THE
True Gift
Also by Patricia MacLachlan
…
Edward’s Eyes
THE
True Gift
A CHRISTMAS STORY
Patricia MacLachlan
Illustrated by Brian Floca
ATHENEUM BOOKS FOR YOUNG READERS
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Atheneum Books for Young Readers
An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people,
or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents
are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual
events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2009 by Patricia MacLachlan
Illustrations copyright © 2009 by Brian Floca
All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction
in whole or in part in any form.
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Book design by Jessica Handelman
The text for this book is set in Venetian 301BT.
The illustrations for this book are rendered in graphite and ebony pencil.
Manufactured in the United States of America
First Edition
2 4 6 8 10 9 7 5 3 1
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
MacLachlan, Patricia.
The true gift : a Christmas story / Patricia MacLachlan ;
illustrated by Brian Floca.—1st ed.
p. cm.
Summary: While spending Christmas at their grandparents’ farm,
Lily becomes convinced that her younger brother Liam is right
about White Cow being lonely and helps him seek a companion for her,
leaving little time for Christmas preparations or reading.
ISBN: 978-1-4169-9081-9 (hardcover : alk. paper)
ISBN: 978-1-4169-5617-9 (eBook)
[1. Brothers and sisters—Fiction. 2. Cows—Fiction. 3. Books and reading—
Fiction. 4. Grandparents—Fiction. 5. Christmas—Fiction.
6. Farm life—Fiction.] I. Floca, Brian, ill. II. Title.
PZ7.M2225Tru 2009
[Fic]—dc22 2009000375
This is for John; Pony and Ella; Jamie and
Lauren; and Emily, Dean, and Sofia.
Love to you all.
With special thanks to Donna Cowan
—P. M.
THE
True Gift
White Cow stood alone in the big meadow.
Her eyes were sad, though she might not have known what sad was. She looked down the road searching for something.
There was a time when she had company, a donkey the color of biscuits, but the farmer who owned the donkey had taken her away.
Sometimes a red fox came to drink from the stream. Sometimes deer came through the meadow to nibble crab apples left on the tree by the barn.
Crows clattered overhead.
But most days White Cow stood alone in the big meadow.
Chapter One
Liam and I sit on the backseat of Papa’s old car. The car heater isn’t working, so Liam and I share a blanket. We can see our breath in the air.
“How many books did you bring?” whispers Liam.
Liam and I share a worry. Our school closes for ten days, and we’re going to Grandpa and Gran’s house. We always go there in December, waiting for Christmas and Mama and Papa to come Christmas Day. We worry about not taking as many books as we’ll need.
“I brought fifteen books,” I say.
“I brought thirty-seven,” says Liam.
I burst out laughing.
“Don’t worry, Lily. There is the stone library if you run out.”
Liam runs out of books all the time. Sometimes he reads three chapter books in one day.
I smile.
We love that stone library, our second home at Grandpa and Gran’s farm.
“The lilac library,” Liam says.
It’s true. No matter what time of year—winter or summer or fall or spring—that library smells like lilacs.
Liam takes a book out of the bag at his feet. I smile. I am three years older than Liam, and I have a sudden sweet memory of teaching him how to read. He was four years old and he grinned for two weeks when he figured out the mystery of words.
“We’ll have snow,” says Papa, looking up at the sky. Liam and I laugh, and Mama laughs too. We call Papa the Weather Man.
And suddenly, as if his words bring it on, snow begins to fall; flakes one by one, slowly at first, then harder. Papa turns on the windshield wipers, and we watch the back-and-forthing of them.
“I hope the library stays open if it snows,” says Liam.
“That library is always open,” says Mama. “That library has been open ever since I was a little girl.”
We turn into the long dirt driveway to Grandpa and Gran’s house, past the meadow where White Cow turns her head to watch us go by.
“Where’s Rosie?” asks Liam. “Where’s the donkey?”
“Don’t know,” says Mama. “Can’t see her.”
The snow is coming harder now and is beginning to stick to the road. It is almost dusk.
“Did you bring your money?” asks Liam.
I nod.
We have worked weekends and after school to earn money for Christmas presents. I babysat for the three Cooper children across the street. Liam and I both mowed lawns and shoveled snow when it came. Once he painted a shed. There are only two stores in Gran and Grandpa’s small town. But that is enough for us to buy presents for everyone.
Liam holds up a red sock with a gray stripe. It is fat with his money.
I smile. The car passes the barn and pulls up to the front porch of the big white house. There are Christmas lights in every window. Gran and Grandpa come out to wave. Their terriers, Emmet and Charlie, bark fiercely at us, then race down the porch steps happily for jumping and licking.
Snow falls harder.
We’re here!
Chapter Two
We eat turkey and potatoes and green beans and salad.
“Charlie!” Grandpa’s voice is loud.
Emmet scurries under the table.
Charlie stands on hind legs at the counter, trying to lick a pie sitting there. He turns his head to look at Grandpa.
We laugh.
“Once Charlie hopped up on my chair and ate my dinner,” says Grandpa, getting up and making Charlie lie down. “When I went to the door to pay the paperboy.”
“He is lured by food,” says Gran, smiling. “He doesn’t care if we speak sharply to him.”
“Emmet does,” says Liam.
“That is because Emmet is thinking about sneaking our food too,” says Grandpa. “Emmet has a conscience.”
“Where’s Rosie, the donkey?” says Liam. “I didn’t see her.”
“She went back to her own home,” Gran says. “Her owner bought more lan
d, so he has room for her now.”
“I miss her,” says Grandpa.
“What about White Cow?” asks Liam. “Does she miss Rosie, too?”
Gran, Mama, and Papa get up to clear the dishes from the table.
“Don’t know what cows think,” says Grandpa.
Charlie follows them, and Emmet comes out from under the dining room table to follow too.
“I can’t say that I can read the mind of a cow either,” says Gran. “Cows aren’t pets, you know. Like Charlie and Emmet. They’re different.”
“I don’t think she’s eating as well as she used to, though,” says Grandpa at the kitchen sink. He begins to cut the pie.
“We used to have a little herd of cows,” he says. “I liked those cows. They were funny and strangely intelligent.”
“All eyes and big flat faces,” says Gran.
“What happened to the herd?” Liam asks.
“Oh, we sold the cows to people who wanted them for their herds,” says Gran.
“Well, what about White Cow?” asks Liam.
“Yes,” says Grandpa, smiling at Gran. “What about White Cow? Where did she come from?”
“Somewhere,” says Gran, waving her hand as if waving away the talk. “She came from somewhere.”
The subject was closed. But not for Liam.
“Do we know if she’s lonely?” Liam asks.
“Well, she has that whole beautiful meadow all to herself,” Gran says. “That’s good for a cow.”
Liam frowns.
“Maybe that isn’t good enough,” says Liam softly.
Everyone turns to look at Liam.
A sudden trickle of dread comes over me.
“Let’s have pie!” says Gran, trying to be cheerful.
“What do you want for Christmas, Mom?” asks Mama. Gran drops a coffee mug and it shatters on the floor.
“A coffee mug,” she says, making Mama laugh.
A Christmas tree stands between the dining room and living room, waiting for us to decorate it. It has only little white lights on it now. The white lights could be stars in a winter sky. I steal a look at Liam, and he is staring at his pie. I know him. He will think and think and think about White Cow alone in the meadow. Those thoughts of his will flow out like smoke, surrounding us all. He will spoil our vacation. I know this.
I kick him under the table, and he looks up, startled.
He smiles. “Pie!” he says too cheerfully.
I know Liam. Liam is not thinking about pie.
Dinner is over. Mama and Papa are getting ready to drive home.
“We’ll be back Christmas Day,” says Mama. “Don’t let them get away with any more than I do,” she says to Gran. “I wish we could stay.”
Gran smiles. She likes this time with us as much as we like being alone with her and Grandpa in the house.
“Where’s Liam?” asks Mama.
We look around.
Suddenly, I know where Liam is. I know where Liam always is when we visit Grandpa and Gran.
“I’ll find him,” I say.
I take my coat from a hook by the door and go outside to the porch. It has snowed more since we first got here, and I can see Liam’s footprints in the snow down the sidewalk. I follow them to the driveway, then across to the paddock gate. There is a slice of moon above. And then I see Liam, standing just inside the fence next to White Cow. Some of the moonlight falls on White Cow, making her look like a marble statue. She looks at me as I walk up to the fence.
Liam turns and looks at me too. “She’s lonely,” he says.
“She’s a cow,” I say. “Cows don’t care.”
Liam turns back to White Cow. He strokes her side, then he turns and opens the gate. He walks past me up to the house.
White Cow stares at me.
“You’re a cow,” I whisper to her. “Just a cow.”
Chapter Three
Mama and Papa have gone. It is quiet in the house.
My bedroom overlooks the short dirt road that winds down to the town with its two markets and the elementary school, the post office and the lilac library. Liam’s bedroom overlooks the meadow, the big barn, and White Cow.
The moon is higher when I walk into Liam’s room. Liam is looking out at the meadow. Snow has dusted everything, and the moon outlines trees and bushes and the shining brook that runs through the fields.
“Liam?” I say softly.
He turns. “What?”
“You know what, Liam? We’re going to take walks and read books and shop for Christmas gifts for everyone and help Grandpa and Gran and go to the library. We’re going to have fun! Right?”
Liam looks at me steadily, the same look he had when he was four years old, trying to figure out how to read.
“Right,” he says. He turns back to look out over the meadow.
“And feed White Cow,” he adds. “I always feed White Cow. And Rosie, when she was here.”
“Liam?”
I speak more softly because I’ve hurt his feelings.
“What?”
“You are a worrier.”
Liam turns to look at me. “So are you.”
“White Cow is fine. She is happy in the field and the barn,” I say.
“Maybe,” says Liam.
Then he turns to take his books out of his book bags and stack them, one by one by one, on bookshelves by his bed.
“Maybe,” he repeats.
* * *
In the morning there is sun. It pours in my window, tumbling across the quilt. I can smell coffee and breakfast downstairs.
Gran and Grandpa are at the kitchen table.
“Morning, Lily,” says Gran. “There is juice and fresh muffins.”
“Good morning. Where’s Liam?”
“He’s in my study,” says Grandpa. “I have to go to work now. There must be some news somewhere to print.” Grandpa works at the newspaper in town.
He kisses the top of my head. “Want to come to work with me, Lambie?”
Grandpa is the only person in the world who calls me Lambie.
“I am going to walk to town later,” I say “Liam will come too.”
“He’s pretty busy in there, Lily,” says Gran. “You may never dig him out.”
Liam is surrounded by Grandpa’s books and papers. He stares at a large book open in front of him.
“What are you doing?” My voice seems loud in the quiet room.
Liam jumps and closes the book with a thump. “Nothing.”
I know that tone. I know Liam.
“Show me,” I say. “You might as well show me.”
“You won’t like it.”
“I know I won’t. Show me.”
I pull up a chair and sit close to him.
Liam sighs and opens the book. He thumbs through the pages and then stops.
And there it is. I lean over and read.
Cows are social beings. Cows have feelings.
They have been known to bear grudges.
They live in families and are capable of
grief loss, and loneliness.
I look at Liam.
“There’s more,” he says.
I shake my head. I reach over and close the book.
“I have to do something about White Cow,” says Liam.
I am suddenly so angry that I can hardly think of what words to say.
“You dumb boy!” I say. “You are so . . . dumb! I was right. You will spoil Christmas. It will be all your fault.”
Liam gives me that steady look. “I have to do something,” he says again. “You can blame me. You can blame White Cow if you want.”
Liam opens the book again, ignoring me.
I feel surprising tears in my eyes.
Liam pays no attention to me.
Liam reads some more. Then he looks at me.
“I think we should walk to town,” he says.
“Why?” I say.
“Because that is what we do when we come here at Christmas,” he says.
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I can’t think of anything to say.
Chapter Four
We put on our coats and hats and mittens in the warm kitchen.
“We’re going to see White Cow first,” Liam tells Gran.
“I thought you probably would,” she says. She hands me some money. “This is for butter at the market. And these letters are to be mailed.”
Outside it is cold and bright. It feels like frost on my nose. We walk down the length of the fence, looking for White Cow.
“She’s not in the meadow,” says Liam. His breath comes out in puffs in the winter air.
We open the gate and walk through the snow-covered grass to the barn.
The barn is old and smells like hay and the winter breath of all the animals that have lived there. We stop as we enter, both of us, because it is huge. The roof is so high, it reminds me of the picture of a cathedral I once saw in a book. There are stalls and many bales of hay and barrels with covers that hold grain. Parts of the floor are old wood, and our boots slip on the smoothness. Slices of light from the windows fall across the wood.
“White Cow!” calls Liam suddenly.
There is a shuffle of noise at the far end of the barn, and White Cow walks out of a stall. She slowly walks toward us. She stops. She is so big and white.
Liam talks to her in his soft voice. “Poor girl. Good girl. Come, girl.”
White Cow comes close and suddenly leans against Liam. He is almost knocked off his feet by this affection. But he doesn’t fall.
My heart beats faster.
“Lily?” His voice comes from somewhere behind White Cow.
“You’re scared,” he says. “She’s just big. She can’t help it.”
Scared? Am I? Am I scared?
“Come closer, Lily.”
I walk closer and reach out a hand and stroke her long white side. She is warm.She turns to look at me for a moment, and I am surprised by her eyes.
We stay with White Cow a long time in the sweet-smelling barn. And when we finally walk to the barn door so we can go to town, White Cow follows us, standing in the doorway. More than once we turn, walking backward, and see White Cow watching us from the barn, the doorway framing her like a picture frame.