Joelle knelt in front of her. “You never opened it?”
Anna shook her head. “I’ve been saving it for Christmas morning, but . . .”
Her dad cupped her cheek with one big hand. “But you want to open it now.”
She nodded, warmed by the gentle slide of his palm on her face.
“Well, it is Christmas morning.” He grinned down at her. “Very early Christmas morning.”
“Probably the same time the little drummer boy came to baby Jesus to play his drum,” Anna added.
“Sure.” He bent down and kissed the top of her head. “You should definitely open Nana Rose’s gift.”
Once they were inside, he lit the fireplace, while Joelle brought out three mugs of eggnog. Then they flanked Anna on the couch, all of them looking at the slightly rumpled present on her lap.
For a moment she was too flooded with sadness to open it. Had Nana Rose known already that she wouldn’t be around at Christmas? Was that why she’d wrapped it so early?
“You okay, honey?”
Anna turned her face up to her dad—her very own dad—and tried to smile past the tears welling in her eyes. “Yeah.” She nodded, then gathering herself on a deep breath, she slid the ribbon off and carefully loosened the tape on the paper.
Inside was a shoe box she recognized. She and Nana Rose had bought the shoes last year for Easter, black patent Mary Janes that she’d already outgrown. Gingerly she removed the lid, then unfolded the tissue paper, white with little red stars scattered all over it. Nestled inside the paper was a variety of gifts. A pair of sparkly purple barrettes. A set of colored pencils, sixteen colors, not eight. Plus a pink plastic box with a shiny set of silver jacks and a bright blue ball. Nana Rose had taught her how to play jacks, and then Anna had taught some of her friends from school. Underneath those gifts she found a book wrapped in tissue paper, Nana Rose’s fragile copy of Heidi, from her own childhood. A tear dropped onto the faded green cloth cover, and Anna quickly dried her eyes with her sleeve. “Nana Rose—” A sob caught in her throat. “She wouldn’t let me read this copy ’cause it’s so old and fragile.”
“I loved that story when I was a girl,” Joelle murmured.
“Me, too,” Anna said. “We went to the library and I got my own library card and checked it out. It’s all about this girl who has to go live with her grandfather up on a mountain.”
Her dad circled her shoulders with one arm and gave her a squeeze. “Your Nana Rose must have been the best.”
Unable to speak, Anna just nodded.
He kissed her on the top of her head again, a habit she was beginning to like. A lot.
“There’s a card at the bottom,” Joelle pointed out.
“Oh yeah.” It was a red envelope with Christmas stickers all over it. A snowman. A holly leaf with red berries. A reindeer with a big red bow to match its big red nose.
The card itself had a picture of a simple stable with a star shining down on it. Inside were several photos. But first Anna read Nana Rose’s familiar looping handwriting.
My dearest darling Anna,
There is nothing so holy as a family. Jesus’ family. Our family, too, small though it may be. You have made the last five years so wonderful. I love you, my Anna Rose. Even when the day comes that I must leave you, I hope you will always feel how much your Nana Rose loved you. I pray your mother will one day learn how to love you better. But even if she doesn’t, there is so much other love out in the world waiting for you.
Remember, I will always be here for you, loving you forever. You have made me so happy, my child. So very happy.
Hugs and kisses from your Nana Rose
Anna’s tears fell freely now, and when her father pulled her tight against him, she buried her face in his chest, sobbing. She wanted her Nana Rose so much.
“Ah, my baby girl,” he murmured against her hair.
“Am I?” she choked out. “Am I really?”
“Yes.” He and Joelle said it in unison.
Against her father’s shirt Anna nodded, beginning to truly believe it could be so. He really wanted her. And so did Joelle.
Even Mr. Nesta. He didn’t mind that name she’d given him. And then after midnight mass he’d hugged her and whispered in her ear. “If your dad messes up, you let me know. I’ll whip his butt if I have to. And don’t think I don’t mean it.” They’d grinned at each other and it had been just perfect.
“There are some pictures here,” her father said, rubbing her back. “Would you rather look at them later?”
“No.” Anna straightened, wiping her eyes with her wrist, and looked up at him. “We can look at them now.”
There were only a few, two baby pictures of her in Nana Rose’s arms. One of her with her mother when she was four or five, and another of her sitting in front of the Christmas tree the year she was seven and got her first two-wheel bike.
“You were such a cute baby,” Joelle said.
“She still is,” her dad put in
“I’m not a baby,” Anna protested, smiling just a little.
Then she came to the last picture. It was of a man sitting on the steps of a big building. Her father, but younger, with longer hair and a mustache.
“That’s you, Tom,” Joelle said. She and Anna both looked up at him.
“Yeah. Back in college.” He glanced down at Anna. “Your mother must have taken it.”
Anna picked up the picture. “My mom always said she didn’t have a picture of you.” She studied it a long moment, then turned it over. Written on the back in Nana Rose’s handwriting it said:
I think this must be Tom Thurston. His hair and eyes are just like yours. I found it in one of Carrie’s old boxes and didn’t know the right time to give it to you. But you are old enough, I think. I pray one day he will look for you and learn to love you. And that you will be able to love him, too.
“I do,” her father said, and once more kissed the top of her head. “I do love you, Anna.”
“Me, too,” Anna whispered, resting her weight against his arm. Nana Rose had taken care of her while she was a little girl, making a happy family of just them. Then Miss Eva had come along to make sure she found her father and made a happy family with him. And now she also had Joelle and Nesta and Mr. Nesta. And Aunt Sarah and Uncle Sal, too.
She sighed, smiling at Joelle and then up at her dad. “I think this might be the best Christmas ever.”
about the author
Rexanne Becnel is the USA TODAY bestselling author of more than twenty books, including Thief of My Heart, A Dove at Midnight, and Dangerous to Love. She lives in New Orleans.
FOR MORE ON THIS AUTHOR:authors.simonandschuster.com/Rexanne-Becnel
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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ISBN 978-1-4767-7984-3
The Christmas Train Page 13