By: Lisa Anne Hetu
Disclaimer: Everything and everyone in this story is mine. Any similarities
are purely coincidental.
Snow drifted lightly to its resting place on the ground. The sun was bright, and the
old road was quiet. Christine lived with her brother Alan, all alone in the last house
at the end of the old road. Winter's there were always quiet and peaceful, but they
were also long and cold. The last few winter's had been especially lonely for
Christine and her older brother because they had spent Christmas alone. Even
though both Alan and Christine were only just past 20 years of age, their parents
had been fairly advanced in their years and had passed away almost three years
ago. Since then, Alan had made it his duty to care for Christine like an older brother
should, even if she didn't really need it.
The house they lived in was fairly large; it had been built many years ago by
long past, but not forgotten, ancestors. The house was big, but it was as simple as
any house could be because Christine's family wasn't a rich family. They weren't a
poor family though, they got by within the last few generations, but their jobs were
simple like their house, and like their lives. Alan worked in town at a book store; it
was a very modern book store with a wide variety of topics. Many people from town
went there to buy their books. Alan was paid fairly well to work there, and at least he
enjoyed his work. Christine, however, didn't work in the town; she stayed home.
Christine wrote books, but never really made a lot of money doing it. Christine was
proud of her work all the same because her books were sold in town at the book
store. She had a whole shelf with her creations on it. Alan was proud of that shelf
too.
Being low on finances, and with Christmas coming very soon, gifts had to be
thought of. Christine wanted so much to get her brother something special, but she
couldn't afford to get him anything expensive. She stared out the window at the
falling snow, trying to think of a perfect gift. Alan wasn't at home at the time; it was a
week day, and he was at work. Really, there was no use just standing there;
Christine decided to make use of her time and decorate the house a little. After all,
it was the Christmas season, and maybe it would help her to think.
Christine decorated the Christmas tree that she brought up from the
basement and started a fire. She put up the Christmas wreath and put out a few
candles. Still, she couldn't think, so she decided to bake some Christmas treats;
baking always helped her to think. "Now where did I put that cook book?" Christine
said to herself.
Soon Christine found herself in the library, which was really only a small room
shelved wall to wall with books of every kind, most of them very old. As she
searched the shelves for her cook book, scanning with her finger, Christine thought
of Alan in the book store. "I wonder what he's doing right now?" she thought to
herself, "Whatever he's doing, he's most-likely doing it with a smile; I know how
much he enjoys working there. Alan really likes books; just looking at them makes
him happy. I think, his favorite books in that store are the ones I wrote."
That was it! Christine knew what the perfect gift for her brother was.
Christine couldn't wait to see her brother's face when he opened up a package
containing a special book that Christine would write especially for him. Christine
forgot all about cooking and ran to her desk to start her new story.
Later that evening, Alan came home from work. "Christine, I'm home!" he
called from the front door.
"Hold on a minute, I'll be right down" Christine called back, shoving her story
into a drawer and rushing down the stairs.
"What's your hurry?" asked Alan, "You're up to something aren't you."
"Up to something? No, I'm not up to something, " said Christine, "I just
haven't started dinner yet."
"Yeah, right" said Alan, sarcastically hanging up his coat.
"I've been keeping myself busy all day, and I just lost track of time that's all."
said Christine.
"Well, I have to give you some credit, Christi; this morning I left a house as
plain and cold as every morning, but I came home to a warm house full of Christmas
spirit, and brightly decorated too." said Alan.
Christine smiled at her brother, "That was very nice of you to say, I hoped
you'd like it." she said.
The days past by with a little extra cheer because of the holiday season, and
Christine worked hard on her Christmas present, becoming more and more eager
to give it to Alan. Christine was so pleased with her brilliant idea; she knew Alan
would be so happy to have it. Then finally, Christmas came, and Christine was so
happy. The book had been wrapped with a pretty bow, and placed carefully under
the tree with Alan's name on the tag. "Here Alan, this is my present to you" said
Christine handing the gift to her brother.
Alan took off the bow and tore the wrapping paper. As he saw the book
sown together between two pieces of cardboard, he knew immediately that
Christine had written it. Christine saw his face light up with a smile, and his eyes
sparkled with happiness. "This is the best present I've ever received!" Alan said
cheerfully, "Thank you so much!"
Christine was so happy; she had seen Alan just the way she thought he'd be.
Christine was already having the best Christmas of her life, but she still hadn't
received her gift. Alan put his book down carefully because it was so precious to
him, and gave his sister her gift. Christine opened it and found it to be a book. It
was a pretty book with a hard cover, and she thought maybe Alan got it as a favor
from the book store. Christine opened the blank cover and saw the tittle on the
inside, one she recognized. This was her story, a story she had written long ago.
"What's this?" Christine asked, "How can my book be printed so neatly and bound
in such a nice cover?"
"Not long ago, there was a man who bought that story from the book store,"
Alan began to explain, "He came back a few days later and told me how much he
liked the book. He asked why it was bound the way it was; he asked why wasn't it
published. I told him it was a story written by my sister, and I told him we hadn't the
money to publish it. The man's name was Mr. Brown; he's a publisher Christine, and
he wants to publish your books."
"We don't have money to give him to publish my books" said Christine.
"Mr. Brown has already been paid for publishing that book; we sold a bunch
of copies at the book store. Christi, you're books are making enough money to pay
for the publishing. Soon we'll have extra money if you keep publishing your stories!"
"My stories are that good?" asked Christine, surprised.
"Yes" said Alan.
Christine smiled excitedly, "Oh Alan, this is the best Christmas ever!" she
said, hugging her brother happily.
"For you and me both," said Alan, "Merry Christmas, Christi"
"Merry Christmas, Alan" said Christine.
The End
