The Christmas Pony by Melody Carlson Page A

birds and growing flowers in the springtime. She knew that Mama was a good cook but that it made Grandma feel important to handle the cooking, so she stayed out of the kitchen most of the time. She knew that Mama took care of the laundry and sewing and some of the housekeeping and most of the outdoor chores and that Mama was kind and good and sometimes stern. Finally she thought of something she hadn’t told him.
    â€œMama used to have the prettiest smile,” she said as he parked the car near a grove of ponderosa pine trees. “But after Daddy died, it just seemed to go away.”
    â€œThat’s understandable.”
    â€œI prayed that God would give Mama her smile back,” Lucy confessed as they got out of the car. “For Christmas.”
    George had a real thoughtful look as he reached for his pipe. “Maybe God’s going to answer that prayer for you.”
    â€œYou know what?” She felt a rush of excitement.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œI’d rather have Mama’s smile back than a pony.”
    George looked shocked. “No kidding?”
    â€œIt’s true.” She nodded eagerly.

    That night the Christmas tree, which reached clear to the ceiling, was in place. “I’ve never seen a Christmas tree quite like this one.” George touched a long-needled bough. “But I think it might be the most beautiful tree ever.”
    â€œIt’s certainly the biggest tree this house has ever seen,” Mama told him.
    â€œIt didn’t look that tall in the woods.”
    She shook her head. “I know I won’t have enough ornaments to fill it.”
    â€œWe can make some more,” Lucy suggested.
    â€œWe can string popcorn,” Grandma told her.
    â€œYes!” Lucy exclaimed. “Let’s do that now.”
    â€œNot tonight, we won’t,” Mama said. “It’s already past Lucy’s bedtime.”
    Lucy groaned.
    â€œWe’ll do it tomorrow night,” Mama said gently.
    â€œThat reminds me,” Veronica said suddenly. “Tomorrow night is the Christmas dance. Remember, George? You promised to take me.”
    â€œWhat?” George frowned. “I don’t recall making—”
    â€œRemember, we saw the poster in town,” she reminded him.
    â€œGeorge didn’t promise,” Lucy pointed out. “He only said he’d think about it.”
    â€œOh, please, George,” Veronica pleaded. “Take me to the Christmas dance, I’m begging you. Please. ”
    â€œThat must be the grange dance,” Grandma said. “They have it every year.”
    â€œI remember hearing about a Christmas dance up north somewhere, in a barn as I recall,” Mrs. Dorchester said. “Horrible tale about how the whole place caught on fire and everyone was trapped inside. Nearly half the town was burned to death, and just before Christmas.”
    â€œOh, dear!” Mama’s brows lifted.
    â€œGood heavens!” Grandma let out a loud sigh that sounded like fussbudget to Lucy’s ears.
    â€œWell, that’s silly,” Veronica told her. “People don’t die at dances.”
    â€œJust the same, you won’t catch us going to any Christmas dance at a grange.” Mrs. Dorchester grimly shook her head. “No, sirree. Now, come on, Fred, it’s time you and I turned in for the night. My back is starting to ache something fierce.”
    â€œTime for me to call it a day too,” Grandma said. “I’ll say my good-nights now.”
    â€œAnd so will Lucy.” Mama put a hand on Lucy’s shoulder, guiding her out.
    â€œGood night, everyone, sleep tight,” Lucy called out, refraining from adding “don’t let the bedbugs bite” like she sometimes did, since she knew Mama wouldn’t approve. Not with paying guests in the house.
    It wasn’t until Lucy had finished quickly saying her prayers and was tucked snugly in bed that she knew she had