The days were short and cold, the wind whistled sharply, but there was no snow. Cold rains were falling. Day after day the rain fell, pattering on the roof and pouring from the eaves.
Mary and Laura stayed close by the fire, sewing their nine-patch quilt blocks, or cutting paper dolls from scraps of wrapping-paper, and hearing the wet sound of the rain. Every night was so cold that they expected to see snow next morning, but in the morning they saw only sad, wet grass.
They pressed their noses against the squares of glass in the windows that Pa had made, and they were glad they could see out. But they wished they could see snow.
Laura was anxious because Christmas was near, and Santa Claus and his reindeer could not travel without snow. Mary was afraid that, even if it snowed, Santa Claus could not find them, so far away in Indian Territory. When they asked Ma about this, she said she didn’t know.
“What day is it?” they asked her, anxiously. “How many more days till Christmas?” And they counted off the days on their fingers, till there was only one more day left.
Rain was still falling that morning. There was not one crack in the gray sky. They felt almost sure there would be no Christmas. Still, they kept hoping.
Just before noon the light changed. The clouds broke and drifted apart, shining white in a clear blue sky. The sun shone, birds sang, and thousands of drops of water sparkled on the grasses. But when Ma opened the door to let in the fresh, cold air, they heard the creek roaring.
They had not thought about the creek. Now they knew they would have no Christmas, because Santa Claus could not cross that roaring creek.
Pa came in, bringing a big fat turkey. If it weighed less than twenty pounds, he said, he’d eat it, feathers and all. He asked Laura, “How’s that for a Christmas dinner? Think you can manage one of those drumsticks?”
She said, yes, she could. But she was sober. Then Mary asked him if the creek was going down, and he said it was still rising.
Ma said it was too bad. She hated to think of Mr. Edwards eating his bachelor cooking all alone on Christmas day. Mr. Edwards had been asked to eat Christmas dinner with them, but Pa shook his head and said a man would risk his neck, trying to cross that creek now.
“No,” he said. “That current’s too strong. We’ll just have to make up our minds that Edwards won’t be here tomorrow.”
Of course that meant that Santa Claus could not come, either.
Laura and Mary tried not to mind too much. They watched Ma dress the wild turkey, and it was a very fat turkey. They were lucky little girls, to have a good house to live in, and a warm fire to sit by, and such a turkey for their Christmas dinner. Ma said so, and it was true. Ma said it was too bad that Santa Claus couldn’t come this year, but they were such good girls that he hadn’t forgotten them; he would surely come next year.
Still, they were not happy.
After supper that night they washed their hands and faces, buttoned their red-flannel nightgowns, tied their night-cap strings, and soberly said their prayers. They lay down in bed and pulled the covers up. It did not seem at all like Christmas time.
Pa and Ma sat silent by the fire. After a while Ma asked why Pa didn’t play the fiddle, and he said, “I don’t seem to have the heart to, Caroline.”
After a longer while, Ma suddenly stood up.
“I’m going to hang up your stockings, girls,” she said. “Maybe something will happen.”
Laura’s heart jumped. But then she thought again of the creek and she knew nothing could happen.
Ma took one of Mary’s clean stockings and one of Laura’s, and she hung them from the mantel-shelf, on either side of the fireplace. Laura and Mary watched her over the edge of their bed-covers.
“Now go to sleep,” Ma said, kissing them good night. “Morning will come quicker if you’re asleep.”
She sat down again by the fire and Laura almost went to sleep. She woke up a little when she heard Pa say, “You’ve only made it worse, Caroline.” And she thought she heard Ma say: “No, Charles. There’s the white sugar.” But perhaps she was dreaming.
Then she heard Jack growl savagely. The door-latch rattled and someone said, “Ingalls! Ingalls!” Pa was stirring up the fire, and when he opened the door Laura saw that it was morning. The outdoors was gray.
“Great fishhooks, Edwards! Come in, man! What’s happened?” Pa exclaimed.
Laura saw the stockings limply dangling, and she scrooged her shut eyes into the pillow. She heard Pa piling wood on the fire, and she heard Mr. Edwards say he had carried his clothes on his head when he swam the creek. His teeth rattled and his voice shivered. He would be all right, he said, as soon as he got warm.
“It was too big a risk, Edwards,” Pa said. “We’re glad you’re here, but that was too big a risk for a Christmas dinner.”
“Your little ones had to have a Christmas,” Mr. Edwards replied. “No creek could stop me, after I fetched them their gifts from Independence.”
Laura sat straight up in bed. “Did you see Santa Claus?” she shouted.
“I sure did,” Mr. Edwards said.