by Willa Cather
XII
ON Christmas morning, when I got down to the kitchen, the men were justcoming in from their morning chores--the horses and pigs always had theirbreakfast before we did. Jake and Otto shouted "Merry Christmas"! to me,and winked at each other when they saw the waffle-irons on the stove.Grandfather came down, wearing a white shirt and his Sunday coat. Morningprayers were longer than usual. He read the chapters from St. Matthewabout the birth of Christ, and as we listened it all seemed like somethingthat had happened lately, and near at hand. In his prayer he thanked theLord for the first Christmas, and for all that it had meant to the worldever since. He gave thanks for our food and comfort, and prayed for thepoor and destitute in great cities, where the struggle for life was harderthan it was here with us. Grandfather's prayers were often veryinteresting. He had the gift of simple and moving expression. Because hetalked so little, his words had a peculiar force; they were not worn dullfrom constant use. His prayers reflected what he was thinking about at thetime, and it was chiefly through them that we got to know his feelings andhis views about things.
After we sat down to our waffles and sausage, Jake told us how pleased theShimerdas had been with their presents; even Ambrosch was friendly andwent to the creek with him to cut the Christmas tree. It was a soft grayday outside, with heavy clouds working across the sky, and occasionalsqualls of snow. There were always odd jobs to be done about the barn onholidays, and the men were busy until afternoon. Then Jake and I playeddominoes, while Otto wrote a long letter home to his mother. He alwayswrote to her on Christmas Day, he said, no matter where he was, and nomatter how long it had been since his last letter. All afternoon he sat inthe dining-room. He would write for a while, then sit idle, his clenchedfist lying on the table, his eyes following the pattern of the oilcloth.He spoke and wrote his own language so seldom that it came to himawkwardly. His effort to remember entirely absorbed him.
At about four o'clock a visitor appeared: Mr. Shimerda, wearing hisrabbit-skin cap and collar, and new mittens his wife had knitted. He hadcome to thank us for the presents, and for all grandmother's kindness tohis family. Jake and Otto joined us from the basement and we sat about thestove, enjoying the deepening gray of the winter afternoon and theatmosphere of comfort and security in my grandfather's house. This feelingseemed completely to take possession of Mr. Shimerda. I suppose, in thecrowded clutter of their cave, the old man had come to believe that peaceand order had vanished from the earth, or existed only in the old world hehad left so far behind. He sat still and passive, his head resting againstthe back of the wooden rocking-chair, his hands relaxed upon the arms. Hisface had a look of weariness and pleasure, like that of sick people whenthey feel relief from pain. Grandmother insisted on his drinking a glassof Virginia apple-brandy after his long walk in the cold, and when a faintflush came up in his cheeks, his features might have been cut out of ashell, they were so transparent. He said almost nothing, and smiledrarely; but as he rested there we all had a sense of his utter content.
Jake bringing home a Christmas tree]
As it grew dark, I asked whether I might light the Christmas tree beforethe lamp was brought. When the candle ends sent up their conical yellowflames, all the colored figures from Austria stood out clear and full ofmeaning against the green boughs. Mr. Shimerda rose, crossed himself, andquietly knelt down before the tree, his head sunk forward. His long bodyformed a letter "S." I saw grandmother look apprehensively at grandfather.He was rather narrow in religious matters, and sometimes spoke out andhurt people's feelings. There had been nothing strange about the treebefore, but now, with some one kneeling before it,--images, candles, {~HORIZONTAL ELLIPSIS~}Grandfather merely put his finger-tips to his brow and bowed his venerablehead, thus Protestantizing the atmosphere.
We persuaded our guest to stay for supper with us. He needed littleurging. As we sat down to the table, it occurred to me that he liked tolook at us, and that our faces were open books to him. When hisdeep-seeing eyes rested on me, I felt as if he were looking far ahead intothe future for me, down the road I would have to travel.
At nine o'clock Mr. Shimerda lighted one of our lanterns and put on hisovercoat and fur collar. He stood in the little entry hall, the lanternand his fur cap under his arm, shaking hands with us. When he tookgrandmother's hand, he bent over it as he always did, and said slowly,"Good wo-man!" He made the sign of the cross over me, put on his cap andwent off in the dark. As we turned back to the sitting-room, grandfatherlooked at me searchingly. "The prayers of all good people are good," hesaid quietly.