It was early afternoon on Christmas Eve, and it was bitterly cold. Especially for a little red-haired girl, who wore only a dress and apron, and was running around with feet bare, her toes red, blue, and raw from the ice, cold snow. She did have shoes at first, but they were much too large for her tiny feet; for they had been her mother's shoes. She had lost one as she walked and when she had gone to retrieve it, a dog twice her size attacked her. She lost the first, and then the second as the dog chased her.
It was so cold, and she desperately wanted to go home, but she had yet to sell any matches, and her Uncle Drosselmeyer would kill her if she returned home without having sold her bundles. And besides that, it was cold at home as well. The roof had holes and the windows allowed drafts to come through. The day drew on, and every person she asked to buy her little matches either ignored her or told her no. By the time the street lamps lit up, she was exhausted and frozen.
Crossing the street, she looked into a window that house a wonderful looking feast and beautiful Christmas decorations that looked to be made by parent and child together. How she wondered what that was like; her mother had died when she was younger, so they had not had the chance to make any. Continuing down the street, she noticed all the houses filled with families, warm fires, delicious food, and good cheer. Why, even the couples that usually argued looked happy and gleeful.
As she gazed into the windows of homes warm and loving like she would never know, the wind began to pick up, and the girl, with her feet bare and an apron and dress to cover her body, shivered. Deciding to get off the street, she found a corner made by two buildings that kept the wind from biting her cheeks.
She curled up into a ball but to no avail; the cold still encased her little body. An idea came to her then; a match would provide her warmth! All she had to do was strike it against the wall, and the end would erupt in a warm flame. Picking out a single match from the bundle, she struck it against the wall and watched as the flame sparked to life. She gasped in delight as the little flame warmed her fingers, and even uncurled her body to warm her frost bitten toes by the tiny fire. It was as if she were sitting by a warm stove, but all too soon, the flame died.
Shivering, the little red-head stood up and turned to look into the window of the family in the house behind her. It was a group of four people. An older gentlemen with grayish brown hair, a boy, about her age, if not a little older, with green hair, another boy probably the same age, with white hair, and a young woman with long brown hair pulled into a pony tail. They looked to be having a wonderful time. Sighing softly, she stared with longing eyes, not realized she had drawn the attention of the green haired fellow.
Heaving yet another sigh, she sat down and curled up again. Uncle Drosselmeyer would be furious that she had used the matches, but she no longer cared.
"I wish to join you in heaven, mother," she spoke softly as she took a whole bundle of matches from her apron, "I'm sure if I were with you, I would be warm and my belly would be full. We would be together and happy."
She lit the bundle then closed her eyes, falling unconscious as the flame slowly flickered and died in her little frozen fingers.
The young green haired boy, Fakir, fidgeted; he had saw a shock of red hair at the window and he wanted to go investigate. How, however, could not leave the table before prayer was said and he could excuse himself properly. When finally he was able to get away, he ran into the hallway and down to the front door. Throwing on his shoes and coat, he burst through the door, leaving it swinging on its hinges as he scampered down the steps so he could run to the back of the house.
As he turned around the corner of his house to face where another house came in contact with his to create a corner, he stopped. There, before his very eyes was a red-haired angel. She was curled up and looked half frozen. In her hands that were turning blue, was a bundle of burnt matches. She looked like she was hardly breathing. Running over to the little girl, (he knew she was a girl because she was wearing a dress, tattered as it was,) knelt down before her and took off his coat, wrapping it around the unconscious girl before he picked her up. He was shocked by how light she was, and how cold.
Not wasting another second, he ran as fast as the snow and ice covered ground would allow him. Once inside, he didn't even bother to remove his shoes.
"Charon, I need help!" The young Fakir cried as he burst into the dining room.
There was a flurry of movement as the little girl was transferred into Charon's arms, before being rushed into the living room in front of the blazing fire. By the time they had settle the little girl in, she was wrapped like a baby in several blankets, laid on a couch that was pulled closer to the fireplace, with a soft, duck feather pillow beneath her head. After a while, she briefly woke. It was enough time for the young woman, Raetsel, to help her eat some hot soup. When she was out again, she was breathing easier, and a little color had returned to her cheeks.
Concerned for her health, Charon later unwrapped her from the blanket and tended to her frost bitten toes and hands, and so she wasn't lonely, Fakir pulled up a chair and read from a stock of parchment, stories he had written. The white haired boy, Mytho, sat with his back against the couch, giving the sleeping girl some company so that she would not be alone. He listened silently as Fakir read. For the rest of the night, she did not wake, even while one, then the other passed out in their seats.
It wasn't long before the bells of Churches tolled, signaling the people for morning mass, a signal to the rest that Christmas had arrived. The little girls eyes slowly fluttered open, and when they were wide open, she was greeted with a most wondrous sight; before her stood the four people she had spied through the last window, all holding out parcels wrapped in pretty paper, to her. Sitting up, she blinked in confusion. She couldn't remember having ever been so warm in the winter, nor could she remember a gift being held out to her.
When she seemed not to understand that the gifts were for her, Fakir gently grabbed her hand and put the gift into the palm of her hand and then pushed it towards her face, motioning for her to open it. Looking at the badly wrapped present in her hand, she noticed her hands were bandaged, and could not help the tears that filled her eyes.
Her Christmas wish had come true.
More than the gifts that they were offering her;
More than the help they had given her during the night;
Even more than the company they provided her with;
They had given her warmth, they had given her love, and they had cared for her.
Tears spilling, the young green haired boy began to panic while the others smiled in understanding. Laughing through her tears, she wiped them away before unwrapping the little gift. It revealed a box, and after opening that, she dumped a little metal figure into her hand. She smiled warmly; it was of a little duck with a feather that defied gravity and a young boy, holding a sword. It was messy, made with amateur hands, but it was beautiful and precious. Mytho then held out his own gift, it was slightly bigger but not as heavy. Opening it, it revealed a leotard, used for ballet practice.
He explained that he had seen her looking in through windows at their school, and she had looked transfixed. Raetsel than handed her another small gift, and opening it revealed toe shoes. Charon's was the biggest, revealing the school uniform for Kinkan Academy. She did not know how they had done it in so few hours, nor did she know how they knew what would mean the world to her, but she was more than grateful; she was humbled, and she was filled with love for these four people.
When she had finished opening her presents, she watched as the family opened theirs. The green haired boy, Fakir, got an ink and quill set. Mytho received a letter which caused his face to burn a crimson red. He also received a little crow. Raetsel got a little painted glass figure of flowers. Charon received leather gloves, and though she didn't understand it, he loved them.
After watching them, and after everything they had done for her, she wanted to give something back. Reaching into the pocket of her apron, she pulled out a few bundles of matches. Her lips quivered; she had nothing to offer this family in return for their kindness, their love, and their care. Not wanting to see her cry, Fakir kissed her cheek, and told her not to cry, that he was her knight and he would protect her from everything. The little girl blushed and forgot about what she could not give them, for in a sense, she had given them something.
To Fakir, she had given him the gift of true smiles and a will to protect someone, to Mytho, a true friend. The Raetsel, the little sister she never had and to Charon, an adopted daughter to keep his adopted sons from too much trouble, or, as was to be the case, to get into trouble with them. The rest of the day was spent merrily; laughing and talking, and even singing. They ate a wondrous meal and told stories, and even though the girl, Ahiru, told stories of who she was and from where she came, they were still precious words from a precious girl.
That Christmas morning marked a new beginning for little Ahiru, and that was probably what Christmas was all about. Christmas was a time for miracles, and the family at Schmied, (especially Fakir and Ahiru,) certainly found a precious one.
