There’ s nothing more magical than waking up on Christmas morning to falling snow, especially if you are six years old. Rushing to the window, I pressed my nose to the cold glass and watched while huge white flakes drifted earthward.

A fairyland lay before my eyes. Every tree was outlined in white. Familiar landmarks had disappeared. Gone were the shrubs, street and sidewalk. Instead, a wide expanse of snow covered everything, I felt as if I had been transported to another place. Neither animal nor human had marred this flawless panorama.

Dragging myself from the window I went to wake my parents. My trip took me through the living room where the Christmas tree stood in all it’s majesty. The first thing I noticed was “The Doll” sitting in our old rocking chair. Heretofore, all the dolls I had owned were “baby” dolls. This \ was a “lady” doll. She had red hair, a green satin dress, high heel shoes and a cute little hat atop a mass of red curls. A pearl necklace adorned her neck with matching bracelet on her wrist. Her eyes were blue and closed when you laid her down. This was the most beautiful doll I had ever seen. My other gifts became insignificant once I had her in my arms.

I immediately named her Marie after a classmate and friend that had curly red hair. She became my favorite. I allowed no one to hold her, except once, I let Marie hold her because they shared the same name. Marie said she was the prettiest doll in the whole world, and she wished she had such a beautiful doll.

Her nights were spent in a chair beside my bed, where I could reach out and touch her, or tell her secrets. By April she looked as if she had just been taken from the box.

One morning at school Marie was absent. She didn’t come the rest of the week. At church on Sunday, we learned Marie was very sick. We had special prayer for her. When we got home from church, I went to my room and got Marie. I held her and talked to her a long time. Carrying her in my arms, I took her to my mother. “Will you please take this doll and give her to Marie?” I asked Mother. She looked surprised. “Yes, if that is what you want me to do, but are you sure you want to give her away?” Asked Mother. “Maybe it will make her feel better to have her for her own. Marie said she wished she had such a pretty doll.” I replied. When Mother left with my doll, I crawled up on my daddy’s lap and he held me until I went to sleep.

Mother took the doll to Marie. She was too sick to know, but her mom placed it beside her on the pillow. It was several days before Marie woke up from her fever. Her mom said her face lit up when she saw the doll. She reached for it, and hugged it close. Marie’s recovery took a while, but she had her name sake to hold and play with until she was well. I know it helped her recover.

I never regretted giving Marie my doll, and subsequent dolls were very beautiful. However, they didn’t have the magic of Marie, my special Christmas Doll. Nov 2003

Clara Westerfer CBWEST@webtv.net

About me: Born in the mountains of NC, I learned to love story telling at a young age. For the past 36 years I have lived in Texas. Three dogs, numerous cats and other critters share my home.