“Mouse? Is she there?”
Amy thrust the phone at Beth, who clasped her hands in front of her, twisting her fingers together. “Oh, but I... What about Jo?”
But Bethie needed to talk to Daddy even more than Jo did. Hardly a week went by without Beth reporting to the school nurse complaining of cramps, a headache, an upset stomach—whatever ailment would get her excused from class that day.
“She’s adjusting,”Momma had said.
To the move?Jo wondered.Or to their father being gone?
“It’s okay.” Jo forced the words out. “We have plenty of time.”
Fifteen minutes. Eleven of them gone already, whizzing by like bullets. One for every month that Dad had been away.
“I say my prayers for you every night,” Beth told Dad.
“That’s my good girl,” he said. He asked how she was feeling, if she was still practicing her guitar.
“Jo’s turn,” Momma said at last.
Jo took the phone eagerly. But when she tried to speak, all her emotions rushed in on her, congesting her chest, sticking in her throat. “Hi, Daddy.” Her voice cracked.
“Hey, little woman.”
“How... How’s your Christmas?”
“Good,” he said heartily. “They made us a real holiday dinner here on base. Turkey and stuffing.”
“We’re having turkey, too,” she said, hungering for his attention. His approval.
Momma held up a finger. “One minute left.”
“I love you,” Dad said. “Take care of Momma and your sisters for me.”
Jo swallowed hard. “I will.”
“I’m proud of you,” Dad said. “Proud of all my girls. I think of you every day and ask God to bless you and keep you safe and strong. Let me say good-bye to your mother now.”
“Love you,” Jo choked out.
She surrendered the phone, her heart burning. She hardly got to talk to him at all. She didn’t get to tell him about the poem she published in the student newspaper or the English paper she wrote on the Brontës or...
“She’s fine,” their mother was saying. “We’re all fine. We love you.”
“We’re getting cut off,” Dad said. “Love you, too, honey. Merry Christmas. God bless you.”
“Merry Christmas!” they all chorused.
The connection cut off. Silence fell, as cold as snow. Beth’s eyes swam with unshed tears. Amy’s face was blotchy.
God bless us, every one.Dickens, Jo thought, but Daddy wasn’t here to appreciate the reference.
“Well.” Momma took a deep breath. Released it. “Time for some Christmas music.”
Jo stared. But then she saw how their mother gripped the phone like she couldn’t bear to let go.
All those years their father was a minister, their mother never once complained about his hours or his charity cases. When he gave up his congregation in town to join the army, she talked about his sacrifices. But she sacrificed, too. It couldn’t have been easy for her to move back down on the farm, to make the transition from pastor’s wife to goat farmer.
“We could put on Bethie’s Christmas CD,” Meg said. “It’ll be just like listening with Daddy.”
