The Stocking Above the Star — Under the attic rafters, Etta rubbed a cloudy glass bauble with the corner of her sleeve, but the dust only smeared like gray fog. Read the full story →
Under the attic rafters, Etta rubbed a cloudy glass bauble with the corner of her sleeve, but the dust only smeared like gray fog. She wanted the soft polishing cloth kept in the old sewing tin, so she climbed out of her cotton-lined crate and crossed the wide floorboards. The boards gave small creaks under her slippers. Cold cedar air tickled her nose. Halfway there, a loose garland loop snagged her pocket and took her best brass button with a tiny plink.
The sewing tin was empty. Etta stood very still while the house breathed around her. Then, above the tree’s topmost branch, one little stocking swung where no stocking belonged. She swallowed, climbed the branch ladder, and reached inside. Instead of cloth, her fingers found a folded note that smelled faintly of peppermint: Polish the star first. It will show you the rest.
“I can do first,” Etta whispered. She gave the smiling star one careful rub with her sleeve. Warm light slipped across every dusty bauble, bright enough to find her lost button shining in a garland curl. Next time you spot that high little stocking, you’ll know it is still guarding the first brave step under the attic rafters.
