Mrs. Cratchit's Christmas
On the morning of December 25th, Mrs. Bob Cratchit woke from a deep sleep beside her husband, and though she knew it was Christmas Day and there were a hundred things to do in preparation for the wonderful family celebration the Cratchit family would enjoy, she was reluctant to crawl out from under the layers of worn quilts and faded blankets, knowing how cold it would be once she emerged from the cozy, warm bed.
Yet rise she must and thus ever-so slowly, Mrs. Cratchit stuck her legs out from under the covers and felt the assault of the cold air against her flesh as she slipped her feet into the old, shabby slippers on the floor next to her bed. She yawned, stretched her arms high above her head and grabbed her tattered robe from the end of the bed and quickly put it on, already beginning to shiver from the cold. Before leaving the bedroom, she cast a loving glance upon her husband, still sleeping peacefully on his side of their small bed.
"I'll let Bob sleep a bit longer," she thought, her heart filled with tenderness. "The poor man works so hard in that cold, drab, little office for that horrible Ebenezer Scrooge! Why he didn't arrive home last evening till well after darkāon Christmas Eve no less!" She was still angry at Mr. Scrooge for keeping her husband so late that by the time Bob had arrived home, the youngest children were in bed fast asleep and the rest of the family was half-starved, waiting for the master of the house before enjoying their traditional Christmas Eve stew. With a heavy sigh, she vowed to put her husband's reprehensible employer out of her mind for today. She would wake Bob up shortly so he could watch the children open their stockings and go to church with their youngest son, Tiny Tim, as was their tradition.
