The Christmas Child Read Online Free

she’d focus on his life instead of hers.
    Carmen dug an elbow into Sophie’s side. “Mr. Gruber just came in.”
    â€œPrincipals eat, too.”
    Carmen rolled her eyes. “He’s headed this direction.”
    Sophie’s father looked from one woman to the other. “Have I missed something?”
    â€œNothing, Dad. Pay no mind to Carmen. She’s having pre-Christmas fantasies.”
    â€œMr. Gruber is interested in your daughter.”
    â€œCarmen! Please. He is not.” She didn’t want him to be. A picture of the quietly intense face of Kade McKendrick flashed in her head. This morning’s encounter had stirred more than her concern for a lost child.
    â€œGruber’s a good man,” her dad said. He stopped a moment to turn to the side and point at a pimply boy for throwing a napkin wad. The kid grinned sheepishly, retrieved the wad and sat down. The high schoolers were convinced Mr. Bartholomew had eyes in the back of his head.
    â€œDad, do not encourage rumors.”
    Her father lifted both hands in surrender as the principal arrived at their table. Biff Gruber nodded to those gathered, then leaned low next to Sophie’s ear. His blue tie sailed dangerously close to the mystery casserole. Sophie suppressed a giggle.
    â€œI need to see you in my office, please. During your plan time is fine.”
    Without another word, he walked away.
    â€œSo much for your romantic theories,” Sophie told a wide-eyed Carmen. “That did not sound like an interested man.”
    â€œNo kidding. Wonder what he wants,” Carmen said, watching the principal exit the room. “An ultimatum like that can’t be good.”
    Sophie put aside her fork. “Sure it can. Maybe he wants to order ten-dozen cookies.”
    Carmen looked toward the ceiling with a sigh. “You’d put a positive spin on it if he fired you.”
    Well, she’d try. But she couldn’t help wondering why her principal had been so abrupt.
    Â 
    She found out two hours later, seated in his tidy, narrow office. The space smelled of men’s cologne and the new leather chair behind the unusually neat, polished mahogany desk. It was a smell, she knew, that struck terror in the hearts of sixth-grade boys. A plaque hung on the wall above Biff Gruber’s head as warning to all who entered: Attitudes Adjusted While You Wait.
    â€œI understand you’re doing the cookie project again this year,” he said without preliminary.
    Sophie brightened. Maybe he did want to place an order. She folded her hands in her lap, relaxed and confident. This was Biff and she was not a sixth-grade rowdy. “I turned in the lesson plan last week. We’re off to a promising start already and I hope to raise even more money this year.”
    Biff positioned his elbows on the desk and bounced his fingertips together. The cuffs of his crisply ironed shirt bobbed up and down against his pale-haired wrists. The light above winked on a silver watch. His expression, usually open and friendly, remained tight and professional. Sophie’s hope for a cookie sale dissipated.
    â€œWe’ve had some complaints from parents,” he said.
    Sophie straightened, the news a complete surprise. No one had ever complained. “About the project? What kind of complaints? Students look forward to this event from the time they’re in second and third grade.”
    In fact, kids begged to participate. Other classes loitered in her doorway, volunteered and occasionally even took orders for her. This project was beloved by all. Wasn’t it?
    â€œHow many years have you been doing this, Sophie?” The principal’s tone was stiff, professional and uneasy.
    Suddenly, she felt like one of the students called into the principal’s office for making a bad judgment. At the risk of sounding defensive, she said, “This is year five. Last year we donated the proceeds, a very nice amount, I might