The Christmas Girl

The little girl sat in between her parents. She loved it there. It was safe and a good place to look upon the surroundings, which is what she did all the time. Look. Ponder. Understand. Only her eyes moved. Everyone always praised her for being so still and so quiet. Under her carefully sewn clothes her heart beat almost out of her freshly scrubbed skin. It was the Christmas tree. It was the presents. The church was packed with people dressed in their 1960's clothing. The wooden space echoed. Nothing echoes like a wooden church, empty or full.  It was in the country but it was big.  She was five.  There was no Santa Claus she knew.  Her parents told her and she knew it was true.  They never lied.  They were there for the Christmas play and it had finished but the second act had surprised them.  They were new to these people, this congregation, and these customs. There was no escape. So when the parents understood what was to come next they had whispered in her ear, “You know there won’t be a present for you under the tree.”  The Mother said to the Father, “We should have brought something.”  He said, “Yes.”   A hand patted the little girl.  “It will be alright.” said the Father.  “Yes.” nodded the Mother.  They never lied.   The little girl resolved.  She would not cry.  She had love and God and truth.  That should be enough.  Then jingles could be heard.  The man in the suit arrived.  The laughter echoed.  It was louder than her heartbeats.   She looked at him.  He was a symbol they had told her.  She understood.  A symbol of giving.  Her head still didn’t move.  Just her eyes.  As he moved close to the tree the first tear started its journey from her eyes.  She willed it stop but it did not and others soon joined the trail until her hand was forced to move to brush them away.  Another squeeze and a pat silently said it would be OK.  They loved her so.  The children ripped and ran to show their parents and their friends their presents until there were none.  The cleanup begun. A sigh from her parents.  It was almost over.  No real damage done.  Soon she would be bundled in a warm coat with ears lovingly covered against the cold and to home at the parsonage they would go.  All would be better there as her Mother would let down the thick braids of the little girl’s long hair and brush it until it shone.  The scene was almost safely closed.  If those rebel teardrops would just obey.  They would not and the little girl forced her hands to block their flow again and again.  The man in the suit was long gone.  Then a man walking down the aisle suddenly noticed the child.  “Oh…” he said.  “Wait right here.”  Then back with a tiny package he appeared.  “Is it alright?”  He asked the parents.  “No. no” the parents replied.  “She is fine.  That is for your child we’re sure.”  “We want her to have it, please. We’re sorry, please.”  “Alright, then,” the parents said.  The little girl opened the little present with her wet fingers.  Wrapped in the tissue paper was a little white horse with a black mane.  She turned it over in her hands and looked at every small detail.   It was love at first sight!  For the first time that night she-SMILED.   The parents smiled.  The man smiled.  Those traitorous tears took flight chased away by a tiny kindness.   She held the horse all the way home.  She held it while her Mother brushed her hair.  She slept with it warm in her bed and in the morning put it on a special shelf.  Although that Yule season was over forty years ago, this Christmas when you think that a small action of kindness can’t make much difference, remember the little girl and the horse and the man.