What child is this?

She walked, and continued walking.

Katie had no destination. She had no thoughts. She was not going toward anything, and she was not going away from anything.

She was accustomed to sorrow and aquainted with grief, so a torn and unwanted bell ws not a shock. It was just more than she could bear.

The wind sapped her strength, and she stumbled. The snow and the wind shrugged.

Gathering gloom, thought Katie.

Gloom wasn't what she had wanted Christmas Eve to be. She wanted Christmas Eve to be that other song, the Midnight Clear song.

She walked in a straight line, and because it was a city, it had straight lines, the careful grid of sidewalks, and they all led away from the church. She walked past dozens of houses, and most of them screamed Christmas: a wreath on the door, a candle in the window.

She had on her old sweater and her favourite corduroy pants. She loved corduroy, it was warmer and kinder than any other cloth.

She fell on a patch of ice hidden by the new snow. She had no mittens, either; they were in the pockets of her torn jacket, still on the red velvet pew next to Matt.

She did not know where she was, and it did not matter.

She did not know why she was walking, and that did not matter either.

People had shoveled their walks and driveways, and than the snowplow had come by, blockading them after all. Katie did not want to walk in the street even though there was no traffic. She did not want to be visible. She walked on what had been grass, people's front lawns; but somehting about the snow made it public property; it was all one, just snow.

One yard had a snowman and the snowman was dressed in a better jacket than Katie had ever had.

A sob wrenched her.

A block farther, and she came to the prettiest, smallest Christmas tree she had ever seen; it was in a little tub, and snow had piled to the top of the tub like a little mountainside. The tiny tree had tiny lights, like diamond necklaces. It was no taller than Katies, and it lay beneath its snow cover, the diamonds flickering, like stars in a distant galaxy.

I could lay down, too, thought Katie. I could have a snow blanket.

She found that she did not mind.

And she knew that nobody else would mind.

Next door was a house where nobody had shoveled. Nobody had walked in and out. Nobody had hung a wreath or delivered a Christmas card.

Nobody was home.

Katie could not go to a house with lights on. But she could go to a hoise of darkness.

She crossed unbroken snow to the front porch and sat on the bottom step, and in the silence of the night, the snow snowed down on her.

Katie had wanted Christmas to be about big things, and it wasn't.

Her heart was broken, as if she were only an ornament, made of glass, and somebody had dropped her.

Everybody had dropped her.

For a while it was terribly cold. It hurt everywhere, not just her bare fingers but her sides and her throat and her toes.

Then it wasn't so cold, and she let the snow be a blanket; she curled up under it, and the snow snuggled round her shoulders, and Katie found rest.


An excerpt from "What Child is This?" by Caroline B. Cooney.


Uh, yeah Idunno, I was readin that book, and that chapter had me weeping. literally. of course it helps if you were already as involved with Katie emotionally as I was...... she is eight. *gulp* as you may notice, it is around 3:30, I can't seem to sleep untill books are finished, and I have finished that book. it was excellent :D if you want to know what happens, ask, but I don't want to spoil it because you should read it. Of course, I read it every Christmas, and cry every year.

I don't have a lot to update, today I knitted furiously, in hopes that my friends' Christmas pressies will be done in time. *crosses fingers* and that is the plan for tomorrow, except it also includes Brad and Tasha's parties.

Peace on earth and mercy mild