Ivy’s Christmas Memories

I shared the thoughts of Christmas from Aunt Perdie of Along a Storied Trail last Sunday. So I invited a different character to stop by tonight. Ivy Bradford from my recent book, The Pursuit of Elena Bradford. Ivy is Elena’s younger sister and very different from Elena. She’s sixteen and beautiful and full of the joy of life. So naturally enough, she loves Christmas. So here she is.

Oh, yes, I do love Christmas and have ever since I can remember. When I was a little girl, Mama always made us wait and wait before she would open the door into the parlor on Christmas Eve where there would be a magical tree with the most beautiful shiny balls and gold and red ropes of beads wrapped around the branches. Perhaps the most amazing thing of all was that candles rested on the branches. Lit candles! They glowed in the dusky light of the evening. Oh yes, and there was a star made of twisted wires and crepe paper at the top. 

I felt we were surely the richest family in the world to have such a magnificent tree. Elena said that other people had trees just as beautiful and maybe even more beautiful. Bigger with more candles and more decorations, but I could hardly believe that could be true. How could any tree be more beautiful than ours? 

Sometimes we used to have guests in for an evening supper with delicious ham and buttery potatoes and green beans that Mama said I had to eat if I wanted any of the cakes and pies that awaited a good girl who ate all her food. I somehow managed to eat a few beans and when Mama wasn’t looking, slip the rest over onto Papa’s plate. He always winked at me and never said a word. Papa liked us all to be happy and never more than he did at Christmastime.  Oh, and we had apple cider Mama always brought out and cream candy. My mouth is watering just thinking of all the delicious things I got to eat. 

Before we went to bed, Mama would sit at the harpsichord and plays “O Silent Night.” We sang the first verse and then listened as she played more. Sometimes carolers came to our door and Mama had cookies for them. I wanted to go caroling. I love to sing even if I miss a few notes or so Elena says.

The next morning, I liked to sneak down the steps at the first hint of daylight to see if the beautiful tree was still there. It always felt like magic when it was even if the candles were no longer flaming. I could imagine them lit and glowing the way they were the night before. Under the tree, a few gaily wrapped packages would look enticing. My heart sped up as I studied them wondering which one might be mine. I never went to the tree to find the package with my name on it. I simply sat on the steps and savored the thought of opening one of those gifts when my parents got up.

When I was young, it would be a doll with a stuffed body and a china head and hands and feet with painted eyes and hair and shoes. Always black hair but the eyes were blue like mine. I tried not to wish the doll would be made of cloth with yellow yarn hair and sewed stitches for eyes. I’d seen other girls with dolls like that. I could play with a doll like that, but Mama said those were for poor little girls who couldn’t have beautiful dolls like mine. I told her I didn’t care about being rich, but she frowned and said of course, I did. Oh well, my Christmas dolls looked very pretty sitting on a shelf in my room.   

Not that any of that mattered so much. A doll could never have blond hair like my wayward curls that continually escape every pin my mother uses to hold it in a proper style. My hair never lies down flat and neat like Elena’s. Oh, to be more like Elena who always seems so calm and controlled. She is older than me and hasn’t gotten a doll for a long time. She always got something to draw or paint with. I wish I did. Of course, I can’t draw things that look like the things they are supposed to be, and Elena can. She always drew a picture for me. A dog or a rabbit or a chicken. I did so want a real dog that would lay its head in my lap and have silky ears. I kept all Elena’s pictures in a favorite place in my room and sometimes when the picture was of a dog, I stroked it head to tail. 

Now I suppose I’m too old for such foolishness, as Mama calls it.  No more dolls for me either after I got older. I got hair pins and handkerchiefs and a new dress. But gifts aren’t the best thing about Christmas anyway. Even the food isn’t. What I really liked was when Papa sat down in his chair and read the Christmas story. I didn’t move a muscle as I sat on a stool in front of him and the twins, three years younger than me, sat on the floor in front of him. Elena sat in a chair and Mama stood, ready to run to the kitchen to be sure Cook had our breakfast ready as soon as Papa stopped reading.   

This coming Christmas won’t be the same. Not with Papa gone and after everything that happened this summer when we went to Graham Springs. Elena says Christmas can still be good. Even if we don’t get to have a tree with candles. That Christmas is more than trees and presents, and that Papa would want us to be happy. She says we can take turns reading the Christmas story. She says I can read the part about Mary and Joseph finding no place at the inn and Mary having her baby in a stable since I love animals so. The twins can read about the angels telling the shepherds the good news of the baby’s birth, and that she will read about the wise men bringing gifts. It won’t be the same but it will still be good and my heart will swell with love for Mama, Elena, the twins, and most of all for that baby in the manger. I know I’ll cry a little missing Papa, but we still have each other and the love of the Lord. What better gifts could we have? 

What traditions at Christmas do you remember from when you were a child?