The December Fiction in Five Winning stories are posted below. Please read them and support our writers with comments about their excellent work! They work hard on these contests and we are very proud of them! The judges also work very hard deciding who to award the prizes to. The choice is always hard, and sometimes there are mere points between the winning entries and the other excellent entries. We can only have four winners, and here they are:
First Place: One More White Christmas, by Julie McCarty.
by Julie McCarty, who is the mother of five: four sons who are grown and a 13-year-old daughter who is home-schooled. She takes care of her grand kids, teaches Sunday School and a homeschool co-op class here and there. Julie loves to read, and belongs to a Christian ladies’ book club. When explaining why she entered the contest, she said, “I have taken a writing course and so far mostly write non-fiction, but thought I’d try my hand at fiction. I am honored to have placed in this contest.” Julie’s husband Tony and their daughter Kathleen live on a 17-acre ranch in Yakima, Washington with five horses, one llama, four dogs, three cats, and a few chickens. They call it the End of the Road Ranch.
One More White Christmas
In my hometown, it never snows. I knew it would take a miracle to get snow on Christmas Eve. The weatherman said it might happen this year… what was I thinking?! Was I actually pinning my hopes for a white Christmas on the weatherman being right? Pretty desperate… But right now I guess I would grasp at any random straw, to have a chance at a real Biblical proportions, go-down-in-the-history books miracle.
It wasn’t for myself, though. It started last night, as we were having dessert. Dessert is Gram’s favorite part of dinner, not that she ever eats very much of anything. When I ask why I can’t have dessert without dinner like Gram, Mom says, “When you are 97 years old you can eat whatever you want to.”
Mom doesn’t make a big deal of it with Gram, because of her getting ready to die and all. Gram has been getting ready to die for a long time, long as I can remember. But lately, something’s different. More serious. And people come now, nurses who come to our house to take her ‘vitals,’ and help her with personal stuff. Our pastor comes too, he holds her hand and they talk. Mom and Dad talk quietly together, hushing when I come around and smile sadly. I know something new is going on.
So, back to dessert. I took Gram a piece of her favorite cake, and as usual she said, “Oh, thank you, honey. You’re such a good girl. Such a good girl.”
She lay back against her pillows, looking like a little doll tucked into the big quilt. “Just put that right over there, I might have a bite later,” she said.
I sat in the ‘visiting chair’ by the bed, and Gram said, “Have I ever told you about the day my Johnny proposed to me?”
“Only about a thousand times,” I thought. But I said, “Tell me, Gram.” Because although she’d been talking even more about Grandpa lately, living more and more in the past, I thought that her stories about him were the most romantic adventures I’d ever heard.
“He came for me in a sleigh,” she began. “It was Christmas Eve. We were going to candlelight service at the little church in the woods. It was snowing, and the moonlight made everything sparkle, like a fairyland.”
She paused so long I thought she was asleep, but then she continued.
“He stopped the sleigh in a beautiful glen. It was cold, but his smile warmed me through and through. I thought he might ‘pop the question’; I waited, breathless. And when he spoke, my head did spin, but for another reason. He said he’d been called up; they were shipping him out in one month. He was going to war.
Time stopped as we sat there in silence. Finally he said, “I’m asking you to be my wife, to wait for me and be here when I come home.”
“I knew I’d rather be his wife for a month than not at all, and so I said yes. And he came back. And what a life we had. What a life! God rest his soul.”
Gram sighed, closing her eyes. I realized I’d been staring at the picture she always kept on her bedside table, a black-and-white photo of a tall, handsome man in a dark suit and a derby hat, with his arm around a cute little thing, wearing a white dress and holding a bouquet of flowers, her head on his chest. He looked like he was laughing. They were standing in front of a church, and it was snowing.
Gram murmured as she drifted off to sleep, ”Sure would like to see one more white Christmas.”
Well, the weatherman had said that it might snow… and tomorrow was Christmas Eve… well known as a night for miracles. I figured it couldn’t hurt to ask! So I prayed, to the Father of the little Baby Jesus who was born that night so long ago, the God of my grandmother who had taught me all about the miracles throughout her beloved Bible. Surely, with the help of the weatherman, this one thing wasn’t too much to ask? For her?
So, here I sit on Christmas Eve, in the visiting chair, waiting for a miracle. All day I anxiously watched the sky and the news til my parents finally asked what in the world was wrong with me.
“Do you think it could snow?” I asked.
They had laughed. “Might rain. It hasn’t snowed on Christmas for years. It would be a miracle!”
Well, that was the idea.
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Have I fallen asleep? I rub my eyes. As I look around, the room is bathed in a soft light. The curtains are open, and out the window I see – a Christmas miracle. The moonlight illuminates glittering snow, lightly falling, covering the evergreen trees with white frosting. The little creek has become a bright ribbon of silver.
I am mesmerized. I watch the scene, afraid to blink. I suddenly remember Gram, and as I turn to wake her, a movement outside catches my eye. Is it a man? I am rooted to the floor as a tall man, wearing a dark suit and a derby hat, steps into the yard, and holds out his hand. He is joined by a young girl in a white dress, holding a bouquet of flowers. He puts his arm around her; she lays her head on his chest. He looks like he’s laughing. And it’s then I know – Johnny has come back once again, to take his bride home.
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Second Place: From Siren’s Wake to Midway by Rhonda Jackson
Rhonda Jackson, of Apache Junction, Arizona, is a librarian at a local community college, has a MLA/MS in History and is a part-time History Instructor. She has two fictional short stories and a prize winning historical article. She is currently working on two unpublished novels.
From Siren’s Wake to Midway
Even under two blankets, Jimmy lay in bed shivering. It had to be the coldest night of the year. The fog had rolled in. Looking out the porthole by his bed, he could see nothing but swirling mist.
He rose and dressed, climbing the wooden stairs to the main deck. He heard water lapping against the sides of the ship as she moved through the ocean, the wind causing the mast to creak and groan against the pressure of the sails. He moved to the mainsail, slipping on the frozen pools of water on the deck, catching himself on the wooden crates tied to the deck, lashed together with heavy netting.
He stared up at the crow’s nest. There was no movement. On the quarterdeck no one was at the wheel. It was tied down neatly. The long boats were gone. He went below to the crew quarters but no one swung from the hammocks or sat playing the harmonica or swore a random oath as they carved a wooden figure down too far.
He headed for the galley next but the cook wasn’t at the table chopping vegetables or boiling coffee. The fire in the stove was out. Only the leftover apple pie, the captain’s dessert, sat untouched and going soggy.
He went up on deck again, still searching for someone, anyone, who still might be on the ship. No one was in the hold. The only place left to look was the ship’s stern. He moved across the ship again sliding to the rail. All he could see was the ribbon of wake. No one was aboard but he.
The sails billowed. He felt the wind change. Jimmy climbed to the wheelhouse, untied the wheel, turning the ship until she caught the wind and sprang forward. He could not gather the sails alone. Whatever came, she would go forward under full sail.
Jimmy went forward to the prow of the ship. The figurehead, a mermaid with an evergreen tail rode the waves. The ship was the Siren’s Wake, a merchantman out of Boston Harbor, bound for England. The captain was a trader, shipping rum and molasses. Jimmy could find neither aboard the ship. No kegs or great vats. Nothing but crates lined the hold and the deck of the ship. Nothing was inside that he could tell. The Mermaid wasn’t telling the ship’s secret. At least, not to Jimmy.
The wind picked up, whipping the sails. The fog clung to the ship despite the wind’s challenge. Jimmy stumbled back to the wheel, freeing it. Lightning flashes sizzled by him, thunder roaring in his ears, but still he clung to the wheel, steering the ship as it tossed and bucked on the now stormy sea.
He was not a big lad and only seventeen; he had sailed the seas most of his life starting as cabin boy and now able seaman. The wheel spun in his grasp slamming his arm and hand, near breaking it. The sails were ablaze with fire, whether real or St. Elmo’s he did not know. He feared the worst with lightning striking the sheets. The ship listed to the port until he brought her back into the wind, the blazing sails billowing out again.
Through the fog he could see another ship. He wondered what other ship would be sailing this night with its sails full out. What other ship raced through the night paralleling his course? He could make out no name, see no flag. The ship was dark except for running lights.
The howl of the wind faded, as did the fog. The sails fluttered and died. The sea calmed and the full moon rose adding a sparkle to the sea. Jimmy felt unutterable relief, only hoping that he was not in the eye of the storm.
The ship was slowing. Jimmy could feel no breeze and began sweat. He and the ship were becalmed. The second ship, behind him, moved as under strong breeze. The sails were gathered by unseen hands and she, too, slowed, pulling even with the Siren’s Wake. A grappling hook flew across the gap between ships and then another and another. Jimmy could see no one on the ship. His heart beat faster.
“So, Lad. The last aboard, are you?” someone said. Jimmy started, turning to find a tall man behind him. “Ship’s a bit battered but serviceable still. You’re either a good sailor or very lucky.”
Jimmy looked in the man’s cold blue eyes that held no soul. He stepped backward in fear and disbelief.
“There’s no place to run,” the man said. “It’s time.”
The man placed his hand on Jimmy’s shoulder, grasping it. Jimmy screamed as a cold energy through his body, knocking him to his knees.
“It’s time, laddie. Come. We have a far piece to take you this night,” the man said.
“I’m not ready to die! I’m not, I tell you,” Jimmy protested. “ I’m still a young man. It can’t be my time.”
“I’m Davy Jones, here to collect you. Give me your hand.” The man’s cold blue eyes held Jimmy’s. He grasped Jimmy’s hand firmly.
Jimmy couldn’t break his grip. He struggled, gasping for breath as the cold seeped into his chest, freezing his lungs. A sharp stab of pain stung his arm.
He looked at his arm and then at the face of a woman in purple scrubs. She grasped his hand, taking his pulse. A second nurse stepped back, hypodermic in her hand.
“Mr. Jameson, Stay calm. You have to leave your oxygen alone. Air is your friend,” the first nurse said.
“Fever’s down. He’s back with us,” the second nurse said.
“For an old fella, you sure held your own against that infection, Mr. Jameson, “ the nurse said. “Should have taken you off.”
“He was here,” Jimmy sighed. “Davy Jones. Beat him off at Midway. Beat him off now. But he’ll be back to get me. He always comes for old sailors like me.”
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Third Place: Hope for Jimmy by Ruth Snyder
Ruth Snyder, who lives in scenic northeastern Alberta with her husband, Kendall, and their five young children. Ruth is a homemaker, piano teacher, school board trustee, writer, and editor. She has had articles published by Testimony Magazine and Chicken Soup for the Soul. She is a member of Inscribe Christian Writers’ Fellowship, the Christian PEN, and an associate member of The Word Guild. Contact Ruth at sun.beam3@yahoo.com or on Twitter @wwjdr.
Hope for Jimmy
Even under two blankets, Jimmy lay in bed shivering. It had to be the coldest night of the year. Mind you, any night was cold during winter out on the streets. Four-year-old Jimmy rolled over and felt a sharp poke under his hip, a pebble under his cardboard bed. Although he shivered, he was happy. “I’m dry. I ate today. Momma will be back soon, and I’m safe.”
Jimmy listened as footsteps drew closer. “Jimmy, it’s Momma.” Jimmy sighed with relief. He worried when Momma was away. What would happen if she didn’t come back? Who would take care of him? How would he find food? He snuggled back into his blankets and closed his eyes. He was tired. Now that Momma was back he could relax.
“Jimmy, wake up!” He felt Momma shaking him. “We need to get up.”
Jimmy heard his tummy rumbling. He rubbed his eyes and sat up. The sun was just peeking up over the horizon. Quickly he stood, stomping his feet as he folded the blankets. Momma folded the cardboard. Then they stashed their makeshift home and blankets behind the nearby dumpster.
“Thanks for your help, Jimmy. You’re a good boy.” Momma smiled at him. Jimmy returned the smile.
“What are we doing today, Momma?”
“I’m taking you to the Bissel Centre. They’ll take care of you and feed you while I go to some job interviews.”
Jimmy looked down at his boots. The smile vanished from his face. “Can’t I come with you Momma?”
“I’m sorry, Jimmy, but people don’t take kindly to kids tagging along for job interviews. Remember, I need a job so I can earn money to buy the things we need.”
Jimmy nodded his head slowly. He bit his lip. He would be brave. Just for Momma. He wanted her to be proud of him.
“Ready?” Momma took Jimmy’s small hand in hers. She smiled as Jimmy nodded.
Jimmy could see his breath as they walked, but his body felt warmer now that they were moving. As their boots crunched in the snow, Jimmy heard some music. Something about a manger for a bed. Jimmy wondered if that would be warmer to sleep in than his bed. “Momma, what does that sign say?”
Momma paused. “It says ‘No Parking. Shipping and Receiving’.”
Jimmy wrinkled his face. “What’s that mean?”
Momma started walking again. “That’s where big trucks pick up and drop off things.”
“Someday I’ll drive one of those trucks, Momma.”
“Maybe, Jimmy. Now hurry. We’re almost there.”
A few minutes later, Jimmy looked up to see Momma going through a door into a building. He followed, enjoying the warmth. Jimmy listened as Momma talked to two ladies. Then a door opened and he saw several other children playing with random toys.
“Hi Jimmy. My name’s Marta. I’ll be looking after you until your Mom gets back, OK?”
Jimmy looked into Marta’s chocolate brown eyes. She looked kind. Jimmy nodded at Marta and waved to Momma as she walked away.
“Here’s a train. Do you want me to help you set up the track?”
Jimmy shook his head no. He wanted to check out all the other people before he played to make sure this was a safe place. He counted, something Momma had just taught him. There were six other kids and the lady, Marta. All of the kids were playing. Marta was doing something with food.
“Children, it’s time for snack. Please wash your hands and find a seat at the table.” Jimmy followed the other children. Marta talked to them as they were eating bananas, oranges, cheese, and crackers. “This afternoon we have a special Christmas party. You’ll have lots of fun playing games and eating food. Your parents will pick you up after the party is over.”
The day passed quickly for Jimmy. He was warm, had toys to play with, and food to eat. He hoped Momma was having as much fun as he was.
“It’s time to go to the party, children.” Marta opened the door and led the children down some stairs to a huge room.
Jimmy looked around the room and smiled. The whole room seemed to sparkle. There was an evergreen tree with glittering decorations and beautiful twinkling lights. The children were led to different centers. The first one Jimmy went to was piled high with shortbread cookies. They smelled yummy. Jimmy concentrated hard as he put red and green icing onto the tree-shaped cookie. Other children around the table were eating their cookies, but Jimmy asked if he could wrap his for later. He wanted to surprise Momma and give her the cookie for dessert that night.
Jimmy followed the other children around to several other centers. When they were finished, Marta stood up. “We hope you’ve had fun this afternoon. There are snacks for all of you, but first we want to give each of you a gift.”
Shiny ribbon and bows decorated the top of many packages sitting by Marta. When Jimmy’s name was called, he went and took a large rectangular package out of Marta’s hands. “Thank you,” he said.
Marta smiled back at him. “You’re very welcome, Jimmy.”
Momma was sitting at the table when Jimmy got back. “Are you going to open it, Jimmy?”
Jimmy nodded. He ripped the paper off and whooped when he saw a red delivery truck in the box. “See, I told you I’d be a delivery truck driver!”
Momma chuckled. “Yes, you did. I think you’re right. And it looks like I’m going to be a waitress, starting tomorrow.”
Jimmy looked up. Momma’s eyes were sparkling. Jimmy gave her a big hug. “Way to go, Momma.”
He took the cookie out of his pocket and handed it to Momma. “I was going to give this to you later, but I want you to have it now. Today’s a day to celebrate, don’t you think?”
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Honorable Mention: Christmas Confessions by Kellie Haze Klocko.
Kellie’s story, along with all the others can be read in the Third Annual Fiction Anthology, due out in July or August, 2013. Happy Reading everyone!
Center for Writing Excellence 