Start Reading Waiting on Christmas

PROLOGUE

Finley Whittaker had been up since six that morning. It was tough to get up that early since she’d stayed up late weighing her options. And that was after she’d celebrated Thanksgiving late into the night with family and friends at the farm. But, as a ten-year-old – almost eleven – she could handle it.

Today was Day One of her mission.

Day One, because what she had to find out couldn’t be done in a single day. It would take time, careful planning, a lot of spying, and really good investigative work.

This season, she would find out if Santa Claus was real. And what better place to find the truth than their own Christmas tree farm?

Winter Haven Tree Farm, Finley imagined, was a lot like the North Pole. Everybody that worked there was a Christmas fanatic. They had shops, food, around-the-clock hot chocolate, horse and sleigh rides, and of course, Santa Claus.

Finley tied her hair in a long black braid that hung over her shoulder, slid tall brown work boots over her jeans, and hopped off the bed. She analyzed the farm schedule her mom had printed off the night before – it might have been Thanksgiving, but Fran Whittaker didn’t leave any detail untouched, unplanned, or unscheduled.

Moving her finger down the hours of the day, Finley stopped when she saw Santa Claus, pictures and presents.

Three PM, Finley noted, and nodded to herself. Just enough time to finish chores, help with the bakery, eat lunch with Maeve, then start her mission.

“Lee, you ready?”

She heard her dad’s voice echo up the stairs and into her room and grinned. She liked the nickname her dad used for her; it made her feel tough, cool, older.

“Lee?”

“Coming!” She didn’t want to make her dad wait. He was a hard worker and she liked showing she could work just as hard as he could.

Turning back only once to snatch the schedule, she quickly folded it, shoved the uneven edges of it into her pocket, and rushed out of her bedroom door.

Her boots sounded like a stampede as she raced down the stairs. She skidded down the last three with the heels of her boots barely making contact with the wooden steps. As she slid, she grabbed her thick work jacket off its hook then landed firmly at the base. Without thinking she slid her arms into the jacket, pulled her hat out of one pocket and reached for her gloves in the other.

At the creak in the floor, she looked up and grinned as her dad joined her in the entryway. When she saw the gift box her dad was holding behind his back, she couldn’t help the enthusiastic smile that splayed across her face.

“One early Christmas present for my girl. Don’t tell your mom.” Charlie Whittaker winked at his daughter and pulled the present out from behind his back.

Shreds of wrapping paper flew from the package and landed on the floor as her hands moved efficiently around the box, opening it like she did every year when her dad walked in with one early gift. This time though, as she studied the contents, she didn’t know how to feel.

In a way, looking at what lay in front of her, she felt older, wiser. In another it felt as though it was a sign she needed to grow up. But, most of all, it’s what she’d always wanted. It wasn’t a new stuffed animal, barrette, or colorful earrings.

Finley reached in and grabbed the thick, rust-colored leather work gloves – the ones that looked just like her dad’s – and looked up with pride.

“What do you think, kiddo?”

Finley nodded her agreement at first, her words lost, but finally looked up and said, “This is the best early Christmas present I’ve ever gotten. Thanks, dad.”

She slid the gloves on and curled her fingers in them a couple times, then launched toward her dad to wrap in him in a hug. Maybe because she was ten she shouldn’t hug her dad like this anymore, but they were inside where no one could see, and she did just get the coolest present. When she felt her dad give her a big squeeze then plant a kiss on the top of her stocking cap, she let go and grinned.

“Ready, Lee?” her dad asked.

Finley stood tall with her arms at her side and said, “Ready.”

Then she walked out the door with her dad, the chill of winter greeting her with a cool gust of wind, ready for her tenth holiday season at the farm.

They usually started in the hills and worked their way down. Finley grinned when Old Bobby Mills told her an entire row of cutting was her responsibility and to just, ‘load ‘em on up into the back of the truck when she was done.’

Finley liked Old Bobby, but she didn’t really think he seemed all that old. She understood it was a nickname but thought it should at least make a little bit of sense. Shrugging off the idea she watched her dad and Bobby walk down a row or two of trees, pointing and nodding, forming their plan. They’d cut some trees today, haul them down to Haven’s base, and sell them to the people that didn’t want to venture up and cut their own tree down.

Grabbing her saw, she carried it to the first tree in the line that was now officially her duty, and started sawing away at the base. She’d learned years ago how to saw, how to keep your movements fluid, where to cut, and how to make the tree fall in the direction you wanted it to go.

After three cuts, three trees laid out neatly in a row. Finley smiled to herself and sat back on her heels to take a small break and guzzle some of the water her dad had packed for them. From where she was sitting, Finley could see all of Haven’s base – what they called the main attraction area where the offices, shops, and bakery were – and already saw movement. It was early, but it didn’t stop the rush or the excitement on a day like today.

The day after Thanksgiving was like living in a new world. It’s like time flipped a switch and suddenly everything was magical. Christmas music sang from speakers mounted to tall wooden poles, the scent of cinnamon, molasses, and peppermint took the place of savory rosemary and sweet pumpkin, and twinkle lights were strung, wrapped, and circled around every building, post, and tree.

Then there was that. Finley let out a small giggle to herself as she heard laughter coming from one of the sleigh rides that started at seven-thirty sharp. She was a kid herself, but there was something contagious about the way it sounded to her. It was her favorite sound. She heard it nonstop around Christmastime, and especially when Santa Claus made his appearance.

The idea of seeing Santa today, for the first time in a year – which seemed like an eternity – had her picking up the saw once more to finish the job she was tasked to do. Maybe if she hurried she’d get time off after lunch to prepare for Santa. Do a little pre-mission recon. Maybe Maeve would be able to help her once the lunch crowd died down a bit.

Yes, that’s exactly what she would do, she thought, as the next tree tipped to the ground next to the others.

“What do you have left to do?” Maeve asked as she dipped the corner of a grilled cheese sandwich into a bowl full of homemade tomato soup.

“Nothing. I finished everything. This isn’t something to take lightly, you know. Will you be able to come with me?”

“Dunno,” Maeve answered through a bite then paused to finish before going on. “Mom said she could use my help with the afternoon cookies. I’ll let you know. Come back and check if I’m done before you go spy. I want to see every move Santa makes.”

Finley appreciated the determination in Maeve’s eyes. Maeve was her best friend, so she was pretty sure Maeve would have been up for whatever kind of mission Finley set out on, but she was also a firm believer in Santa Claus. Maeve would need every possible piece of proof Santa wasn’t real before she could be told otherwise. Which, Finley thought, was exactly why she wouldn’t want to miss out on spying. The only thing that would keep Maeve from joining, was cookies.

“Okay, I’ll be back. I want to run over to the shop.”

“I saw Stacy and Clara.” Maeve’s dreamy look let Finley know she was imagining an older version of herself. “They’re the ones working today. You should see how cool they look. You can tell they’re in high school now. I can’t wait to be in high school. I want to be just like them.”

“Yeah, I saw their names on the schedule, that’s why I’m going. Last week, when they were setting up, Clara let me use her mascara and lip gloss. I’m saving to get my own.”

“I’m jealous. Mom told me no makeup until I’m thirteen. That’s so far away.”

Finley didn’t want to say she wasn’t allowed to wear makeup either, but she’d already decided that’s what she was going to spend her saved-up money on, so even if she couldn’t wear it with her parents around, she’d still have it.

“Maeve, are you about finished up?” Marvel Robb, Maeve’s mom, snuck her plump head around the corner of the kitchen to get a look at the girls.

Maeve slouched at the call, but only for show, because really, she liked making cookies. The idea of mixing and sampling dough all afternoon sounded really great.

“Finished! Coming,” Maeve called out without turning. “See you later?”

“Definitely.”

“Okay, don’t forget to stop by before you start spying.”

“Deal.”

The day was already going better than expected. Stacy and Clara, who were officially the coolest. Both girls went in on a Christmas present for Finley, and gave it to her when she stopped by. Her own mini-makeup set. When she opened the shimmering powders and sparkling lip glosses she knew she didn’t play it cool, but she was too excited to hide her wide smile and the shock of feeling so grown up.

She also knew she spent way too much time in the shop and had to go set up for her mission. Finley longed to try her new makeup, but all she had time for was a quick swipe of the pink gloss before she carefully stowed it in the top drawer of her dresser and dashing out again.

“Maeve, you back there?” Finley yelled over the bakery counter through thick puffs of breath.

“Yeah. Cookies. Gingerbread. I can’t make it.”

Finley grinned at the quick clip of words, knowing Maeve would have stayed for any cookie, and that was okay. She could do her recon on her own. She’d report back with all of the details Maeve would require the next time they saw each other.

“Okay, see you later?”

“Yeah. But Lee,” Maeve’s voice was urgent, “remember, I want to know everything.”

“You got it. Bye.”

Finley didn’t waste a second and ran toward Santa’s workshop. Inside, Santa had a big wooden chair, woodsy garland, lights, and flocks of snow all around him. She didn’t understand why Santa needed a chair that size, but she supposed it was pretty cool and it made sense that somebody as great as Santa would get to sit in it. Her Grandma said it was carved by hand using the very trees they had on their farm. That was cool too, she decided.

Inching her way around to the back door of the shop, Finley climbed two bales of hay that sat just below one of the workshop windows. It gave her the perfect spot to watch Santa as he walked in and got ready. If it was like all the times before, he’d walk in wearing a big brown jacket lined with fur, nothing that normal people really wore, and big black boots with matching black gloves. He even kind of looked like Santa when he wasn’t dressed all in red. Then he would go to the back room, change into his berry-colored suit and matching hat, then come out holding his belly, laughing as if wearing the suit was the happiest thing he’d ever done.

Lost in her daydream, Finley nearly missed Santa’s arrival. When he walked into the room she hurried to duck so she wouldn’t be caught spying, but as she lowered herself her hand slipped off the bale and she toppled to the ground with a little squeal.

“Hey, are you okay?”

Flat on her back, Finley tried to catch the breath the hard ground slapped out of her, then looked around for the voice. When the face appeared, she figured the boy couldn’t have been much older than she was. He stood over her showing off a crooked grin. Then he said again, “You okay?”

“Yeah. I think I got out of the way in time, too,” Finley answered, not worried about injuries, and more concerned that her mission had been compromised.

“Got out of the way?” the boy questioned, and held out a hand.

Finley took the offered hand, stood, and wiped the dirt off the back of her jeans.

“Yeah, I’m on a mission.”

“Nice. What kind?” he asked, intrigued.

Eyeing the boy, she tried to judge just how much she could trust him. And more importantly, if he would think she was silly for the mission she was on in the first place. Cocking her head to the right, she eyed the boy, and decided he was worthy.

“It’s a Santa Claus mission.” Finley waited to see what kind of reaction she would get. When there was only a nod of understanding she continued. “I have a lot of friends at school that told me Santa isn’t real. But I see him close up every year and don’t really have a reason to believe he isn’t. I mean, he makes all the kids that see him here really happy. So, I’m spying on Santa this year to find out for myself. If he’s not real, I’ll see it. I’ll know.”

The boy only nodded again, taking in what he’d heard.

“My brother told me Santa was fake. That only babies believed in him. Well, just my older brother, Jake. James, my younger brother is like me. We’re believers.”

It was Finley’s turn to nod.

“I’m Lee.” She held out her hand. “If you want to, you can join my mission. I think it would be nice to know. And my friend Maeve couldn’t come so I don’t have anybody to spy with.”

The boy took her hand and said, “I’m Jackson, and I’m in.”

The night had gotten cold by the time Finley came in from her second round of spying, stopping only once because her mom had made her come in for dinner. Now, she was shivering, and exhausted. After a quick shower she went down for a cookie and to kiss her parent’s good night, before climbing the stairs and eventually into bed. The big clock on the wall leading up the stairs had told her it was just after eleven, and she had to be ready for another day of chores around sunrise.

But, even with her eyes heavy and wilting, she smiled at the day. She and Jackson had watched Santa Claus call kids by their names, give deep, rolling laughs as kids looked on in amazement that he already knew what they wanted for Christmas. During the mission they sipped hot chocolate and snacked on cookies while they watched Santa sneak to the back room to steal bites of his own stash of cookies when nobody was watching.

After two hours they had both agreed: Santa Claus wasn’t only real, he must use magic almost all the time.

Jackson had to go back to his family for a while to take pictures with Santa and to pick out a tree. But they ended up staying for the first movie of the season – Miracle on 34th Street, a family favorite – so before it started he was able to sneak away and found Finley wandering the tree lot. They watched two people hold hands, and when Jackson held hers – thinking that’s what you were supposed to do while looking for trees – Finley let him. It was a little surprising, but she thought it felt nice.

They walked and talked for as long as they could. Jackson asked Finley what it was like to live on the farm and get to do cool things like cut down trees and eat cookies all day. She didn’t want to make him feel badly but she admitted it was the best thing in the whole world.

When the movie had just about come to an end Finley couldn’t help but feel sad that Jackson had to leave. She tried to be as cool as she could when she walked next to him toward the parking lot where his family was waiting, but she felt as though her heart was tightening inside her body.

Even now, lying in bed, she kind of missed him. But, she lifted her hand to her cheek as her eyelids fell towards a night full of dreams, he had promised that he would be back the same time next year, then kissed her cheek before turning and running the final stretch to his family.

…

One year later, one year older and wiser, Finley found herself in bed after a long day once again. Only this time, her heart was a little less full. She brought her hand to her cheek as she had many nights over the past year, anticipating this very day. Now the day had come and gone. She couldn’t remember any particular detail of it since she’d spent most of it trying to find Jackson in the crowds that wandered in and out. She’d sat until the very end of the movie, not really watching, just waiting.

When the last family had huddled into their van with a tree strapped tightly to its roof, she stood alone under the lamppost and watched it drive away.

Finley sucked in a breath as she had when the snow had begun to drift down around her, holding back the small trickle of emotion that tried to escape. She didn’t want to believe Jackson didn’t come, but the fact was that he hadn’t been there. But she was too old to feel sad about it for too long. So, rather than get upset, Finley had wiped her leather glove across her nose, sniffed, and swore that whenever Jackson could make it back, she would be there to see him.

Closing her eyes, Finley let herself drift into an exhausted sleep, with just a bit of hope that she’d see Jackson again one winter day.