Linda Miller - A Creed Country Christmas

Lincoln grinned, tugged lightly at one of Gracie’s ringlets. “I’m sure Saint Nick got your letter, sweetheart,” he said.

“Who’s that?” Theresa asked, trailing into the room, hair unbrushed. Juliana wondered if Lincoln had heard her prayers, as he probably had Gracie’s. Told her to sleep well.

“You don’t know who Saint Nicholas is?” Gracie asked, astounded.

“We’ll discuss him later,” Juliana promised, “when we sit down for lessons after breakfast.”

“I could recite,” Gracie offered. “I know all about Saint Nicholas.”

“Gracie,” Lincoln said.

“Well, I do, Papa. I’ve read Mr. Moore’s poem dozens of times.”

“We’ll have cornmeal mush,” Tom decided aloud. “Maybe some sausage.”

“What?” Lincoln asked.

“Breakfast,” Tom explained with a slight grin. Then he turned to Joseph. “You know how to use a separator, boy?”

Joseph nodded. “We had a milk cow out at the school,” he said. “For a while.”

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