For is it not during the weeks that precede the holidays that we prepare gifts for our dear ones? Are we not busy planning and scheming and perhaps denying ourselves some coveted thing that we may enrich those we love?
In Europe, it was fashionable to chop off the
tip of a large fir to use as a Christmas tree. However, since this practice
prevented the tree from growing taller and made it useless as a timber tree,
statutes were enacted to limit people from having more than one tree. With the introduction of the "goosefeather tree" made
in Germany as early as 1845, this problem was resolved. Goose feathers were
plentiful and what was perhaps the first artificial tree began to be produced
as a cottage industry as the alternative to cutting a live tree.
Meanwhile in America, cut live trees were the cherished way to make the holiday come alive. German immigrants brought their portable feather tree with them to the United States and introduced the Victorian feather Christmas tree. However, the practice of using artificial trees did not become popular until Sears Roebuck first advertised artificial trees for sale in their 1913 catalogs.
In my new release, A Fresh Start for Christmas, Memphis
Rose Griffin loves teaching at Counting Stars Children's Home. The girls and
staff are like family, and working here ties her to her mother, whose last wish
was for Memphis to take her place as teacher. But something's missing. Now at
the age of twenty-eight, her teenage dream of having her own family has all but
faded.
Until her pastor and the
orphanage founder come with a proposal that will change her life forever.
Should she become their first candidate for their new matchmaking venture?
Though grim, at least her life at the orphanage is familiar and certain. Can
she risk an unknown future with a man she's never met?
The last thing
thirty-three-year-old Mike Montgomery wants is to marry again, especially to
someone he's never met. His family has other plans for him and completes the
application without his permission--even changing some of his preferences to
make him seem more intriguing. Can two star-crossed candidates dare to dream
again?
Counting Stars Orphanage –
Collier, Tennessee – Spring 1891
“What are men to rocks and
mountains?”
The calico curtains fluttered in
the morning breeze and ushered in a quick chorus from multiple frogs welcoming
a warm spring day. Twenty-eight-year-old teacher, Memphis Rose Griffin, fought
the urge to smile at the longing looks from at least four of her younger
students. For a moment she was transported back in time as a young girl sitting
in this same room.
Except for the recent
whitewashing of the log walls and the transition from benches to double-seated
desks, the room was the same. Formerly a surveyor’s cabin, the city delegated
it to the orphanage twenty years ago as a school.
She glanced toward the
black-painted wooden wall serving as a chalkboard. Written in neat script was the same lesson
her mother taught years ago. The creaking of the door drew her attention to the
arrival of her friend and co-teacher, Daisy, who’d arrived at the orphanage
fifteen years ago during the yellow fever epidemic. A perpetual optimist,
Daisy’s bright smile transformed her small face.
“Mrs. Shelby asked me to come and
relieve you. The pastor’s here and wants to speak with you.” Daisy pushed an
escaping auburn curl behind her ear.
“Does he have anyone with him?”
Memphis spoke softly.
“No, not this time.” Daisy blew
out a breath. “As much as I love children, it’s a relief, since we’re
protruding at the seams as it is.”
“I was in the middle of
explaining why Washington thought it wouldn’t be a good idea for our flag to be
similar to the enemy’s.” Memphis inclined her head toward the various aged
students sitting two to a desk.
Daisy wrinkled her nose toward
the writing on the board. The flag of the United States of America. The
stripes represent the original thirteen colonies. “You know how much I
hate history. Do you mind if we transition to geometry?”
“There are scraps of paper
stacked on my desk.” Memphis’s mouth twitched. “Why not recreate the five and
six-point star?”
“I like the way you think.” Daisy
grinned. “You’d best be on your way.”
***
Memphis’s boots made quick taps
along the plank floor, then out the door. A blue heron took flight from a group
of cattails nestled on the bank of the nearby pond and disappeared in the
thicket of willow oaks. She waved both arms to cut through a swarm of
mosquitos. As loud as the frogs were last night, you’d think they would
have done a better job eliminating these pests.
Continuing on the clay path, she
passed a field where teenage boys were working with a volunteer to prepare the
ground for corn and other crops, which helped the orphanage sustain itself.
“Good Morning, Miss Griffin.” Many of the teens paused
from their work in the vegetable garden and waved.
“Morning, boys.” Memphis placed
her hand over her stomach and struggled to catch her breath due to the
restraints of her corset. From her viewpoint, the two-story log house, which
had been her home since birth, stood proud against the blue sky. She hurried
the pace, lifting her skirts to avoid muddying her hems and made the trek to
the front door of the building. Originally a two-story dogtrot style, the open
hall in the middle was enclosed to increase the square footage.
Memphis opened the door and
passed the large parlor, converted years ago to a nursery for infants and
toddlers. Her boots made quick taps across the split log floors into the
library, which doubled as the orphanage’s office.
Reverend Otis Jackson rose from
his chair and extended his hand. “Good morning, young lady.”
“Have a seat, Memphis Rose.” The
matron of the orphanage poured an aromatic brew into a china cup. “The pastor
brought us a new blend from a friend of his, who produces tea in South
Carolina.”
“What a wonderful treat. Thank
you for sharing it with us, Reverend.” Memphis accepted her cup, which now
included a spoonful of honey. “Are we celebrating something?”
The pastor retrieved his
handkerchief and wiped his receding hairline. “Mrs. Shelby and I were doing a
bit of reminiscing.” His shaggy eyebrows drew together. Then he stared into the
distance. “We were discussing how thankful we are that God has brought us
through tragedy and met our needs. Imagine a widow with no children of her own
blessed to raise so many?” Mrs. Shelby glanced toward a painting of a bearded man,
depicting Abraham staring into the starry sky.
Memphis leaned back in her chair.
“It was Mama’s idea to call the orphanage, Counting Stars, wasn’t
it?”
“It was prophetic. As war widows,
we thought ourselves limited. I wish your mother could see the newly expanded
wing.” The orphanage matron offered a watery smile. A ray of light from the
window illuminated her mother’s best friend’s pale complexion and brightened
her blond hair mingled with white, giving her an angelic look. “More
specifically, we were reminded of the day we met Reverend Jackson after the
Union army took control of Memphis.”
“The commander didn’t know what
hit him the day your mother and Mrs. Shelby drove their wagon loaded with
orphans into camp and demanded the return of their milk cow.” The pastor
chuckled. “Your mother looked like she could deliver at any moment. She wagged
her finger, shaming us for taking milk from children and threatened to stand
there until the cow was back at the farm.”
“The army took our chickens and
other livestock. They cleaned out our root cellar too. Thank goodness they
missed the vegetables still in the ground. The only reason we still owned a
horse was the poor nag was barely putting one hoof in front of the other,” Mrs.
Shelby huffed. Not for the first time, Memphis noted the worry lines etched in
her face.
“I don’t recall hearing the story
before.” Memphis stirred her tea absently. “I can picture Mama standing her
ground.”
“You’re a lot like her. Same blue
eyes, although your hair is gold to her red.” Reverend Jackson chuckled. “She
possessed the temper to match. Eventually, she got what she wanted.”
“I was never certain what caused
the commander to return the animal. I expected he didn’t want to contend with a
woman delivering a baby in his camp.” Mrs. Shelby offered a half-smile.
“True, but don’t think the wagon
full of orphans didn’t affect him. Most of us had children of our own.” The
pastor’s voice dropped off.
“Thankfully, the cow was
returned. You were born two days later.” The matron patted Memphis’s arm. “Your
mama would be proud of the woman you’ve become. You know I assured her on her
death bed you would always have a home with me.”
“Yes, I remember. And I promised
I would take her place as teacher.” Memphis shuffled her feet on the well-worn
carpet.
“You’re an even better teacher
than she was if that’s possible.” Reverend Jackson leaned forward. “Mrs. Shelby
and I’ve been discussing your role here for quite some time. We don’t think
your mother meant for you to take her place indefinitely. She was giving you a
purpose to get you through the next few years.”
“What are you saying?” Memphis
clutched the skirt of her faded calico dress.
“One of our goals is to prepare
the children for a life outside the orphanage. We do our best by educating them
and teaching basic skills. You know as well as anyone how successful our
apprenticeship program has been for the boys.” The pastor placed one hand on
his knee.
“Our problem is how to offer our
girls more opportunities.” Mrs. Shelby stared at Memphis over her teacup. “The
children are brought up in the same manner you were. They learn to help in the
kitchen and to read and write. The girls are taught basic homemaking skills and
child-rearing.”
“You are a wonderful young woman,
an excellent teacher and role model. We want to enlist your help to be the
first to volunteer in a new venture.” The pastor puffed out his chest.
“You’re building another
orphanage?” Memphis asked.
“No, dear.” The matron placed her
cup on the table. “We’re starting a matchmaking service, and we’d like to begin
with you.”
About Kimberly Grist:
