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Wrapping paper, bows, garbage bags, toys, boxes.
Laughter, squeals, music.
Mr. and Mrs. Bailey are still in their robes, clutching mugs of coffee and munching on leftover cinnamon buns. Snow still flutters from the sky outside the window, creating the perfect backdrop for such a magical morning.
June is tearing through her final haul, her hair in complete disarray. Her curls from the night before are half undone, the toffee-toned strands dancing with static, and her feet are no longer adorned with slippers but with shiny tap shoes.
She rips open the last gift and peels the cardboard back, revealing a Barbie Dreamhouse. I don’t miss the way her smile slips, just slightly. “Wow, cool,” she says, digging out the toy. “Thanks, Santa.”
I lean back on my palms, watching from my perch on the rug. It’s been a wonderful Christmas. Theo and I got the newest Nintendo system called the Wii, along with an assortment of new games. We got clothes, posters for our bedrooms, and the Baileys even gave me cookbooks with my very own apron that says CHEF IN TRAINING.
I have everything I could ever want.
Except one thing.
June is quietly playing with a puzzle when she crawls over to the couch and hops up, sighing dramatically. Her little shoulders deflate as she blows a piece of loose hair out of her face.
“What’s wrong, Junebug? Do you like your gifts?”
“Yes, I love them.” She swings her legs back and forth. “I love my tap shoes the best. And the bath-time dolly.”
“Then why do you look sad?”
She shrugs, glancing away. “I didn’t get a sword. I guess Santa didn’t think I was brave enough.”
Sharing a look with the Baileys, I climb up beside her on the couch and pat her knee. “Remember what I told you last night? You don’t need a sword to be brave. Bravery comes from the inside.”
“I guess.”
“I’m serious, June. Being brave is a choice, and choice is the greatest weapon of all. I promise, you don’t need a sword.”
June worries her lip, gazing up at me with a wide-eyed stare. Her eyes glimmer like the tinsel on the tree. “You mean it?”
“Of course I mean it.”
“Okay, then,” she nods, a smile lifting. “I’m brave. I’m the bravest girl in the whole wide land.”
My grin is bright. “Say it again, Junebug. Louder.”
“I’m the bravest girl in the whole wide land, and I don’t need a sword!”
We all laugh when her squeaky voice cracks, and I pull her in for a tight hug. Pressing a kiss to the top of her head, I whisper gently into her ear, “Go look behind the tree.”
Her eyes pop. “Why?”
“Something just appeared like magic.”
She only falters for a second before she leaps from the couch cushion and darts around to the back of the tree. A little voice calls out with astonishment, “Another present!”
Theo waggles his eyebrows in my direction, and Mr. Bailey gives me a wink. June drags the long, narrow gift from the back wall to the center of the room and begins to shred the paper.
When the gift is revealed, she gasps.
A wooden sword, painted pink and silver, stands tall in her two eager hands.
“Whoa!” she squeals with delight.
Mr. Bailey and I stayed up nearly all night carving June a homemade sword from the wooden pieces of our old tree house. He loved the idea, and he loved that something that caused so much pain could be reused for something joyful. My painting job isn’t so great, but June doesn’t seem to notice. She’s so happy, near tears, holding the sword high in the air with all her might.
