His For Christmas
Authors: Fiona Shin
HIS FOR CHRISTMAS
Copyright © 2011 by Fiona Shin
This book is a work of ficton. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
FIONA SHIN
For Ashley.
Well, I finally went and did it. The holiday novella, I mean. Without you, I might add. We still have that Halloween duo-fic we said we’d release, but never did it! I even wrote something, too. We have to do it next year. What if you die before the world gets to know your genius/prowess at the mighty keyboard and Word? No one will understand why I’m such a fangirl. And that simply is not done! Now, stop playing COD, get off your XBOX live (I should take some of this advice. SKYRIM, SKYRIM!), get back on the computer, and write, woman!
Love you.
Stay strong.
December
10,
1883
Branford,
Illinois
Christmas.
It
was
enough
to
make
him
feel
ill
to
the
pit
of
his
stomach.
How
different
things
had
turned
out!
When
he
was
a
boy,
and
even
when
he
had
grown
out
of
childhood,
Christmas
was
something
to
look
forward
to,
something
to
think
about
and
smile
at
the
fond
memories
that
were
as
familiar
as
songs
carolers
sang
at
the
corner
of
Graham
’
s
Emporium.
“
God
bless
ye,
merry
gentlemen
…”
God
bless
ye,
merry
gentlemen,
indeed.
His
ward,
Timothy
Farland,
stared
into
his
face,
the
boy
’
s
freckles
seeming
even
starker
under
his
worried
expression
and
pale
face.
“
Are
you
all
right,
Mr.
Whitley?
”
Are
you
all
right?
No.
No,
he
wasn
’
t.
But
like
hell
he
was
going
to
admit
as
much
to
the
young
boy
of
nine.
“
Well
enough,
I
suppose.
Do
you
like
Christmas,
Timothy?
”
The
boy
’
s
face
nearly
split
from
his
wide
grin.
“
Do
I
ever,
Mr.
Whitley!
Why,
that
’
s
like
…
like
asking
a
girl
if
she
likes
dolls!
Who
doesn
’
t
like
Christmas,
Mr.
Whitley?
”
Me.
With
a
forced
smile
that
matched
none
of
the
boy
’
s
brilliance,
he
ruffled
Timothy’s
hair
and
slipped
a
coin
into
his
mittoned
hands.
“
How
about
you
get
some
peppermint
sticks
from
Graham
’
s?
One
for
you
and
one
for
me.
Maybe
even
one
for
Mrs.
Chang.
”
