Despite Uncle Aaron talking a lot about the vow of poverty he’d taken, there’d always been money. A big house. Nice clothes and watches and shoes and jewelry. Lavish vacations. The Lord has blessed us, Uncle Aaron always said.
Uncle Aaron isn’t a kind person. He claims to be a follower of Christ, but Christ was kind and compassionate. Uncle Aaron is shrewd and spiteful. He is not forgiving. He does not turn the other cheek. He is acruel, cruel man, and even though I’m surprised to find out he’s under FBI investigation, it’s not a shock, not really. I know more than anyone that he is not who he pretends to be.
The Orphan Girl and the Man with Two Faces
When the Orphan Girl first arrived at her aunt’s house, she thought it was an answer to her prayers. Aunt Hope looked so much like her mother, the Orphan Girl assumed she would have a heart like her, too. The house was big, beautiful, and filled with cousins, whom she hoped would become like her siblings, and her uncle was important and charming and made a big fuss when she arrived. There was a film crew at the house, recording her arrival and asking lots of questions, most of them to Uncle Aaron.
“In this tragedy, we’ve been blessed by a great gift from God,” Uncle Aaron told them, “a chance to expand our family and to demonstrate what it is to live a charitable Christian life.”
The Orphan Girl realized thatshewas the great gift Uncle Aaron was referencing. She’d been so sad and so frightened when her parents died, but it seemed that everything would be all right now. She’d found her happy ending.
For the first few weeks, the Orphan Girl did feel like a great gift. She was a novelty to her cousins, who all fought over whose turn it was to play with her. If they made her playtheirgames and followtheirrules, the Orphan Girl didn’t mind, because it was so nice to be included. If they made a point to remind her the toys belonged tothem, she told herself not to care, because it was only the truth.
At church, Uncle Aaron would talk about her from the pulpit, and in the same breath he would preach about charity and how it must start in the home. The Orphan Girl tried not to notice that she didn’t sound so much like a gift anymore, but more like a burden—not something to be treasured, but something to be borne. She told herself she was being ungrateful.
But as the family grew accustomed to the newness of her and settled into their routine, the Orphan Girl noticed some changes. They were subtle atfirst, so subtle she could tell herself she was imagining things. But soon they became difficult to ignore.
The Orphan Girl didn’t eat dinner with the family. Dinnertime, she was told by Aunt Hope, was for family only. The Orphan Girl had thought shewasfamily, but apparently not in the same way as everyone else. She ate in the kitchen, sometimes with the housekeeper, sometimes on her own.
When the other children finished with their independent study, they got to play. They had so much time to play they could complain about being bored. Not the Orphan Girl. When she wasn’t studying, she was helping around the house or minding the younger children. The Orphan Girl didn’t know what it was like to be bored, because she always had something to do. Sometimes she daydreamed about what it would be like if she could just have an hour to herself, uninterrupted.
As the year came to a close, the whole family was excited for Christmas. There was going to be a big service at church, followed by a feast. All the children would be getting new clothes. Their lists for Christmas presents grew every day, as they thought of more and more things they wanted.
The Orphan Girl wasn’t sure what her place was in all of these Christmas traditions her cousins took for granted. She didn’t want to impose. She had been given so much already. So she felt guilty for wanting a new pretty dress, too, and for envying the new toys and books and treats her cousins were going to receive. She hoped she would be included in some way, but she worried this was one of those times when she wasn’t really family.
So she was surprised one day when Aunt Hope called her into her bedroom. “You haven’t given me your list yet,” she told the Orphan Girl. “We’re almost out of time.”
The Orphan Girl couldn’t help it—she burst into tears. She hadn’t realized what being included in Christmas meant to her, truly, until Aunt Hope asked her. It wasn’t only about getting presents. It was about understanding that this was really her home after all.
Aunt Hope looked at her in astonishment, not understanding. “There’s no need to cry,” she chastised her. “Just get it to me by tomorrow.”
That night, the Orphan Girl carefully crafted her list. She thought about the types of things she’d heard her cousins asking for. She didn’t want to be too presumptuous and ask for anything too expensive. She didn’t want her list to betoo long. She remembered that Miriam had asked for some new hair bows, so she asked for those; and Harmony had asked for a doll, so she wrote that down; and her other cousins had asked for things like books and sketch pads and colored pencils, so she added those things, too.
On Christmas morning, the children excitedly took the presents from underneath the tree and passed them to whom they belonged to. The Orphan Girl helped, and she was too busy doing so to notice that none of the presents had her name on them. But when all the presents had been distributed, the Orphan Girl saw there were none in her pile.
She froze, uncertain how to react. Uncertain what it meant. Why had Aunt Hope asked her for a list if they’d never planned on giving her any gifts?
Don’t be ungrateful, she told herself, over and over. Her new mantra.
Her cousins were too excited about opening their own presents to notice. Before they could tear into the wrapping, though, Uncle Aaron raised his hand. Everyone in the room fell silent, waiting dutifully.
“Before we begin, I want each of you to take one of your gifts. Choose any gift.” He waited until his children had done so. “Now give it to Nina.”
The Orphan Girl froze. Her cousins, usually so quick to heed their father, froze, too.
“Give it to Nina,” her uncle urged. “Too late to change your present. Hand her whichever one you picked up.”
He didn’t have to shout or say it too sternly. In the months the Orphan Girl had been living with them, she’d already learned that her uncle could say more with a silence, and hide more with a smile, than most people could by ranting and raving at the top of their lungs.
Her cousins obeyed, even though the Orphan Girl could see in their expressions how much they resented doing so.I didn’t choose this, she wanted to tell them.This isn’t what I want.
