The True Gift

Also by Patricia MacLachlan

…

Edward's Eyes

A CHRISTMAS STORY

Patricia MacLachlan

Illustrated by
Brian Floca

ATHENEUM BOOKS FOR YOUNG READERS
New York London Toronto Sydney

Atheneum Books for Young Readers
An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children's Publishing Division
1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, New York 10020
SimonandSchuster.com
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people,
or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents
are products of the author's imagination, and any resemblance to actual
events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2009 by Patricia MacLachlan
Illustrations copyright © 2009 by Brian Floca
All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction
in whole or in part in any form.
Atheneum Books for Young Readers is a
registered trademark of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
For information about special discounts for bulk purchases, please contact Simon &
Schuster Special Sales at 1-866-506-1949 or [email protected].
The Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau can bring authors to your live event. For
more information or to book an event, contact the Simon & Schuster Speakers
Bureau at 1-866-248-3049 or visit our website at
www.simonspeakers.com
.
Book design by Jessica Handelman
The text for this book is set in Venetian 301BT.
The illustrations for this book are rendered in graphite and ebony pencil.
Manufactured in the United States of America
First Edition
2 4 6 8 10 9 7 5 3 1
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
MacLachlan, Patricia.
The true gift : a Christmas story / Patricia MacLachlan ;
illustrated by Brian Floca.—1st ed.
p. cm.
Summary: While spending Christmas at their grandparents' farm,
Lily becomes convinced that her younger brother Liam is right
about White Cow being lonely and helps him seek a companion for her,
leaving little time for Christmas preparations or reading.
ISBN: 978-1-4169-9081-9 (hardcover : alk. paper)
ISBN: 978-1-4169-5617-9 (eBook)
[1. Brothers and sisters—Fiction. 2. Cows—Fiction. 3. Books and reading—
Fiction. 4. Grandparents—Fiction. 5. Christmas—Fiction.
6. Farm life—Fiction.] I. Floca, Brian, ill. II. Title.
PZ7.M2225Tru 2009
[Fic]—dc22     2009000375

This is for John; Pony and Ella; Jamie and
Lauren; and Emily, Dean, and Sofia.
Love to you all.

With special thanks to Donna Cowan
—P. M.

White Cow stood alone in the big meadow.

Her eyes were sad, though she might not have known what sad was. She looked down the road searching for something.

There was a time when she had company, a donkey the color of biscuits, but the farmer who owned the donkey had taken her away.

Sometimes a red fox came to drink from the stream. Sometimes deer came through the meadow to nibble crab apples left on the tree by the barn.

Crows clattered overhead.

But most days White Cow stood alone in the big meadow.

Liam and I sit on the backseat of Papa's old car. The car heater isn't working, so Liam and I share a blanket. We can see our breath in the air.

“How many books did you bring?” whispers Liam.

Liam and I share a worry. Our school closes for ten days, and we're going to Grandpa and Gran's house. We always go
there in December, waiting for Christmas and Mama and Papa to come Christmas Day. We worry about not taking as many books as we'll need.

“I brought fifteen books,” I say.

“I brought thirty-seven,” says Liam.

I burst out laughing.

“Don't worry, Lily. There is the stone library if you run out.”

Liam runs out of books all the time. Sometimes he reads three chapter books in one day.

I smile.

We love that stone library, our second home at Grandpa and Gran's farm.

“The lilac library,” Liam says.

It's true. No matter what time of year—winter or summer or fall or spring—that library smells like lilacs.

Liam takes a book out of the bag at his feet. I smile. I am three years older than Liam, and I have a sudden sweet memory of teaching him how to read. He was four years old and he grinned for two weeks when he figured out the mystery of words.

“We'll have snow,” says Papa, looking up at the sky. Liam and I laugh, and Mama laughs too. We call Papa the Weather Man.

And suddenly, as if his words bring it on, snow begins to fall; flakes one by one, slowly at first, then harder. Papa turns on
the windshield wipers, and we watch the back-and-forthing of them.

“I hope the library stays open if it snows,” says Liam.

“That library is always open,” says Mama. “That library has been open ever since I was a little girl.”

We turn into the long dirt driveway to Grandpa and Gran's house, past the meadow where White Cow turns her head to watch us go by.

“Where's Rosie?” asks Liam. “Where's the donkey?”

“Don't know,” says Mama. “Can't see her.”

The snow is coming harder now and is
beginning to stick to the road. It is almost dusk.

“Did you bring your money?” asks Liam.

I nod.

We have worked weekends and after school to earn money for Christmas presents. I babysat for the three Cooper children across the street. Liam and I both mowed lawns and shoveled snow when it came. Once he painted a shed. There are only two stores in Gran and Grandpa's small town. But that is enough for us to buy presents for everyone.

Liam holds up a red sock with a gray stripe. It is fat with his money.

I smile. The car passes the barn and pulls up to the front porch of the big white house. There are Christmas lights in every window. Gran and Grandpa come out to wave. Their terriers, Emmet and Charlie, bark fiercely at us, then race down the porch steps happily for jumping and licking.

Snow falls harder.

We're here!

We eat turkey and potatoes and green beans and salad.

“Charlie!” Grandpa's voice is loud.

Emmet scurries under the table.

Charlie stands on hind legs at the counter, trying to lick a pie sitting there. He turns his head to look at Grandpa.

We laugh.

“Once Charlie hopped up on my chair
and ate my dinner,” says Grandpa, getting up and making Charlie lie down. “When I went to the door to pay the paperboy.”

“He is lured by food,” says Gran, smiling. “He doesn't care if we speak sharply to him.”

“Emmet does,” says Liam.

“That is because Emmet is
thinking
about sneaking our food too,” says Grandpa. “Emmet has a conscience.”

“Where's Rosie, the donkey?” says Liam. “I didn't see her.”

“She went back to her own home,” Gran says. “Her owner bought more land, so he has room for her now.”

“I miss her,” says Grandpa.

“What about White Cow?” asks Liam. “Does she miss Rosie, too?”

Gran, Mama, and Papa get up to clear the dishes from the table.

“Don't know what cows think,” says Grandpa.

Charlie follows them, and Emmet comes out from under the dining room table to follow too.

“I can't say that I can read the mind of a cow either,” says Gran. “Cows aren't pets, you know. Like Charlie and Emmet. They're different.”

“I don't think she's eating as well as she used to, though,” says Grandpa at the kitchen sink. He begins to cut the pie.

“We used to have a little herd of cows,” he says. “I liked those cows. They were funny and strangely intelligent.”

“All eyes and big flat faces,” says Gran.

“What happened to the herd?” Liam asks.

“Oh, we sold the cows to people who wanted them for their herds,” says Gran.

“Well, what about White Cow?” asks Liam.

“Yes,” says Grandpa, smiling at Gran. “What
about
White Cow? Where did she come from?”

“Somewhere,” says Gran, waving her hand as if waving away the talk. “She came from somewhere.”

The subject was closed. But not for Liam.

“Do we know if she's lonely?” Liam asks.

“Well, she has that whole beautiful meadow all to herself,” Gran says. “That's good for a cow.”

Liam frowns.

“Maybe that isn't good enough,” says Liam softly.

Everyone turns to look at Liam.

A sudden trickle of dread comes over me.

“Let's have pie!” says Gran, trying to be cheerful.

“What do you want for Christmas,
Mom?” asks Mama. Gran drops a coffee mug and it shatters on the floor.