Raindrops hit the window with an arrhythmic tink tink tink that made her wish it would either commit to downpour or stop altogether. Instead of putting out her lamp, she slid it close to the edge of her bedside table and opened her mother’s journal. So far, the sadness of her mother’s predicament had only reinforced her own. Still, she yearned to read another page of the story. Mrs. Colburn handed me a beige apron that had a pink rose embroidered on the collar. She said it was mine to keep and insisted I call her Violet when the men weren’t around. She was always busy in the house or the garden or the kitchen and kept me with her from chore to chore. I liked the work. She had a tip or trick to make everything easier or better. At first I thought she was inventing projects to keep me occupied so that I’d forget about my troubles, but she wasn’t. She did everything out of genuine love for her family and her home. Two days before Christmas, she started preparing the food. She said she made the same feast every year, even when it would be only Mr.
What do You think about Christmas With The Colburns?
