If you’ve missed out on the other stories in the series, please go back and check them all out, then return here to find out who broke the nutcracker.

April Hayman: November 26

Marji Clubine: November 27

Chautona Havig: November 28

Cathe Swanson: November 29

Denise Barela: November 30

Rebekah Jones: December 1

Sandy Barela: December 2

Okay, okay, I’ll tell all about who broke the nutcracker, but only if you all promise not to tell the other authors. Not a single one. This is going to be our little secret. Got it? If you can’t promise me that, don’t read any further. Just kidding. Keep reading.

Somehow, this beautiful nutcracker showed up at my house. Its red and white and blue paint was perfect and bright. The mechanism that operated its jaws to crack the nuts worked without a flaw. I love Christmas, and I have plenty of nutcrackers around the house, so I should know. This was one of the finest I have ever seen. And I knew it came from Chautona’s book, The Nutcracker Suite.

Like I said, my husband and I both love Christmas (he was born on Christmas Day and we got married on December 23rd), so we have a ton of decorations around the house. In my estimation, you can’t have too many. In the living room, we have one of the many trees that grace our house, a fireplace that’s all decorated, a hope chest loaded with stuff, two end tables, a piano, and about a million little white lights. I dare you to count them all. The only time we go in there is to quietly sit and take it all in or to open presents on Christmas morning.

Anyway, I decided that was the best place to display this beautiful nutcracker, so I nestled it among the white fluff that looks like snow on my hope chest. To say it looked perfect there would be an understatement. Every day, I came in and admired it.

While I’m cleaning, I love to listen to music, especially at Christmas time, so while I was dusting all that stuff in the living room, I had on The Nutcracker Suite. On came Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy, and I couldn’t resist. No one was home, so I got up on my tippy toes and twirled about the room. I’m just glad no one could see me. I swirled my duster around as I danced, imagining I was wearing a fluffy tutu and that my flabby body looked amazing in it.

And that’s when it happened. I swung my duster too hard. Way too hard. It slipped from my grip and flew across the room. All I could do was stare opened mouthed as that duster headed straight for the nutcracker on the hope chest. I’m pretty sure my heart didn’t beat the entire time.

The duster slammed into the nutcracker, and the two items slid across the hope chest and onto the floor. With a sickening crack, the head of the nutcracker broke and rolled underneath the end table. I scrambled to pick up the pieces. Maybe, just maybe, I could glue them back together and no one would be the wiser.

But it was hopeless. Large splinters were missing. It would never again look so flawless, so perfect. I was inconsolable. Okay, the chocolate ice cream my husband bought helped.

Chautona, I’m terribly sorry for breaking your nutcracker. I should know better than to indulge in childish fantasies at my age. And I hope that in your book, The Nutcracker Suite, you manage to find the culprit who hit Mr. Meyer over the head with a nutcracker.

Oh, and the excuse I’m going to give the rest of the authors is that my dog did it. That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.

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