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    This Christmas Eve--A Christmas Tale
    This Christmas Eve--A Christmas Tale
    This Christmas Eve--A Christmas Tale
    Ebook69 pages53 minutes

    This Christmas Eve--A Christmas Tale

    By Robert Reynolds

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    About this ebook

    This Christmas Eve tells a heartwarming story of growing up in a small town in the 1950s: the excitement of receiving the seasons' first Christmas catalog and hopeful wishes while thumbing through page by page, the first snowfall, the thrill of going with father to chop down the family Christmas tree, and then the long awaited arrival of Christmas morn.  It's a sweet, nostalgic tale from an innocent time.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherRobert Reynolds
    Release dateFeb 19, 2021
    ISBN9781365866753
    This Christmas Eve--A Christmas Tale
    Author

    Robert Reynolds

    Based in Calgary, Robert is an emerging author who spends his days working in the oil and gas industry but has been a big fan of the spy thriller genre ever since his childhood when he read one of his grandfather's original James Bond paperbacks from the late 50's. He is married with a young daughter and when he's not day dreaming about dangerous adventures in exotic locales he enjoys running and other outdoor pursuits.

    Read more from Robert Reynolds

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      Book preview

      This Christmas Eve--A Christmas Tale - Robert Reynolds

      This Winter’s Eve...

      Part One

      Chapter 1   

      Summer Days

      Summer evenings found us playing hide and seek as twilight settled delicately into mauve and purple and black.  As the sun sank beyond the treetops, shadows came together into a solid blanket of darkness. 

      A fluttering of wings carried flocks of robins to refuge in the foliage.  They chirped their way to silence while a chorus of croaking amphibians came awake. 

      I’m glad that old marsh ain’t any closer.  Those dad-blame ol’ frogs would keep us awake all night, Grandma Lacey said. 

      Mama and her enjoyed the warm evenings in the wooden swing out front beneath a big old apple tree. The two wiled away the balmy evenings discussing the plight of the world and the turn of the weather while slapping away pesky mosquitoes. 

      Me and Dennis was down to the ditch catching pollywogs, I said. I had a mason jar sitting on a windowsill and I could see tadpoles dancing in the glow of the streetlight. 

      I know you were, mama said.  Your shoes are still wet.  You need to leave them on the porch to dry before you come in.

      Don’t you forget and go traipsing those dirty ol’ sneakers in the house and make work for your mother, grandma said.  She scolded in a nice way so as not to hurt my feelings.  The wooden frame creaked, as the old swing gently rocked back and forth. She scooted over to make room for me between her and mama.  I loved grandma very much. 

      A light shone in papa’s shop out back of the house and now and then I could hear hammering or the buzz of his saw.  He always had a project of some sort going on. 

      Someone rode by on a bicycle, the whoosh of its tires lifting off the pavement in the darkness, but I didn’t recognize the person. 

      It’s that Clayton boy, mama said, but I don’t know how she knew it in the dark.  Something buzzed past in the night.  I absently swatted the darkness. 

      He’s not right anymore, grandma said, but not in a mean way.  The shadowy figure passed under the streetlamp and disappeared into the warm night. 

      I’m sure glad the fighting’s over, mama said. That was a horrible time.

      I was what folks called a war baby, although I was no longer a baby and I didn’t like when they talked of me that way. They spoke of the war as if it were long ago, but often enough so that I knew that it wasn’t.

      You were born near the end of it, mama said as the swing rocked.  

      My sisters came out from the house and soon we were taking turns hiding in the dark. 

      Keep your eyes closed and don’t peek, Lizbeth said.  Count to twenty and then you can come looking for us!

      They went running off into the dark to hide.

      Mercy!  Where do those children get all that energy? grandma said.

      We had energy like that, mama said. 

      You’ve a better memory than me, child, grandma said and they both chuckled. 

      Stars twinkled awake across the black sky and later after we tired of hide and seek, we kids played at finding the big and little dippers. They were the only constellations I knew. 

      There’s Mars, Maribel said, pointing.  It’s called the Red Planet. But it looked orange to me.

      It’ll look red when you grow up like us, Lizbeth said. Things change when you get older.

      DURING THE SUMMER A comet passed by and each night for the next few weeks we watched it hang in the eastern sky, its celestial tail seemingly dragging behind. 

      Well, my land! grandma said the first night it appeared.  Just look at that!

      The rest of the family gazed skyward into the night. 

      What is it? I asked in wonder.

      I know what it is, Lizbeth said.

      Tell me, I begged. 

      It’s Santa’s sleigh, Lizbeth teased. She was older than me, but not as old as Maribel.  Lizbeth teased a lot and mom got after us, but she was only playing now.

      It’s not, I said.

      How do you know?

      I didn’t know much about celestial events, but I’d witnessed my share of Christmases and I knew about Santa Claus, reindeer and the like.   

      Because Santa comes when it’s icy cold and all snowy on the ground, I said indignantly. 

      Maybe he’s flying to the North Pole, Mr. Smarty Pants,

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