The Justices shared our lives in so many ways, it was hard to think of them not being family. Yet on that night, seeing them all happy together made me feel strange in my gut, and I was secret-glad when it was time to leave for church.

The walk was itself as beautiful as a church. It was cold enough to see your breath and hear shoes crunch frost, yet we didn’t feel a lick of cold, stuffed as we were with Christmas dinner and excitement and holiness.

The sky was so dark that all God’s lanterns seemed as bright as the one those kings must’ve followed to Bethlehem.

Outside, a little ways from the church door, stood one person with two heads. As we got closer I saw it was a moon-eyed couple whispering and giggling in the starlight. A few steps more, and I heard a clear-bell musical laugh that I knew. It was Miss Arthington, pink-cheeked and eyes flashing like I had never seen her. But the fellow she was with, looking fine in a dandy hat and wool coat, I had never seen the likes of before.

“LizBetty Porter,” said Miss Arthington, sounding prim and done up, even for her. “This is Nevin Charlesworth. Mister Charlesworth, may I present LizBetty Porter, one of my students.”

He held out his hand to shake. I was relieved to see he wasn’t so citified as to wear gloves. Good, firm grip—though the skin felt softer than any fella’s I knew. Nice smile. Good teeth.

“It’s a pleasure, Miss Porter.” He gave me a little bow as he released my hand.

“Are you Teacher’s fancy from New York?” Toad! It popped out before I had a chance to stop it. My fists curled a bit to think he was the one who had made her cry so with his fancy letters. What could he have said so cruel?

“LizBetty!” Teacher looked pink and piqued, but the man grinned.

“Miss Arthington has told me so much about all of her students, I feel as if I know you myself.” His voice reminded me of something smooth and good to eat. “She’s quite fond of you all, and now that I am meeting some of her charges, I can see why. I realize how hard it will be for her to say good-bye come spring.”

“Nevin Charlesworth!” Teacher’s face got pinker. “Why don’t you wait for me inside?”

He tipped his head at me, brushed the brim of his hat, and disappeared into the lamplight glow spilling from the church.

“Say good-bye? What did he mean, Miss Arthington? You going on a trip?”

Before I could spot her changing the subject, Teacher quickly explained that this fellow’s unexpected visit was why she had not been at the Justices’ that night to see me open my present.

“Missus Justice was simply too busy to do the work herself, so I hope you don’t mind that I—Well, I tried my best.” She ducked her head and then looked at me from under her fat eyelashes. She asked shyly: “Was it all right?”

“All right?” I asked, remembering the look on everybody’s, on Jump’s, face when I tried one of the dresses on. I grabbed her around the middle in a barrel hug and muffled into her coat. I whispered, “They’re the most beautiful dresses I’ve ever seen.”

Miss Arthington and I then were nearly bowled over by the blur that was June May, hopping around trying to introduce her pa.

I went into the church alone and feeling numb despite the bells that rang us into the golden warm. People who barely raised an eyebrow the rest of the year welcomed each other in voices joyful but hushed as they passed the live Nativity put on as usual by the preacher’s kids.

I saw pants sticking out below Joseph’s robe. One of the Wise Men had the raw-nose end of a bad cold, and Mary’s tinfoil halo tilted like to fall, but then I caught sight of the manger of straw, with the Baby Jesus on top wrapped in swaddling feed sacks and laughing as he tried to kick free his holy little feet.

Suddenly, I saw Momma under that halo and Daddy holding that staff and my own sweet brother Baby in that manger, and something broke loose inside of me, like Babel crashing from my heart into my stomach, and roaring in my ears. The salt-fire of tears licked at my eyelids, and I pushed past the choir and out the side door for giant gulps of air.

I don’t know how long I stayed on my knees, but they were like to freeze, and it seemed I’d been pounding solid earth with my fists when I thought I felt the hand of God grab my shoulder and pull me into a rocking, back-breaking hold.

I tried to stop crying but heard my own ragged sobs like cloth tearing. All our arms shook with grief and sorrow. Then somehow I knew it wasn’t God holding me but my own sweet daddy, and us both crying for Momma and Baby and GrandNam and ourselves, and I tried to hold him as tight as he was holding me.

At first, that sadness seemed unstoppable, like the creek rising in rain, and it plain needed exorcising.

From the church I heard the piano lady starting “Silent Night,” which it certainly was not where we were, but slowly voices joined in like a train of music getting closer, then fading. Next was “O Come, All Ye Faithful,” and more voices slipped through the cracks of the old church and floated like prayers up into the black night.

Gradually, our sounds got quieter as our hearts grew fuller with love and acceptance. When the music stopped, one of my ears heard murmuring from the church. Daddy at last sat hard on the ground and scooped me into his lap. He wiped his face with his sleeve and gave me a soggy, sad smile and wiped my face with his other sleeve, and he smelled like soap and smoke, and then we sat, his head on mine.

The piano started up again, and after a minute, you knew it was the children singing “Away in a Manger” so sweet and pure as to fix a world of hurts.

I looked around us in the half-dark and saw at our feet the biscuit tin that held Baby’s clothes.

And right then, clear as the night was night, I knew everything would be all right.

I FELT LIKE I HAD been awake all night with the wonder of all that had happened. I don’t guess I slept more than two or three winks before I opened one eye and saw the pink-gray of dawn putting on its face powder. It had a magical feel to it, that time of morning and the crisp air and the silence.

I sat up in my bed and whispered, “Traveler, ‘ya bo’.” He crawled out from under the bed like he’d been waiting for me, and I ch-ch’kd him onto the bed, where he was usually not allowed. He tilted his head.

“Come on,” I said. “It’s Christmas.”

He jumped up and sat next to me. I wrapped GrandNam’s quilt ’round us both. I felt Traveler’s fur on my arm and the warmth of his breath mixed with what I was sure was the smell of GrandNam making Sunday breakfast. Maybe it was a dream, but a good one.

I rubbed a circle out of the steam and frost on the window, and together we watched that Christmas morning commence with colors to rival any Baptist window. I knew it was a special gift, just for me.

“Thank you, Momma,” I whispered, like a prayer. “I know you’ve done this, all this, bringing Daddy back to Daddy. Helping me make a friend of that crazy Mary Grace Newcomb. Leading me to a teacher who knows, like you do, that learning is more than schooling. I fought so hard to do what I thought you wanted, but going to school is opening the world for me. And wait till you see the books Miz Newcomb has. We’re never gonna stop learning, Momma, not ever. And maybe I’ll even go to college someday so I can show other kids how much better learning is than schooling. I’m sorry if I embarrassed you by not winning the essay contest, but I’m real proud of June May, and maybe you had something to do with that too. I love you, Momma. Merry Christmas, Baby.”

Just then, my stomach let out a growl that made Traveler yip, and he jumped out from our tent of covers and trotted toward the kitchen. I grabbed my clothes and followed, knowing it’d be warmer to dress near the old Monarch stove.

Trav beat me and was already curled at the foot of the stove, soaking in the warmth. Though his eyes were closed, I knew he was more than ready to clean up any spills that might accidentally find their way into his path.

I found Daddy making his special breakfast of popovers with eggs and a bit of whipped cream. It’s something he did often before Momma died but had not at all since. Bacon sizzled and popped in the skillet. I felt a churning in my stomach of hunger and happiness mixed with anticipation.

Something about Christmas just does that to a person.

I was clearing the table when Jump came over to visit, first off hemming and hawing, then stuttering, and then saying what I did not expect:

“I’n’t that something about Miss Arthington fixin’ to get hitched and go back to New York and all, after all them letters she got and all that cryin’ she did? Yankees sure are funny strange.”

His voice had gone, but I had no idea why he was carrying on. And on Christmas too. Not to mention the whole time with his arms wound around like he got put together backward.

“Jumper Justice,” I said, feeling a very un-Christmasy kind of cross. “Did you come all the way over here to talk gossip after not having ten words to say for, oh, I don’t know how long?”

He got red-faced then and said, “Here,” as he shoved the newspaper-wrapped bundle at me. Wouldn’t even look me in the eye. When did he get so shy? I wondered, feeling a mite shy myself.

Turned out to be a brand-new flip, made himself. He cut the handle out of a board instead of a regular tree fork and painted it a pretty green and white. Even had my name carved onto it—“LIZBETTY.”

“You feelin’ all right, Possum?” My face warmed to think he’d seen me acting the loony bird the night before. To think he’d noticed me at all.

Daddy came upon us, clearing his throat real loud. “Why don’t you get on home to your folks, now, boy? Christmas is time for family.”

I held up my flip. “Look, Daddy, look at my name. Isn’t it beautiful?”

Daddy cleared his throat again.

I hoped he wasn’t getting sick.

“I reckon we’ll have to see if it shoots as pretty as it looks.”

“Oh, it does sure, sir.” His voice was a tad on the loud side. “Myself I took down three of my brothers’ pop bottles before I brung it over, jes’ to be sure. It’s true, awright.”

Jump talked to Daddy, but he was looking straight into me. He added, “ ’Course, anyone’s as good a shot as Possum ain’t gonna have trouble with any kinda flip.” He grinned at me and winked.

“I’m sure Possum’ll give it a go later. Now off with you, Jumper Justice, afore I try it on you myself. I got my own present to give to my daughter.”

Daddy put extra butter and syrup on the words “my daughter.”

Another present! Jump disappeared faster than sin on Sunday. I was so excited I almost didn’t notice.

Daddy took my hand and led me outside, and there was the prettiest bench, just my size. Room for Trav underneath. “It’s for you to sit outside, under the trees,” he said, his voice rough. If he was getting sick, I’d need to see Miss Eulah for a cure.

So much carving and delicate work. On the back was a golden sun rising over our mountains; I could pick out each peak. On the opposite side was a cunning carving of our holler, house and shed and path and stream. And Momma’s tree. But in the center, between the house and the mountains, stood four figures facing the sun. The man had an arm around the woman’s waist. The woman had a baby slung on her hip. And between the two adults stood a fourth figure, a tall girl in glumpy pigtails. Wearing a dress—but no shoes.

“Oh, Daddy.” I could say no more.

Here was hours and hours of Daddy’s love made solid for me. Here was my family. This was what he had been working on so long in his shop, keeping me away. Just this. Just this gift of his heart.

I grabbed him around the neck to kiss his cheek—wasn’t as far a stretch as it used to be. Then I sat on my bench to try it on for size. Perfect. I jumped up and hugged him again. “Oh, Daddy, I’m so sorry for—”

“Hush now.” He lifted me and spun me around, and when he did, my heart felt as light as my feet.

When he let me go, his watery eyes looked into mine, themselves full of happy tears. He put a hand on either side of my face and stared. “I see Noralee in you, honey bunch, the best of her and, I hope, of me.”

I hoped I’d be that lucky. I suspected I was.

Then he stepped back and wiped his face on his shirt, shook his head, and nodded toward the pecan tree. “Want help with that?”

I looked at my beautiful bench and then at the tree. “No, thank you, Daddy. I can manage.” I knew I could.

Then I picked up my bench and marched right down to Momma’s tree. I explained to her I’d be putting this bench in my own spot. It seemed right to keep open the space beneath the pecan.

Under the peach tree, on the east side of the house, would be a fine place to sit and watch the morning come.

I heard GrandNam say plenty of times that the road to perdition was paved with good intentions.

I don’t guess I ever thought on what the road to Heaven might be paved with.

But as I sat on my bench, I finally knew one answer.

A COUPLE OF DAYS AFTER CHRISTMAS, Daddy said he thought, in the spirit of the season, he might call on Miz Pickerel. He looked worried when he said it, like he expected one of those ugly toads to hop out of my mouth, but all I felt was my heart squeezed with love, and I knew he deserved to feel that again too. Wasn’t my place to keep him from it anyway.

“I think that’s a fine idea, Daddy.” And he smiled like the sun coming out. Momma wanted us to keep smiling. I made sure he wore his good coveralls.

Around toward dusk, Jump came by and asked did I want to go frog gigging with him.

Did I? “Last one there’s a rotten egg.” I took off running. When we got near the creek, I ran ahead and slid down the muddy bank, laughing.

Jump was right behind.

“Possum.” His voice took on a serious tone I didn’t know if I could get used to, his face a question mark. “Can I ask you somethin’?”

My throat and stomach traded places.

“ ’Course, Jump.”

“You ever wonder—them tadpokes. Where do you s’pose those tails go?”