A Wish for Christmas

by Thomas Kinkade

  “Come and see what he brought for us!”

  Then she dashed off, a pink streak. David sat up and rubbed his head. He knew what the big surprise would be, but he wanted to witness her reaction firsthand.

  He stumbled out of bed, grabbed his cane, slipped on his sweatshirt, and then made his way into the living room just in time to see Kate opening a big box wrapped in gold paper. Jack and Julie, both dressed in their pajamas and bathrobes, watched her intently. She tore off the wrapping in an instant and pulled up the lid.

  She looked in the box and then stared around at all the grown-ups, looking terribly disappointed.

  “What is it, honey? What’s inside?” Julie asked her.

  “It’s feathers. A box of big white feathers,” she said sadly. “Why did Santa bring me that? I told him I wanted a pony, not a broken chicken.”

  David had to hold his breath in to keep from laughing out loud. Jack leaned closer to his stepdaughter. “Hmm, let me see.” He searched through the box, too. “Oh, look. Here’s a note.”

  He pulled out a note, written in big block letters on plain note paper.

  “What does it say?” Kate asked. “David, will you read it for me?”

  “Sure.” David took the note from her. “It says, ‘Dear Kate, you have been a very good girl this year. I did bring you something special. Go to the shed behind the tree stand and you will find a surprise . . . and the Feathers you’ve been looking for. Love, Santa.’ ”

  She looked up at Jack and Julie. “Can I go outside and see my surprise?”

  Julie nodded solemnly. “Of course you can, honey. We’ll all go out.”

  “I’ll grab some coats and boots,” Jack said. David saw his secret grin. Jack couldn’t help himself. He soon returned, and everyone slipped jackets over their nightwear and put their boots on.

  David did the same. Anywhere Jack had stashed this pony was bound to be a muddy mess, he figured.

  They tramped outside with Kate boldly leading the way. The early morning air was bracing, and David saw his breath come out in little foggy puffs.

  The pony was obviously not a late sleeper. Kate’s surprise must have heard them coming, and it neighed loudly from the shed behind the tree stand.

  Kate gasped and stood stone still. Then she turned to Jack and Julie, wearing a smile from ear to ear, her eyes wide as saucers. “Did you hear that?”

  “I did,” Jack said. “What in the world is back there?”

  The pony whinnied. Kate didn’t bother to answer. She ran off, headed for the shed. Jack and Julie dashed after her, Julie pulling a point-and-shoot camera out of her jacket pocket.

  David did his best to pick up his pace, and managed to reach the shed just as Jack walked over to help Kate open the barnlike doors.

  The doors swung open. A white pony stood right in the middle of the doorway, as if it had been posed there. Jack had done a great job wrapping it, with a big red bow tied to the pony’s green wool coat.

  “A pony. A real pony!” Kate ran toward it, and it tossed its head and snorted. She quickly jumped back.

  Jack laughed. “Wow, she’s a lively one, isn’t she? Here, give her this. See if she likes it.” He conveniently pulled an apple out of his pocket, making Julie laugh.

  Kate didn’t notice. She took the apple and held it out to her new pet at arm’s length. The pony craned her neck and, more or less, sucked the apple out of Kate’s hand, gently, David thought, for such a big beast. She bared her big yellow teeth as she quickly crunched it down.

  “Whoa!” Kate was astounded.

  Jack laughed. He walked over to her and scooped her up in his arms, then carried her over to the little horse. “Here, let’s pet her mane. Isn’t she pretty?”

  “Oh yes, she’s beautiful,” Kate said with a sigh. She leaned over quickly and kissed the pony’s ear. The ear flickered and the pony shook her head a little, as if reacting to a fly. Kate wasn’t scared though. She just laughed.

  “I think she liked that,” Jack said. “She just needs to get used to you.”

  “We need to make friends,” Kate said wisely.

  Julie had walked over to the pony now, too. David knew Jack had finally persuaded her with a story about a pony that was going to be sent to an animal rescue shelter . . . or worse, because an old couple in town had to give up their property.

  Julie picked up a ribbon that was looped around the animal’s neck. David saw another note taped to the ribbon and Julie pulled it off.

  “Look Kate, another note from Santa. It says, ‘This is your new pony. Her name is Feathers. Please treat her kindly. Love, Santa.’ ”

  Kate took the note and stared at it. “Feathers. I get it now.” She grinned at Jack. “I can’t believe I have a real pony, Jack. Santa is so nice to me.”

  Jack started laughing. “That Santa is a good guy, that’s all I have to say. He must love you a ton.”

  “He is a really good guy,” Julie agreed. She put her arm around Jack’s shoulder then kissed his cheek.

  They looked so happy together, the three of them and the new pony. David wished he had a hold of Julie’s camera. The scene would have made a perfect photograph—one for next year’s Christmas card, maybe?

  One he could take with him, when he left town.

  He was here with them but outside their circle. Partly by his own choosing, he knew. But it seemed very clear to him. He had made the right decision. He would leave here very soon.

  Once inside the house, their attention turned back to the gifts under the tree. For everyone but Kate, who remained glued to the front window, where she could keep Feathers in sight.

  Of course, nothing in Kate’s pile of gifts could rival her new pet. But she was very pleased with David’s presents, a big trunk loaded with costumes for playing pretend, one of their favorite pastimes while he had been here. He also gave her a picture book, The Little Engine That Could, an old copy he had found in his room and one of his favorites. He had read it to Kate again and again, and now she loved it, too. He had written a little note in the cover and hoped she would save it as she got older. Something to remember him by.

  Finally, there was a special doll she had been asking for, a fashion doll with long blond hair that could be twisted and pinned into elaborate styles. Kate was fascinated by her, almost as much as she was by Feathers.

  “I’m going to call her Christine,” she said. “She looks just like her.”

  David could not argue with that observation. He thought so, too.

  Jack and Julie also loved their gifts. Julie was ecstatic over her new earrings. He could tell she really liked them and wasn’t just trying to be nice.

  Jack was pleased, too, by David’s generous gesture to his stepmother. He shook his head. “Pretty good, David. You put your old man to shame. I didn’t get her any fancy jewelry like that.”

  David sincerely doubted Jack had skimped one bit on his gift to Julie, but he played along with the joke.

  His father had been hard to buy for. David had picked out a corduroy sports jacket, not knowing what his father’s reaction would be. Jack hated dressing up, but he was going to church nearly every Sunday now and socializing more with Julie than he had in years. He really did need something more than the old blue suit he wore for funerals and weddings, and the few “good” sweaters in his closet.

  “Wow, look at this.” Jack took the jacket out of its box and twirled it around. “That’s sharp,” he said, his highest compliment to clothing.

  “Try it on,” Julie urged him.

  Jack slipped the jacket on, over his pajama top. He modeled it for everyone. “Fits well,” he said, checking the sleeves. “How do I look?”

  “You look terrific,” Julie said. “Very handsome. Doesn’t he?” she asked David.

  David nodded. His dad did look good in the jacket.

  “I don’t have anything like this. Not nice and new, I mean,” Jack admitted.

  “I’ll say.” Julie shook her head. “I’ve been trying to get
him to buy a sports jacket like that for months. Thank you, David.”

  “You’re very welcome,” David said. All in all, his gifts had been a great success. He would have to tell Christine, he thought, as they had picked out most of the gifts together. Then he realized he wouldn’t speak to her again before he left.

  David’s father and Julie had already given him the laptop, but there were still a few more surprises for him under the tree. A sweater, leather gloves, assorted books and CDs.

  All in all, it was a great Christmas morning, David thought, the best he’d had in years. While he and Jack cleaned up the wrapping paper, Julie made breakfast. “Oh, look at the time,” she said as they sat down to eat. “We’d better hurry. Church will be packed today.”

  “Coming with us, David?” Jack asked.

  The question took David by surprise. Yes, it was Christmas, but he hadn’t even thought of going to church. When he hesitated, his father persisted. “Come on. It’s Christmas. Everybody goes to church on Christmas. You haven’t been since you got back. It’s a good day to . . . check in.”

  David assumed his father meant it was a good day to acknowledge his good fortune, his survival and return from the war.

  Well, maybe that was true. But it was also a good day perhaps to let God know he would never forget or forgive himself entirely for what he’d had to do as a soldier.

  David glanced around the table. They all seemed to be waiting for his answer. “Sure, I’ll come with you,” he said finally.

  It could be the last time he had a chance to go with them.

  GRACE AND HER FATHER USUALLY WALKED TO CHURCH ON SUNDAY mornings, unless it was bad weather. But on Christmas Day they had no choice. Tucker had left a message that their van could not be pulled out of the snowbank until tomorrow.

  Worn out from their late night, they had both overslept. As they hurried down Main Street, Grace knew they were late and would miss the start of the service.

  She also knew she was taking a big chance bringing her father to church this morning. Except for Tucker catching them red-handed last night, they had managed to keep their secret. Besides, Tucker promised not to tell, and Grace believed him.

  But the pressure might be too great today for her dad. Over the past few weeks, they had both enjoyed the reports of the mysterious, unexpected gifts and how those gifts had helped the lives of their neighbors. How the unexpected blessings had given many new hope and inspired some to pass on the goodwill.

  All that time, her father had sat silently, acting as surprised as anybody. But could he keep up the act today? She wasn’t sure. She would be relieved when it was over—and a little sad, too, she realized. She had enjoyed playing Secret Santa more than she ever imagined. She knew her father had, too.

  As the church came into view, she took his arm and spoke quietly. “Now remember, Dad, we have to keep our secret. No matter what anyone says today. You mustn’t give it all away.”

  “No, no. Of course not, Grace. We got this far, didn’t we?”

  “Yes, we did.” She had to grant him that. Just an hour or so more and they would be home-free.

  By the time they entered the sanctuary, the service had begun. Just about every seat was filled, and a few people were standing in the back. Sam Morgan, who was a deacon, greeted them and guided them to two empty seats in the front of the church.

  Grace hated coming in late. She felt as if everyone was looking at her. Well, maybe they were. Looking at her father, more precisely. Digger was a big favorite in town, and everyone they passed had a little smile for him—Sophie Potter and Vera Plante, Sam Morgan’s wife, Jessica, and their children. Mayor Warwick and her husband, Dan. Even Lillian Warwick, who was usually so haughty, acknowledged their arrival with a regal nod.

  Finally, they reached their seats but unfortunately, the places were not together. Her father was seated directly in front of her. Well, at least she could tap him on the shoulder if necessary.

  Before she sat, Grace helped her dad take off his peacoat, revealing his special Christmas outfit—a red flannel shirt, a green wool vest, and over that, green suspenders imprinted with Christmas trees. The perfect costume for a Secret Santa, wasn’t it?

  She sat in her place, her fingers crossed under her program as Reverend Ben delivered a thoughtful sermon about the importance of keeping the Christmas spirit alive all year long. Very true, Grace thought. Even if she and her father couldn’t continue the gift-giving at such an ambitious level, there were many other ways they could share all year round.

  Finally, it was time for “Joys and Concerns,” and Reverend Ben began to recognize the church members, inviting them to speak.

  Elsie Farber rose from her seat. “I have another story about that mysterious gift-giver. Since my operation last summer, I’ve been struggling. I haven’t been able to work full-time, and I fell behind in the mortgage. It looked pretty grim, got so I was scared to even pick up the phone. Then someone called and said I was all caught up on the mortgage with a few extra months’ payments besides, I didn’t have anything to worry about . . .” Elsie’s eyes got glassy. “Well, it was that person in this church giving the presents, of course. I just want to thank you, whoever you are, from the bottom of my heart. I wish you would let us know who you are—even in private—so I could thank you properly. God bless you and keep you well.”

  Grace bit down on her lip then quickly checked her father for his reaction. He was staring straight ahead, his hands on his knees.

  So far, so good.

  Trudy, the waitress at the Clam Box, got up next and told about her new car and after her, the Kreugers, who received a new furnace. Then some others who had received small gifts. Suzanne Tuttle, a single mother, thanked the Secret Santa for bringing her son a computer. He was a smart boy, Grace knew, the type to win scholarships.

  “Boy like that needs a computer,” she heard her father say to the woman sitting beside him. Then there were some parents thanking the Secret Santa for toys that their children had found that morning, outside their front doors—toys those children had their hearts set on, but pricey items their parents couldn’t afford.

  “A surprise like that, well . . . it was really special. That’s what Christmas is all about,” one young father said.

  Grace had enjoyed the toy shopping, too. Oh, that was nothing, she wanted to answer. That was the icing on the cake.

  But she sat back and held her tongue.

  “I agree with Elsie,” the young father added. “We wish you’d let us know who you are, Secret Giver, so we can all thank you.”

  The testimony continued. Reverend Ben looked astounded and truly moved. “This is just . . . unbelievable,” he said finally, his voice thick with emotion. “As pastor of this church, I feel blessed to be part of this amazing expression of charity and Christmas spirit. Truly blessed.

  “I am sure, my friends, there’s no sermon I’ve given, or could ever compose, that could impart this message so powerfully. A message we should live by every day, not just at Christmastime. An example of faith in action we should all strive to follow . . . ‘faith, if it hath not works, is dead.’ ” he added, quoting a verse Grace knew well from the second book of James.

  She and her father had simply seen the need and reached out to help. Though she didn’t give herself too much credit. So many times, she’d seen the needy but turned away or felt unable to help.

  If their actions had served to inspire anyone here to do more good in the world, then that was an unexpected bonus, wasn’t it?

  Reverend Ben turned, about to continue the service, and Grace felt herself relax. Suddenly, her father raised his hand and stood up to speak.

  Oh no! He couldn’t spill the beans now, could he?

  Grace stood up, too, and touched her father’s shoulder, willing him to turn around. “Just a minute, Gracie,” he said, as if she were a little girl again, trying to claim his attention.

  Reverend Ben smiled at him. “Do you want to share something with us, Dig
ger?”

  “I do, Reverend.” Digger stood up straight and smoothed his long beard. “I know who the Secret Giver is . . . and you all do, too—”

  “Oh, Dad . . . please?” Grace tugged at his sweater vest, imploring him to sit down.

  “Now, Grace. Just give me a moment.”

  Grace stepped back, realizing there was nothing more she could do, short of tackling him and stuffing her scarf in his mouth.

  “I know I’m an old man and I get confused sometimes. But think about it a minute.” He tapped his forehead with his finger and gazed around at his audience. “Everything we are given in this life, the clothes on our backs, the bread on our table, the good work for our hands to do. The flowers in our garden or the snow falling on the ocean waves, so that you can’t tell the water from the sky sometimes. The love of our dear ones, our families and friends. That part especially. Everything good comes from God, don’t it?”

  Her father had everyone’s complete attention now, and they all nodded in agreement. Even Reverend Ben.

  “All these nice presents you folks got,” he continued. “Someone in this town went out to the store and bought them. Wrapped them up and snuck them on your doorstep. I’m not saying those boxes fell down from the sky, or anything like that,” Digger clarified, making everyone laugh. “But the Secret Giver is no mystery. It was God who sent those blessings to ease your burdens and bring you joy. God, who heard your secret prayers. I know, in my old heart, whoever done it would want you to give proper thanks where thanks is due. To the One Above. And that’s probably why that Secret Giver person feels better staying secret. They know they were just doing the Lord’s work. More like . . . Santa’s helpers, you know? Like the Reverend said in his sermon, like we all should be, every day.”

  The sanctuary was so quiet, Grace could hear the sound of her heart thudding in her chest.

  “Thank you for hearing me out. Merry Christmas and God bless.” Digger gave everyone a brief wave and sat down. So did Grace, feeling stunned.

  Her father was truly one in a million. One in ten million. Here she was, feeling frantic that he was going to give them away, and he managed to cut right to the heart of all their hard work and good intentions. Yes, they had shown a generous spirit. But they had just been an instrument, expressing the intentions of some far greater power. Wasn’t that the real truth?