“Don’t make fun of the Christ child.” The tiny silver bells sewn on Aunt Hattie’s Christmas sweater jingled softly as she trembled with anger. “None of you will receive anything of mine when the Rapture comes.”
Uncle Walter chuckled to himself as he went into the kitchen to start frying the wild mushrooms. On the way, he leaned over to Ivy and pointed to Aunt Hattie, whispering, “Aunt Haughty.”
Ivy followed him into the kitchen and watched him prepare the mushrooms. Uncle Tommy crowded around the stove, too. His glasses slid down his nose as he leaned over the morel mushrooms to examine them. The mushrooms had been frozen after one of Grandma’s mushroom hunts last spring. Uncle Walter cut the thawed mushrooms in half and rolled them in a seasoned-flour coating. Then he placed the mushroo
