Christmas Issue 2022

Table of Contents

“The Colors of a Christmas Tree” by Sophia Tomassoni.....................1

“The Noble Spark” by Jessi Wenger .....................................................1

“Lasting Peace and Joy” by Nora St. Cyr...............................................2

“In the Reeds” by Nathan Kawecki .........................................................4

“Christmas 1914: A Soldier’s Perspective” by Grace Huang .............5

“Nathan” by Gabriel Crane......................................................................6

“Promises” by Jessi Wenger ...................................................................7

“Through the Frosted Window Panes” by Sophia Berger...................8

“Cabin in the Snow” by Jackson Keatts .................................................10

“Tropic Waves” by Jordan Daramy........................................................12

Editor’s Note

The arts provide a window into a different world in a way that no other medium can, connecting us to people and situations on an emotional and often spiritual level. One of Rockbridge Academy's greatest missions is to nurture and encourage the arts as a way of glorifying God, as shown in the poetry, short stories, and artwork in this booklet. I feel privileged to have had the opportunity to work on the first Christmas Issue of the Rockbridge Review and I hope that all of the readers enjoy these artistic expressions as much as I did. ~Sophia Berger

Rockbridge Review

Vol. # December 2022

Editor: Sophia Berger Faculty Adviser: Miss Godfrey

Rockbridge Academy 680 Evergreen Rd, Crownsville, MD 21032 www.rockbridge.org

https://sites.google.com/rockbridge.org/rockbridgereview/home issuu.com/rockbridgereview

The Rockbridge Review is a literary magazine publication produced by the 7-12 th grade students of the Creative Writing Club and Art Club at Rockbridge Academy The Review exists to give a creative outlet to students, to publish works of skill and merit, and to celebrate the intersection of faith and the arts

The views and ideas expressed in the literary magazine do not necessarily reflect those of Rockbridge Academy.

The Noble Spark

by Jessi Wenger

Joy’s an array of colors

That riseth with the day, Brings life to every hill and dale, And cometh, come what may.

And clearer to mine eyes it seems When I have known the dark; No pow’r upon the misty earth Could stay this noble spark. And even in the blackest night When mist enshrouds the stars, So sure’s the promise of the light, It shineth from my heart.

“The Colors of a Christmas Tree”

by Sophia Tomassoni

“When thinking about joy, my mind went straight to hanging ornaments on the tree. I remember when I was younger, and it was a special treat to hang just one of the many delicate ornaments from my great-grandmother. I loved the different colors in the lights and ornaments. It felt like Christmas was a rainbow of colors. That’s what I chose to capture with this pastel drawing. The range of colors that capture the joy of Christmas, particularly in decorating a tree with your family.”-Sophia

Lasting Peace & Joy by Nora St. Cyr

It was snowing, and the earth was arrayed with a beautiful blanket of white, and there were frosty icicles hanging underneath all of the signs and the roofs of everyone’s houses. It was a gorgeous snowy day. Perfect day for a walk. I closed the door, feeling the brisk air on my face. I stepped out of my driveway to go for a lovely walk in this beautiful scenery.

As I was walking, the phone rang. It was my mother calling. But why on earth would she be calling me right now? I finished college a few years ago, and I finally decided to move into my own house. It was closer to my job, so it was easier anyway. Since I moved here, my parents wanted to call me weekly to check how I was doing. We have a designated time for that though: 6:30. She was supposed to call me at 6:30 tonight, couldn’t she just wait?

I took it out of my pocket and answered it anyway. “Hello?” I said “Jessica?” she answered.

“Um…yeah. Hey Mom,” I said. Her voice sounded really odd. Almost like she’d been crying or something.

“I have something to tell you,” she breathed in slowly, like she wanted to tell me something but wasn’t very sure how.

“What happened?” I asked, suddenly afraid of what she was about to tell me.

“Your grandfather, he…”

I could feel my heart drop and the color drain from my face as she finished her sentence, “He passed away.”

“W-what? How? What happened?” My grandfather has never had an illness, any health problems, or anything close to one.

“He was hit by a car. I’m so sorry, Jessica.”

I couldn’t say anything.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked. She knew how close I was to my grandfather.

“Not really. I just want to be left alone,” I said.

“Okay sweetie. Bye.”

“Bye Mom,” I said, hanging up.

I didn’t know what to do, what to say, what to think.

I stopped walking and stared at the ground. No… this can’t be happening.

I could feel the tears streaming down my face, despair in my heart.

I felt the cold wind bite my cheeks. I just stood there for a minute, closing my eyes, thinking through everything. It still seemed impossible. My brain refused to believe it.

I sighed, watching my breath blow into the cold winter air, and proceeded to walk.

I watched the people outside, clearing the snow from their driveways or walking their dogs. I didn’t really feel like interacting with anyone, so I kept my head down and kept walking while feeling the tears trickle down my face.

I was so distracted with my thoughts that I walked right into someone.

“Woah, excuse me,” a man said. His voice was nice, crisp, and deep. I looked straight into sparkling ocean-blue eyes on a beautiful complexion, with dark curls on top of his head. Needless to say, he was handsome.

I tried to hide the fact I was crying by wiping away my tears and managing to croak out, “I…I…I’m sorry, I…I…d…d…didn’t see you there…”, and I started crying again. So much

for keeping my cool. I tried to walk again, but then I tripped over my feet and would have faceplanted into the snow, if he hadn’t caught me in time.

“Are you okay?” he asked, still holding me up.

It was a simple question. I could have just smiled and nodded, but I couldn’t. First of all, as he was holding me up, I could feel the heat rise to my cheeks. When I got over that, I started crying and found myself telling him, “Well, I just got some difficult news from home so I’m not really doing the best right now. Sorry for disturbing you.”

“No, it’s okay. Is there any way I can help?” he asked, letting go of me.

I didn’t really feel like talking at the moment, so I said, “No, thank you, but I appreciate the offer.”

“No problem. You can talk to me anytime if you need to. I’m Tyler, by the way.” he said.

“Thank you. I’m Jessica. I should go see my family now,” I said, gazing into his oceanblue eyes.

The time with my family was difficult. We were still all very sad and surprised by my grandfather’s passing.

When I came back home, I saw Tyler again, except this time, he was standing in the yard next door. I guess he was the new next-door neighbor I saw moving in the other day. He was shoveling the snow off of his driveway. As I was walking toward my front door, I saw his shovel break.

“Aw man,” he said, “this was my only shovel.”

I knew I had a shovel, and I wanted to help him, so I got out my shovel and walked next door.

“Hey Tyler, do you need any help? I saw your shovel break, so I brought you one.” I said. “Thank you so much! Yes, my shovel broke, but it was old anyway.”

“I didn’t know you lived next door to me,” I said.

“I didn’t know either,” he said. “Hey, by the way, how are you doing? How was your visit with your family?”

“I’m doing better than I was last time I saw you, although I’m definitely still sad about it. The visit with my family was hard too,” I said.

“Would you like to share with me what happened?”

“My grandfather passed away.”

“I’m sorry. I understand what you’re going through. My grandfather passed away too a couple of years ago.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. My mom called me, telling me that my grandfather was very sick, and I immediately made plans to go see him.”

“What happened next?” I asked.

“Well, he was still alive when I arrived, but I had to watch him pass away. But I held his hand and told him, ‘I love you’, and it seemed to mean the world to him. And do you know what he told me?”

“What?” I asked.

“‘Always find the joy, Tyler, and in that joy find peace as well.’” He had a faraway look in his eyes.

“Did you find it? Even though your grandfather passed away?”

“I did,” he said. “It took a while, but eventually I did.”

“How?” I asked.

“I looked to God. I prayed every night for me, my family, and my grandfather. And he

gave me peace at heart. I also had joy because he had strong faith in Christ.”

“My grandfather did too; he often shared with me how Christ worked in his life,” I said.

“You can have peace and joy too. Have peace at heart that God always has a plan for you and your family, and even rejoice that your grandfather is with God. And it is okay to mourn his loss, just don’t lose sight of your hope in Christ.”

“Thank you so much. This talk really helped.”

“Hey, no problem. We should hang out more.”

“Yeah, we definitely should.”

As I walked back to my house, a smile crossed my lips. I was looking forward to hanging out with Tyler, and I could see peace and joy in my future.

“In the Reeds” by Nathan Kawecki

“My piece is inspired by a pond in the middle of reeds near my house. I have many memories around this place, and it is grounded in my mind as a place of peace.”

-Nathan

Christmas 1914: A Soldier’s Perspective

By Grace Huang

I just want the fighting to end. I want to go home, hug my parents, and pet my dog. It’s Christmas and we’re still in the trenches, preparing for battle. Everyone of us should be at home, not at war. Suddenly, around 12 in the afternoon we hear singing.

The enemy was singing Christmas carols. Everyone around me in the trench stops what they are doing, looks up, and just listens. Tears fill my eyes as the familiar melodies bring back memories of Christmases that seem a lifetime ago. Memories of that beautiful time of peace that seems so, so long ago. Children caroling, laughter over failed cookies, snowball fights, and

family. Someone from our side joins in the song, and suddenly hundreds of voices fill the air with memories, and longing of peace.

Someone yells out, “Come over here!” and someone from our side replies “You come halfway, we come halfway!”

Slowly I creep out of my trench and into no man’s land with many others following warily. We meet the enemy halfway as agreed, and they look as shabby and sorrowful as we do. We just stare at each other in amazement. Seconds past and nobody moves.

Then suddenly a soldier calls out, “We should celebrate and get to know each other while we can. I have a bundle of old and unwearable clothes we can use as a ball if anyone is up for a game of soccer.”

Slowly the people around me began to relax and the tense atmosphere began to dissipate. People were openly chatting with each other and exchanging addresses while a game of soccer started up, the “ball” flying everywhere. “Just like home.” I said quietly to myself, ”I hope I don’t get brained by the ball.”

Out of nowhere I hear someone ask me, “So where are you from?”

I jumped three feet in the air and barely landed on my feet. The stranger laughed. ”I’m sorry I scared you” He said softly with a German accent. ”And I apologize for laughing.”

“Sol right.” I said, “My face must have looked like my grandma’s when she saw a mouse. Anyway, to answer your question I’m from Manchester.”

The German nods and says, “I’m from Cologne.”

“Name’s Henry Smith, what about you?”

“My name is Wilhelm.”

“Nice to meet you Wilhelm,” I say.

“Likewise,” Wilhelm replies.

We chat for a while, talking about Christmas traditions from home.

“Thank you.”

“What?” I ask, startled. “ It’s nothing.” I replied.

We exchanged addresses and Wilhelm told me to “ Write as soon as you are able, I hope to see you again one day.” He left, heading back to his camp.

I called out after him, “See you after the war!” I sighed as I walked toward my camp.

The day they told us we could stop fighting was like living in a dream, albeit a grimy and tiring one. “I can’t believe the war is over,” I think as I walk home. I wonder what Wilhelm is

doing. I hope he survived.

I arrived home and my mother tells me that a letter came in the post addressed to me.

“ Who’s it from?” she asks.

I pick it up and open it, pulling out a hand drawn picture of Wilhelm and I with the caption, “Told you I’d see you again.”

I smile and answer, “It’s from a friend.”

“Nathan”

by Gabriel Crane

“This piece is a portrait of my friend who I see embodying both peace and joy daily.” -Gabriel

Promise by Jessi Wenger

Promise is the key to hope Unlocking every door, The sweet caressing whisper which Reminds you what's secure.

The blinding shock of lightning which Makes low that which is tall, The note which breaks the silence with The morning bluebird call.

The branch providing nourishment And shade in cool of day, The branch that I grab hold of when My steps begin to sway.

It is the straight and narrow path Which guides me through the night, The flame, which in the darkness seems To burn with brighter light.

The coolest sip of water and The sight of what is pure, A rest which none can take away For I know what is sure!

Through the Frosted Window Panes

By Sophia Berger

Henry put his rusted evergreen Chevrolet into park. He pulled his jacket tighter around him, bracing against the wind as he stepped out of the car, slipping a small cardboard box into his coat pocket. The snow dusted sign outside of the parking lot read “Parking for Visitors of Warm Winter’s Nursing Home.” The parking lot was entirely desolate aside from his car. The light snowfall crunched under his feet as he walked to a first-floor window. A little path was shoveled out for him specifically and he traveled up it until he stood face to face with the frosted window panes.

He waited only a couple of seconds, blowing into his hands, before a masked nurse pushed a wheelchair up to the window. A tiny, delicate looking lady sat in it, a faded smile on her lips, causing her whole face to wrinkle up with happiness.

“Joy, your husband is right outside the window now,” the nurse told her, leaning over.

Joy reached her hand out, her palm placed against the chilled glass. Henry put his hand against hers and just held it there for a minute.

He took his hand off the window to pull the small cardboard box out of his coat. He opened it and slipped a silver harmonica into his hands. His breath ascended in puffs around him as he put the cold metal to his lips. Out came the sweet and slightly twangy melody of Silent Night. The notes floated off like a cloud which filled the entirety of the empty air.

Joy sat back, her eyes closed and her hands resting in her lap. The song blended into the crisp wind as Henry continued to move the harmonica back and forth across his lips.

Next, he played The Christmas Waltz and Let it Snow. The notes once again filled up the vacant space, growing into a melodious flower and bringing smiles to so many more faces in the nursing home.

Finally, Henry again laid his hand on the icy window blowing a kiss to his wife and nodding a ‘thank you’ to the nurse who smiled in return.

Henry walked back to the car, the salt for the road feeling like little beads beneath the soles of his shoes. He turned on the ignition, putting his hands in front of the heat vents as they sputtered out warm air.

As he traveled the mostly empty roads back to his house, Henry’s phone started to ring. He glanced at the flashing screen which read “Eleanor.” Swiping to answer it and he put it on speaker phone.

“Hi, Ellie, sweetheart!” he called.

“Hey, dad.”

“How are you doing, honey?”

“Just fine, loading the dishwasher. I saw that you called yesterday and I wanted to make sure everything was okay.” Her tone sounded tired and clipped.

“Oh, just fine! I was just hoping to talk.”

“Hi grandad!” a childlike voice chirped in the background.

“Hi Hazel bear!” He answered back with a smile in his voice.

“One sec, dad. Hazel, get down from that chair and stop touching Wyatt’s bib. Wyatt, no, no don’t put that in your mouth.”

“Sounds a little crazy there, El.”

“Well, you know, Hazel just has a ton of energy and Wyatt… it’s just hard until he gets a

little older. So what do you want, dad?”

“Well I was thinking that maybe you and the kids could come here for a couple days before Christmas. Of course Levi could come too, unless he has work. I could take the kids off your hands for a few days and you could just relax - read, sleep, watch TV, maybe even go out for a night with Levi. I just know you haven’t gotten much time for yourself lately and I haven’t seen you guys in almost a year, so I thought it might be nice.”

She sighed audibly, “Uh, I don’t know dad.”

“Also, I know your mom would love to see you. She hasn’t really recovered from her bout with COVID and her mind is still a little foggy, but I’m sure a visit from you all would cheer her right up.”

“I really don’t know dad. There’s a lot going on.”

“Oh, well, okay. Is there anything I could do to make it easier for you?”

“Not really. I just don’t think I can make it this year. With COVID and all… I mean it makes it harder to really travel.”

“Oh. I understand, Ellie. I just thought it might be nice.”

“Yeah, thanks dad but I really am doing just fine.”

“Alright, honey. Well, that was it, unless there is anything else you want to talk about.” “Nope.”

“Okie dokie then, I guess I’ll talk to you later. Call me if you need anything. I love you.”

“Yep, love you too, dad.”

The phone beeped off as Henry pulled into his empty driveway and walked into the chilled brick house.

“Oh boy.” he whispered to himself as he walked in. “How come I let it get so messy around here, eh, Joy? I know you wouldn’t like that one bit. I’ll go turn up the temperature and put some of these records on the shelf instead of on the ground.”

Henry whistled to himself while collecting the vinyl records into a pile. After putting a record of Johnny Cash on the player, he sank onto his musty leather recliner and into a deep sleep.

Joy looked expectantly at the sunshine drenched windows the next day, awaiting her visitor.

“Hmm.” the nurse muttered to herself and looked at her watch. “Henry’s a little late today it seems.”

Joy’s face sagged as she waited with surprising impatience.

The nurse sat there still, glancing at her watch sporadically and tapping her fingers on the wheelchair handles for several more minutes.

“I guess he’s not coming today, sweetie, I’m sorry. He probably just forgot or had an appointment or something.”

Joy shook her head. “No, no. My Henry comes every day. He hasn’t missed one yet and he won’t now.”

The nurse nodded. “It’s probably a simple mistake, Lovey. I’m sure he’ll be here tomorrow.”

Joy looked longingly at the window as the nurse pushed her towards the dining hall.

Eleanor was spoon feeding Wyatt as his little limbs flailed in the constraint of the high chair when her phone rang with an unknown caller.

“Hello?” she asked, holding the phone to her ear with her shoulder.

“Hello, is this Eleanor Tilby?”

“Yes, but Tilby is my maiden name. Who is this?”

“This is Linda, calling from Warm Winters Nursing Home.”

Eleanor froze, the phone nearly slipping from her shoulder.

“Are you still there, dear?” the woman asked.

“Yes… Is- is something wrong with my mom?”

“No. You might want to sit down though, dear.”

Eleanor put the blue plastic fork down and lowered herself into a nearby dining room chair.

“As I’m sure you know, your father comes to visit every day outside your mother’s window.”

She nodded as though the woman could see her.

“Well, he hasn’t come for the last couple of days. Your mother was becoming quite unnerved about it and so were we all, your dad is such a darling man. Well, we sent a nurse over to check on him, and I’m afraid your father was, well, he was…”

Eleanor’s breathing was stifled and her face became pale.

“He was what?” She wasn’t sure why she was asking if she already knew the answer. (continued on page 11)

“Whenever I go up to the mountains to snowboard, it is a comfort to see the welcome warmth of a cabin to provide me shelter from the snow and a place to reflect on God’s beauty and goodness."

Jackson

“I’m afraid that your father has passed on, dear. It seems it was peaceful though, in his sleep.”

Hot tears stung her eyes and Wyatt began to shriek and flail.

“I am so sorry, dear.”

She did not respond.

“I’m sure this is very difficult to process so I will let you go and you can call us whenever you are ready to talk or ask questions.”

“Thank you.” was all she managed to force out.

She dropped the phone on the table, staring aimlessly out the window at the snow covered landscape.

. . .

Joy sat in her wheelchair in her two-room apartment. The little gas fireplace was roaring and a pile of yarn and untouched knitting needles sat in her lap. Her eyes shifted around the enclosure, resting on pictures of her and her family on the bookshelf. Her wedding, baby pictures of Ellie, Ellie and Levi’s wedding, Hazel’s first birthday, Henry cuddling the newborn Wyatt, all of the family together - and her, all alone in this room.

It had been about a week since Henry’s passing and she refused to talk to anyone. No more music pulled at the hopeful strings of her heart.

As she sat like a forgotten record in an antique shop, flowing notes started to drift to her ears. Her face lifted in confusion and happiness.

I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas. She craned her neck to look out the window of the next room. A nurse, hearing the melody as well, entered the room with a smile on her lips.

“I think someone is here to see you, Joy.”

Joy stared in disbelief. It was not the drawn-out resonant notes of a harmonica, but a chorus of voices.

Through the frosted panes of glass, she could see, bundled up in winter coats with knitted hats on their heads, Ellie, with Wyatt on her hip, Levi, with his arm wrapped around Ellie’s waist and holding little Hazel’s hand, whose voice shot up like a gleeful rocket.

A tear rolled down Joy’s cheek as she placed her palm against the glass, four other hands coming to meet hers.

Joy heard Ellie’s muffled voice through the window.

“I’m sorry, mom,” Ellie said, the edges of her voice tinged with tears, “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you, wasn’t there for dad…”

Her voice trailed off, leaving the air empty again.

“I know, honey.” Joy said, her face close to the window, “I know and I understand.”

A sorrowful smile spread across her face as she reached back, stretching her arm to the bookshelf and bringing forward the picture of all of the family crowded in front of a museum. Joy pointed to the picture which Ellie strained to see.

“This is all your daddy wanted, Ellie, for us all to be together, and now we are. I know that he would be so glad to bring us together again.”

Ellie nodded, her head pressed against the window. At that moment, it was almost as if the separating window were not there, like their hearts met in the middle, filled with a love that sprung from the grief, a love that bound them together until Joy met Henry again.

“Tropic Waves” by Jordan Daramy

“When I think of peace, I think of the beach. I think that the ocean's waves sound peaceful if you ever listen to them. What I also think about is a serene environment and that it's a good place to be at peace.” -Jordan

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The Rockbridge Review is now accepting submissions for the Spring 2023 issue. Email Sophia.berger@rockbridge.org for submission information.