Amada’s Gingerbread Man – Read and Print

By Rachel Dunstan Muller, copyright 2021

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Amada’s grandmother was a baker. Her little bakery was the only one in the village, and all through the year, it was filled with fresh buns and breads and cakes and pies. But on Christmas Eve, Amada’s grandmother made something special. She made gingerbread men – one for each person in the village. Now, she didn’t sell these cookies – she gave them away. You see, they were her special gifts for her friends and neighbours.

Well, as you can imagine, Christmas Eve was one of Amada’s very favorite days. On Christmas Eve, she woke up before all her brothers and sisters so she could help her grandmother bake. First, they made the gingerbread dough. They mixed butter, and sugar, and molasses and water. Then they added flour, and baking soda and spices: ginger and cinnamon and nutmeg and cloves. Mmm – that dough smelled good! But that dough got harder and harder to mix the more flour they added, so finally they had to get their hands right in the dough to finish mixing it.

When the dough was ready, they sprinkled the table with flour, and they rolled the dough out with their rolling pins. They rolled it and rolled it and rolled it, until it covered most of the table, and was about as thick as Amada’s thumb. Then they used cookie cutters to cut out the gingerbread men – BIG gingerbread men – and they laid them flat on cookie sheets. Amada’s grandmother put the sheets in her great big oven, and when the cookies were done, she took them out again – all baked and ready to decorate.

Well – not quite ready. First the cookies had to cool, and then Amada and her grandmother decorated each one with white icing and colourful candy. Some had a lot of icing and candy, and some only had a little. But they all looked delicious.

Then it was time for Amada to choose her very own gingerbread man. On this Christmas Eve, she chose one with lots of white icing and three gumdrop buttons, and she put it aside very carefully, to save for Christmas morning.

And then – then came the best part of all. Amada’s grandmother hung the “Open” sign in the window of the bakery, and one by one, all the villagers began trickling in to buy their bread – and to choose their gingerbread men. “Oh, Amada,” they would say, “you make the very best gingerbread men!” And they winked at her grandmother as they waved goodbye.

One after another the villagers came in – even Amada’s own brothers and sisters came in – and one after another the gingerbread men disappeared – until by the end of the day, there was only one cookie left on the counter.

“That’s old Johan’s cookie,” said Amada’s grandmother. “He’s always the last to come in on Christmas Eve.”

Sure enough, when Amada looked out the window, there was old Johan, shuffling towards the bakery.

He was very pleased when Amada put the last gingerbread man into a little brown bag. He tipped his head at Amada’s grandmother, and winked at Amada. “Thank you, both,” he said. “It wouldn’t be Christmas without one of your special gingerbread men.”

And that was it. There were no more cookies left to give away once Johan was gone. They were all done. It was time to close the bakery and go home to celebrate Christmas with the rest of their family.

But just as Amada’s grandmother was about to take down the “Open” sign, a woman and a little boy appeared at the door. They weren’t from the village – Amada had never seen them before. They were wearing travelling clothes, and they looked tired and dusty from the road. “Oh, thank goodness we got here before you closed,” said the woman. “We’re just passing through, and the old man on the street told us that you’re giving away gingerbread men today.”

The little boy’s eyes were wide; he looked very excited.

“Oh, dear,” said Amada’s grandmother. “I can give you a loaf of bread, but I’m afraid we don’t have any more gingerbread men. We just gave the last one away.”

The little boy’s smile . . . disappeared. Amada could see that he was trying hard not to show how disappointed he was, but when his mother looked away, a tear trickled down his cheek.

“Wait,” said Amada. “There is one gingerbread man left.” And before anyone could say another word, she went to the back and unwrapped the cookie that she’d chosen for herself – the one she’d saved for Christmas morning, the one with lots of icing, and three gumdrop buttons.

Then she came back and handed it to the little boy, and oh, how his face lit up.

“Oh, thank you,” said his mother. “Thank you. You have no idea what your kindness means to us.”

Amada was . . . a little bit sad to see the boy leave with her cookie. But she was happy to see the big smile on his face. And do you know – when her mother and father and brothers and sisters learned how she had given her gingerbread man away, they each shared a piece of their own. It all added up to a whole new gingerbread man – plus a little bit more.

And the next Christmas Eve – and every Christmas Eve after – Amada and her grandmother baked an entire extra tray of gingerbread men – just in case they had more visitors.

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