A Miracle Under the Christmas Tree. Jennifer Sander Basye

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СКАЧАТЬ my husband pointed out what I already knew in my heart but did not want to hear: “We can’t afford a horse.”

      I couldn’t really argue with this. The purchase price of a horse—any horse—is the easiest expense to meet. Maintaining an equine for the twenty-five years or more of its life is where the economic strain comes in. Ron was right, as he usually is in all economic matters. We could not afford a horse, period. I tempered this acceptance by adding silently, “Not now, anyway. I’ll take the coward’s way out and e-mail, rather than call, Kim tomorrow to tell her.” These last words caught in my throat.

      Later that evening, we stopped for dinner along the interstate. I don’t know if it was the holiday decor of the restaurant or the Christmas section of the attached gift shop, but suddenly I was transported back in time. It’s Christmas morning. I race down the stairs and offer the brightly lit tree only a quick glance, for just past the tree is the picture window. It can’t be! I shake my head and rub my eyes, certain that my mind is playing tricks on me. I look again, and it—she—is still standing there. Sky is standing in the front yard of my childhood home, her glistening black-and-white coat a stark contrast to the glimmering white Christmas snow.

      My husband’s voice brought me back to reality.

      “What? I’m sorry, what did you say?” I asked.

      “I asked what you were thinking about. You’ve been really quiet, but you smiled just now,” Ron said. That’s when I realized that in nearly twenty years of marriage, I had never shared the story of The Dream Horse with him. Over dinner, I recounted the tale, with a bit of sadness in my voice that I just couldn’t hide. Ron’s normally brilliant blue eyes clouded over.

      “I know exactly what you mean,” he said with a sigh as he reached across the table for my hand. Like me, my husband grew up in a blue-collar family with never quite enough money. He, too, knew firsthand the feeling of The Dream, but his dream was a motorcycle on two wheels, not four hooves—the iron horse.

      The rest of the drive home, we remained silent, arriving home just after dark. Exhausted and disappointed, I climbed into a hot shower and then managed to read a few chapters of a book. I fell asleep imagining my beautiful new filly cantering across the field to greet me. She offered me her soft, pink muzzle, and I wrapped my arms around her glistening neck and buried my face in her mane, breathing in her heady smell. I felt the level of contentment I’d been searching for, but it was only a dream.

      “Are you going Christmas shopping with me on Saturday?” I asked Ron. It was December 18, and we had yet to do any big shopping for family and friends. With our work schedules, the coming Saturday was looking like our one and only hope of accomplishing any shopping together.

      “Oh, um, well…” Ron stammered. “We can’t go anywhere Saturday.”

      “What do you mean we can’t go anywhere? We’ve got tons of shopping to do!”

      “Well, I’m expecting a delivery, and we have to be here when it comes. You know how FedEx can be,” he said.

      I was furious with him for having waited until the last minute to buy my Christmas gift. Fine. I left him to his FedEx worries and did the shopping myself during the week. I was not at all gracious about this scenario.

      I barely spoke to him that week, and when I did speak, it was only in short, clipped answers to something he said first. My Christmas spirit was obviously going to be absent in the Stahl home this year. I made sure this fact was not lost on Ron.

      Saturday morning, I was in the den wrapping presents. I had a perfect view of the driveway via the picture window. I would certainly see the FedEx truck when it arrived.

      My anger with Ron collided full force with my eagerness to catch a glimpse of the delivery. Eagerness was winning out. Where could he have been shopping? Did he go on his lunch break from work? That would limit the possibilities. Would the shipping box offer any clues? Would I know what it is from the box that it’s in? Damn!

      I wasn’t paying attention and cut the wrapping paper too short. As I reached for a new roll of paper, Ron’s thundering feet on the stairs made me jump. What startled me even more, though, was his voice. “He’s here!” Ron shrieked, hitting a pitch I hadn’t heard from him in all our twenty years together. I had no idea that Ron loved the FedEx guy this much.

      “Come here, come here, come here!” Ron chattered. “You’ve gotta come here…” and he pulled me by the hand to stand in the doorway facing the driveway.

      “Look!”

      And then I did, but what I saw didn’t register. White SUV. SUV? Pulling something. A horse trailer. A horse trailer? A horse trailer with “Sealite Paint Horses” written on the side!

      I staggered backward, into Ron’s arms, and he kissed me on the head as he draped a coat over my shoulders. “Let’s go,” he whispered in my ear, gently pushing me out the door.

      As my brain spun circles trying to wrap itself around this image, the driver’s window of the SUV rolled down, and the vehicle rolled to a stop. “Merry Christmas, Dee!” I heard the driver yell—wait, that’s Chris!

      I remember Chris getting out of the vehicle and giving me a hug. I remember holding my breath as he dropped down the window of the trailer. And I remember thinking, She’s home, as her familiar white face popped out from behind the window. She looked at me, and her soft brown eyes reflected, “I remember you.”

      As I stroked her beautiful white face, I said something brilliant to Chris like, “You were supposed to be the FedEx guy!”

      So how did Ron do it? How did he make my dream come true?

      Apparently, the night we returned from Sealite, he called Kim and Chris and made the arrangements, all on the sly. My sad story of yearning and Christmas disappointment had moved him to action.

      I stood wrapped in Ron’s arms, watching Sky become acquainted with her new home. I turned and looked into Ron’s eyes. My question was simple: “Why?”

      “Because you wanted her from the beginning. I wanted to be the one who made your dreams come true.”

      Somewhere, in the deep, dark recesses of my memory, I felt the curtain drop down on an old yearning and a new kind of contentment fill every bit of those years of wanting and waiting. Then, I felt another curtain rise above a thousand new dreams as I settled my head against Ron’s chest and looked into the eyes of my new paint dream.

      Ron and I smiled, laughed, cried tears of joy and talked well past midnight about our new dreams and how we might make them come true for each other.

      CALIFORNIA CAMPER CHRISTMAS

      CHERYL RIVENESS

      It was Christmas morning 1986. Thinking back to the day before, I recalled how everything had come together. It had been a pretty bad year, and Christmas promised to be more of the same. A fabulous holiday for the children was a luxury we couldn’t afford. I had all but given up hope that we would be able to celebrate even in a small way. And then, my husband, a truck tire service technician, received an unanticipated service call. The driver was stranded and trying desperately to make it home in time to be with his own children on Christmas morning. He was short of money, but he had merchandise that he was willing to trade for services, enabling us to give the older girls, eleven and thirteen, exactly what they’d СКАЧАТЬ