robes of bright blue. I don't think there could have
been four happier children than we were early that
morning. Chocolate bars were devilishly divine and
made even
sweeter because they were forbidden. It
was pure heaven to hold that chocolate in my mouth
and slowly, slowly let it melt while I squeezed my
eyelids tight to better savor the taste. And when I
looked, Chris had his eyes closed too. Funny how the
twins ate their chocolate, with wide open eyes, so full
of surprise. Had they forgotten about candy? It
seemed so, for they appeared to be holding paradise in their mouths. When we heard the doorknob rattle, we
quickly hid the candy under the nearest bed. It was the grandmother. She came in quietly, with
the picnic basket. She put the basket on the gaming
table. She didn't greet us with "Merry Christmas," nor
did she say good morning, nor even smile, or show in
any way that this was a special day. And we were not
to speak to her unless she spoke to us first.
It was with reluctance and fear, and also with
great hope, that I picked up the long package wrapped
in red foil that had come from one of Momma's gifts
to us. Beneath that beautiful paper was our collage
painting on which all four of us had worked to create
a child's version of the perfect garden. The old trunks
in the attic had provided us with fine materials, such
as the gossamer silk to make the pastel butterflies that
hovered over bright yarn flowers. How Carrie had
wanted to make purple butterflies with red spots--she
loved purple combined with red! If ever a more
glorious butterfly existed--it wouldn't be a live one--