Christmas Magic

My grandmother, Sarah Lois, born in 1900, told a story of real Christmas magic initiated each year by her father, which you'll find lovingly remembered herein.

The year was 1910. It was a cold night as Arthur sat before the hearth, smoking his pipe. He heard giggles from the room where his eight children slept. His wife, Anna was with them, trying to settle them so he could begin his annual Santa antics. Anna's task was difficult. Most children were excited at Christmas, so she might have to threaten theirs within an inch of their lives to make them sleep. His two oldest were suspicious of his Christmas Eve routine, but the younger ones still believed.

The family’s homestead, though meager, was comfortable. Candles flickered throughout, creating playful shadows. In the corner stood a tree arrayed with homemade ornaments, popcorn, and berries. Its simplicity was charming due to the attentions of so many little hands. Over the hearth hung eight stockings. A hand-sewn quilt lay atop his wife’s rocker, and Arthur knew it wouldn’t be long before she joined him.

At the sound of little feet, Arthur looked to find Sarah and her baby sister. They stood side by side, stopping just short of the hearth. Arthur could see tiny toes peeking from beneath their nightgowns. Sarah was ten but thought she was as mature as her older siblings. At Christmas, however, she was willing to play the little girl as it meant getting presents. Her sister, Maybelle, was three, her eyes round as she looked about.

“Daddy,” Sarah began. “Bertie says there’s no Santa. Is that true?” Bertie was the oldest and thought it her duty to tell her siblings everything she thought she knew.

Arthur adjusted his spectacles. He rose, moving to the far side of the room where he opened a desk and pulled out a notebook. He resumed his seat and spoke. “Well, now, I don’t rightly know girls if what Bertie says is true. The Santa I know has been around a long time.”

The girls returned his gaze as Arthur continued. “I guess the only thing we can do is see what this book says. This book, after all, is older than me or my daddy.”

The young girls inched closer. Ignoring the numbers written on the page, their daddy read as though the book was rich in words. He had the girl’s full attention.

“It says you two have been pretty good this year. You’ve listened to me and your Momma. It also says you did your chores.” Arthur looked up. “Is that right girls?” He allowed them to respond with emphatic shakes of their heads. “As for your brothers and sisters, it says they’ve been good, too, so it looks like Santa could be on his way this very moment.” He closed the book.

Joy filled the girls’ faces. With a stern face, Arthur added, “This book also says Santa won’t be able to stop here if you don’t go to sleep.”

Not waiting another moment, Maybelle ran to bed. Once there, she crawled between her sisters, pulling the covers to her chin as she squeezed shut little blue eyes, determined to sleep.

Sarah, a believer anything her Daddy said was the almighty truth, gave him a hug and then followed Maybelle. “Move over, Levy. You, too, Bertie,” she said, pushing her way under the covers.

“Sarah, what did Daddy say?” A voice asked. “Did he say Bertie was wrong. Is Santa Claus real?” It was Albert, all of five. He desperately wanted to believe what Bertie said wasn’t true.

“Daddy said you'd better get to sleep or Santa won’t be stopping here,” Sarah retorted.

“Well, I don’t believe it. I believe Bertie,” piped Jack, laying beside Albert. Jack was ten. Since he was the eldest boy, he thought his opinion carried weight.

“Oh, shush up or Santa won’t bring you anything!” Sarah quipped. “You should know if Daddy says it’s true, it’s true,” she said with conviction.

Sarah elbowed Bertie, making more room for herself in the small bed. She believed she was Daddy’s favorite, so she knew he’d never lie, especially about something like Santa. Daddy had read from the special book, too so it had to be true.

From the doorway, their mother spoke. “Your father’s right. Go to sleep and Santa will come.” She blew out the candle before heading to the next room and settling in her rocker.

“It won’t be long now, Arthur. Do you have everything ready?” Anna asked.

Arthur grinned. “Santa and reindeer are primed - ready to fly!”

Arthur rose, winking at Anna. “I’ll be back,” he said as she helped him don his heavy coat and boots. He’d best do this before the littler ones fell fast asleep.

“Do stay warm, Arthur. It’s frightfully cold,” Anna said, buttoning his coat. Despite the children’s joy, she worried when Arthur took to the rooftop. It was icy, so the roof would be slippery.

Arthur kissed his wife. “You worry too much. I’ll be back before you can say ‘Santa’!”

Arthur closed the door and made his way to the barn. Glancing over, he saw the pond had already frozen over. It was beautiful, moonlight reflecting off ice. In the barn, he found a ladder and carried it to rest against the side of the house furthest from the children’s room. Returning to the barn, he retrieved a belled piece of rope from an old trunk. Lest he make a sound, he carefully climbed the ladder and began to walk across the rooftop, ensuring each footstep made significant thuds. As he did so, he shook the belled rope, the music filling the air. Beneath, he heard running and laughter and knew his children were crowding the window, hoping for a glimpse of Santa or reindeer. Delightful laughter drifted upwards. These were times he knew his children would always remember.

Eventually, Arthur climbed down the ladder, returning it to the barn. As he opened the trunk to replace the bells, his hand brushed a small wrapped box. Wondering where it had come from and who had put it there, he looked around, but saw no one. He picked up the package to take to the house. It would have to wait - he didn’t want to miss the children’s reaction to his antics.

Quietly, Arthur entered the house, discarding his boots and coat. Placing the package on the desk, he headed to the children’s room. They were still excitedly pushing at the window, hoping to see Santa.

“I think I just heard Santa and his reindeer on our rooftop! Quick - you’d best go to sleep!” he said, feigning excitement.

The children shrieked, climbing over each other to get back in bed. They were ready for Santa and Christmas morning.

“Goodnight, kids. Your Momma and me love you. See you bright and early tomorrow morning.” Arthur said and shut the door.

“Night, Daddy! Love you!” they all shouted.

Arthur found his wife in her rocker, smiling contentedly. “The children get so excited. It’s such a special thing you do each Christmas. What wonderful memories they’ll have.”

“I love doing it,” Arthur said, picking up the package from the desk and taking a seat. The fire was cozy before the hearth.

“What’s that, Arthur?”

“I don’t know,” Arthur said, explaining he’d found the package in the trunk.

Unwrapping the package, he found a small box. Inside the box was a bag and a note. Handing the note to Anna, he mused, “It looks like we got a present, too.”

Anna put on her glasses. Her blue eyes widened in surprise. “What in the world?”

Arthur paused. “What is it?” he asked anxiously.

“Well, dear, I’m not really sure,” she said, her voice laced with excitement.

“Well, what does the note say, Anna?”

Anna cleared her voice and read:

“To Arthur and Anna. Thank you for keeping me alive in the hearts of children. Merry Christmas to you and your family!”

Arthur’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What in the world, Anna? Who the heck is it from?”

“Well, now, Arthur, the note is signed by Santa Claus,” she said laughing and ignoring Arthur’s snort of disbelief. “Open the bag and let’s see what Santa gave us,” she teased.

“What in tarnation…?” Arthur opened the bag and pieces of currency spilled out. He quickly counted the loose bills. He’d need his wife’s help to make sure he had counted correctly, but if he had, there was a total of $100.00.

“Santa Claus?” he asked incredulously and held up some of the money. “There’s $100 here, Anna! What the heck?”

Anna broke into the biggest smile ever. “And you thought Santa wasn’t real,” she chided her husband.

Still in amazement, Arthur laughed nonetheless. “Who me? Not believe in Santa? You’re dead wrong! You can bet I’ll believe in Santa Claus until I’m planted in the ground – and then some!”