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Time for a Cuppa!

The Magazine

For all the Family

Short Stories

Writers

Bette Compton and David Ball

My favourite Christmas
By
Bette Compton

It was very cold, not snowing yet, had looked as though it would all day. We dragged the tree in after dinner, set it up in the stand. Turned and twisted it until it looked " perfect". Those lovely fresh pine odours... take a deep breath...umm. Where's my stocking? Momma had set up a fake fireplace. Looks pretty real, red brick and all. Hope when Santa fills that sock the fireplace stays upright. I was sure in the morning I'd find an orange, some wrapped hard candies, pencils, maybe some new mittens, and I'd love to see a kitten, or puppy peeking out of the top of the sock.

I had heated a round iron disk taken from the old pressure cooker, wrapped it in a towel to keep my feet warm in bed. I loved to snuggle under the home-made quilts, and have my feet toast warm. The years I really believed in Santa I would not even turn over in bed, afraid he'd hear me and leave before placing gifts under the tree. This particular year I was about 12. But I planned to get to sleep so I'd not hear any tell tale noises downstairs, all was quiet until I heard the back door open and close... I grabbed a quilt and sat on the floor by the window overlooking the back yard. We owned a tourist camp, and had 5 nice sized cabins around the outer edge of the yard.

I watched my dad head for the last one in the line, open the door, and disappear inside. In a few minutes he came out carefully wheeling a beautiful 2-wheel bike. WOW! He wheeled it toward the house, suddenly stopped and got on the bike, rode all around the yard. He'd take his feet off the pedals, stick his legs straight out, then back to the pedals, let go with his hands from the handle bars, wave them in the air, speed up a bit, turn quickly. He was having the time of his life.

I was praying he would not fall, wreck himself and the bike. I bet he spent 15 minutes on that cold night playing so carefree. Finally it was brought into the house; I dove under the covers, and stayed still as could be. Later I heard Dad and Mom tiptoe past my room to bed. I thought morning would never come.

Finally down the stairs I went there it was, bright and shiny with a big red bow. My bike! Every time I rode that bike the picture of my Dad having such a delightful time sure brought a big grin to my face.

We only went carolling once after I had moved to California. I did enjoy it. We had them come to the house a couple of times, but it seems no one does it anymore, here.

Cold
By
Bette Compton

Cold?

Hardly the word to describe the evening. 15 minutes to six, I had left my friends' home after working on a report due the next morning at school. I walked with my chin burrowed in my heavy coat. Looking up, a snowflake slowly drifted by, then another. Twisting and twirling lazily under the street lamp. In the distance I heard bells tinkling, slowly drawing closer. I turned to look behind me and saw two beautiful horses snorting steam, heads held high, high stepping down the street, pulling a lovely large sleigh. As the sleigh drew near, I saw to my astonishment, Mr Hartman, a wealthy businessman, one who rarely ventured forth in the small town. "Whoa," he pulled on the reins, and brought the sleigh to a halt. " Hop aboard, girl", be quick about it." totally stunned, I obeyed, had just barely made it aboard, when the whip cracked the air, and snorting, the beautiful beasts brought the sleigh into motion.

We reached the main intersection of the town, two folks stood on the corner by the drug store," Whoa." the sleigh halted, " Get aboard you two... be quick about it!" I moved to make room for the newcomers, felt something underfoot, found a wool blanket, grabbed it and lay it across our laps. We turned right to go along the main residential part of town.

I was sure this was a dream, Mr Hartman not being the friendly sort would not be out looking for passengers for his sleigh, A man and his wife were in their driveway headed for their car, "Whoa, you there, get in. where are you going? I'll take you, be quick about it, You girl, your house is just along the way. You want out or do you want to continue the ride? " I realised he was asking me..." I'll ride, Sir. " We rode on to the next small town, by the frozen lake dotted with ice skaters, did a turn around and headed back toward my home. Gently he issued a " Whoa" the team stopped and I jumped down from the sleigh. " Good night Mr Hartman, and Merry Christmas, thank you."

A brief smile crossed his features.

Thrilled with the evening's events I ran happily into the house.

Home
By
Bette Compton

Home smells good, baked a couple date nut breads this afternoon. I share baked breads with neighbours for the Holidays. Tomorrow I will do pumpkin breads. One neighbour and his wife come down when our olive tree is laden with olives. Pick them and send them to relatives that live out of state to cure, and bottle. They are Italian. The man of the couple makes home made wines and each Christmas Eve the doorbell rings and there is Louie with wines, and beautiful home-made cookies. I always have huge bread ready for them. They now have an olive tree of their own, yet he still comes with wine and cookies', saying it is a tradition now.

Nice folks.

I think I was around 6 years old, it was Christmas Eve, and an ice storm the night before had decorated every twig on every tree with sparkly ice. As the sun hit each area, everything looked shiny and trees sparkled and shimmered. My Dad came towards me with my coat, muffler, hat and gloves and helped me into them. He and I walked across the yard, opened the garage door, got the car out, and drove to Dover, our biggest town, two miles away. Oh Boy, I'm going Christmas shopping!

We headed right for the Woolworth's 5 and dime... (5 and ten-cent store) It was chock full of goodies hundreds of items captivated me. I had to buy for my Momma and Daddy... wonder what they'd like? I walked along the counters, touching this and that, finally found a lovely powder puff I was sure Momma would love it was large, round, and had a pale blue satin bow.

Just the thing.

Dad was staying a step or two behind me, letting me make my choice. Boy, was I stumped, what to get him? He had stopped and was looking at garters for men. He held a pair for a minute or two, then slowly put it back on the counter, and walked around me to the other side. I slowly walked back to where the garters where and chose the ones he had held in his hand. Just the thing. I hid them under the powder puff, dug in my coat pocket for the few dollars I had been given and went to the lady at the cash register.

Beaming, so certain I had chosen the perfect gift. After an ice cream we returned home, hurried into the house where Momma had hot chocolate waiting. I found two smaller paper bags, and some ribbon and took the presents to my room and wrapped them. Later I hid them under the tree. Christmas morning as we opened our gifts, Momma and Daddy was so thrilled with what I had chosen.

Daddy lifted his pant leg and attached the garter to his knee high stocking. I thought they looked funny and laughed, but he seemed so pleased. The following Christmas almost the identical scenario played itself out... Daddy and I shopping, my selecting garters for him. A few years later I was sent to get something from his drawer in his bedroom. Good grief, there must have been 7 or 8 packets oof garters in the drawer!

I think my Sister and Brother had also shared Christmas Eve shopping with my Daddy, for my Daddy.

Loving memories live on forever, don't they?

******

IT'S ALL IN THE AGENT

By
David Ball

Bantam have just published my first novel, Empires of Sand, in August.

I finished it in the fall of 1996 and began my search for an agent. I picked up the current Writer's Market's Guide to Literary Agents and scoured hundreds of agencies, looking for the right one. This turned out to be my most important step.

My novel is historical fiction, set in the late 1880s in Paris and the Sahara, so I wanted an agent that had international scope. I chose five agencies to whom I sent my query letter. I worked long hours over that letter, as I knew it was the only way to separate my book from hundreds of others. The agent I finally found was born in Africa and had studied in London. She had represented authors published by many different houses. My manuscript went straight to the bottom of her pile, but nine months later she read it, loved it, and offered to represent me. Within a month I had a contract with Bantam, although it was another two years before I actually saw the book on the shelf.

I recently discovered a more intimate, although not comprehensive, book about agents: Literary Agents: A Writer's Introduction, by John Baker, that gives wonderful insight into the process.

Good luck!

Empires of Sand

"An exciting, action-packed epic that will appeal to history buffs, thrill-seekers, travel enthusiasts and romance fans." Publishers Weekly

Meet Author David Ball - arrange an interview or online chat today.

mailto: empiresofsand@yahoo.com

Get Chapter One FREE! Visit:

http://www.empiresofsand.com

*****

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