Good morning, FFFs!
I hope your brain isn't as scrambled and overwhelmed as mine is! It takes more brain power than I thought to write and direct two plays, collect scenery, get things set up, figure out practice dates and times, adjust costumes when things won't work, plus play two violin songs, sing in the choir, direct the children's bell group, write other stories, create blog posts, and everything else. Ugh! My brain was jumping from one thing to the next thing, to the next, and I was tired! Yesterday I decided to take a break. I didn't write. I didn't work on blog posts. I didn't format the Christmas story for our Christmas cards. Instead I relaxed and read. In fact, I read quite a bit of the afternoon and evening. It was refreshing! Now I feel like I can do something else today.
And that's the reason you haven't gotten many blog posts on here this month. Hopefully that will change before long. I know you'll at least get more of this story. This is the story the Christmas play is written from. Actually I wrote the story (without as much setting and stuff) then turned it into the play and changed some things, and then edited the story with some of the changes I'd made for the play, and with more detail.
I hope you enjoy it! :) Oh, and don't forget to head over to my Read Another Page blog to see what book I'm sharing there.
In the small western town of Buffalo Wallow, there lived a widow and her two children. Widow Stirling was well known around town and liked by almost everyone. She and her children lived in a modest home on a prime spot of land near the edge of town. That home was filled with laughter and smiles. Everyone who came was always welcomed.
On the other end of town lived Jeffery Reginald King, the town’s most wealthy man. Unlike Widow Stirling, Mr. King wasn’t well liked, for he fancied that wealth was more important than character, and that money would purchase anything. His house was almost out of place in the small town, for it was grand and tall.
One day in the middle of December, Jeffery King paced his fine home and frowned. He didn’t notice his rich furniture, his costly paintings, his expensive curtains, nor feel the warmth of his fire.
“There are just four things I want for Christmas,” he said to himself, his dark mustache twitching. “Just four things, and I’m bound and determined to get ‘em too.” Stopping short he gave a decided nod. “And I might as well get ‘em now, ‘cause everyone has his price.” With that he snatched up his hat and left his lovely home.
Not too far outside of town lived a farmer who raised pigs. To this farm Mr. King went with firm steps and one purpose in mind. After knocking on the farmhouse door and being told by Mrs. Hill that her husband was “round back,” he picked his way through the muddy yard wondering just how far “‘round back” was. At last he found the farmer looking at his prize-winning pig.
“Mr. Hill,” began Mr. King without so much as a good morning, “I want to buy that pig. How much will you take?”
Slowly Mr. Hill turned around, looking slightly surprised to see his visitor. “You talkin’ to me, King?” His voice was a low drawl.
“Of course I am,” snapped Mr. King. “There is no one else to talk to.”
“You might have been talkin’ to Gertrude,” and Mr. Hill stooped to pat his prize pig who was nosing his boots.
Mr. King grunted. “I wasn’t. I want to buy that thing.” He pulled a stack of money out of his pocket. “How much?”
Folding his arms, Mr. Hill shook his head. “I’m not selling Gertrude. Why she’s a prize pig! I’ve won a blue ribbon in every fair I took her too.”
“Seventy. And you won’t get a better price anywhere!”
But Mr. Hill shook his head. “I ain’t sellin’ her. Have a merry Christmas, Mr. King.” Without another word Mr. Hill returned to his pig and left his visitor to find his own way off his property.
A frown darkened Jeffery King’s face as he marched away forgetting to look for the cleanest, firmest steps. He would get that pig, just see if he didn’t! He was sure that everyone had his price.
It was a long walk to the Pickett ranch, but Mr. King was so determined to succeed in one of his quests that he didn’t notice. Nor did he pay any attention to the cold winter day.
Mr. Pickett and his foreman, Travis, were out in the corral with their new horse, a fine looking animal, when Mr. King arrived. Travis was mounted and slowly riding the horse around in the corral. Having learned something from his last experience, the wealthy man tried a different approach.
“That’s a mighty fine looking animal you have there, Pickett, Travis.” He nodded politely to both men.
Rancher Pickett leaned on the fence. “She shore is. Ain’t another horse in a hundred miles that can stick with her. Why she’s goin’ to be the best purchase I ever made for this ranch.”
Travis drew rein and added, “Just picture it, King; in a dozen years these hills,” he motioned to the rolling hills of the Pickett ranch, “will be full of magnificent horses just like this one!” Smiling, he patted the neck of the horse.
Mr. King rubbed his hands together, noticing for the first time that it was cold. “That’s going to take a lot of money, men.”
Has your brain ever felt scrambled?
Have you read many Christmas stories yet?
Do you want the next part of this story on Monday or Tuesday?