make new decorations together and hang them on the tree. It helps me get into the right mood. I’ve really missed that this year. Mart and I felt like it would be a waste to have a tree in our apartment when we wouldn’t even be there to enjoy it. I did have an advent wreath, though.”

“Well, I hope you brought it with you, then,” Trixie interjected. “You still have a candle left to light, don’t you? Or, is it two candles?”

“One,” Diana corrected. “Some people have five candles in their wreath, but ours have always had four, one for each Sunday in Advent. Mart thought it was a strange thing to bring, but I brought it anyway and I hope that’s okay.” She turned to Helen, her eyes asking for approval.

Helen smiled. “Of course it is. We’ll set it up as soon as the last batch of cookies comes out of the oven. How are those next ones coming along?”

The four returned to their work and the conversation flowed easily. At the end of the session, they had piles of goodies prepared, some of them still waiting to be decorated. Sighing in satisfaction, Helen pulled off her apron and sat down with a cup of coffee.

“That was a good morning’s work, girls,” she told them, as her three helpers sat down also. “It should be enough to see us through the holiday. I might just do one more batch of something after lunch, while you girls decorate the rest of those cut-outs, just to make sure. We haven’t done any snowball cookies; they always go down well.”

Diana gaped at the enormous quantity of cookies they had made already made, and thought of the selection that she had sampled the night before, wondering how they could possibly not be enough. A moment later, she remembered the day when her husband, claiming to be hungry, had eaten almost an entire batch of cookies in a sitting. Suddenly, the comment did not seem so out of place. Beside her, she noticed that her sister-in-law was grinning.

“There can never be too many cookies at Crabapple Farm at Christmas,” Trixie assured her. “But all this baking is making me hungry. Let’s get some lunch.”

The baking was done, as was the decorating, and the workers had settled at the kitchen table to rest. They had also been joined by Bobby, who had come to taste the less-than-perfect among their wares. The men had passed through a few minutes earlier, also stopping for samples, but not staying to talk.

“These are pretty good,” Bobby commented, as he tasted the almond meringue cookies Diana had made earlier. “If you practice a little, I’m sure you’ll make them even better. I’ll taste them for you, if you like.”

He gave an exaggerated sigh as the four women laughed.

“They are for Christmas only,” his mother reminded him. “It’s traditional.”

“Then, I think it’s time we got some better traditions,” he grumbled.

“Maybe we could pick up some of Di’s family’s traditions,” Trixie suggested. “Any ideas, Di?”

Her friend started at the abrupt change in the direction of the conversation. “You don’t have a nativity anywhere,” she noted, feeling a little unsure of why she was bringing the matter to attention.

“We have one somewhere,” Helen answered, with a slight frown. “Now, why is it that we don’t bring it out any more?”

“Bobby,” Trixie announced, laughing. “He can’t be trusted with nativity sets.”

Her younger brother stood up and tried to look down on her. “You take that back,” he demanded. “I’m not a baby and you don’t need to treat me like one.”

“You’re not grown up yet, either,” Trixie countered, standing on tip-toe to keep her eye-level above his.

“I’ll soon be bigger than you,” he answered, stretching as high as he could. “And, anyway, I wanted a tradition that gets me more good things to eat, not one where you just decorate stuff. Decorating stuff is for girls.”

Trixie laughed. “You don’t need more to eat, or you’ll be too fat to fit in your clothes, instead of too tall.”

Their mother ignored the exchange and returned to the previous topic of conversation. “I remember, now. When Bobby was about three, he climbed up and got some of the pieces to play with. He damaged a couple of the figures, then he decided that the baby Jesus would look better covered in blue crayon. I always meant to fix it up again, but I never have, so it’s still in the attic somewhere, waiting to be cleaned and repaired.”

“Let’s go and have a look for it, Di,” Trixie suggested, pushing past her brother to reach her friend. “Maybe we could do that this afternoon.”

She took off at full speed, not even waiting for Diana to answer. By the time Diana arrived in the attic, Trixie had already started rummaging around for the set and in a few minutes had located it. She lifted the lid off of the box in which it was packed and lifted a tissue-paper wrapped bundle from the top. The paper rustled as she unwrapped it, revealing a rather grubby-looking wooden shepherd figure, with a long scratch in the paint down his back.

“Let’s take them back to the kitchen and unpack them there,” Trixie suggested, again not waiting for an answer before she left.

In a few minutes, they had set out all of the figures on the kitchen table, to assess the damage. Helen watched as they examined the figures, a rueful smile on her face.

“They’re even worse than I remember them being. I know I should have taken better care of them,” she admitted, “but Bobby always seemed to be more trouble than the other three put together. That set had survived all of their toddler years unscathed, and mine and my sister’s as well. It seemed such a shame that it would succumb to the very last child.”

“Do you want us to try to fix them up?” Diana asked, glancing up from her scrutiny of a blue-crayon-embellished sheep.

Helen smiled. “That would be lovely, if you actually want to do it. Please, don’t feel as if you have to.”

“I’d like to,” she replied.

An hour later, the work was done and Diana set about arranging the figures on a side table in the living room. She sang to herself as she placed them, adjusting them so that each showed its best side and any imperfections were out of sight. Taking a few steps back to admire the effect, she almost collided with her mother-in-law.

“That looks lovely,” Helen complemented, giving the younger woman a half-hug. “Thank you so much for doing that. They look just like I remember them.”

Diana smiled. “They’re beautiful. And I was happy to do it.”

The following day, the party swelled to include the rest of the Bob-Whites. Late in the afternoon they settled down in the living room at Crabapple Farm, to celebrate together, eating, drinking and exchanging gifts. For some reason, Diana still did not feel entirely comfortable, however. She sat in a corner of the sofa, watching her friends talk and laugh, but only contributing to the conversation when directly addressed. Every so often, she caught a suspicious glance from Trixie, but no one else seemed to notice that anything was amiss. After a while, she let the others continue their festivities without her attention, letting her thoughts wander far away from them.

“You’re very quiet today, Di.” Trixie bumped down on the sofa beside her.

Diana jumped at the interruption to her reverie. “Yes, I guess so,” she managed to reply. “I like quiet.”

“You’re not likely to get any of that around here,” Dan quipped, joining them. “It’s about to get even louder. We’re going to start the party games.”

Inwardly, Diana cringed. She did not feel in the mood for games and felt sure her performance would suffer for it. To her dismay, Trixie greeted the announcement with typical enthusiasm.

“That’s a great idea! Hey, everyone, it’s time for the party games. What will we start with?”

“Charades,” Brian suggested at once, giving Diana a smile. “And Mart can have first turn.”

“You’re only saying that so you can have that plate of cookies to yourself,” his brother accused, grabbing a handful as he arose from his seat. “Prepare yourselves, one and all, for a performance likely to baffle and mystify all who behold it.”

“Will that be because you’re too busy eating to make any sense?” Dan asked, and the others laughed.

Mart assumed a haughty expression, then set to work. Diana sat back and watched, knowing that according to the Bob-Whites’ own rules of the game she would never have to take a turn if she never correctly guessed the answer. Far from being baffled and mystified, she knew that her husband was acting out Roget’s Thesaurus long before Trixie finally guessed. None of the next few turns were particularly difficult and the players changed often.

The game continued, sometimes taking a long time for a single turn and sometimes moving swiftly. When Trixie had correctly guessed for the fourth time, she called a halt.

“Does anyone want my turn? I can’t think of anything.”

No one took up the offer and, rather than start a new game, the group fell back into conversation once more.

It seemed to Diana as if the house would never be quiet. Every time that the hilarity appeared to be dissipating, someone would crack another joke and the raucous laughter would start all over again. She eyed her advent wreath longingly, wishing that there could be a still, quiet moment for lighting it, but not knowing how to ask. She glanced at her watch. In less than half an hour it would be time to leave for Midnight Mass. Time was running out.

“Is something the matter, Di?” Honey asked softly, making Diana jump.

She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter, really. I just really wanted some peace and quiet.” Her eyes turned once more to the wreath.

Honey got up and walked over to it. “This is lovely,” she murmured. “Is this candle for today? You haven’t lit it, yet.”

“I like to do it when it’s quiet,” Diana admitted. “It’s been too noisy tonight and it wasn’t dark, yet, when the party started.”

The next thing she knew, Honey was insinuating herself into each of the conversations in turn and drawing them to a close. In only a few minutes, the room had fallen silent. Honey smiled at her friend, and gave a nod.

Diana felt her face flush a little as all eyes turned on her. Without a word of explanation, she took the matches and struck one. In the dimness, that little flame seemed bright and alive. She watched it flicker for a moment before touching it to the wick of each candle in turn, waiting until it caught. A slight draught caused the flames to dance, bringing a soft smile to Diana’s face. She stood and watched for a long moment, reflecting on the weeks of anticipation which were almost over.

Mart’s voice broke the stillness. “It’s almost time to leave,” he reminded her. To the others, he explained, “Di and I are heading out to Midnight Mass. You’re all welcome to join us if you would like to.”

“I’d like to come,” Dan answered without delay.

“We’ll all go,” Trixie added, speaking for everyone, as usual.

No one seemed to object, however, and they were all soon outside, squabbling a little over who would ride with whom. Mart avoided the argument altogether by the simple expedient of handing his wife into their own car and getting in. He nodded to his brother, who took Honey by the hand and led her to the back seat. They left the other three to sort out the problem amongst themselves and started down the drive. The four travelled in silence, each content with their own thoughts.

When Mart had parked the car, he took his wife by the hand to walk the short distance to the church. Approaching from the front, it looked pretty enough to be pictured on a Christmas card, its high gable coated with just the right amount of snow to be picturesque. The night was chilly, however, so they did not linger outside to admire the scene.

Inside, the church was shining with candle light and already crowded with people. They split up, since there was certainly not room for seven people to sit together anywhere. Honey and Brian slipped into a pew near the back, while Mart and Diana went further toward the front. As the sound of conversation dimmed and the organ music swelled, a peaceful feeling built inside Diana and she closed her eyes for a few moments to enjoy it. This was the Christmas feeling that she had been missing. A gentle smile settled on her face.

Bright stars shone overhead and snow crunched underfoot as they walked to the car. The cold air stung Diana’s face, but she felt so happy that she could sing. All of the little things that had been bothering her did not matter any longer. Finally it felt like Christmas. She smiled at Mart as he helped her into the car and was pleased to see that he was smiling, too. He cranked up the heat as Brian and Honey got into the back seat and they set off for Crabapple Farm.

“That was really beautiful, Di,” Honey told her, in a voice that was soft and thoughtful. “I’m so glad we went.”

The one thought which had been circulating in her head since she sat down in the old, familiar church was all that Di could express at that moment: “It makes it feel like Christmas.”

“It does,” Honey agreed. “I like your version of Christmas, Di. I hope we can do this together every year from now on.”

Three years later
Friday, December 25^th, 2009

Diana sat up in bed and stretched luxuriously, allowing the warm quilt to fall away from her. She looked down at Mart, whose face was still relaxed in sleep, and smiled. A gurgling sound told her that their baby son was awake, too, but since it was clear that he was happy where he was, Diana snuggled down amongst the covers once more. She was still enjoying the sounds the baby was making when she felt a stirring beside her. Moments later, an arm slid across her waist.

“Merry Christmas, Diana,” Mart murmured against her neck.

“Merry Christmas, Mart,” she returned.

At the sound of her voice, the baby’s beautiful gurgling turned to disjointed cries and Diana let out a sigh. Before she could bring herself move, however, Mart had gotten out of bed to fetch his little boy and bring him back to the bed. The family of three cuddled together in the bed for a time. Diana knew that, outside the guest room door, Crabapple Farm would soon be stirring to life for another busy Christmas Day. Her own parents and siblings would arrive later to share their baby’s first Christmas and the house would be filled with laughter. Her life and her family’s traditions were changing, and Diana couldn’t be happier.

Merry Christmas, Mary! I was so pleased when I got your name in the Secret Santa assignment, as you have been so much help and encouragement to me over the last few years and I really wanted to give something back. I hope you enjoyed this little story about your favourite BWG. Hugs! — Janice

Please note: Trixie Belden is a registered trademark of Random House Publishing. This site is in no way associated with Random House and no profit is being made from these pages.

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