Belle Teal by Ann Martin Page B

now.” She is very tired, I can tell. I notice, though, that she doesn’t correct Gran on her biggest mistake. Mama puffs away. Then she says more soft-like, “I don’t know how I’m going to be able to help you all with the fruitcakes this year.” She says this like a confession. “I’ll have Thanksgiving day off, of course, and I might get one other day off, but Mr. Titus isn’t sure. If I do get another day off, it better be the one before Thanksgiving so’s I can help cook. But the fruitcakes . . .”
    â€œDon’t worry, Mama,” I say. “Gran and I can take care of things. We can cook the meal and . . .” I trail off as Gran gets up and wanders out of the room. “And we can make the fruitcakes too.”
    I am not certain about this, though. Especially not when Gran comes back into the parlor wearing that flimsy nightie of hers, and nothing else. Outside, it’s freezing. Inside, it’s freezing too, unless you’re in the kitchen or within five feet of the parlor fire. These days the grass crackles with frost every morning and the wind whips around the corners of our house. And Gran is wearing her short cotton nightie and bare feet.
    â€œI believe I’ll make myself a sandwich,” she says.
    We finished dinner no more than an hour ago.
    I look at Mama. She looks at me. Then she shakes her head ever so slightly and picks up her cigarette again.
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    I am scared about Gran, but the next day Miss Casey takes my mind off of things. As soon as she has taken attendance and written down our lunch and milk orders and all, she says, “Girls and boys, it is time to talk about our school Christmas program.”
    I feel a great joy. To my mind the Christmas program is the highlight of the school year, maybe even of the whole entire year. Every class in Coker Creek Elementary takes part in it, and all the parents and grandparents and little brothers and sisters and even some aunts and uncles and neighbors go to it. Last year our class wrote Christmas poems and read them aloud. The year before, we sang two Christmas carols, and also a Christmas song that we wrote ourselves. The program starts off with the songs and poems and readings, and leads up to the very best part, which is the Christmas pageant itself. Each year, one class is chosen by a drawing (out of a felt hat in the teachers’ room, I think) to put on the pageant. I have never yet been lucky enough to be in the class that gets chosen for the pageant, although I am always hopeful. After the pageant everybody, students and guests, traipses into the cafeteria, where a big old Christmas feast is held. We all bring something for it, and it is a sight for sore eyes — pies and cakes and cookies and hams and turkeys and casseroles and biscuits and oh, it’s just tables and tables so full of food, it could take your breath away.
    Our program, it is almost as good as Christmas day itself. Which is why a murmur of excitement runs through the room now.
    Miss Casey is grinning a wide grin. She says, “And I have a wonderful piece of news for you. Our class has been chosen to put on the pageant this year.”
    I can barely stop myself from jumping out of my seat and cheering.
    â€œYes, this is very good news,” Miss Casey goes on, looking at our faces. “It’s a great honor. I am sure we are all up to the job. I will assign the roles for the pageant this afternoon. Right after recess.”
    Then, since Darryl and HRH Vanessa don’t know about our Christmas program, Miss Casey describes it to them. “After the pageant,” she adds, “we have a wonderful party in the cafeteria. Everyone contributes something to it. This year I would like each of you to bring in something that you have made at home, preferably from a cherished family recipe. Take a moment to think about what you might like to bring in and then I will make a list on the board.”
    While