The Christmas Portrait by Phyllis Clark Nichols Read Free Book Online Page A

on the sleeve of my sweater and Eric started pointing at me, Miss Applegate told him the spray had made my eyes water.

C HAPTER F OUR
    T HE LAST DAYS of school before Christmas break flew by, and finally it was Friday again. Daddy was working, and Aunt Susannah Hope had to take Chesler to the dentist, so Daddy asked Mrs. Peterson if I could come home with Emily after school. Mrs. Peterson and Mama used to be like me and Emily, best friends.
    Everybody said Emily and I looked like sisters. Maybe it was ’cause we spent so much time together or maybe ’cause we were both skinny and had long, brownish hair the color of a dirty string mop.
    The Petersons lived down Sycamore Drive only four blocks from Cedar Falls Elementary School and just a few doors down from Aunt Susannah Hope’s. Mrs. Peterson said it was safe for us to walk home from school since there were two of us. Emily and I were both on the Honor Roll at school, and we didn’t play with matches or knives, but we were not allowed to stay at home without an adult.
    I’m not quite sure why it was safe to walk home in the snow, right past Glenn’s busy filling station on the corner and the motorcycle repair shop, but it wasn’t safe to stay at home by ourselves. I heard Granny say one time, “There are some seedy-looking characters at that motorcycle shop.” She didn’t know Laramie’s dad worked there.
    Laramie walked out the school door ahead of us. As soon as they spotted her, some of the older boys started in. “Hey, Laramie, want to race? Bet you can’t catch us.”
    She didn’t even look their way, she just said, “Shut your mouth, Jeremy, or you may catch my fist in your nose.” They started whistling and teasing her about her long legs. So she stopped, and when she turned around what came out of her mouth would have gotten me grounded until I was eighteen.
    We passed right by, but I felt bad for not speaking up or doing anything. “Those boys are so mean. Maybe we should invite her to walk with us.”
    Emily shook her head. “No way. Laramie’s too trashy.”
    I felt sorry for Laramie. I heard Mama and Granny talking after Laramie’s mama left in late August. They said Laramie and her daddy woke up one morning, and her mama was gone. Just plain gone. She had taken some of her clothes, a loaf of bread, a jar of peanut butter, and the car, and she never came back. Mama said, “It’s just not right for a mother to leave her children like that. There’s got to be more to this story.”
    Mama left me and Chesler, but not because she wanted to. I wasn’t sure where heaven was, but wherever it was, I knew Mama was there and it was a good place. Laramie didn’t know where in the world her mama was.
    Laramie ran on ahead of us, and by the time Emily and I got to the motorcycle shop, Laramie was kicking a pile of beer cans around the parking lot. I raised my hand to wave to her, but when she saw us, she ran around the shop and disappeared.
    “Don’t wave at her, Kate, she’s just trouble.” Emily wouldn’t even look in Laramie’s direction.
    Emily didn’t know the difference between being trouble and having trouble. I wanted to tell her I would wave at Laramie if I wanted to, but that would just start a fuss. Emily always had to have her way. Anyway, I would just talk to Laramie when Emily wasn’t around. Emily could still be my best friend and all, but somehow I thought Laramie was more like me.
    Mrs. Peterson had the hot chocolate almost made when we got to her house. By the time we got out of our coats and mittens, she had put the marshmallows on top and started popping popcorn. She said, “You can eat it, or string it and hang it out back in the oak tree for the birds.”
    When we finished our snack, Emily wanted to see what I made in art class. Miss Applegate had helped me wrap up the presents with bubble wrap. So I unwrapped Daddy’s fish first and laid it on the kitchen table.
    Mrs. Peterson smiled. “Your daddy’s just going to