This year’s Christmas short story is titled, Christmas Lost and Found.

Below is an excerpt.

 

Mary Margaret Murphy slammed on the brakes and wrenched the steering wheel of her late grandmother’s prized 1924 Maxwell, then watched in horror as the big, touring car slid soundlessly into a deep snow drift.

“No! No! No!” she slammed her palm against the steering wheel, then pressed on the accelerator, hoping to ram her way through. She shifted into reverse, then forward, then reverse again, working the clutch, trying to rock the vehicle free, but she was hopelessly stuck. Snow fell, so thick and fast it obliterated her tire tracks within minutes. Soon it would be impossible to tell the difference between roadway and ditch. She covered her face with her hands, despair and frustration clouding out judgement. Judgement! She snorted in self-derision. If she’d exercised even a modicum of good judgement she would never have set forth on a two-day journey to a wilderness cabin to celebrate Christmas.

She’d made a foolish choice because she could not bear the thought of Christmas all alone. Tears stung her eyes and she let them fall. There was no one to see. She was tired of pretending she was all right. The truth was she missed her grandmother dreadfully. Her grief was made worse by the fact there was no one to share it – no sibling, no aunts and uncles, not even a shirt-tail cousin. As the last of the Murphy line in Canada, she was utterly alone. So, when Helen, her friend from the school, invited her to come for Christmas, Mary jumped at the chance.

“Bah, humbug,” she muttered and swiped the tears away. Grandma would not approve. . . . To read more, join my newsletter list using the box at right.

Views: 0