The Christmas Tree Read Online Free

nuns. They need a rest from the troubles they see in the outside world.”
    It was one of those times when you realize there are always limits on the kinship you may feel for someone. Sister Anthony might know a lot about nature, but what did she know of the real world? I felt like a jerk for having opened myself up to her, for thinking that she would understand.
    She looked upset, as though she, too, sensed that the moment between us had been lost. Hoping to make a polite exit, I launched into my standardized riff on the tree.

    â€œI see the tree as the crown jewel of Rockefeller Center,” I was saying in a monotone, when Sister Anthony seemed to drift off to some other place.
    â€œThe city is our jewel,” she murmured.
    â€œExcuse me?” I said.
    She repeated herself. “Anna, the city is our jewel.”
    I shook my head. “I don’t understand.”
    When she didn’t reply I reached over and tapped her on the shoulder.
    Now it was her turn to look surprised. She shook her head and started to get up. “You’ll have to forgive me,” she said. “Something you said took me back to another time.”
    â€œWho was Anna?” I asked her.
    She settled back on the grass. “I don’t think she would be of much interest to you.”
    â€œToo late for that,” I said. “Tell me.”
    Suddenly the sense of camaraderie I’d felt before returned, as quickly as it had vanished. Sister Anthony seemed as she had been, vigorous and full of humor.
    â€œIt’s no great mystery,” she said. “I was Anna, many many years ago.”
    She looked mischievous. “It may surprise you, but we nuns don’t arrive on this earth wearing habits, you know. I was a little girl once. And I was born in New York City.”
    â€œTell me more,” I said.
    â€œSo you’d like to hear a story, would you? All right,” she said, “I’ll tell you how a girl named Anna from New York came to Brush Creek.”
    A change came over her then, and I realized that she was either a born storyteller or a practiced one. It came as no surprise to hear her begin with “once upon a time.”

Chapter Three
    Anna

    Once upon a time I was a girl named Anna, after a grandmother I never knew. I had no brothers and sisters, not even a pet, though I used to pretend the cat that yowled in the alley behind our building was mine.
    My mother died when I was born and my father died not many years later, when I was five. So I had a feeling more than a memory of my parents. It was a very good feeling, from a mixture of pictures and words that came to me when I wasn’t expecting them, most often in the middle of the night.
    The pictures were made up of the most beautiful colors, a series of bright lights, reflected from above and below. And I would always hear the same words, spoken in Father’s warm, gravelly voice: “The city is our jewel.”
    We had a neighbor, Mrs. Ellis, who had always been kind to me. She lived on the ground floor of our building and always kept her door open. Whenever she saw me come in she would call me over for some bread hot from the oven or a piece of yarn to make something with. In the good times, when Father had work, Mrs. Ellis would watch me—or rather, I would watch her. She took in ironing from the ladies who lived in fine houses on Washington Square. I remember spending hours watching her heat her heavy black iron on the stove, then carefully return wrinkled shirts to their original crispness. She could even do lace sleeves.
    When Father died I stayed with Mrs. Ellis, but one morning, not long after the funeral, she looked up from her ironing and said, “I wish I could take care of you Anna, but I’m too old to start raising children again. Since there’s no one else to tend to it, I’ll have to take you there until they find your aunt.”
    I didn’t know anything about my aunt, or where