A Cozy Country Christmas Anthology by LLC Melange Books Page A

the bird who donated some of his feathers for Mrs.
Jeppson’s Sunday hat.”
    But this time, Mama didn’t laugh and it made
Betsy’s tummy feel funny. The flush coating Mama’s cheeks gradually
faded, leaving her face bleached as white as Betsy’s petticoat.
    With unsteady hands, Sara Swensen used the
tongs to remove the jars from the boiling water and set them in a
row on the towel spread across one end of the table.
    Papa had once told Betsy, “When your Mama’s
happy, even her voice smiles.”
    Betsy didn’t hear any smiles when Mama said,
“My head aches, Betsy, so I’m going to lie down for a minute. Add
sugar to the applesauce and fill the jars. Please be careful not to
burn yourself. I’ll help you clean up the mess when I come
downstairs. Please take care of Erik for me.”
    Mama rested her hand on the doorpost as she
left the room and Betsy glanced at the windows to reassure herself
that the sun hadn’t disappeared behind a cloud. But it wasn’t
gloomy out there, just inside her heart. She felt queer, as if
something fluttered in her tummy. Poor Mama. She’d been having
these headaches more and more, spoiling their fun together.
    But pride at having been given the
responsibility to finish the final batch of applesauce took over as
Betsy added sugar, measuring twice to make sure, and ladled the
warm sweet mixture into the waiting jars. Erik had curled up on the
floor and gone to sleep, one of the blocks that Papa carved still
clutched in his fist.
    Betsy wiped up the applesauce on the oil
cloth covering the table and added the peelings and cores to the
bucket of apple chunks destined to be fed to the pigs and the
chickens. She decided to leave the colander, sticky and awkward,
for when Mama came back to help her heat water to wash the supper
dishes.
    She punched down the bread dough that had
puffed up so high in the heat from the applesauce making for the
final time and covered the pans with a dish towel. When the fire
died down a little more, she could pop the bread inside and Mama
would wake up to the delicious smell of baking bread.
    Betsy swept the kitchen and wiped off the
dust on the window sill that had blown in along with the leaf. The
kitchen had cooled down a little, so she went and got a small quilt
to cover up Erik who was snorting like a baby piglet in his
sleep.
    Glancing at the clock, Betsy realized it was
almost time to start supper. Why wasn’t Mama up yet? She climbed
the stairs and peeked in. The window was opened; Sara Swensen loved
fresh air, breezes blew through every room of the house until
autumn’s chill took over. Betsy’s mother curled up on the wedding
ring quilt covering the bed, one hand tucked under her cheek. The
other hand lay palm up beside her.
    Betsy took the limp hand in hers. It felt
cool and slack to the touch. At least Mama wasn’t running a fever.
Unfolding the wagon wheel patterned quilt at the foot of the bed,
Betsy draped the comforting material over her mother and closed the
window before tiptoeing back downstairs...
    “Betsy!” Erik tugged her back into the
present, yanking on her apron strings. “Why are you staring in the
cupboard? Did you see a mouse?”
    She placed the colander back inside and
closed the door on the jars in their orderly rows and the memories.
Knees aching from kneeling on the tiled floor, Betsy remembered her
father’s words from this morning, “Apples are rotting on the ground
in the orchard.” A ten year old could be forgiven for mistaking
death for sleep, but Betsy still shuddered from the thought how she
had failed her beloved mama when she needed her most. If only she’d
gone upstairs earlier, perhaps she could have saved her.
    Realizing Erik was gazing at her with a
puckered expression around his mouth, as if deciding whether to
cry, Betsy clapped her hands together. “Guess what! I’ve got a
penny in my pocketbook for you to pay my big helper.”
    Her brother was quite willing to be
distracted from the cupboard’s