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when Martin returned home. The tree farm had been busy and the work had been hard. His arms were sore and his back had that old, familiar twinge in it that came from hefting trees into the trucks that arrived to take them into town to sell at the Christmas-tree lot out near Walnut Creek.
    When he entered the house, everything was quiet, the complete opposite of the usual mess and state of chaos he had become used to.
    A note of alarm coursed through him.
    After washing his hands in the kitchen, he noticed a large plate of peanut butter cookies. Resting on the stove top was a round casserole dish covered in foil. A tray of roasted potatoes lay right next to it.
    And then he heard Ruth’s voice floating from the hearth room. Smooth, melodic, and full of emotion, it was lovely.
    It seemed that she was reading a story. Hoping she was actually reading to his children and not to herself—he’d never actually witnessed his children sitting still for very long—he followed his ears into the coziest room in the house.
    And there they all were, huddled on a pile of thick quilts and blankets covering the oak floor. A pair of logs were burning in the stone fireplace. A vanillascented candle was burning on the mantel.
    Meg was curled next to Ruth’s feet. The twins were nestled in his favorite leather chair, squished in the middle of it. Their eyes were at half-mast. Sitting in front of Ruth were his two boys and Katrina. Gregory had his arms around Frank.
    The scene was as pretty as a picture. Even Frank was gazing up at Ruth with soft brown eyes.
    No one was arguing. No one was destroying anything. No one was complaining, or whining.
    It was amazing. Truly. Practically a Christmas miracle.
    â€œDidn’t think this was possible,” he mumbled to himself, though not quietly enough.
    With a start, eight sets of eyes turned to stare at him.
    After that tiny pause, Ruth broke the silence, stating the obvious. “Martin, you are back.”
    â€œAh, jah .”
    â€œI hope you had a gut tawg ?”
    When was the last time anyone asked him about his day? Asked him anything about himself? “ Jah ,” he said awkwardly. Again. “My day, it was gut .” His gaze skittered over to his children, each of whom was looking at him in a way that made him feel like an interloper.
    And because of that, he stood awkwardly in his spot. He didn’t know whether he wanted to be dismissed or invited to join them.
    When it was obvious that he wasn’t about to divulge anything more—after all, what more could he add? Ruth spoke. “Well, now. I am glad to hear that. Our day was good as well.”
    â€œIt was?” he blurted, then carefully amended his words. “I mean, um, that is gut news. Wonderful - gut. ”
    Katrina wrinkled her nose. “ Wonderful-gut ?”
    His eldest was right. He had been a touch too enthusiastic. “I’m glad you all had a good day with Ruth.”
    Ruth looked amused. “Indeed. Well, I suppose since you are here I had better go.” She snapped the book shut.
    Thomas visibly flinched. “Hey, wait a minute!”
    â€œWhat is wrong, Thomas?”
    â€œYou didn’t finish the chapter!”
    â€œYou are right, but your father is here. And that means it is time for me to leave.”
    â€œBut what about Scrooge? What about his ghost?”
    â€œI guess we’ll have to see if you kinner are interested in what happens to all of them tomorrow.”
    â€œBut you don’t have to leave yet, do you? I mean, you could read just a little more.”
    â€œI’m sorry, but I cannot. I need to go home. And your daed looks most anxious to be with you.” Gazing across at him, she smiled softly, then stood and picked up her hamper. “ Gut naught, kinner . I’ll see you bright and early in the morning.”
    â€œGood-bye, Ruth,” Meg said as she wrapped her arms around Ruth’s knees.
    After absently patting the