One Christmas in Newburgh

“Come in here, girls,” my mother Mary said in a brogue that was nearly as thick as our father’s. “You’ll catch your death of cold! You don’t want to be sick for Christmas.” My sisters and I were happy to oblige, leaving the freezing weather for the warmth that awaited us by the fireplace. After removing our coats and boots, we headed straight for the hearth and laid our wet belongings in front of it. We already had hung seven stockings from the mantle, hoping Santa would soon fill them. They were arranged in order of oldest to youngest with Dah’s and Mum’s on the left and the two boys’ on the far right. A big pot of beef stew was simmering on the stove next to a freshly baked loaf of bread, while a triple-berry pie sat cooling near the window. As if that treat wasn’t enough, my Mum was busy rolling dough for Christmas cookies. The baking blended deliciously with the scent of fresh pine from the Christmas tree and Advent wreath. “Mmmmm. It smells like Christmas,” Nellie observed. “Just perfect.” “Dah says he’ll be late for supper, but not to wait for him,” Annie said, relaying our father’s message. Mum was not surprised. “Well, he’ll have an appetite when he gets here. No second helpings until he’s had his fill. You girls can help me clean up before we eat.” Normally, we would have cringed at the thought of sweeping floors and dusting furniture, but not that day. We were more than happy to do our parts to get the house ready for the holy day.