Santa is Magic!

It was 1939, and the country was in the midst of the Great Depression. Although we had little money, my husband George and I, along with our five-year-old daughter Amanda, were better off than most of the families in town. We had a large garden for vegetables and fruit and our cattle, pigs and chickens supplied us with meat, milk, and eggs.

As I washed the dishes, however, I eavesdropped on a conversation between my five-year-old daughter Amanda and my sister's daughter Kate.

"I don't think Santa will be coming this year," Kate said. "Everybody is too poor."

"Well, of course Santa will come," Amanda answered. "I know people don't have much money, but Santa doesn't need money. He uses magic."

After a few seconds of silence, Kate said, "I hope you're right, but I wouldn't count on it."

"He's coming," Amanda repeated. "And I even know what he's going to bring me."

As the girls moved away, I sighed. I knew what Amanda was expecting. She spent hours mooning over the big Eaton's doll in the catalog. The doll was beautiful with her frilly white dress and go-so-sleep eyes, but she cost much more than we could afford.

Amanda ignored all the signs that it would be a mighty slim Christmas. Things like the fact I couldn't afford to bake a Christmas cake, or that there was no money for new decorations. She just got out the catalog and became engrossed in dreams of the doll she was expecting.

I hid the catalog in a high cupboard, hoping she would forget her infatuation with the doll. She spent hours hunting for that catalog, but at last she gave up the search.

"I don't need the book," she told me. "All I have to do is close my eyes and I can see my doll."

George was very quiet over the next two weeks. A few days before Christmas, he seemed to cheer up. He spent one whole evening playing his violin for us. He loved that violin. It had been passed down from father to son for generations, and had a lovely mellow tone.

The music, especially the Christmas carols, cheered us up. It even took Amanda's mind off the doll for a few hours. I breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe it wasn't going to be such a glum Christmas after all.

On Christmas eve we trimmed the tree we cut in the pasture. All we had for decorations were a few popcorn garlands and a bit of tarnished tinsel. I carefully unwrapped the Christmas Angel from the yellowing tissue paper and George placed it on top of the tree.

To me, that tree looked like a pitiful parody, but Amanda stood

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