Christmas was coming. The ground was thickly covered with snow, and Phil, Jo, and Grandfather had travelled for miles to find a gigantic spruce tree for Ingleside's parlour. Lee, Lynde, Gwen, and Grandmother decorated it amidst much laughter and merriment, and then Jo played carols for them all to sing.

People were busy whisking packages in and out, bundling projects under chairs when certain people walked by, whispering secrets and plots. Lynde's kitchen was filled with incredible smells, and Gwen suspected that Jack would have spent almost as much time in there even if he wasn't falling in love with Lynde. Certainly Jo spent enough time in there, much to the would-be beau's dismay. Hints, as Mother used to say ruefully, were completely lost on Jo.

It should have been a merry time, and it would have been, save for one thing: Gwen missed Mother and Dad more and more fiercely with each passing day. They had managed to get through each child's birthday without too much difficulty, but Christmas was the holiday around which they had built all their family traditions, and it just seemed wrong to prepare for it without them.

Gwen wanted to talk to Mother about Oliver, becoming more uncomfortably lover-like with each passing day, despite all her best efforts to discourage him. She wanted to show off her running to Dad, see if he was really as proud of her as he wrote. She wanted to tell them—tell them, not write—about Phil's scholastic triumphs, how he was the best student in the freshman class. She wanted to see their faces when Lee opened the dress that Gwen had made for her, all by herself, without even Aunt Ruth's help. She wanted them to hear how Jo's piano playing had improved so much since Grandmother Meredith had started teaching him.

In short, Gwen wanted her parents home now, not in a month's time. January was too late—Christmas would be done by then.

It was not to be thought of, though. No amount of wanting would get them home any sooner, so Gwen raised her pointed chin and went about her holiday preparations determined to make everyone else happy. And soon, she found she was able to push the ache over her parents' absence to the back of her heart, distracted by all the bustle and preparations.

She didn't realize that she wasn't alone in her yearning after home until one rare afternoon when she and Phil were alone together, studying in Ingleside's parlour. The other Owls were gathered at Aunt Faith and Uncle Jem's house, but Phil had a bit of a cold and Grandfather didn't want him trekking into the village, and Gwen stayed home to keep him company.

She looked up dreamily from her history just in time to hear her brother sigh gustily.

"What is it?" she asked, concerned. "Is it your throat? Shall I ask Lynde to fix you another cup of hot lemon and honey?"

He made a face. Though most of the Blake children loved that remedy for a sore throat, Phil thought it absolutely disgusting, and always insisted he would rather have the pain. "No thanks," he said scratchily. "No, I was just missing … oh, never mind."

"Missing what?" Gwen asked, of course.

Phil blew his nose into his handkerchief. "Missing all the Christmas music playing on the radio."

From early in December until the New Year, the Blakes constantly had Christmas music ringing through the house—either the radio or the phonograph. Dad was a passionate lover of music, and Mother of Christmas, and between the two of them they kept the house filled with the sounds of the holiday. Here at Ingleside, Grandmother considered any music but that played or sung by themselves unacceptable. "Fake" music, she called it.

"I even miss Mother's horrible Christmas cookies," Phil said, laughing a little.

Gwen laughed too. "At least with a head cold you wouldn't be able to smell the four batches she always burns before getting one that's edible!"

"At least Aunt Jenny always kept us stocked in Christmas goodies."

"I could help her this year, if we were home," Gwen said brightly. Her cooking lessons with Aunt Ruth had made her brave enough even to work with her finicky aunt. Then she remembered that possibly she be spending every Christmas here at Ingleside from now until she graduated high school, and she fell silent, chewing her lower lip.

"A year is a long time," Phil said irrelevantly.

"Yes," Gwen agreed. They shared a quick, sympathetic smile, and went back to their studies.

That night, Jo said something in his prayers about "Please God, send Mummy and Dad home soon," and the next morning Lee burst into tears over the fact (though she had known for ages) that Mother wouldn't be there to see her performance as the Christmas Angel in the church play that night, and Gwen realized that they all missed Mother and Dad more than they wanted to admit.

Christmas was a week away, and it just didn't feel like Christmas at all.

Not only was Lee the Christmas Angel, but Owen and Leigh were in the play as well—Owen as a very mischievous Chief Shepherd, and Leigh as part of the general chorus. Jo had been asked to participate as well, but he refused flatly. He had stopped being part of the church plays when he was seven, despite the fact (or because of it) that he was the minister's son. Nobody quite knew why, as he generally loved performing, but when Jo made up his mind, he was unshakeable.

With three of their own in it (plus Winnie and Ruthie as children in old Bethlehem), all the Blythes were at the church that night, plus Lynde. The Grants were Episcopalian, but Oliver and his younger brother Bobby were both there to watch their friends. Fanny was there as well; several of her siblings were performing. While Oliver immediately came over to greet the Blythes and Blakes, Fanny ostentatiously ignored them. She had refused to speak to Gwen ever since it became obvious that Jack and Lynde were seeing each other.

Gwen wasn't sure why Fanny was angry with her over that … she certainly hadn't forced them together … but she saw the friendship wither away with little more than a faint pang and a philosophical shrug of her shoulders. Fanny may have been one of her first-ever girl friends, but a friendship that couldn't withstand rumours or broken hearts wasn't much of a friendship to begin with. She would rather have Mary's strong practicality, or Lynde's steadiness, or even the light-hearted but resolute friendship of the other girls on the team.

Even Chloe's open enmity was better than Fanny's hot-and-cold attitude!

The play went beautifully. Lee was a darling Christmas Angel, and her sweet-voiced solo was widely considered the highlight of the evening, with a less-reverent minority in favour of Owen's many ad-libbed lines as the Chief Shepherd. Aunt Persis tried to look cross with her offspring, but she could barely keep from laughing aloud as he and Tim Douglas (as a sheep) chased each other around the stage in a riotous scene that most definitely had not been written into the script. Owen's expression of comical horror as his sheep stole his crook and tried to swipe him with it was priceless, even the most disapproving had to admit.

"That boy has a future in performance," Uncle Bruce muttered. "The Marx brothers have nothing on him."

Despite spending much of her time trying to avoid Oliver, Gwen had a good time. She had an even better time on the walk home, enjoying the crisp air and the shining stars in the black velvet sky, walking arm-in-arm with Lee and thinking fondly of the hot chocolate and cookies Lynde had made for them all to have when they got back.

"Goodness!" Grandmother said, jerking Gwen out of her reverie. "Whoever could be at the house?"

Gwen looked ahead. Sure enough, the lights were all on downstairs at Ingleside; when they had left that evening, they had only kept the kitchen light on.

"Burglars!" Owen said hopefully.

"Burglars who considerately turn on the lights to advertise their presence?" Uncle Shirley asked dryly. "Most likely Mary Douglas or Gertrude Grant decided to pop in, and turned on the lights while waiting."

Then two figures stepped out onto the verandah and began to wave. The four Blake children stopped short. They knew those silhouettes, even though they hadn't seen them in almost a year and weren't expecting to see them for another month.

Lee began to cry—tears of joy this time. Phil let out a strangled whoop, followed immediately by a cough. Gwen stood as though she were frozen in time. Jo, however, leapt into the air and came down running.

"Mummy!"

The smaller of the two people ran off the verandah herself to meet him in the road and sweep him into her arms. Phil and Lee started to run next, and were met by their father, who tried to gather both of them into his arms at once. Finally, Gwen's paralysis wore off, and she moved forward on numb feet, following the rest of the group.

After Grandmother and Grandfather were done hugging and exclaiming, and the aunts and uncles and cousins had their share, finally Gwen was able to see her parents face-to-face. They didn't look different at all—Mother was still tall and queenly, with her beautiful hair and eyes and laughing face. Dad was still short, handsome, and kind. Gwen couldn't believe she was seeing them at last, after all these months.

"Oh," Mother said, enveloping her in a warm, sweet-scented hug. "My Gwen! Darling, how you've changed!"

"Really?" Gwen managed to croak.

"You've grown into a woman, my dearest. Mother, how could you let such a thing happen while I was away?"

"I couldn't stop her," Grandmother said with a smile. "Jon, doesn't she look like your mother now?"

"The very image," Dad said, hugging Gwen in his turn.

"How are you here?" Gwen asked, still stunned. She was afraid she was going to cry, simply out of joy and relief and surprise.

"We got lonely for you, all at once, and decided to change our tickets to come home early," Mother said, her hands back on Gwen's shoulders as she studied her face. "Do you mind?"

Suddenly, the desire to cry passed, and Gwen began to laugh. "Mind? Oh Mums, this is the best Christmas present ever!"

Nobody got to bed until very late that night; it felt like Christmas had come early. Everyone had a year's worth of news to share: Mother and Dad wanted to hear all about everything that had happened in the Glen; Grandmother and Grandfather Meredith wanted to know all about Aunt Una; Grandmother and Grandfather Blythe wanted to hear about Mother and Dad's time overseas; Uncle Jem wanted to know what the medical situation was in India; Aunt Faith joined her parents in asking for news of Una; Uncle Bruce, Aunt Ruth, Uncle Shirley, and Aunt Persis just wanted to catch up on everything. The cousins were all clamouring to hear about how glamourous it had been overseas, and the four Blake children just wanted to sit near their parents and soak in the reality that they were finally back.

Finally, Grandmother looked at the clock and exclaimed in dismay. "Goodness, we will never get up in the morning at this rate!"

"I certainly hope no patients come in first thing tomorrow with unusual symptoms," Uncle Jem said, and Uncle Bruce chuckled in agreement.

Aunt Faith groaned. "Oh, and I still have that final exam I have to finish and send out for my nursing course."

Everyone else began to remember how much they still had to do the next day, as well, and Mother and Dad confessed they were worn out from the trip.

"But," Mother said, smoothing her hand over Lee's curly head in her lap, "We promise that we will spend the entire day tomorrow with you four, just getting caught up."

Dad stood up with a groan. "After we sleep for twelve hours," he joked. "These old bones need some rest!"

"Twelve hours?" Jo said in dismay. "But we won't see you until lunchtime then!"

"Well, maybe just ten," Dad conceded. "After all, you lot will have to sleep, too."

Gwen didn't care how long they slept; it was enough for her that they were there. Even after they all went to bed and the lights were out, she hated to fall asleep, for fear she would wake up and this all would prove to be a dream.

Even with her restless night, she was the third one up in the morning—only Grandfather and Lynde beat her. Phil joined her on the staircase, and just like on their very first morning at Ingleside, the two eldest Blake children ate breakfast alone with their grandfather, with Lynde serving them and refusing to sit.

Grandfather chuckled.

"What's the joke?" Phil inquired.

Grandfather's keen hazel eyes twinkled above the rim of his coffee cup. "I was just remembering our first breakfast, and how poor Gwen had to choke down that cup of black coffee. Just look at her now!"

Gwen had to laugh as well. She had been drinking black coffee with her breakfast for so long that she had ceased to think about it; it was as much a part of her daily routine as brushing her teeth and making her bed.

"I think, perhaps, I should celebrate Mother and Dad being home by finally allowing myself a little cream and sugar," she said. Grandfather's eyes twinkled more than ever, but he didn't say anything as she carefully added two teaspoons of sugar and a splash of cream to the inky brew. She leaned forward and sniffed it.

It smelled and looked heavenly. Even though she was used to the taste of black coffee now, and even enjoyed it, she could only imagine how delicious it would be with the added sweetener. She raised it to her lips and took a sip.

"Euchh!"

Gwen had all she could do to keep from spitting it out. It was disgusting. Weak, overly sweet … it didn't taste like coffee at all.

Grandfather laughed outright. "Too late! You should have allowed yourself the cream and sugar from the beginning. Now you're stuck with drinking it black."

Lynde came in, whisked the offending cup away, set a new one in its place, and vanished into the kitchen again.

"Oh well," Gwen sighed, picking up the cup and drinking half its contents at once, trying to erase the lingering taste of the sugary coffee, "It was a nice thought."

Phil just shook his head. "I am never going to drink coffee."

"Not even when you get to college and have to stay awake for exams?" Grandfather teased.

"Not even then," Phil said adamantly. "Dad says it's a bad habit, and I agree."

Gwen made a face at him. "It may be a bad habit, but it tastes delicious."

"You didn't think so last year."

"That," Gwen said primly, "Was because I was just a child." She couldn't keep a straight face, and at her laughter the other two joined in.

"Well," Dad said, slipping into the dining room. "There's a pleasant sound!"

"Dad!" Gwen leapt up and gave him a hug. "What are you doing awake so early?"

He grinned. "Couldn't sleep. Can you believe it? The most comfortable bed I've been in for a year, and it's too comfortable. My body got used to thin, lumpy mattresses, and now I'm going to have to accommodate myself to luxury again. In the meantime, I thought I would enjoy breakfast with my two eldest—and my father-in-law, of course." Then he caught sight of Gwen's half-empty cup. "Oh, Gwen! Not coffee! Tell me you didn't!"

He couldn't understand why the other three all started to laugh again.