Dear Santa,
I have been a very good girl. I want a rabbit for Christmas. My brother wants a skateboard but he’s been very bad so don’t bring him anything no matter how many letters he sends you.
Thank you,
Victoria
“Look at this!” Angela tilted the iPad toward Marie, waving her finger in an accusing circle. “Down at the very bottom. See that? It says, ‘Sponsored by Christmas Galore.’”
“Oh?” Marie leaned in for a closer look. “I’m sorry. I honestly didn’t notice that before.” She clicked back and refreshed the screen. “See. Now it shows the hammock company as a sponsor. Christmas Galore is probably just one of fifty sponsors that rotate through. No big deal.”
“I’m not going to get sucked into the Christmas Galore infatuation. They’re putting me out of business.” Angela pushed the iPad away.
“Christmas Galore is not putting you out of business,” Marie said. “Time, technology and cheap products are putting you out of business. It’s the age of online ordering and disposable holiday stuff. I don’t know how you’ve made it this long without an online presence. You’re lucky you’ve lasted as long as you have.”
“Is that supposed to be some kind of compliment, because it does not feel like one.” Angela took pride in knowing she was still doing business in the way Momma Grace and the generation before her had. It might be the old-fashioned way, but it suited her just fine.
“You know what I’m saying.” Marie reached for her sister’s hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to sound mean. I’m just trying to be realistic.”
“I’m not playing into Christmas Galore’s superstore, one-stop shop using Christmas to get people in the door. It’s like bait and switch, and now they’re pretending they’re…” she glanced over at Chrissy, then spoke in a whisper, “… the big guy.” No matter how mad she was she couldn’t blow the magic of Santa for her niece.
“It’s just an app. Write the letter. For your niece.”
“I’m the niece, right, Mommy?”
“Yes.” Marie stacked the empty pie plates one on top of the other. “You know they don’t answer those things. It’s an autoresponder.”
“Santa answers every single letter,” Chrissy insisted before running out of the room, and calling, “Dad, doesn’t Santa answer all of his letters?”
“See,” Marie said to Angela. “He answers them personally. All twelve of them that she’s sent. It’s an app. Like picking your fake stripper name. Seriously, just do it. What do you have to lose? This is your chance to vent. No one is going to read your letter anyway, and maybe you’ll feel better. It’ll be like therapy.”
Chrissy came back into the room and raced to Angela’s side. “Please, Aunt Angela. I know he can help you.”
“You’re right. What’s the harm? Santa is the best. He can fix anything.” Angela hugged Chrissy close. “Will you help me write it?”
Chrissy hitched herself up into Angela’s lap with a wide grin pasted on her face. Leaning on one chubby arm she pointed to the spot where Angela was to type. “Put your cursor there and type words.”
Angela finger-pecked the keys, quickly and succinctly. Had it been a real keyboard those keys would have been bruised.
“Read it to us,” Chrissy demanded.
“Dear Santa,
I think old-fashioned Christmas is going out of style. Sadly, if sales don’t pick up I will have to close the doors on my store, Heart of Christmas. My great-great-grandmother opened this store. It’s been an important part of our family for generations now. I worked side-by-side with my grandmother running it until her death. She left me the business. I can’t let her down. Please help.
Respectfully,
Angela”
“That’s what you’re writing to Santa?” Marie said. “Pitiful.”
She’d said that last part under her breath, but Angela felt the full force of it.
Chrissy pulled her little hands to her hips. “You didn’t even tell him you were on the ‘nice’ list. You have to tell him you’ve been good.” Chrissy tossed her curls. “Everyone knows you have to tell Santa that you’re on the ‘good’ list.”
“I thought Santa knew who was on the ‘good’ list and the ‘naughty’ list,” Angela reasoned.
“He does. He writes the list, but he’s busy, and you have to help him so he has time to do other things. It’s almost Christmas. He’s very, very busy.”
“I see.”
Marie leaned forward. “Momma Grace is gone, and your life has stood still the past seven years. Heart of Christmas has had a great run, but now it’s time for you to figure out what your own dreams are and quit living Momma Grace’s. Heck, ask Santa for a pony. That would be better than what you wrote.”
Angela sighed. A pony might be the only thing that would make her feel better right now. “Things were fine until Christmas Galore came to town.”
“That’s not true and you know it.”
“Well, things have been a lot worse since they opened.”
She loved Heart of Christmas. The building. The business. The place in the town’s history that it held. Every single thing about it … even the hard work. Being in that store kept Momma Grace alive and present in her heart, and still all these years later she wasn’t sure she could let that go. Unfortunately, she’d run through quite a bit of her savings waiting for a big summer that hadn’t happened, and now with Christmas Galore in the neighborhood her Christmas holiday season might even be worse.
“Fine. How about this.” She backspaced and began typing.
Marie clapped her forearms together like one of those director’s clapboards, making Chrissy laugh. “‘Dear Santa. Take two.’”
Angela read out loud as she typed,
“Dear Santa,
There’s a bully in town threatening the Heart of Christmas, and he’s using your good reputation to do it.
I’ve been a very, very good girl, but he’s ruining everything, and Christmas may never be the same. I don’t know what to do. How can I fight back? I love Christmas, and Chrissy says you can fix anything. I sure hope she’s right. If not, I’m going to need a year’s supply of tissues to get through all the changes to come. A pony might make me feel better too.
Merry Christmas to you, Mrs. Claus, the elves and all of the reindeer.
Yours truly,
Anita C. Miracle”
“Anita C. Miracle?” Marie’s eyebrow danced.
“I-need-a. C for ‘Christmas.’ Miracle.”
Marie laughed so loud that Chrissy started laughing too even though she didn’t understand the joke.
“What are you girls up to?” Brad asked from the doorway.
“Nothing,” Marie and Angela said in unison.
“Like I believe that.”
“We’re writing letters to Santa,” Chrissy blabbed.
“How many letters are you going to write to Santa, Chrissy? I just helped her with one yesterday.”
Chrissy bounced up. “I didn—”
Marie slapped her hand over Chrissy’s mouth. “We had a little special request. For someone special.”
Brad beamed. “That’s my princess. Come hug me.”
Chrissy ran across the room and into his arms. “I love you, Daddy.”
He ruffled Chrissy’s hair. “Think you could talk Mommy into letting me have another piece of that pumpkin pie?”
“Pleeeease, Mom, can Daddy have more pie?”
“Of course, babe.” Marie got up and cut another slice of pie for him.
Angela closed the app on the iPad, then walked over and gave Brad a hug. “I’m gonna head on out.”
Marie handed Brad the plate. “No. Don’t leave. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought up all the bad-news stuff.” Marie frowned. “It’s my fault. I just worry, and we haven’t had any time to talk. Please stay.”
Angela felt drained. “Everything you said is true. I just wasn’t ready to admit it.” And saying it out loud made it feel more than real.
“Stay. You’ll have fun,” Brad said. “You’ll know most of the people coming, and might meet some new friends.”
“And we’re going to sing Christmas carols,” Chrissy said. “I’ve been practicing with the radio.”
“I bet you’re wonderful,” Angela said, picking Chrissy up and giving her a hug. “Thanks for having me over. I’m just going to go home. Tomorrow is a big workday for me. Y’all don’t have to worry over me.”
“You’re family.” Brad hugged her. “It’s our job to worry about you.”
“I’m going to be okay.”
Marie held up a finger. “Hang on.” She disappeared into the kitchen then came back and handed Angela a stack of containers that looked like a four-layer wedding cake. Apparently her sister had even planned the leftovers and put this together before Angela had arrived, because no one could put together a stack of leftovers that quickly. “Here’s some to take home. And I’m going to try to not worry so much. I know in my heart you’ll be fine. Always a beacon in the fog.”
Momma Grace used to say that. And darn, if things didn’t feel foggy now. The moral of that story was that the light came from within. Angela needed to quit looking for the light elsewhere and be a beacon in the fog.
“You’re right.” Angela hugged Marie. “Words to live by.”
As she walked down the driveway to her car, Angela felt relief. She wasn’t sure if it was Marie’s reminder of Momma Grace’s wisdom, or that she’d just dumped her worries on Santa, but either way it was good. She felt better. Not like things were going to be okay, but she was more relaxed about them.
Let Christmas Galore serve up the deals today to try to entice people out of their turkey comas to shop. That just wasn’t her style.
To each his own.
Hopefully those same customers would go home, get some sleep and still have enough money to roll in to her store at a decent hour and buy something special that could be shared from generation to generation.
As she drove home with the pile of leftovers in the passenger seat, she remembered how Momma Grace used to get up extra early and bake her famous gingerbread cookies to give away in the store on Black Friday. Cut into intricate snowflake designs and sprinkled with sifted powdered sugar, the delectable ginger treats had always been a hit.
She hadn’t thought about those in years. The smell of gingerbread was like a Christmas kickoff. The glass case they’d used to keep the cookies warm was still in the back room. She’d seen it just the other day.
Excited with the idea, she hoped she had the ingredients she needed.
It would be her Christmas gift to her customers, reviving memories of all the good years they’d spent together.
The recipe was a secret, and it was just as well, because no one would believe her if she told them it called for boiled black pepper, ginger, cloves and cinnamon in honey to get the most from the flavors. Someday she’d pass this recipe down to the next generation, but for now she’d make this the best Christmas ever for her customers and hold the recipe close to her heart.
She wouldn’t have time to do the fancy snowflakes from the whisper-thin sheets of dough like Momma Grace had, but the cookies would taste just as good in rectangles. As her own little personal touch she could use powdered sugar to make a little rectangular stamp in the corner of each one, like a letter to Santa. Easy-peasy.
Finally home. Angela’s beach house wasn’t fancy like her sister’s. She and Marie lived here as kids with Momma Grace, and other than going off to college this was the only house she’d lived in since.
Angela climbed the weathered wooden steps to the second-floor entrance. Inside, the whitewashed cabinets seemed bright this afternoon. Many meals and treats had been baked in this kitchen over the years. With any luck the cookies would taste just like Momma Grace’s.
The old red-and-white-checkered cookbook was on the bookshelf at the end of the counter. The gingerbread-cookie recipe wasn’t part of the book, but Momma Grace had handwritten each of her secret recipes on fancy cards and tucked them in the front of it. Angela shuffled through them until she found what she was looking for.
Momma Grace had the handwriting of an engineer. Neat and precise.
Angela made a quick pass through the kitchen checking for ingredients. Thankfully, she had everything she needed.
With the ingredients lined up across the kitchen island, she took the old Sunbeam Mixmaster out from the pantry and plugged it in.
She started the honey spice boiling. After gathering the measuring cups, she went to work mixing the wet ingredients together in the glossy white mixing bowl. The beaters twisted and spun the goop into a light, fluffy heap.
Then, slowly she mixed the whisked dry ingredients into the batter until it was time to add the molasses, which turned the dough a rich dark brown.
She dipped a spoon into the mixture and tasted it.
“Perfect.” For a moment she was back in the kitchen tippy-toeing at her grandmother’s side. “I miss our time together, Momma Grace.”
She blinked back salty tears then lined several mini–loaf pans with plastic wrap. Pressing the dough into each pan as tightly as possible, she smoothed the top, covered the dough and tucked it into the freezer. In the morning, she’d slice and bake the loaves fresh.
“Marie might think it’s time to throw in the towel, but I still have a trick or two up my sleeve. This is my journey just like it was yours, Momma Grace. Marie never did get us, did she?” Momma Grace would’ve smiled at that. We’re two of a kind, she’d always say. “Momma Grace, please help me be strong. Is there any way to keep this store going?”
And in that smug moment, she could clearly hear Momma Grace say, Don’t presume you know the next step to take. Only He knows your path. Trust the journey, my dear.