She stretched for something else that could prove he was a truth teller. “Did I ever write you a letter?” She hadn’t. Not even in school. In the fourth grade, she’d laid her head on her desk and refused.
He reached inside his red pack and came out with a piece of construction paper. “Writing is a loose term.” He unfolded it to reveal a drawing done in crayon and her name at the bottom–written with backward letters that were not uniform.
She took it, feeling like she was touching something special. The instant her fingers brushed the rough, touched the sheet, smelled the crayons, the memory returned. Kindergarten. Just before her mom died. She’d drawn a picture of a baby sister—the one thing she’d wanted more than anything in this world. When she asked her mom for one, she’d winked and told her to ask Santa.
Two tears fell, absorbed into the letter quickly. “What happened to my family? Grandma Hannah doesn’t even know.”
Santa drew in a mighty breath. “You were going to be a big sister.” He put his hand over hers and chased away the chill that had set on her shoulders. “You mom died of complications. Your dad was lost.”
She let the explanation sit just outside of her for a moment—not capable of taking it in. She was going to have a sister. Her heart ached for the loss, and she wasn’t sure she could bear it.
Santa put his arm around her shoulders. “Think of it, Clove. You were so wonderful. They wanted another daughter.”
Tears pricked her eyes and quickly overflowed. “Was I?”
He rubbed his hand up and down her arm. “Not was, Clove. Youare. God made you. He put a light inside of you and it’s beautiful and bright.”
The tears ran like waterfalls down her cheeks.
“Losing your mother and little sister could only break a man who had loved with all he had and then lost it.” He flipped a page to reveal a professional family photo taken in a studio with a brown background.
Mom was in a maternity dress and hoop earrings, her long blonde hair teased high. Dad wore a polo shirt and slacks, his face clean shaven and his shoulders back. She was between them, an arm around each of their necks and a huge smile on her face. Clove leaned in to look closely and could just make out Mom’s baby bump. The thing that she could easily see was that they were a happy family—with the promise of many years of joy ahead.
Dunder nudged her knee.You want that, don’t you?
Her thoughts turned to Drake and the dreams she’d held close to her heart—they looked just like this. The two of them were with a growing family, working together to make a life full of love and joy. Except he’d wear his cowboy hat for the pictures and she’d curl her hair.
“I do want it.” She sniffed. “I didn’t think I was worthy, but—who is? Really. That little girl didn’t do anything to earn that love.” She tapped her own face in the picture. “True love isn’t earned, though, is it? It has nothing to do with being worthy.”
Santa smiled softly. “Now you’re starting to understand what Christmas is really about.”
She traced her dad’s face. “Do you know where he is?”
Santa paused, and she felt the silent question drift across her thoughts: Do you really want to know? He couldn’t lie, so she would have to live with whatever truth he handed her in this moment.
“Is he alive?” She pulled back, not ready to carry that gift that was also a burden. Maybe someday.
He nodded.
She wiped at her cheeks. “If I want to know. You know, later. Will you tell me?”
“Yes.” His voice moved through her in such a way that she knew he was bound by his words. “Just write me a letter.” He tapped the construction paper. “Youwere not the burden your father carried. You need to know that.”
She gulped. “I felt like I was. He said I was.”
“Just because a man says something doesn’t make it true.” He stood and hitched up his black leather belt. “Except for me, of course. Ho Ho Ho.”
She chuckled at his attempt to lighten things. He was right, though. She’d believed her father all these years, but the truth was right in front of her eyes. She was a daughter of God, and that gave her the right to unending love from Him. And the right to love and be loved in this life.
Santa paused by the chimney. “Drake is a man of his word. Remember that.”
She barely had time to blink before he was up the chimney, a trail of gold sparkles flying behind him.
Dunder moved to stand next to her. It was amazing the three of them had fit into this tiny space. Maybe that was part of the magic, too.Are you ready to go home?
“What home?” she asked, wondering if he would drop her off at the cabin or take her back to the ranch.
Home is the place where you belong.
