The Doorbell in the Snow — Under the cranberry eaves, Nessa held the brass doorbell cord between two mittened fingers. Read the full story →
Under the cranberry eaves, Nessa held the brass doorbell cord between two mittened fingers. She wanted to ring it once before the grown-ups returned from hanging lanterns, just to hear how Christmas sounded from outside. Snow made the yard hush-hush soft. The pine lights blinked in red and gold. From the chimney came a warm bread smell, and from her boots came the tiny crunch of her first brave step down the path.
She pulled. Ding-dong. The sound rolled over the fence and around the little snowman with the crooked smile. Then another sound answered from the drift beside the gate: ding-ding, light as a spoon tapping glass. Nessa stood still. A silver field mouse stepped out, wearing a collar made from one fallen jingle bell. “Again?” it squeaked.
Nessa laughed so quietly the snow on the railing did not fall. She rang the bell once, and the mouse chimed back, and the house seemed to breathe with them—chimney smoke curling, window candles shining, evergreens listening. Her small courage had not opened a door after all; it had started a duet. Next time you see the snowman’s twig arms raised, imagine he is keeping time to that first brave ding-dong.
