Christmas Sisters

by Tess Thompson

  She opened the box, taking care to save the gorgeous ribbon, and unearthed a pair of shearling lined boots. She hadn’t had new shoes or clothes since before Grandma Maeve had passed away, and let her fingers run over the soft boots.

  The hand-me-downs she wore each day to school were becoming more and more threadbare, and her tennis shoes were almost completely worn. “If you don’t like them or they don’t fit, we can take them back and get something else. I thought we’d go shopping once the other girls arrive and you can all pick out some new jeans and sweaters or whatever else you need.” Mrs. Kirby smiled, but looked uneasy, as if she wasn’t sure Jo liked the boots.

  “They’re beautiful. I love them. I, uh, just didn’t expect them,” Jo said, wiping a finger under her eye.

  Mrs. Kirby’s smile deepened. “Oh, good, I wasn’t sure. Like I said, they’re easy to exchange if they don’t fit.” She showed Jo where things were located and gave her a quick tour of the space. “I’ll give you some time to get settled and then just come downstairs. I’ve got dinner about ready and then you can do your laundry, read, watch television, whatever you’d like. If you’re tired, you can make it an early night.”

  Jo noticed a selection of skin care products and the ointment and bandages on the counter in the bathroom, amazed that Mrs. Kirby had thought of everything she needed. She hurried back to the bedroom and tried on the boots, finding fluffy socks wedged into each toe. She pulled off the ones she wore, with holes in each heel. The boots were warm and so comfortable.

  Despite wanting to toss her old shoes and socks, she added them to the trash bag, not convinced this home would last long and not wanting to throw away anything she might need later. Holey socks and too short pants were better than none.

  The bed, with a fluffy comforter the color of cream and a beautiful velvety throw in forest green, beckoned her to try it and she rested her head against the pillows, letting her body relax for the first time since she had been placed in care. She shut her eyes, hoping this wasn’t just a Christmas placement, knowing full well how some people felt guilty during the holidays and wanted to treat foster kids to something special. She wanted to believe what Mrs. Kirby had written in her card was genuine.

  The next day, Jo slept in and then lost herself in Mr. Kirby’s bookshelves, running her fingers across the soft, leather-bound volumes. The comfortable space, where the almost musty aroma of the older books mingled with the rich scent of the leather furniture, was Jo’s idea of heaven. She lingered there until the sound of the doorbell chimes interrupted her musings and she hustled from the study and down the stairs.

  When she arrived, Mrs. Kirby was ushering in three girls, all of them wide-eyed. Jo’s heart broke when she saw the youngest one, Hailey, a tiny girl with glasses, no more than second grade, like Molly had been. At least Jo hadn’t had to go into foster care until she was older. She couldn’t imagine spending her entire childhood like she had spent the last year.

  Next, Mrs. Kirby introduced Stevie, who towered over the two younger girls. Freckles dotted her face, framed by fiery red hair, and there was a harshness in her stance and wariness in her eyes that signaled the thirteen-year-old didn’t trust easily.

  The sweet and petite girl next to her was ten-year-old Alissa. Her big brown eyes were the size of saucers. The two youngest held their trash bags close to them, clinging to what was familiar, uncertainty conveyed in tiny creases in their foreheads.

  Mrs. Kirby was gentle with them and took each of the younger girls by the hand, talking in a soft and reassuring voice. After the initial greetings, Jo followed everyone upstairs, carrying Alissa’s and Hailey’s bags. While the girls explored their rooms and situated their belongings, rather than stand around and gawk at them, Jo sunk into the chair in the study, and picked up the book she had been reading. After everyone had settled into their rooms and gotten acquainted with the layout, Mrs. Kirby suggested they head downstairs to dinner.

  Mrs. Kirby led them through the foyer, past the formal dining room and the family room where a huge tree stood next to a window, and into the large kitchen. Last night, Jo had been in a fog, overwhelmed by all the changes, the idea of staying with Mrs. Kirby, and imagining what the three girls might be like, and hadn’t taken the time to notice much beyond her bedroom and the study.

  Now, past the shock of it all, she surveyed the space in more detail. Everywhere Jo looked, there were beautiful Christmas decorations, twinkling lights, and the whole house smelled of fresh pine. In the corner, a casual wooden table with built in bench seating, decorated with holiday pillows, was set for dinner. Jo had never seen a more beautiful home and hoped again that this wasn’t just a temporary placement.

  Mrs. Kirby directed the girls to a sink in the mud room where they could wash their hands before taking a seat at the table. Stevie stood in front of the huge granite counter and offered to help Mrs. Kirby with preparations. Jo took charge of the younger girls and got them situated at the table, pouring milk into their glasses, and pointing out some of the beautiful decorations and ornaments tucked in every corner.

  Jo marveled at the matching plates and silverware and the fresh flowers in the center of the table. The roast chicken and vegetables were flavorful and delicious. At Mrs. Kirby’s urging, she stuffed herself with a second helping of mashed potatoes and gravy. After the meal, Mrs. Kirby said she’d like each of the girls to write a letter to Santa.

  Jo offered to help with the dishes, but Mrs. Kirby told her to relax instead and that there would be plenty of time to figure out household chores and responsibilities, but for tonight she only needed to write her letter. Mrs. Kirby bent closer to Jo and whispered, “I know you may not believe in Santa, but help me keep the magic alive for Alissa and Hailey.”

  Jo took a piece of paper and a pencil and wandered into the family room, next to the tree. As she listened to the soft Christmas music coming from the speakers, she contemplated what to write. She hadn’t believed in Santa for several years, but despite her disbelief, her grandma had always made sure she received a special gift from the jolly elf. She felt the tightness in her throat and the sting of tears. This time of year was tough without Grandma Maeve.

  Dear Santa, I feel more than silly doing this, since I know you’re not real and I’m too old to believe in you, but I can tell writing down my Christmas wish is important to Mrs. Kirby. More than anything, I’d like this feeling I have right now, the one where I am safe and it feels like this could be home and I’m not alone, but have a real family and sisters, to last forever.

  In the days that followed, leading up to Christmas, Jo began to feel more at ease. As they shared meals and visited, the girls relaxed more, and the anxious eyes Jo had faced when the other three girls had arrived, had been replaced by smiles and even some giggles from the two youngest.

  Mrs. Kirby suggested a trip to town so they could all do a bit of secret Christmas shopping for each other. They strolled through the stores and as they walked, Mrs. Kirby chatted with them about things they liked and pointed out items on the shelves to see what sparked an interest in each of the girls. After they wandered together a bit, Mrs. Kirby gave Jo and Stevie the freedom to duck into the shops along Main Street, giving each of them some money so they could pick out gifts for the others.

  When Jo walked into Mountain Drugs and Books, she shut her eyes and thought back to all the times she and Grandma Maeve had spent in the store. If she didn’t think too hard, and let the scents from the perfumes and lotions, from the sugared candies lined up along the counter in big glass jars, permeate her senses, she could almost believe it was years ago. Those familiar scents and the underlying essence of new books comforted her. She had missed spending time downtown, going to Rusty’s Café for pie, and lingering at the library or plopping into a chair here in the bookstore and reading all afternoon.

  She hadn’t been able to do any of those things, much less spend time in town, after being taken in by the Monroe family. She relished the bit of freedom afforded he
r and lingered over the choices, lost in happier memories as she selected gifts for the girls she had just met, hoping this might not be a dream and they might all be together long after Christmas.

  Mrs. Kirby loaded the shopping bags in her car, making sure to keep the bags separate, so there was no chance of peeking. As dusk began to settle over Granite Ridge, she drove them home. Jo couldn’t help but smile when Alissa and Hailey gasped, their eyes filled with wonder, when they glimpsed the huge house illuminated with what had to be thousands of festive lights.

  Alissa and Hailey pointed at different spots in the yard, calling out their favorite colors and gawking at the rows of lights along the roofline. Their eyes reflected not only the sparkle of the lights, but the true wonder of the season. Jo helped carry the shopping bags and stood at the end of the driveway, captivated by the twinkling display and the warmth that radiated from the glow of soft lights, matched only by the heart of Mrs. Kirby, who smiled as she watched the girls and brushed a finger under her eyes.

  Christmas morning, Jo, wearing the new red flannel nightgown she had found under her pillow last night, tiptoed past the closed door of the bedroom shared by Alissa and Hailey, and made her way downstairs. Mrs. Kirby and Stevie were in the kitchen, both donning Christmas aprons over their red flannel nightgowns as they worked at the large granite counter.

  “Merry Christmas, Jo,” said Mrs. Kirby. “We’re just getting breakfast together, so we can have a bite to eat after we open presents.”

  Listening to Stevie over dinner the last couple of nights, Jo had learned she enjoyed cooking. From the smile on her face as she helped Mrs. Kirby put the finishing touches on a braided pastry, it was evident she was happiest when she was creating something in the kitchen.

  The decadent pastry, covered in slivered almonds and powdered sugar, looked delicious, as did the cheesy egg casserole Mrs. Kirby was making. She explained that Mr. Kirby had a tradition of having blueberry waffles on Christmas morning and hoped the girls would enjoy them. Stevie beamed when she was put in charge of making them.

  Soon, they heard Hailey and Alissa scurrying down the stairs. Jo peeked around the corner and spied Hailey, carrying her little stuffed dog, Charlie, and holding hands with Alissa as they both stared at the tree. Both of them fidgeted with excitement to open presents, and couldn’t resist touching a few of the shiny packages. Jo hated to admit it, but even she was excited to open presents. Last Christmas, the first without Grandma Maeve, had been miserable, but these last few days with Mrs. Kirby gave her a glimmer of hope.

  Jo couldn’t help but smile and felt Mrs. Kirby’s hand on her shoulder as she joined in watching them. Instead of worrying about breakfast, Mrs. Kirby popped the casserole and the pastry into the oven to bake and suggested they open gifts and then enjoy their meal. While Jo took charge of keeping an eye on the two youngest, Stevie made hot chocolate for everyone. Mrs. Kirby added her own mug of hot tea to the tray she carried into the family room, where the girls sat cross-legged in front of the tree, anxiously waiting, while they eyed the tags on the mountain of gifts under the tree.

  Mrs. Kirby passed out the gifts and asked all the girls to watch as each one opened their boxes. Shrieks of delight came from Alissa and Hailey as they opened their puzzles, books, pens, and pencils. Like the other girls, Jo had taken the money Mrs. Kirby had given her and tried to find meaningful gifts, keeping in mind Hailey’s affection for dogs, Stevie’s ambitions in the kitchen, and Alissa’s love of books. Choosing Mrs. Kirby’s gift was harder, but Jo settled on a rhinestone encrusted picture frame and included a note that it was meant to hold a photo of all of them celebrating their first Christmas together.

  Jo treasured the hair ribbon from Hailey, the journal from Alissa, and the fancy gourmet fudge from Stevie, along with the sturdy new backpack from Mrs. Kirby. More than the gifts, she cherished the tender smiles from each of them. These three girls had found a way into her heart, and along with the kind woman who had opened her home to all of them, they already felt like family.

  When Mrs. Kirby opened Jo’s gift, tears dotted her cheeks. She gathered the girls closer to her, scrunching them together by stretching her arms around them, and used her phone to capture the moment. She gazed at the photo and said, “This is so very special and is the true meaning of Christmas. I’m so thankful you’re all here to spend it with me.” She clutched the frame to her chest. “You don’t know how much this means to me. We’ll have to take our picture every year, just like this one.”

  From the little things Mrs. Kirby mentioned and the way she spoke about their future, Jo sensed that Mrs. Kirby needed the four girls as much as they needed her.

  After they finished the yummy breakfast, Jo and Stevie did the dishes and cleaned up the kitchen, while Mrs. Kirby got the younger girls organized and ready to meet Mrs. Kirby’s mother, Claire, who was due to arrive later in the morning.

  After, Jo went upstairs to her room and dressed in a new sweater, a deep copper color that brought out the highlights in her brown hair, then she took her new journal to the oversized chair near the bookcase in Mr. Kirby’s office. She had already placed her beloved copy of To Kill A Mockingbird that Grandma Maeve had given her on one of the shelves, and now was anxious to read the leather volume resting next to it.

  Mrs. Kirby shared that her husband had been a professor in the philosophy department and had amassed a huge collection of books, and that Jo was welcome to read any of them. Jo had chosen Middlemarch, fascinated by the idea of a woman writing under a man’s name, and was eyeing the Shakespeare collection for her next read. She slouched across the chair, letting her legs dangle over the arm. Quickly, she admired her new boots, then checked the time. Mrs. Kirby’s mother, who hoped the girls would call her Nan, was due to arrive in a few minutes. Jo wrote the date at the top of the first page of her journal before jotting an entry.

  I think my letter to Santa worked. This last year has eaten away at me. I wasn’t convinced I could trust Mrs. Kirby, but she’s given me new hope. Her genuine kindness and love shine through in all that she does for us. She’s patient and warm, but isn’t going to put up with any shenanigans, as Grandma Maeve would say. She wants us to be a family, soul sisters, she says. She explained although we aren’t related by blood, the term means we’re kindred spirits and we’ll always be linked by a bond that transcends time and distance. I like the idea that no matter what happens, we’ll always have each other. I’ve felt lonely for so long, except for Grandma Maeve, and losing her made me realize just how harsh the world can be. I didn’t think anyone cared and that no one ever would again. But now I have sisters. Sisters of my heart. I have a family! Please, please, please, make it be real.

  Stevie Fox

  Author Ev Bishop

  Her jaw was clenched so tightly that her teeth ached, but Stevie thought that was probably preferable to standing there with her hands balled into fists, looking like she wanted to punch somebody.

  Her latest social worker, Natalie, a hideously cheerful woman who always insisted that whatever new family she stuck Stevie into could be “the one,” pressed the ornate, old-fashioned doorbell. A series of musical chimes rang somewhere deep inside the house. While they waited for Mrs. Kirby to answer the door—still so weird that her guidance counselor was going to be her foster mom—Stevie studied the fancy Victorian mansion in front of her. And that’s what it was—a mansion. Mrs. Kirby called it a “house,” but it was definitely more than that.

  Beside Stevie were Hailey and Alissa, two young girls she’d just been informed were also going to be staying with Mrs. Kirby. They fidgeted and craned their necks to look around—but were absolutely silent. Stevie figured their stomachs were probably churning with the same emotions as hers: anger mixed with sprinkles of awe and heavy dollops of fear.

  Eight-years-old and ten-years-old respectively, Hailey and Alissa were extraordinarily petite. They were like little fairies, unfairly placed in a cold, unfamiliar world—one dark-haired, one strawberry blond with
coke bottle thick glasses. Stevie’s heart went out to them, much good as that ever did anyone. Her jaw clenched harder. Yes, Mrs. Kirby was a good person. But there was only so much even the best person could do, and the moment Natalie introduced Alissa and Hailey to Stevie and mentioned they were being fostered by Mrs. Kirby too, Stevie’s hope withered into a blackened, stringy thing. And that had surprised her—that she’d actually had a small tender morsel of hope in the first place. Was she totally stupid or what? She’d really thought she knew better by now. She wanted to say something reassuring to Hailey and Alissa. They were quiet, cute as buttons, and young. They stood a chance of finding a forever home, especially compared to her, but she said nothing. Little kids weren’t idiots, and from the bit Natalie said—and what she didn’t say—Stevie gleaned that these two had both been in the system a while already, hence their wariness. It didn’t matter how cute or sweet you were. There was no rhyme or reason to why some kids were born into love, or, at least, into families with the ability and desire to care for their offspring, while others got the opposite of those things. In fact, it was probably better—or safer, anyway—if you were a bit of an asshole like she was. At least she didn’t get messed with.

  Stevie realized she had clenched her fists, after all. She forced them open and tried to look chill as the big shiny red door opened. Cozy heat and warm golden light spilled into the frigid evening air. And haloed by all that light was Mrs. Kirby herself, smiling and welcoming them in like she was genuinely excited they’d arrived.

  “Finally,” she exclaimed. “You’re here!”

  Stevie smiled despite her nerves. It was such a relief to be ushered inside. A huge part of her had been sure Mrs. Kirby would change her mind, positive her question that day in her office all those weeks ago, “How would you feel about coming to live with me?” had been asked out of kindness, not any sincere desire. And yet here Stevie was, days before Christmas, walking into a house that would’ve been the perfect setting for a Christmas movie, carrying all her worldly possessions. She hated herself for being so weak, but honestly, even if staying with Mrs. Kirby didn’t last long, it was better than the alternative—one that she knew better than to share with anyone. She was done with temporary placements and crappy group homes. There was a good chance her mom, AKA Marilyn, would show up again at some point. And if not? Well, she’d get a job or something. She had friends with street smarts—the only upside of the foster system, in her opinion. They’d help her find a place to squat until she could buy a secondhand car or something more permanent to stay in. She was only thirteen, but so what? Age was just a state of mind, right? That’s what Marilyn said all the time, anyway.