That's Christmas To Me

Here is a short, sweet little Christmas piece. This story was inspired by this song, That's Christmas to Me, by Pentatonix. The little girl here is named Mary Jenkins, my character in the western universe made by ChieRynn. You'll recognize a character in here, this is just a little story written from Mary's POV. In this universe that me and Chie had RP'd, Drew was the little orphan like he was in her stories but had been picked up and adopted. Enjoy. 

*crossed fingers hoping double spacing for paragraphs worked*

https://youtu.be/pFjdfjrtf1Q?list=PLaONuT5QUpidKOB...

^LISTEN TO THIS WHILE YOU READ. IT MAKES IT FAR MORE EMOTIONAL^

***

Mary sat at the desk in her small little cabin, a sheet of paper laid out on the desk before her. Ink blotches were littered over a napkin, her hands shaking as she thought about what to write. It was Christmas Eve, and she sat in Minnesota working as a scout for the army. She wouldn’t be coming home for Christmas.

The soft touch of a snowflake blowing through the open door touched her hand, melting upon intact. She heard the sound of a happy wife running to her husband who sat with his buds in the main room. Laughter and small sobs escaped the lips of it’s occupants, reminding Mary of her family back home. There would be no laughter for her this Christmas. She wasn’t home, for the first time.

“Dear Papa...” she read aloud, the pen scratching against the surface of the paper. “I won’t be home this Christmas, as you’ve probably figured out. Drew will be the only one home, I can’t leave the base. But…” Her hand stopped, her mind trailing into the distant memories of past Christmases. This was the first Christmas without her papa. The one of many without her mama. 

-

“Mary! Come here for presents!” Ann called from the other room, her rough Indian hands holding the few packages she had been able to aquire for her little daughter. The little six year old slowly tread into the room, dread covering her face. What she didn’t know was that her father was waiting around the corner, his quiet feet ready to pounce.

“Got you!” John yelled, wrapping his arms around the little girl. He swooped her into the air, earning a little laugh and squeal from his daughter.

“Papa! Put me down!” She laughed, kicking a bit. John chuckled and set her down, giving a little tug on her braids. They sat together under the tree, beginning to exchange the gifts. Mary carefully pulled a little gift out from under the tree, handing it to her mama. “Mama, this is for you...” she whispered, handing it to the tiny woman sitting beside her. 

“Thank you Mary.” Ann whispered back. She gently opened it, revealing a tiny little picture inside. She looked at it, observing the charcoal sketch of their family her daughter had drawn. “It’s beautiful sweetheart. I love it.” She hugged Mary tight, gripping her close. “But I love you more.” 

-

That had been twenty years ago from Christmas the next day. Mary was twenty-six years old, and she had grown into the woman her mother had known she would become. Droplets of water trickled down Mary’s cheek onto the letter paper, as she remembered that was the last Christmas she had ever spent with her beloved mama. Ann Jenkins had died a few months later, in a brutal attack on their house while John had been away. Mary knew, she was there when her mother was murdered. She buried her head in her hands as she remembered the following Christmas Day.

- 

“Papa, I don’t want to celebrate Christmas this year...” Mary said to her papa as she sat down in her little chair at the dinner table.

“Why’s that sweet girl?” John asked soberly, stirring the eggs inside the pot on the stove.

“Mama’s not here. It’s not Christmas without her. It’s just not.”

“I know. But Mama would have wanted us to celebrate Christmas, don’t you think?” John plopped the eggs onto a small plate and placed a piece of toast on top, setting it on the table in front of her. “She would want us to have fun, to open our presents.” He sat down, salting his own plate of food.

“But I miss her papa. I miss her so bad. And...she would always make sweet roles for Christmas.” The thought of her mother’s cooking on that special day brought the tiny little girl to tears, the droplets of water spilling into her plate.

“Oh darling, please don’t cry.” John quickly stepped out of his chair and picked her up, holding his daughter close. “Don’t cry. I know...I’m sorry. I wish I could make them for you. I wish I could bring Mama back. I wish...” The grown man felt tears beginning to try to force their way out of his eyes. “I wish she was here too.”

The marshal and the tiny girl sat on that kitchen chair for a long time afterwords, crying silently and only wanting the other to stay with them. It was a very lonely Christmas that year, and besides her mother’s grave, they didn’t talk to anyone that day. 

-

“Remember when Mama used to make those sweet roles?” Mary wrote down, kicking herself for the blob of ink she had left on the paper from holding the pen there for too long. “I remember you tried to make them for Christmas that one year, and they were so burnt we couldn’t get them off the pan. We had to throw that pan away.”

“You alright in there Mary?” One of the men in the room next to hers asked. “You’re talking over there.”

“Just fine Will. Just fine.” She called back. Will had been at the small fort for nearly for months now and had been increasingly interested in the Apache tracker.

“Making sure. You want to join us?” There was a small Christmas party going on, but Mary had something far more important to finish.

“In a few minutes. Let me finish something.” Mary began to finish her letter, her pen stroking the surface. Memories of all her Christmases flooded back to her, both the happy and the sad. Her first Christmas with Drew, her adopted little brother, had been one of her absolute favorites. 

-

“It’s your first Christmas with us Drew! Are you excited?”

“Um, sure.” Was the response from the little blonde haired child sitting beside her. Tiny Drew Chandler was growing a bit, but you could still count his ribs. Mary bit her lip as she remembered how he had looked when they picked him up and adopted him off the streets. He had been so cold and thin, almost dead.

“We always make something good for Christmas breakfast. And you will love the presents! I know what Papa got you.” She cheerfully said, her little pink lips breaking out into a huge smile.

“Presents? I…I didn’t get any for you.” His voice became very nervous and his hands grabbed at the edge of the small harmonica he held. “I-I didn’t know you were doing presents.”

“It’s okay. We don’t really need presents. We just like giving them to people. Although getting some candy is fun, especially peppermint sticks.” Mary stood up and took her little present, handing it to Drew. “Open it!” He did, slowly unwrapping the gift like it was a newborn child. Under the tissue paper laid a small handful of candy sticks as well as a pair of red mittens, just the right size for a little boy. “Do you like it?”

“I...I love it Mary. Th-thank you.” He nervously sat up and hugged his sister tight, his hands digging into her thick black hair and his face in her shoulder. “Thanks sis.” 

-

Mary smiled and looked at her own pair of red mittens, which sat on top of her coat, hanging on the peg beside the door. Drew had returned the favor had given her the pair the previous year. She finished writing her last paragraph, telling her Papa how much she loved him. Years were catching up on her father, and she prayed every day that she would come home soon and be with him for the rest of his life. He wasn’t that old she knew, but anything could happen when you were an officer of the law, and an older one at that.

“Just save some sweet roles for me Papa. Make sure Drew doesn’t eat all of them, he always does. I love you, so much.” Mary held the pen above the paper, thinking of her next words. “I love you more than I can ever say. Merry Christmas Papa.” Her lip curled into a smile as she signed her name at the bottom of the page.

Your little girl, Forever,

Mary.