On Christmas Eve

by Ann M. Martin

  The boar’s head, as I understand, is the rarest dish in all this land …

  Wassail, wassail, all over the town! …

  In the bleak midwinter, long ago …

  Peace on the earth, good will to men …

  I take one last look outside — at the brilliant star; at the glowing barn; at the sky, which is now filled with birds; at our yard, in which I see chipmunks and squirrels chattering away, a family of pheasants hurrying along, and four deer (the regular kind, not reindeer) who look as though they are holding a conversation.

  I close the window, shutting out the icy air, but after I do, I can still hear the bells and the songs and the voices on the wind. I turn and start to slide off of my bed, but leap backward when I see Sadie sitting by my desk, her head cocked to the side. How did she get into my room? The door is open, but I know Mom and Dad closed it before they went to bed.

  “Sadie?” I say, and she cocks her head to the other side. “Sadie, how did you open the door?” She pulls her lips back in a doggie grin, stands up, and shakes herself.

  Moving slowly and carefully, I open the top drawer of my desk and take out the snow globe I bought for Santa. I have decided not to wrap it. I want to show it to Santa and explain why I chose it for him. I have arranged it in a box, though, a box lined with tissue paper, so the globe won’t break as Santa goes flying around the world.

  Then I take one last look out the window, just long enough to see that hundreds of birds — doves and sparrows and cardinals and chickadees and others I can’t identify — have arranged themselves in rows on the barn roof, covering it like feathered shingles. Their loud chatter sounds almost like words, but I can’t understand what they’re saying.

  “Come on, Sadie,” I whisper. “Let’s go downstairs and wait for Santa. We have to be very quiet, though, okay?”

  I step silently into the hallway, pause, and listen. Evvie’s door is closed. So is the door to Mom and Dad’s room. I reach down and rest my hand on Sadie’s warm head, and we tiptoe along the hallway, then step cautiously down the stairs. The living room is as I had expected it would be. The fire in the hearth is only glowing embers now. Above it hang our stockings, already stuffed by Mom and Dad. And under the tree is a pile of presents. I reach down, read a few of the tags. “For Tess from Sarah.” “To Evvie, love Aunt Adele and Uncle Paul.” And sure enough, “Merry Christmas to Tess from Santa” in what I am certain is Mom’s handwriting.

  I peek through the window and look out at the yard. The animals I saw there earlier are now moving toward the barn, joined by others. The star shines as brightly as ever, and the ringing and chiming and songs and words are everywhere. Indoors, outdoors, in my head. I hear one particularly loud voice:

  And this shall be the sign:

  The heavenly Babe you there shall find

  To human view displayed,

  All meanly wrapped in swathing bands,

  And in a manger laid.

  I look at Sadie, who is looking back at me with contented squinty eyes. “What? Tell me what is going to happen,” I say. “You know, don’t you?”

  Sadie flops down onto her haunches, her tongue hanging out. I flop down into an armchair. It is near the Christmas tree, and it faces the fireplace. The box with the snow globe rests in my lap. I look at the clock on the mantel. Ten minutes until midnight.

  I settle back and wait.

  The hands on the clock move closer to midnight. As they do, the room seems to grow noisier and noisier. I must be the only human in our house who can hear the din, though. The murmurings and mutterings have become loud voices, the songs now offered up by entire choirs. In all the noise, though, I feel only peace.

  I gaze into the fireplace. I am staring at the red and orange embers when a gust of wind comes whooshing down the chimney, roaring and whistling and bringing with it dry leaves and a swirl of snow.

  Eleven fifty-nine.

  With a loud pop and a shower of sparks, the fire springs to life again. Soon it is crackling away, as big a blaze as when we hung our stockings hours earlier.

  I grip the arms of the chair. For the first time I feel just the teensiest bit afraid, afraid of what, exactly, I will see tonight. I do not think that on the dot of midnight Santa will slide down the chimney — that will happen later. But something is about to happen, and I don’t know what. I look outside at the star, at the birds on the roof of the barn, at the animals streaming toward the barn. I listen to the music, the songs, the bells. A voice, loud but clear and pure, sings over and over again, “What happiness befalls me, what happiness befalls me.”

  And the clock chimes twelve.

  It is midnight on Christmas Eve.

  I glance at Sadie, then gasp and sit up straight as a wavery form appears above the hearth. The form shimmers and begins to take shape. I see wings, a gown, a head, and above the head, what must be a halo, although it looks absolutely nothing like the halo Evvie fashioned for her pageant costume.

  There is an angel in our living room.

  But only for a moment.

  Just as I let out a small cry, the angel fades away. I am on my feet now, breathing hard.

  Sadie is on her feet too. She stands beside me, looks up at me with her gentle eyes, and says, “Don’t be afraid, Tess.”

  I can’t answer. Sadie has spoken to me, and I am speechless.

  And then … and then I remember old stories, things I have read in books, something about the animals being able to talk on Christmas Eve. Why has this never occurred to me? That in this time of wonder and magic, Sadie would be able to speak, that I could talk to her and she could answer me, just as I’ve wished for so long.

  “Sadie?” I whisper, sinking back into the chair. I no longer feel afraid.

  Sadie jumps into my lap and looks into my eyes, her snout inches from my face. “It’s Christmas magic,” she replies, and her voice is smooth and low, not quite a growl, not quite human.

  I can’t think what to say next. I have been waiting three years to be able to talk with Sadie. I’ve told her secrets, told her my scary dreams in the middle of the night, complained to her about school problems when I walked with her down our lane. Now here she is sitting in my lap, telling me about Christmas magic. And I say to her, “Sadie, you can talk! Are we feeding you the right kind of food?”

  Sadie laughs. “The right kind of food? I suppose it’s all right. As dog food goes.”

  I laugh too. “I can’t — I never — I was thinking so much about Santa — I mean, I didn’t think about any other Christmas magic. I just thought I’d see Santa Claus come down the chimney tonight. I never dreamed anything else would happen… . How long will you be able to talk?”

  “For a while,” says Sadie.

  “Can you talk every Christmas Eve?”

  Sadie nods her head.

  “Why haven’t I ever heard you?”

  “Because you weren’t ready to hear me. You are a believer, Tess, but this year you let yourself receive the magic. It’s inside you now.”

  I nod. I don’t so much understand this as feel it.

  “Sadie …” I pause, thinking of all I want to ask her. “Sadie, where did you come from? How did you get into that ditch when you were a puppy?”

  “I was born in the woods,” she replies. “The woods you go to when you look for your Christmas trees. My mother had two pups — my sister and me. She left us one day and was hit by a car, I think. Someone found my sister just before you found me.”

  “Did your mother give you another name?” I ask. “Maybe Sadie isn’t your proper name.”

  “Sadie is a fine name,” she says, “but my mother named me River. Dog mothers name their puppies for things that are important to them. You can call me Sadie, though.”

  I scratch her ears and tell her solemnly, “You are one of my best friends, you know.”

  “Thank you. I do know that,” says Sadie, and she presses her paw into my hand.

  “Oh!” I exclaim. “You mean … you can underst
and me even when you can’t answer?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you understand everything we say to you all year long?”

  “Yes.”

  “So I can talk to you anytime, and you’ll understand me?”

  “Yes,” answers Sadie. She shifts position in my lap, but her eyes hold mine steadily.

  Something wonderful occurs to me. “Do you get to see the Christmas magic every year?” Sadie nods her head. “Do all animals see it?” I ask. She nods again. “And can they talk every year?”

  “Yes. But most humans can’t hear them.”

  “Do you see the angel?” I go on. “And hear the bells and the singing —”

  “Yes. It’s all part of the Christmas magic,” Sadie tells me patiently. “Think about what happened on the first Christmas, the Christmas in the stable. And think about what has happened on Christmases since then. Everything comes together each year: past and present, ancient and new.”

  “The magic,” I say, trying to understand. “What happened on the first Christmas — was that magic?”

  Sadie looks thoughtful. “No,” she says slowly, “not magic. A miracle, I suppose. But it’s magic now that keeps —” Sadie stops speaking suddenly, straightens, and cocks her head to the right.

  “What is it?” I ask, my heart quickening.

  “Shh,” says Sadie softly. Then, “Listen. Do you hear it, Tess?”

  I realize that over all the other sounds, I now hear a sharp jingling of bells, which drowns out the other bells and the voices and music and songs.

  “The sleigh bells?” I ask.

  “Yes!” cries Sadie, jumping off of my lap. She runs to our front door. “Tess, hurry! Get ready. Santa Claus is about to arrive.”

  I look at Sadie in amazement. “How do you know?” I ask.

  “I see him every year,” she answers. “The sleigh bells are his signal. Now hurry, Tess!”

  “But what am I supposed to do?”

  “Put on your coat and boots. And unlock the front door.”

  “Do I have time?”

  “Yes. Just hurry!”

  I grab my coat out of the hall closet and pull on Evvie’s boots, which are the first pair I can find. Then, with trembling hands, I turn the lock on the door.

  When I open the door Sadie dashes ahead of me, out into the yard. I close the door quietly behind us, then hurry after her. She is standing in the middle of the yard, face turned upward, and I lift my face as well.

  I see the clear deep sky, the pinpoints of starlight. I think I see the wisp of angel wings too, and I hear nothing but sleigh bells, so loud now that I put my hands over my ears.

  “There!” cries Sadie, pointing upward with one paw.

  And in a whirl of sparkles and mist, a magnificent sleigh — gold and red, all graceful curves and curlicues, and shining like the stars — appears in the sky just over the roof of our house. It is pulled by a team of reindeer, and as I watch, it makes a smooth landing next to our chimney.

  It’s just like in books, I think. Just exactly like in “The Night Before Christmas,” and I realize then that of course other people have seen the magic over the years. Maybe Mr. Clement C. Moore himself even saw the magic, and that is how he wrote about it so well.

  I nudge Sadie. “Did —”

  Sadie hushes me. “Keep watching,” she says.

  I turn back to the roof. The reindeer are standing patiently now. They are a team of eight — two and two and two and two. And they pause nobly, their fine antlers glistening with snow. They paw at the roof, their harness bells jingling, but not as loudly now that they are standing still.

  I stand on tiptoe and try to get a better look at the sleigh. The inside is crimson-colored velvet, and stuffed into the back is a pack so enormous that it’s spilling over the sides of the sleigh. I wish I could see inside the pack, but it’s tied together tightly at the top with a crimson cord. Santa’s reins are silver, and so are the sleigh bells.

  And Santa is … It’s funny, but I can’t decide what size he is. He looks like a giant and an elf all at once. He’s round, of course, with a white beard, and the suit is pretty much what I expected — red with white trim and gold buttons and a wide black belt. His mittens are green, though, and I wonder if he has many suits, if he has a whole wardrobe of suits, each one a little different from the others.

  As I watch, Santa drops the reins with a jingle, stands, and climbs out of the sleigh. Then he turns and reaches for the pack. It looks as though it should weigh a ton, but Santa lifts it out as lightly as if it were empty. Then he throws it over his back and steps toward our chimney.

  I feel Sadie’s cold nose on my bare hand then, and I look down at her.

  “Come on, Tess,” she whispers. “Back inside now. You don’t want to miss the best part.”

  Sadie is already trotting toward the front door, and after one more glance at the spectacle on our roof — this spectacle that apparently only Sadie and I can see and hear — I hurry after her.

  I follow Sadie into our living room, where she positions herself behind the armchair I was sitting in. From there we have a good view of the fireplace, but we won’t be seen.

  We direct our attention to the hearth. I have just realized that the fire is still blazing away, and I draw in my breath, ready to exclaim something to Sadie, when she places one furry paw on my arm, cautioning me to be quiet.

  My eyes are fixed on the fire. I can’t look away from it. I am sure that Santa is going to slide down our chimney and land in the flames, and so my breath comes in small gasps and I grip Sadie’s paw tightly.

  And then I feel another gust of wind. It seems to come from outside, from above me, from all around. It brings a shower of Santa’s sparkling mist down the chimney, and suddenly, I don’t know quite how, there is Santa in our living room. The fire blazes behind him, and he stands unharmed — not burned or singed — on our hearth. In fact, he looks a bit chilly. He’s rubbing his mittened hands together, and there’s a dusting of snow on his shoulders and hat.

  Santa Claus glances around our living room, and I have just realized that he is not holding his pack, when down the chimney it comes all by itself, and lands — also unharmed — at Santa’s feet.

  “Ah, very good,” says Santa softly, and loosens the crimson cord. He rummages around in the pack, pulling out small items. He looks at each one intently, and then either puts it back or sets it at his feet. Presently, he stoops to examine the items he has chosen. I see a game of jacks, a puzzle, a tiny kaleidoscope, an even tinier book. Santa drops one into each of our stockings. Then he turns to the pack again and begins to remove larger presents from it. These are wrapped and bear tags. I realize that no matter how many things Santa takes out of the pack, it seems to remain as full as ever.

  “Hmm, Evvie,” Santa mutters, placing a gift under our tree. “Growing up … Paints should be all right … Monopoly for Tess …”

  Now that I can see Santa up close, I decide that he is neither a giant nor an elf. Here in our living room he looks neither particularly tall nor particularly short. What I can’t decide now is how old he is. He has that long white beard and some wrinkles too, but somehow he doesn’t look elderly. Papa Jim looks older than Santa. Santa is spry and moves quickly as he stoops and rummages and darts between the pack and the tree.

  After Santa has carefully placed two gifts among those already under our tree, and written something on their tags, he returns the other presents to the pack and draws the cord tight. Then he looks around our living room again. This time he sees the plate of cookies and the mug of hot chocolate (which must be cold by now) that I left for him on a table near the fireplace. He politely takes a sip from the mug, pats a few drops of hot chocolate from his mustache, then eats a cookie shaped like a snowman.

  “Tasty,” he murmurs. “Very tasty indeed. And a beautifully decorated tree,” he adds. “Quite lovely.”

  Then, just like in Mr. Moore’s story, Santa stands by the fireplace and lays his finger
beside his nose.

  Is he leaving? Is he leaving already?

  Santa is about to nod his head when Sadie pushes me from behind the armchair. Still wearing Evvie’s boots and my coat, I stumble out into the room.

  Santa turns and sees me.

  “Aha,” he says. “Christmas magic.”

  For a moment I can do nothing but stare at Santa. I can’t decide what to say to him, and I’m not even sure how I should feel. I’m excited, of course, but is it all right to have spied on Santa? Will he mind? I can’t imagine Santa getting angry, but you never know.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Claus, sir,” I begin, and then I am aware of Sadie stepping out from behind the armchair. She stands next to me, leaning against my leg.

  “There you are, Sadie,” says Santa. “Merry Christmas.”

  “Merry Christmas,” replies Sadie, her mouth widening into her grin. She leaves my side and crosses the floor to Santa Claus, sits before him, and raises her paw. Santa takes it between his hands.

  “So,” says Santa, “another year.”

  Sadie nods. “Another year. And here is Tess.”

  “Did you have to help her much?”

  “Not at all. She let the magic in all by herself. It was especially important to her this year.”

  Santa regards me seriously.

  I find my voice. “Santa, did you know I would see you this year?”

  “I believed you would see me sometime soon.”

  “I’ve been waiting all my life to meet you,” I say. “And to see the Christmas magic.”

  “Finding the magic is a wonderful thing, Tess.”

  “Once someone has found the magic, does she always have it?” I ask.

  “Not always. But usually.”

  I think of what I must talk to Santa about, but then I remember the important thing I want to do, and I say, “Santa, I have something for you.” I retrieve the box containing the snow globe from the table next to the armchair. I don’t remember setting it there, but I must have done so when the angel appeared and I leapt to my feet. “You’ve given me so many things,” I tell Santa, “but I’ve never given you anything. Except cookies and cold hot chocolate, which you must get tons of. So this year I want to give you a present.” I hand the box to him. “Merry Christmas,” I say.