"We always celebrated Christmas," Aunt Sarah said. "Mama managed to knit something nice for all of us. One Christmas I remember there were still seven at home so Mama must have started knitting early. Papa and the boys worked in the shed making things out of wood.

I wanted to go with them and help build toy sleds and wagons, but Mama said I was a girl and had to start acting like a girl, so I stayed in the house and learned how to knit and crochet. It was fun to imagine the look of surprise on Papa's face when he saw the scarf I had knit. My knitting didn't look too good, but I worked hard and was getting better. Mama claimed practice would make perfect.

When we were living in Santa Fe, Papa and the boys chopped down a big tree and put it right in front of the window, but when we moved to the prairie in La Junta there weren't many trees. Papa had brought two little trees from the riverbed for Mama to plant in the front yard, they were spindly but Mama watered them faithfully and babied them. Papa said we couldn't chop those down.

Old Cliff lived down the road from us and he had a little tree in his yard. We thought about sneaking into his yard and cutting it down, but you didn't fool with old Cliff. Cliff was right down ornery, he never came to church or celebrated Christmas. He was just about the meanest man in the county. The word was that his wife had run off with another man years before. Cliff liked his whiskey, so we stayed on the other side of the road. He yelled at us as we went by.

"We have to have a Christmas tree," Oscar said.

But Papa said we would just have to hang up our stockings.

"We do that every year, Papa," Albert said. "That's only for little things."

"Well, there's no trees to be found," Papa said.

"Can't we make a trip to them mountains?" Oscar begged.

"It's too far," Papa said. "You'll have to forget it."

But we just couldn't give up hope.

"Well, if we don't have any trees," Albert said. "We'll just have to make our own."

"Yes, but what could we use? All we have are those old tumbleweeds that hit me when I'm walking to school," I said.

"Hmm," Oscar said. "Maybe we could make a tree out of a tumbleweed."

"Those awful old things?" I couldn't believe it. "I hate them."

"Well, it's all we have," Oscar said. "We might as well try it."

So we bundled up and went out to search for the biggest tumbleweed we could find. There wasn't no shortage and we soon found a big tumbleweed. Mama frowned a little when we carried that thing in the house but she didn't stop us.

"Where will we put it?" Oscar asked.

"It needs to set on something," Albert said looking at that ugly old weed.

"I know, we can put it on my table," I said. I ran to the bedroom and brought out the little table Papa had built for me last year. Albert set the table next to the wall and Oscar put that tumbleweed on the table. It sure was unsightly.

"Now how can we make it look like a Christmas tree?" Albert looked at our poor ugly tumbleweed.

"It could never be pretty," I said.

"Yes, it will be." Oscar was already fond of that old bunch of weeds.

So we started searching for things to decorate our tumbleweed with. Mama offered to pop corn while we made paper chains.

We spent a lot of happy hours sewing popcorn on strings. Papa was glad we had found a substitute tree and the older boys even helped a little. Mama let us use some of her button collection to hang on our "tree." When the popcorn and chains were strung on that tumbleweed it was transformed.

"It's beautiful," I said. The boys teased me about that.

Papa wouldn't let us put candles on our "tree." He said he knew it would burn.

Christmas Eve came and Mama fixed a big rabbit stew. It was cold outside. We were just finishing up supper when we heard a banging.

Papa opened the door and we were all shocked to see old Cliff standing there. He was panting and looked sickly.

"Sam," Cliff said in a whisper. "I started out to go to the Doctor, but I'm feeling poorly."

"Come in, man," Papa said and Mama rushed over to help him sit down.

"I'm sorry," the man said. "Didn't mean to interrupt your dinner."

"You didn't interrupt," Mama said.

"We'll go for the doctor." Papa and Sammy put on their coats and hats. "You boys help your Mama get Cliff to bed."

"I want to stay here," Cliff insisted. "And look at that lovely Christmas tree."

I figured Cliff must be delirious, he thought our tumbleweed was a real tree.

"You can lay down on the couch," Mama insisted. She told me to get a blanket and pillow so I ran fast as I could to get them.

The boys helped Cliff take his coat and boots off and soon he was laying on the couch, but he looked terrible. He was gray and he kept grabbing his chest. Every once in awhile he let out a terrible scream, then he'd quiet down for awhile. I was so scared I stayed close to Mama.

"That's just like the trees we had when I was a little boy." Old Cliff stared at our tumbleweed. "Reminds me of my mother and the stories she used to read about the baby Jesus."

"Get me a chair, Sadie," Mama told me as she went to the shelf and got the good book down.

Mama opened up the Bible and started reading about the baby Jesus. Cliff closed his eyes, and when he opened them up he started talking crazy like.

"Mama," he whispered.

"I'm here." I couldn't believe my ears, Mama answered him. Old Cliff thought Mama was his Mama.

"Oh, Mama." Cliff had a strange look on his face. "I'm sorry, I done a lot of bad things and forgot about Jesus."

Mama rubbed his hand and to my surprise tears ran down his cheeks. I forgot what a mean old man Cliff was and now I was crying myself.

"Mama, I've done some bad things," Cliff said. "Do you think Jesus could forgive me?"

"I'm sure He would," Mama replied. "All you have to do is ask Him."

"Please, Jesus, forgive me," Cliff said. He shut his eyes again. "I'm glad I came home, Mama. And you still have the tree, just like you did when I was little."

"Yes, son," Mama whispered.

"I'm home." Cliff gasped and coughed. Mama did her best to comfort him, but he jerked away and sat up. His eyes opened wide.

"The singing," Cliff stared at the little tumbleweed tree."Can you hear them singing Mama? Just like you always said, the angels are singing around the Christmas tree. Oh, Mama, it's so beautiful."

Suddenly Cliff fell back on the pillow. The gasps were gone, he was still, too still.

Mama felt his chest, she reached up and closed his eyes.

"Children," Mama turned, tears filled her eyes. "The angels just came and carried Cliff to Heaven."

By the time Papa and the boys got home Mama had covered Cliff up, we still sat looking at our little magical Christmas tree.

The boys and Papa moved Cliff the next day and his son and wife came to bury him. It was a most unusual Christmas. I'm looking forward to seeing the Christmas angels myself someday."

(Note - Sarah Miller was taken by the angels to Heaven on October 23, 1971)