MacKenzie Isabelle Evans opened her eyes. The bedroom was dark, and cold, and quiet. She wondered if it were still night.
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Uncle Rollo tried to hug all three of them at once. Mac smiled up at him. She hadn’t seen her great-uncle Rollo since she was five years old, but she remembered his thick black glasses and his kind eyes. She remembered the wonderful stories he told about the snakes he had found, and baby rabbits, and other wild animals.
Solomon Nassim El-Charif made a face as he looked at a store display brimming with handkerchiefs in fancy boxes, after-shave in fancy bottles, and ties with fancy designs. “For Dad!” the cheerful sign said in big red and green letters. “Can’t anybody think of something better for dads than this stuff?” Solly asked Susannah.
Kenya Jayne Washington shivered and stamped the snow off her boots. She was standing in the dark basement of the Pattersons’ flower shop.
“We could have a musical program with a lot of Christmas songs. I could even play ‘Silent Night’ on my recorder. I know it already, because I’ve been practicing it.” “That’s a good idea,” Kenya agreed. “People like to hear us sing. We like to sing too!”
Solomon Nassim El-Charif wasn’t listening to the sermon. He usually liked Pastor Lewis’s sermons, but today Solly was thinking about the Sabbath School lesson. For some reason, the story felt very real to him.
Susannah May Farmer pulled out a poster and stretched on tiptoes to hold it against the telephone pole on the corner. Solly reached up and hammered a nail to hold the poster in place.
Michael Arthur Patterson rubbed his hands over the tombstone. It was rough and cold under his fingers, and he shivered a little.
Kenya Jayne Washington bent over and put her hands on the ground. Then she put the top of her head on the ground in between them. Ever so carefully, concentrating so hard she almost bit her tongue, she pushed her wobbly legs up into the air. There! She was standing on her head.
