In the depths of the Depression in the 1930s. No money to buy Christmas presents. She feels lucky to have work at all, cleaning house for her cousin the doctor; she knows that he can hardly afford to pay her because nobody can afford to pay him.
Five children at home. The oldest daughter quit high school to work for what little she can get. The boys, too young for full-time employment, do whatever they can earn a nickel for.
The next daughter is mentally disabled and must be watched and cared for.
And the youngest girl is the only one who can do it, though it's hard for her to bear the taunting of neighborhood children.
So the mother leaves work and comes home on Christmas Eve. There's nothing in her hands except the groceries for Christmas dinner. Her cousin the doctor gave her a little extra, and she bought meat.
Her youngest greets her at the door, helps her put away the groceries. "A roast!" she cries.
"A little one," says the mother. But her daughter only hugs her and thanks her.
But later, the mother sees her youngest looking out the window. Last week's snowfall now lies grey with soot, as grey as the sky. "Oh, Mother," says the girl. "It has to get better now, doesn't it? It can't be worse than this."
But the mother knows: It can.
Read Full Article »