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Christmas, Present by Jacquelyn Mitchard download in iPad, ePub, pdf

Noise of any kind appalled her. It was Christmas next week. The Crewe deafness was proverbial. Patstone, Farm Road, Mary Clay looked out of the window of the old farmhouse.

Inside the fire gleamed on

Mary sat at the table looking aimlessly out of the window. Inside, the fire gleamed on to the copper pots and pans, the crockery on the old oak dresser, the hams hanging from the ceiling. For peace was far enough from the old farm kitchen in the evening.

Upon her sunken face there was a curious sardonic smile that was her habitual expression. It was driven away by John Clay's loud voice, raised always in orders or complaints, or in the stumbling, incoherent reading aloud of his newspaper. She was not fond of talking. Then James opened the door.

She had never been a woman to crave for company. The two men stood in the doorway. It takes longer to tell her to do something than to do it myself. We show you how to wrap homemade casseroles, cookies, jams, spice mixes, and more in beautiful containers that the recipient can reuse. He liked the change of going down to the village for a few days and hearing all its gossip.

It had lately seemed to jar on her nerves till she felt she must scream aloud. He held a letter in his hand.

Mary sat at the table

She smiled ironically at the thought. The story first appeared in Truth Alfred C. The old woman was leaning forward, looking at her intently. His voice going on and on, raucous and sing-song, became unspeakably irritating.

They were in the kitchen of her uncle's farmhouse. She was sitting gazing at the fire, her lips curved into the curious smile. The old woman rose and began to lay the supper, silently and deftly, moving from cupboard to table without looking up. He came in at the gate and round to the side-door.