My kid brother, Jay,  dropped his  Christmas wish hint in November.  “Ginny,” he said to me. “ Willie got these swell high-top leather boots, with a knife pocket and bear grease to waterproof  ‘em.” His brown eyes shone behind little, round glasses and his voice took on a worshipful note. “ I sure would like a pair just like his.”

 

My heart fell like a melting icicle off a roof.  I was 14 and as big sister, my parents shared some of their household concerns with me.  The term,“ Great Depression,” wasn’t in my daily vocabulary.  I only knew  that money was so scarce that we seldom bought anything except basic stuff.  Dad would  cut cardboard liners to fit inside any of our shoes that wore holes in the soles.

 

Feeling like the wicked witch of the West,  I said, “Jay, don’t you remember that we all decided to make each other a Christmas present?”  

 

“But Sis, I can chip in what I make on my paper route,” he said,  “and it’s bound to snow pretty soon and maybe I can shovel sidewalks.”  I wished with all my heart I could buy  the boots for him. At nine years old, he was such a decent little guy. Kind to everyone,  especially animals, and did his household chores without whining. Some of my girlfriends detested their little brothers but Jay and I had always gotten along fine.

 

I sighed. “O.K. I’ll tell Mom and Dad but don’t get your hopes up.” Not long after,  I sat down at the small kitchen table with my parents where they were having tea and doing household accounts. Jay was listening to an evening  radio program. I told them about him wanting boots.

 

“ Drat it, Ginny!”  Dad said, frowning.  “ We just figured that we have to ask  him in the morning for his paper route money to help pay the electric bill.” Mom picked up a stack of bills and waved them at me. Her face was puckered up like she might cry. So I hurried to say what I had been thinking lately.

 

“How about this?  We have six weeks before Christmas. Can’t we figure ways to make extra money or cut down on spending...or something?”  I held my breath until they smiled. By bedtime we had a plan.

 

At breakfast the next morning, Mom asked Jay for half of  his paper route earnings for the next month. I saw his shoulders slump but he said, “Okay” and went on eating his oatmeal.

 

Changes  started with Dad. He  wore a sweater under his overcoat  and  walked to work (a three-mile round trip) to save car gasoline. Also, he didn’t buy a daily sweet roll on his work break,  a 25 cent saving each week. Mom canvassed the neighborhood to sell white - tinned Cloverine Salve and I promised all my 10- cents- an- hour baby sitting money.

 

Our “boot bank” was an old, red baking powder can. The next three weeks we winked and beamed at each other, out of Jay’s sight, of course, as the can grew heavy.   Mom said it was fun visiting neighbors and made a good number of salve sales. I had three babysitting jobs, plus a cat-care job with the neighbor’s calico while they were in Kentucky.

 

Suddenly trouble struck. We ran out of money to slip into the  steel box attached to our refrigerator.  Time payments on this appliance consisted of putting 25 cents a day, (quarters only) into the slot of the  padlocked box to keep the motor running.

 

“ We can’t give it up,” Mom declared. “ Without it food will spoil and if we put stuff outside in a window box, it will freeze.” And we had given away the old icebox.

 

So we watched, sick at heart, as the refrigerator coin box gobbled our boot money from the red can. We needed another plan, fast. I pondered on ways to get money as I walked to school or when Jay and I cleaned the kitchen after dinner, and at night before I slept. No surprise... Jay’s snow shoveling jobs had not happened. Neighbors could not afford the luxury at Christmastime. There seemed to be only one answer.

 

The three of us met again one evening while Jay was playing at Willie’s house. Only three weeks until Christmas. I clasped my hands together and blurted out my idea.

 

“ How about if we ask Grandma Alice not to give us gifts this year but instead send us money for Jay’s boots?” I saw Mom shoot a look at Dad. I knew, too, that he hated to ask for help from his family. But Dad just shrugged and nodded. I ran to get Mom’s writing pad before he could change his mind. Grandma was our last chance.

 

The postman picked up Mom’s letter the next afternoon (hardly anyone had telephones) and we began the wait. But money left the red can for daily expenses as fast as we added to it. My stomach felt like I had egg beaters whirling inside. I could hardly enjoy the last days before Christmas at my high school, with the music and parties and the ten-cent  gift exchange. Jay never mentioned the high-topped boots again. Yet all of us put on happy faces and secretly worked on our handmade gifts for each other. As to Grandma’s useful but splendid “ boughten” gifts, well, Dad and Mom and I wouldn’t miss them a bit if she would only go along with our plan.

 

Mom beat me to the mailbox that afternoon just four days before Christmas. I heard her yell “ Ginny, start dinner if I’m not home by 5 o’clock”, and saw her throw on her old wool coat and hat and fly outside  for the  bus stop to downtown  and the shoe store.

 

On Christmas morning Mom and Dad and I could barely pay attention to the hand- made gifts being opened. Even the unexpected treat of tangerines, English walnuts and chocolate cream drops in our stockings could not keep our thoughts  from the hidden box. At last Mom looked at me and nodded. I leaped from the sofa and brought out the long package.

 

“From Grandma Alice and us, too,” I cried. Jay’s face lighted up brighter than the star at the top of the Christmas tree. With trembling hands he tore off the wrapping and there lay the beautiful, black, lace-to-the-knee boots. Beside them nestled a small box.

 

“ Neetsfoot Oil, too," he crowed .  He picked up a boot and stroked the pocket which held a small jackknife, and Dad said, smiling broadly, “You can wear the knife when we go camping.”

 

Jay’s teeth chattered  as he thanked us and promised to write Grandma a thank you note. He put on the boots and paraded about the living room. Mom and Dad and I watched and grinned and let our hearts sing for Jay’s happiness. Even the refrigerator hummed.

 

Throughout the years we never talked about the frantic weeks and sacrifices  that led to that Christmas. But we always remember that moment of perfect joy when Jay marched around us in his glorious  high-top boots.