His unit had been gone almost a year. He must be coming home soon. They’d all agreed to put off opening their presents until his return.

A month ago, the decision hadn’t seemed so hard. But now . . .

Their gifts sat wrapped and waiting under the tree. Artificial, this year, to last until their father came home. Jo missed the sharp, resiny, real-tree smell of Christmases past.

She missed Dad.

“Anyway, Momma said we could each open one present tonight,” Meg said.

The back door opened, releasing a draft over the threshold. Momma appeared, wearing a faded work shirt over her jeans, bringing with her the scent of frost and the barn.

Warmth prickled Jo’s cheeks at the thought of their mother doing chores while they lolled inside, lazy and warm. Granny and Granddaddy had worked the farm together until a lifetime of sweat and cigarettes had carried them off. But except for Miss Hannah, who helped in the cheese room, Momma did everything herself.

She smiled around at them. “Merry Christmas, girls. I have a surprise for you.”

“Kittens?” asked Beth.

“Not until spring,” Meg said.

“Better than kittens,” Momma said.

Amy’s face lit. “Daddy!”

Jo winced. It was the fault of all the local stations running those cheesy holiday homecoming videos on the evening news, fathers in uniform coming up the driveway, striding into a classroom, showing up at their kids’ ball games . . .

Momma nodded. “He’s going to call this afternoon.”

A phone call. Jo swallowed her disappointment. She didn’t really expect Dad to pop out of a box like the fathers on TV. Anyway, even hearing his voice would make Christmas more, well, Christmassy. He usually called when they were in school. Because of the time difference, Momma said.

Talking it over one night after Beth and Amy were in bed, Jo and Meg had decided their parents were trying to protect them. As long as they didn’t expect to hear from him every day, they wouldn’t worry on the days his calls couldn’t get through because of a sandstorm or an attack.

The phone rang.

“Jo, turn that volume down.” Momma picked up the phone, tugging off her bandanna with her free hand. “Hi, honey.” She ran her fingers through her hair as if Daddy could see her. “Merry Christmas!”

Jo couldn’t hear his reply, but their mother laughed. “I will.” He murmured something else. Her cheeks turned pink. “Yes. I’m putting you on speaker now.”

Jo couldn’t wait to hear his voice. But they had to take turns speaking, because if they all talked at once he got them mixed up. Of course, Meg, being the oldest, got the receiver first.

Jo jiggled from foot to foot as Meg told their father about organizing the canned-food drive at school. As if she hadn’t spent the last student council meeting flirting with Ned Moffat.

Finally, it was Jo’s turn. She reached for the phone, but Amy snatched it away.

“Hey!” Jo said.