What was the first gift of Christmas?

The Christmas Gift

By Penny Reed Cardon

As I was passing my father's office, I heard him talking to his assistant, Marrie, via the intercom. "Marrie, would you ask Greg to come to my office, right away?"

"Certainly, Mr. Masters," she replied.

I stopped and smiled to myself. "What do you think, Marrie; should I go in now, or should it appear that you had to call me from my office?"

"Well, Mr. Masters, from my experience with your father, if he says 'right away,' he means right away."

“Marrie, how many times have I asked you to call me Greg?”

“I’m sorry sir. You may be ten years younger than me, but as my boss’s son it just wouldn’t be proper.”

“All right, have it your way. It’s just that, you calling me Mister makes me feel … well, it makes me feel old.”

“I’m sorry sir, but-“

“Never mind Marrie, it’s not your fault. Have a nice day.”

Having lost another battle for my identity and feeling older than I was, I knocked on Dad's office door.

"Come in"

Opening the door, I said, "Hi Dad, you wanted to see me?"

"Well, that was fast, or have you been hanging around flirting with Marrie again?"

"Of course not Dad, I just happened to be passing by. Anyway, Marrie isn't my type. Actually, I’ve heard that Wallace in accounting has a thing for her."

"Yes, I’ve heard that too. He’d better be good to her, I don’t want to have to train a new assistant. But that's not why I wanted to see you. Do you remember Mrs. Hunter?"

"Let me think ... that would be, June Hunter?"

"That's her! She and her late husband James have been clients of the firm since before you passed the bar, she still is. You see, she has cancer and it’s no longer responding to any of the treatments. With her permission, I’ve been staying in touch with her doctors. They say they can slow it down a little, but there's nothing they can do to stop it. They don't think she is going to live more than another six months, a year at the outside.

“They also told me that she has one wish before she leaves this life. She wants to see her granddaughter. June and James couldn’t have children of their own, so they adopted a ten year old girl, Victoria. It broke June's heart when Victoria ran off to LA with a drummer for some rock band.

“About 10 years ago, June received a birth announcement, indicating that Victoria had a daughter. About five years ago, she received a picture of her granddaughter, Samantha. June hasn't heard anything since receiving that picture. Greg, I want you to track down Victoria and Samantha, and bring them back here."

"Hang on Dad, that's a big request."

"That's why I’m asking you, Son. This job needs to be handled very carefully. I also know how understanding you are, and how you will handle this assignment. There are some other reasons that I want you to do this for me, I just can’t go into them right now."

"Dad, I know you have a lot of faith in me and my blood hound instinct, but that trail will be pretty cold."

"It may be colder than you think,” he mumbled softly. “There's one other thing; you need to find them before Christmas. Like I said, the doctors don't know how long June will live past then, or how coherent she may be after that."

"Christmas? Dad, that's only four months away! How am I going to find them in five months?"

"I expect you’ll work hard, move quickly, and follow each lead carefully. Son, there's one more thing; I’d like you to use your personal credit card for this, not the firm’s card. I'll see to it that the bill is paid."

That one took me by surprise. I thought for a moment before asking, "Dad … who’s June Hunter?"

"What do you mean?"

"Dad, you've always taught me to keep my personal and business expenses separate. Now you're telling me to use my personal account for what should be a business matter. I have to ask, who is June Hunter?"

"Let's just say that she's a friend of our family, being that she was disowned by her own."

I could tell that my father was in agony on this subject, but I had to know what I was getting into, and why. I softened my voice as I again asked, "Dad, who is June Hunter?"

"I guess you could say … she's my half sister," he whispered, there were tears in his eyes. I'd never seen my father cry.

"Dad, I know you're from a big family, but I didn't know that either of my grandparents were involved with anyone else before they met each other."

"No son, they weren't."

"Dad, you're not making any sense. The only way June Hunter could be your half sister would be if ..."

"I … I guess you could also say that she's my ... half brother," Dad whispered as he broke into tears.

I waited patiently for my father to collect himself. It was several minutes before he was able to continue. "Son, when you were fourteen your Uncle Gregory passed away suddenly, remember?"

"Yes, I remember, it was a big funeral; everyone was there from both sides of the family. As I recall, only a few were crying, almost everyone else appeared mad or angry. I never did figure that out. Everyone loved Uncle Gregory. Why would they be mad about his death?"

"Maybe because the funeral was a farce, although several of the family wanted to kill him. He received threatening calls and letters for weeks before the funeral."

"You're not making any sense. Why would anyone want to hurt Uncle Gregory? ... Dad what’s going on, what really happened?"

"Son, your Uncle Greg and I were very close, closer than most brothers. That's why I named you after him. We shared our youth, our lives, and we each others secrets. Yet through all the years we spent together there was something different about him, something that I never quite understood or could identify. A month before Greg's funeral, he came back from a trip to Thailand. No one had seen him for about a year before that. When he came home, he wasn't Gregory, at least not the Gregory that everyone knew. Son, June Hunter is your Uncle Gregory."

"Are you telling me that Uncle Greg had a, a ..."

"Yes Son, she underwent sexually reassignment surgery while she was in Thailand. Your grandfather was furious when she came home and made the announcement. He threw June out with just the clothes on her back and not a penny to her name. He had Greg declared dead and seized his assets. No one in the family would do anything to help her, no one ... except me. I just couldn't turn my back on her as the rest of the family had done. Greg and I had been too close for me to abandon her that way. We spent hours and hours talking. I finally understood how she felt about her life, her feelings, about others like her and about the feelings she had for me when we were young ..."

Dad was sobbing again. I hadn’t meant for this to happen, but I had to know that what I was being asked to do wouldn't cause me to be ashamed of myself. Over the years, I've learned truth can depend on your point of view. Right and wrong can have a variety of meanings. The one thing I've found over the years that seems to work the best as a guide is to ask myself this one question; 'Will what I'm about to do, cause me to be ashamed of myself?’

Twenty-two years ago, as a boy of thirteen, I did what I believed to be legally the right thing to do, and technically, it was. It wasn't until I was nineteen that I learned and understood the full consequences of my actions. The shame and disgrace I’ve felt ever since has been a constant reminder of the need to look at all sides of a situation before making a decision. I've never been able to forgive myself for hurting Nicholas the way I did.

"Dad, when I ran away from Marshallville and told you what they were doing; you contacted the US Marshal’s, you tried to hunt them down, to stop them. You lectured me that what they were doing was legally wrong, a crime against nature, and a sin against God. I know, from the reports I read later, that when the Marshals arrived at the school it was empty. I was sick about it. I didn’t know what happened to Elizabeth or Kimberley or any of the other students. It was all because of me that the school disappeared.” ‘I guess admitting that, when I was nineteen, Elizabeth came to me and told me what happened to her and the school after I left, doesn’t matter. I wasn’t going to make the same, stupid, mistake twice; then or now.’ “Now I find out that a year after all of that, your brother announced that he’d had feminine feelings all his life, that he was transgender, and had a gender reassignment and then suddenly it was okay?"

"Son, I … I … um, ... I don't what to say."

"Let's start at the beginning; Dad. Is it possible for someone to feel that they are truly female, even though they have a male body?"

With a heavy sigh, he replied, "Yes."

"Is it wrong for someone like that to want their body to match how they feel?"

"No, Son, it's not wrong."

"So you're telling me that I've wasted the last fourteen years of my life being lonely? Refusing to commit to a relationship with Elizabeth because I thought you'd disapprove of her! You know that’s why I’ve never married her? I've never found anyone else that made me feel … complete."

"Son, all I can say is … I'm sorry."

I thought about what I'd just learned, about my life and the choices I've made. It seemed like I took hours before all my past thoughts, feelings, and emotions made sense, and I made a decision, several actually. "When do I leave, Dad?”

"Thank you, Son. As soon as possible."

"Very well, I'll leave this afternoon. Sally has the information on my cases and can brief whoever you want to take them over. I'll need all the Information you have on Victoria and Samantha."

"Everything we have is right here, son. I'm afraid there isn’t much to go on," Dad confessed as he handed me an envelope.

"You can say that again," I exclaimed. In the large envelope were two smaller envelopes. They were addressed to 'Mom', with the address of the Hunter estate. The return addresses were different, so there was no help there. I'd have to check out both addresses.

The first contained a standard birth announcement, pink, 'Congratulations, you’re a Grandmother, love Vicky' had been signed below the statistics. Odd, the line for sex had been left blank. The second contained a picture of a young girl about five or six, blue eyes, long brown hair, dimples and a smile that would melt the coldest heart. On the back, in a child's hand, were the words, 'HI GRAM MA'. Below in a much more polished hand, 'Hi, Mom, Isn't Sammie beautiful? She started school today. Mom, she's just like you. Love, Vicky'.

"Okay, Dad, I'm off. I'll call you each week to give you updates. Will you keep me posted as to Aunt June's condition?"

"Of course, Son, and … thank you. Not just for taking on this task, but for accepting June."

"Well, she is my aunt, isn't she?"

"Yes, Son, she is." I detected a hint of pride in dad’s voice just then. I wasn’t sure if it was pride in me or in Aunt June; right then, it didn’t matter.

"So long, Dad. I'll keep in touch."

"Good luck, Son."

I left Dad’s office and went back to my own, where I Informed Sally that I'd be away for a while and that my Father would be re-assigning my caseload to other members of the firm. I went to my apartment, packed two bags, my laptop and printer. I was heading out to my car when I realized I'd forgotten about my fish. I called Sally, asked her to arrange to have my aquarium moved to the office.

As I was heading for I-15 I suddenly realized something. I needed to see someone before I left town. I turned around and headed for the hospital, where I asked for June Hunter.

Of course, they wanted to know who I was, and why I was inquiring about her. I paused briefly before telling them that I was her nephew.

When I entered the specified room, the dignified looking woman that I knew as June Hunter was reclining in the bed. Every hair was in place; her makeup looked like an expert had applied it. This time however, I was looking at her with different eyes; I couldn't stop them from tearing.

"May I help you, young man?"

"Hello, Aunt June."

"You must have me confused with someone else."

"No, Aunt June, I'm not confused, at least not anymore. I don't know how I missed seeing the resemblance before. Probably just stupidity on my part, and a little bit of society confusing my brain."

"I'm sorry, young man ..."

"You don't recognize me Aunt June? I'm Gregory Masters, Shawn Masters’ son. I know that you know my father."

"Of course I know him; he's been my lawyer for years."

"And he's been your brother, for your whole life." That was when she started crying. I rushed to her bedside, taking her hand in mine. "Aunt June, it wasn't my intention to upset you. Please don't cry."

After she had regained her composure she continued, "So, why have you come here? Come to tell me how repulsive I am, like the rest of the family?"

"Aunt June! No, it’s nothing like that. I came to visit with my aunt, and to apologize for wasting so many years."

"What do you mean, wasting?"

"I mean that I’m sorry for all the years that I've missed knowing my favorite aunt."

"You’re a foolish boy!"

"Aunt June, I may have been a foolish boy from time to time, but this isn't one of them."

"Someday you'll be ashamed of me, just like everyone else."

"Aunt June, I've done some things in my life that I've been ashamed of. At thirteen I ran out on the best friend I ever had, just when she needed me the most. I hurt hundreds of people because I was blind, stupid, and thinking only of myself. Once I realized how stupid I'd been, it was too late; the damage had been done. I have spent, and will spend, the rest of my life trying to undo that mistake. Never again will I do something that would cause me to be ashamed of myself, and that includes knowing you. I'm not ashamed of you; in fact, I'm proud of you. And I'm proud to be your nephew."

"You're a silly boy, Gregory Masters. You were silly when you were a wee lad, and you're just as silly today. But I thank you for coming to see a grumpy old woman."

"You're welcome, Auntie. Now that I've put a smile on your face, I need to be off."

"So soon? But you've only just arrived."

"I'm sorry, but Dad has me looking for a Christmas gift for a dear friend of his."

"A Christmas gift? But Christmas is months away!"

"Yes, and it will probably take me that long to find it."

"Well, it must be something very special if your father is sending you to look for it now."

"Yes Auntie, very special indeed. Listen, I'm going to call you while I'm away and I'll come see you as soon as I get back." I gave Aunt June a hug, wiped my eyes and headed for LA.

I set up a small office to work out of, well, OK; I set up my laptop and printer on the desk in my room at a Best Western. The return addresses were the first places to start. It took me three weeks to run down the leads I got from them, all dead ends.

Next, I tried the LA county birth records. The birth announcement didn’t have a date of birth on it so I had to guess based upon the postmark on the envelope. Want to guess how many Victorias had children during the six month time frame where I estimated Samantha would have been born? It took days and days to sort through those records. I didn't know if Victoria had changed her last name or not, so I had to read every birth certificate in the database, reading the names of the mother's parents.

As it turned out, Victoria hadn't changed her name, but I didn’t know it right away. According to the first birth certificate that even came close, the mother was single, but there was a father's name listed, which gave me a new lead to follow. I kept searching the database for record of a second birth that might be a better match, but couldn't come up with one. You see, the record I found was for a boy, a boy named Samuel.

It took weeks to chase down the father. Musicians move around frequently and they don't usually bother updating their driver’s license information.

Eight weeks passed; almost half of my time was gone before I finally made contact. My search had ended, or had it? As it turned out, I would never have the honor of meeting my cousin Victoria. The sperm donor who had impregnated her, producing a child, was now nothing more than a drifter, little more than a vagrant. According to his account, they had dumped Sam at an orphanage when he was seven because they couldn't afford to feed him. When I asked about the girl, Samantha, he laughed until he fell down.

Victoria it seems, had died of unknown causes a year after she had abandoned Sam. She was buried at county expense, in an unmarked grave in Bishop, California, just a plot number on the cemetery map. I notified Dad, and he would make the arrangements for Victoria’s body to be exhumed. She would be flown home to be reburied on the right side of her father. The space on his left was for June.

Two days later, I managed to see the director of the orphanage where Sam had been left. I was expecting to see terrible living conditions, and abused and neglected children. To my very pleasant surprise, it was neat and the children were clean and well behaved, and overall they seemed to be happy.

"Mr. Martinez, I'm Gregory Masters."

"How can I help you Mr. Masters?"

"I'm looking for a child."

"An infant, a toddler ...”

"Oh no, I'm sorry, Mr. Martinez, please let me start over,” I interrupted. I continued while I produced my identification. “I'm Gregory Masters, attorney at law. I’m searching for the grandchild of a client. Through the course of my investigation, it was revealed to me that the child I'm looking for was left here about three years ago.”

Mr. Martinez was very pleasant. Once he was satisfied as to who I was and the purpose of my visit, he brought his computer on line so he could search the home’s database. "Well, that's an entirely different situation. Obviously you're not looking to adopt one of our children. All right now, what do you know about the child in question?"

"I have very little information. As I indicated, the child was left here about three years ago. She was seven years of age at that time, blue eyes and brown hair and according to a picture that was sent to my client, she has a smile that would melt any heart." I produced the picture, passing it to Mr. Martinez.

He agreed that Samantha's smile would melt your heart. "So you’re looking for a girl that would be ten, is that correct?"

"Well, I’m not sure that’s quite correct! You see, according to the only birth certificate I found with the correct mother and grandparents, I'm looking for a boy named Sam. According to the um ... the individual that Sam and his mother were living with at the time, Sam always wore girls’ clothes. So when Sam was left here, he may have seemed out of place."

"Three years ago, a boy who dressed as a girl, and insisted he was a girl. Yes, I know the one you mean. Are you sure, you want that one? We've got lots of good well behaved boys here."

"I'd like to see and speak with the child, privately if I may. I need to find out if this is the child I'm looking for."

"Well you can see him, but he won't talk to you. He hasn't said anything for about two years." Mr. Martinez reached for his phone. "I don't think this client of yours will want him around.”

Picking it up, he dialed, “Hello, Sid? This is Juan. Find the fruit and bring him to my office.” He listened for a moment. “Sid, just clean him up and bring him to my office.”

He turned back to me, “It'll be a few minutes before he arrives. Do you want to wait here or in the lobby?"

"I'll wait in the lobby, if it’s all the same. I've got some paperwork to go through. I have one question first. Why did you call him the fruit?"

"Because he's a fruitcake! Always insisting that he's a girl, wants to wear girls clothes. After lights out he used to sneak down to the laundry and change into the girls panties and nightgowns. He'd hide panties to wear under his pants. Refused to have his hair cut, kept screaming ‘All the other girls have long hair.’ The staff finally got tired if his games and took some drastic action to keep him in line."

I left to wait in the lobby. Half an hour later Mr. Martinez called me back into his office. I was horrified by the spectacle in front of me. It was indeed a human child, but beyond that, I wasn't sure. He looked more like one of the Jews that had been liberated from the German extermination camps near the end of W.W. II. His head was shaved, his skin hung from his bones, he was dressed in only a dirty tee shirt and briefs.

It didn't matter to me if this was Sam or not, somehow I was taking this child out of here. And if I had my way, someone was going to lose their cushy job over this.

The boy standing in front of Mr. Martinez's desk seemed more like a morbid statute than a child. I removed my jacket as I approached, wrapping it around him. "May I speak with him privately?” I asked.

"You can try. I'll be close by if you need anything."

After Martinez left I made use of my cell phone’s built in camera. Removing my jacket from Sam, I took several pictures. I sent them to Dad along with a note, 'I think this is Sam. More info to follow. Wish me luck.'

Replacing the jacket, I picked up Sam. I sat in the nearest chair and set Sam on my knee. I don't think he weighed more than forty pounds.

I spent twenty minutes trying to get him to talk before, in desperation, I got out my phone and called for reinforcements. "Hello, Elizabeth? It's Gregory."

"Greg! Hi! What has it been, a month? No, I’m teasing again, it's only been two weeks. I have to admit that I was a little shocked when you called two months ago, but I’ve enjoyed our calls since then. The first was just after you started that special assignment. By the way, how's that going? And what did you mean; you had a surprise for me?"

"Well, about your surprise, you’re just going to have to wait until I can come see you. As for my special assignment, it’s not going so well, I'm afraid. Victoria died about two years ago. The granddaughter, Samantha, has turned out to be a grandson named Sam. I've found him in an orphanage. He's been so mistreated and abused it’s positively frightening. I'm with him now; the problem is he won't speak. I need him to confirm his identity before I'll be able to help him. That's why I'm calling you this time of day. How can I get him to talk to me?"

"Greg, I'm not the right one to talk to about that, you need a child psychiatrist. I do know some people who might be able to help you. Hang up and I'll make a few calls and I see what I can do. If I can’t find anyone I’ll call you back, otherwise I’ll have a friend of mine call you directly. Is it okay to give them this number?."

"Thank you, Elizabeth. Yes, you can give out this number, I trust you to do your best. I'll call later tonight so we can talk in more detail."

I waited nervously as the seconds ticked by. I jumped when my phone rang. "This is Greg."

"Gregory Masters?" inquired a young female voice.

"Yes! I'm Gregory Masters."

"Hi, my name is Rachael. I’m a friend of Elizabeth’s. She tells me you have a little problem. And if I understood her correctly, your problem is sitting on your lap?"

I briefly recapped the entire story, adding more details of Sam's current condition.

"Mr. Masters, I believe that her refusal to speak is part of her mind blocking out the current situation. The use of the male name only adds to the problem. At this time I’d assume she associates her current situation, the pain and suffering, with being male. I suggest using her feminine name; that should bring her around, at least enough to answer a few questions. I must caution you, keep the questions simple, easy for her to understand and answer. Once you get her out of there and get to your hotel, give me a call."

"Thank you Rachael. I'll call you as soon as we get back to my hotel." I quickly stored the number Rachael had called me from, along with her name. It then occurred to me, I didn’t have a last name.

Putting away my phone, I gently leaned down and whispered "Samantha?"

At first there was no response, but I kept at it. “Samantha, are you in there Samantha?” It was as if someone had flipped a switch, giving her life. She slowly turned her head and looked into my eyes. As I looked into her eyes, I started to see the girl in the picture.

"You are Samantha, aren't you?” I asked gently. Her response was purely visual, the tiniest hint of a smile, a hint of a twinkle in her eyes, and a slight nod of her bald head.

"Samantha, I'm your Uncle. My name is Gregory. I'd like to take you away from here, but I need your help. First, do you remember your mommy?"

She responded by nodding. "That's good, Sweetheart. Can you tell me your mommy's name?"

I received only silence. "Samantha, before I can help you, you have to talk with me. I need you to tell me your mommy's name."

Her mouth opened, ever so slightly, and a barely audible whisper came forth, "Mommy."

If I hadn’t been afraid it would scare her, I’d have jumped up and spun her around with her in my arms. We hadn't won the war yet, but this was definitely a huge step in the right direction. "That's great, Sweetheart, you’re doing just great. Do you remember what the man that you and your mommy lived with called your mommy?"

"Slut." Her one word reply made me want to strangle the life out of that good for nothing scumbag.

I forced myself to smile, to show her that she was indeed doing well. "Let's forget that one, okay Sweetheart? Did your mommy have other friends?"

She responded with another nod.

"That's great. Do you remember what your mommy’s friends called her?"

"Vicky," she whispered.

"Could you say that again, and just a little louder, just so I know that I heard you correctly?”

"Vicky," she said with just a little more confidence. I could have sworn I heard angels singing the Hallelujah chorus.

I gently hugged my niece. "That's terrific! That's all I needed to hear. A little paperwork, and we'll be on our way."

I stood up, carrying Samantha with me, opened the office door and called for Mr. Martinez. Leaving the door open, I sat down and retrieved several forms from my briefcase, and started to fill them out.

Mr. Martinez arrived after a few moments. "Mr. Martinez, thank you for joining us. This is the child I've been looking for. I will be taking her with me."

Samantha smiled as she laid her head against my chest.

"Her?” Martinez shouted. "You're as nutty as he is."

"If you would be so kind as to sign these release forms?" I smiled as I handed him the forms, ignoring his comment.

"I'm not signing anything. It'll take weeks to process the paperwork through the court system. You're not taking that fruitcake anywhere."

"Mr. Martinez, you are in charge of this facility, correct?"

"Yes."

"Then you are responsible for the actions of the staff members?"

"Yeess."

"Then as I see it, you have a choice to make. Either sign these release forms and get me some decent clothes for Samantha; those would be girls clothes, … or I'll forward the pictures I took of this child to the Director of the Department of Social Services Child Welfare section, the State Office of Child Abuse Prevention; as well as the chief of the California Juvenile Justice System, not to mention every newspaper and television station in Southern California. I'm sure that everyone will be impressed with the fine quality of care that is given to the children under your care."

Mr. Martinez stared at me for two minutes before he decided I wasn't bluffing. Slowly he reached for his phone, "Stella, Juan! Bring a complete girl’s outfit to my office. Size? I don't know, something to fit a small ten-year-old." He slammed the phone down. Taking the forms, he sighed them and threw them across the desk at me.

"Thank you for being so kind and understanding," I said as I signed the appropriate locations. I handed one form back, "For your records, sir."

"Just get the hell out of my office," he said gruffly.

As I put away the paperwork I replied, "We'll wait in the lobby for the clothes."

Standing, I picked up Samantha, then my briefcase. Turning to Mr. Martinez, "You have a nice day."

Twenty minutes later a large burly woman approached us carrying a bundle of clothes, which she put on the chair next to me. She didn't say anything but as she turned and walked away, I heard an evil chuckle. I suspected foul play even before I examined the clothes.

I picked up Samantha then handed her my briefcase, "Can you hold this for me, Dear?" She smiled and held it tightly with both arms.

I carefully picked up the offensive clothing and returned to Mr. Martinez office. I didn't bother to knock. My sudden entrance surprised him.

I spread the foulness across his desk. "I suppose, I should have specified clean clothes. Don't worry about it, we'll find something suitable at a local department store." I left before he could respond.

In my travels over the last eight weeks, I'd noted the location of more than a dozen malls, in addition to most of the major stand-alone department stores. At this time, however, I felt that something less public was called for so I headed for a little strip mall, and a specialty shop for girls that was about two miles from my hotel.

I'd planned on leaving Samantha in the car while I ran in after the essentials. She had other ideas, and wasn't about to be left behind. She wasn't even ashamed of how she was dressed, which told me they had kept her in just underwear for a very long time

The bell on the shop door jingled, as we entered. The smile on Samantha’s face when she saw the fancy dresses was worth her weight in gold.

The owner of the small shop was working behind the counter as we entered. "Good afternoon, I'll be right with ... you." She hesitated when she turned to see us.

"Good afternoon, we need some clothes for my niece here."

"Your ... Niece?

"Yes ma'am. About nine weeks ago, I learned that I had an aunt whom the family had disowned, who is dying of cancer. She had a daughter, and a granddaughter that she's never seen. I was tasked with tracking them down. I discovered that her daughter had passed away, and my niece had been left at an orphanage across town, where she has been mistreated. What we need is three or four complete changes of clothes. I don't know her sizes and would be grateful if you could help in that arena."

"I'm sorry, sir, my misunderstanding. My name is Paula. I'd be happy to help in any way I can. Why don't I take her into our changing room to take her measurements? Then we'll know what size clothes to look for."

"Thank you, Paula. I'm Gregory and this is Samantha."

We went to the back of the store where they had just one changing room. I set Samantha down trying to give her hand to Paula. Samantha just wouldn't let go of me. "Samantha, it's all right. Paula is just going to measure you. I'll wait right here, okay?"

She shook her head and hugged my waist. "Paula, I'm afraid she isn't going to let go of me. How large is that room?"

"It'll accommodate two comfortably, but not three."

"I guess you'll just have to do your best right here."

"Very well. Your jacket I presume? If you'll hold her hands with her arms out, I'll just measure her under the jacket."

We proceed as suggested. Samantha and I faced away from the front door and I held out her arms.

"Sir, why is your niece wearing boy’s underwear? And why is she so skinny?"

I lowered Samantha's arms and covered her ears with my hands while I briefly told Paula how the orphanage had treated her, and why, from the shaved head, to wearing only the dirty boys underwear she had on. Paula took a moment to wipe her eyes before we continued.

After her size had been determined, it was time to shop. I held Samantha’s hand as we looked at the options. Samantha's smile was infectious. She dragged me around the store looking at everything, with Paula chasing after us.

First, we dressed her in clean underwear, pink with lace; it must be her favorite color as most of what we purchased that day was pink. A slip was followed by a dress, knee high stockings and black Mary Jane shoes.

By the time we left Paula’s shop we'd collected six sets of underwear, four slips and dresses, six pairs of stockings, two pairs of shoes and two bottles of scented bubble bath. No doubt, she’d been happy to help us..

After we arrived at the hotel I started a bath, which Samantha needed desperately.

Once Samantha was in the tub, I called Rachael. "Mr. Masters, I was getting worried, I didn't expect it to take so long."

"I hadn't planned on taking so long, but we had to stop and get her some clothes. After all, I couldn't walk through the hotel lobby with her wearing just underwear and my jacket. They'd have called the police and had me arrested as a pedophile."

"Didn't the orphanage provide her with clothes?"

"Well, they did give us some clothes, but I think they opened a manhole and soaked them in sewage first. I thanked them by politely, as I smeared the foulness across the director’s desk."

"You did what? Oh, never mind. Where is Samantha now?"

"Bubble bath."

"How nice! There’s nothing better than a bubble bath to help one relax. Tell me, how much talking did you get from her?"

"Only three or four words so far. But she knew her mother's name, which was all I needed to hear. As for the bath, she needed one badly. Rachael, it's almost dinner time. In her current condition I'm not sure what or how much to feed her. She should really be seen by a doctor."

"You're right about the doctor. I've called a friend about that. You have an appointment tomorrow morning at 9:00 with Dr. Janice Raspberry. I've e-mailed you the address and directions to her office. She’s a little hard to find. Also, you have an appointment in one hour at the 'Styles and Smiles' hair salon."

"Hair salon? Did I forget to tell you that they shaved her head?"

"Styles and Smiles also does wigs. As for what to allow her to eat, I've e-mailed that along with the other things."

"You certainly think of everything. How long have you been a child psychiatrist? And how did you get my e-mail address."

"Only a few years, and Elizabeth helped with the address."

"Well, I'm impressed. You do know how to take care of children."

"Thank you, I do try. But, right now you’d better get her out of the tub and get moving. I'll call Styles and Smiles and let them know you're on your way. Good luck, and call me again if you have any other problems."

"Thank you, Rachael. You've been very kind and extremely helpful. How can I ever repay you for your kindness?"

"You just take care of that niece of yours. One other thing, call me when you get back to Idaho Falls, and I'll give you the name of a good psychiatrist. With the torment that she’s been through, she'll need someone to help her."

"I certainty will. Thanks again."

I went into the bathroom to find that Samantha was merrily playing with the bubbles and splashing to make more bubbles.

"I see you're having fun with the bubbles.” She looked up at me smiling. "I hate to spoil your fun, but we need to get you dressed. We have an appointment to get your hair done."

Her smile disappeared, as she sadly hung her head. I knelt by the tub and lifted her head to look into her eyes. "Samantha, I'm not making fun of you. I promise, before we go to dinner your head will be covered in beautiful brown hair."

The look in her eyes was full of questions, although she hadn't spoken more than the three words at the orphanage. ‘Oh well, I've got time.’

"Samantha, you need to get dressed," I lovingly explained. "I've brought in some clean underwear and a slip. Can you put them on by yourself?"

She looked at me for several seconds before nodding. "That's great. Here's a towel. You dry yourself and put these on. I'll help you with your dress as soon as you're ready."

I left her to put her under things on while I checked and printed the information that Rachael had sent. It took a little longer than I expected for Samantha to come out of the bathroom. I wasn't too concerned, and knew that she probably wanted a little extra time to herself, something I guess she hadn't had much of the last three years.

When the bathroom door slowly opened, I was busy at the computer. When I looked up, I noticed that Samantha hadn't put on her slip. "What's the matter, Sweetheart, don't know which way it goes?"

Timidly she shook her head. "Come here then. You know, I've never worn one of these myself, but together we should be able to figure it out." The smile on my face told her that I wasn't upset. It took us a couple of tries to get it right. Then I had her take it off and put it on by herself.

"All right, Sweetheart, which dress do you want to wear this evening?" She picked the blue dress this time, and then came the shoes and socks. Soon we were on our way.

The drive to Styles and Smiles was brief. I noticed that Samantha slid down in her seat, apparently trying to hide. I realized she was more ashamed of her bald head than I’d figured. I smiled to myself, knowing the surprise that was in store for her.

I carried Samantha as we entered. We were greeted by a friendly woman who introduced herself as Sandra Woodward. "Hello, you would be Gregory Masters, and you must be Samantha. I can see that we have a lot of work to do. Your hair is a complete disaster, knots and split ends everywhere," she giggled.

Samantha wasn't amused, and clung to me tightly. "I'm sorry, Sandra, but she is very sensitive about her lack of hair. I'm afraid her sense of humor is still in hiding somewhere."

"That's okay, I'll do a little bit of magic and maybe her sense of humor will find us. Could you help her into the last chair and we'll get started."

As I helped Samantha into the chair, Sandra disappeared into a back room. I gave Samantha a reassuring hug, "It's all right, Dear. Sandra is going to help you. I'm sure you're going to be happy that we came here."

Sandra came back, carrying a small wire rack with about fifteen to twenty samples of brown hair, in many different shades. "Samantha, could you help me please? These eyes of mine play tricks on me from time to time and they don't see colors very well. Could you show me which of these samples is the same as your hair color?"

Samantha, still nervous, sat quietly looking at Sandra. "It’s all right, Dear, just point to the sample that looks like what your hair should look like."

Timidly, Samantha reached out and touched one of the samples, a rich medium brown.

"That's very good Dear. Now, how long should your hair be?"

As she started softly crying, Samantha lifted her right hand to the left side of her head. As if stroking her hair, she moved her hand from above her left ear - stroking down to her shoulder, pausing, she continued down across her chest, stopping approximately at her left breast.

"My, such beautiful long hair you have Samantha." Sandra smiled as she whispered, "And you will have it again. Don't cry dear, I'm here to make you happy. You sit here with your Uncle Gregory. I'll be back in a couple of minutes with a little surprise."

As we waited for Sandra to return, I talked gently to Samantha. She seemed distracted, not paying attention to me, but her sadness was increasing. Then I realized she was staring at her reflection. "Samantha!” I called her name as I turned the chair so she couldn't see her reflection. “This is the last time you will ever see yourself hairless. Never again will anyone shave your head."

Sandra quietly returned and from behind, she set a wig onto Samantha's head. She was startled but sat still; I was in front of her, smiling to show her there was nothing to fear. When I rotated the chair and she could again see herself, this time with long flowing brown hair.

"Well, Samantha, what do you think of my magic?" asked Sandra. Samantha smiled for the first time since leaving the hotel. I whispered in her ear, telling her that she needed to thank Sandra for helping her. Samantha nodded, climbed down and went Sandra.

Sandra bent down as Samantha approached. They hugged, and Samantha kissed Sandra's cheek. I'm sure I heard a faint 'Thank you' in a tiny voice.

"You're so very welcome, my dear."

"Thank you, Sandra. She's even happier now than when we were dress shopping."

We received a lesson in wig care, as well as the things we'd needed to take care of the wig. Saying our goodbyes, we left Styles and Smiles, definitely with smiles.

According to the information from Rachael, Samantha could eat almost anything she wanted, however, nothing spicy, no carbonated drinks, and only about eight to ten ounces of food every two hours. Dr. Raspberry would give me more instructions when we meet with her. With that in mind, Samantha and I stopped at a small restaurant suitable for family dining. We both enjoyed their roast chicken with all the extras. Even though I couldn’t let Samantha eat everything on her plate, I did let her eat more than what Rachael had recommended. Samantha was upset at this, until I explained that if I let her eat everything she would be sick in the morning, which she agreed would be a bad thing.

Stopping at Walmart, we picked up a few necessities, toothbrush, every day clothes, and a water bottle. That had also been recommended by Rachael. She also needed something to sleep in. I was looking at some colorful pajamas, when I noticed that a short pink baby doll nightie had caught Samantha’s eye.

"Samantha, would you like that nightie instead of these pajamas?" A big smile and a nod of a head made the decision. For fun, we also picked up some coloring books, crayons, and a large teddy bear.

I also bought a large suitcase in which to pack her things.

Back at the hotel, I undid the buttons on the back of her dress and sent her to the bathroom to change into her nightie. We colored for a while before it was time to tuck her into bed. Once that was done, I sat down at my computer. I checked and sent some e-mail as well as printing out the directions to Dr. Raspberry's office.

Leaving one light on, I crawled into the other bed and was soon asleep. I was awakened sometime later by the movement of my bed. I smiled to myself as I remembered the last time someone had crawled into my bed. It had been such a long time ago.

‘She was such a skinny little thing back then. Scared and afraid of what the other students might say. For some unknown reason she trusted me, and I let her down. Gee I was stupid then. I’ll never make that mistake again. The next time I see her, I’ll ask her the question that’s been in my heart, and soul for more than two decades.’

The following morning, after getting both of us ready, we had a light breakfast. Then we were off to see Dr. Raspberry. Her office was decorated in a manner to help children relax. The waiting room was empty as we entered.

"Good morning I'm Dr. Raspberry. You must be Mr. Masters.” She gracefully knelt, “And you must be Samantha."

"Indeed we are; it's nice to meet you."

"And how are you today, Samantha?"

Samantha responded with a smile.

"She doesn't talk much," I replied with a smile, while squeezing her hand. "But when she does, it's beautiful."

"That's okay, I'm sure we'll manage. Mr. Masters if you'll take a seat here in the waiting room, I'll check her over and see how she's doing."

"I'm afraid that isn't going to work out."

"And why is that?"

"Very simply," I answered with a chuckle, “She won't let go of me."

"It's most unusual for a man to be present when I'm examining a girl ..."

"That's all right; Samantha is an unusual little girl." I smiled and gave her hand another little squeeze. "Isn't that right, Sweetheart?"

Samantha looked up, smiled and nodded.

"Very well, I guess we can accommodate her wishes. Let's see how she's doing."

Dr. Raspberry led us into a large examination room where I undid the buttons on Samantha's dress, then rotated a chair around and sat with my back to them. I heard the rustling of fabric as her dress and slip were removed.

Dr. Raspberry giggled, "Mr. Masters, I see what you mean about Samantha being an unusual little girl. I guess you don't really have to face the wall. You could have said something.”

"I assumed that Rachael would have given you the details when she made the appointment," I replied with a smile.

The exam continued without any additional surprises. As suspected, Samantha was dehydrated and malnourished. She received a full round of immunizations. We also received more instructions as to her dietary needs.

As we bid farewell to Dr. Raspberry, thanking her for her help and kindness, Samantha thanked her with a hug.

"Well, Samantha, do you want to stay in Los Angeles any longer, or should we go home?” I asked once we were back at the hotel.

Her reply was to give me a hug and whisper, "Go home."

I quickly packed, and took everything out to the car. She followed me back and forth, all the while hugging her teddy. Soon we were on our way. The trip back didn't seem to take as long as it had driving to LA. I guess it was the company. I'd only known Samantha for twenty-four hours, but I couldn't imagine my life without her in it. I didn't know what would happen when we got home, but somehow I had to keep this small bundle of joy in my life.

We pulled into Idaho Falls about midnight. Not wanting to wake anyone, we went to my apartment. I fixed a bed on the couch for Samantha and tucked her in, even though I suspected she wouldn't stay there. I was right. Several hours later that I was awakened by the motion of her crawling into my bed. With a smile, I wrapped a protective arm around her and went back to sleep.

We slept late. After getting ready and having breakfast, we went to the office to see Dad. We exchanged greetings, and then turned our attention to Samantha. "So this is the little one that has caused such a fuss. It's a pleasure to meet you, Samantha. I can see what Greg meant when he said you are a charmer. I guess the next question is; what do we do with you?"

"Dad, what do you mean?"

"What I mean is; where is she going to stay? Who is going to take care of her?"

"Actually, Dad, I've been thinking about that. Being that she doesn't trust anyone except me, she will be staying with me. She’s also on a special diet to gradually bring her weight up to where it should be. There is also her need for a psychiatrist. If you haven't noticed she doesn't talk much."

"I was noticing that she's rather quiet. However, you can't have a little girl staying with you in that oversized bachelor pad of yours. What will your neighbors say? Besides, if I remember correctly, that's an adult only complex."

"First off, I don't care what the neighbors say. Second, you're right about the complex being an adult community. I guess I'll have to start looking for a new apartment right away. As for me taking care of a little girl, don’t worry. Remember, I told you she's like Aunt June. So taking care of her won't be an issue. Now, as for taking her to see Aunt June, I'm sure we don't want Aunt June to see Samantha in her present condition."

"I agree with you there. How long do you think it will take before she's ready to see June?"

"I'm not sure about that, but my hope is to introduce them to each other just after Thanksgiving."

"Greg? That’s only three weeks away. Do you think she’ll be ready that soon?"

"I'm thinking that it will be mutually therapeutic. Samantha needs to know that she's loved, has a family, and that people care about her. As for Aunt June, her condition seems to be deteriorating rapidly. From my phone conversations with her, she seems depressed, and has given up. I’m hoping that having Samantha with her will help lift her spirits during the time she has left. I don't want to delay their meeting too long, if you know what I mean?"

"I can see that we agree on that point. As for you finding a new apartment, that part I don't agree with."

"Dad, what are you suggesting?"

"Being that I'm June’s lawyer, I think I can arrange for you two to stay out at the Hunter estate.”

“Dad, that place is huge! What will the two of us do out there?”

“Well, the staff is still there, so everything is in order. The cook can take care of Samantha’s needs. We can arrange for the psychiatrist to come out there. When Samantha’s ready, you can take her to see June.”

“That would be great. How soon do you think we could set that up?”

“I’ll make a couple of calls and I should have everything arranged later this afternoon.”

“Thanks, Dad. Samantha and I will wait in my office.”

While we were waiting, I called Rachael, who gave me the number for a colleague of hers, Martha Summers. It wasn’t long before Dad called informing me that everything had been arranged. We left the office, and retrieved all of Samantha’s things from my apartment, along with some of mine.

We stopped to see Martha before heading out to the Hunter estate. Martha, after hearing Samantha’s story, was more than willing to help her, and even agreed to come to see her at the estate twice weekly.

The staff at the estate consisted of a groundskeeper, Ralph, and his wife, Georgette, the housekeeper. There was also an elderly woman, Beatrice, who did the cooking. She adopted Samantha immediately, treating her as her niece, insisting that Samantha address her as Aunt Bee.

Over the next three weeks Samantha made remarkable progress. Her weight was still low but her refusal to talk almost disappeared, although she was still shy and reserved around people she didn’t know. The bond between the two of us had grown beyond belief. I’d only known this kind of a loving relationship once before.

When Thanksgiving was two days away, I felt that Samantha was ready. The only question was how and where to do the introductions. After discussing it with Dad, and Aunt June’s doctors it was decided.

Aunt Bee prepared a delightful meal for seven. Dad checked Aunt June out of the hospital for the day. She was delighted to be out of the hospital, even if only for a few hours. Dad brought her to her home, knowing that it would probably be the last time she would see where she and her beloved husband had spent their lives. He escorted her into the grand dining room, where everything was prepared.

Aunt June was extremely happy to be home, and to be with her brother, friends, and nephew. She was seated at the head of the table, with Dad on her right and I was to his right. To Aunt June’s left was an empty seat, with by Aunt Bee, Ralph and Georgette beyond it.

After everyone was seated, Aunt June patted Dad’s hand, “Thank you, Shawn. Thank you for being my brother, for taking care of me when we were young, and for taking care of me now that we are, well ... no longer young. You’re the only one of the family to accept me for who I needed to be. My love for you is surpassed only by my love for James and Victoria. Now you’ve brought me home, with all those I love gathered around me. Thank you, Shawn.”

“June, my dear sister. As children we shared each other’s lives, and as adults we’ve shared each other’s joy and sorrow. It has been my privilege to be your brother and help you as only a brother could. Happy Thanksgiving, June.”

“Happy Thanksgiving Shawn, and to you all. Shawn, why is there an empty place at the table?”

“Well, Dear Sister, I have a little surprise for you. I know it isn’t Christmas yet, but Greg and I thought that today would be a good day to give you an early Christmas present. Greg would you go and get June’s gift?”

“Right away, Dad.”

I left the table and went to get Samantha. We quietly entered the dining room so that Aunt June couldn’t see us.

“Aunt June, I told you several months ago that Dad sent me out to find a Christmas present for someone special. Well, Aunt June, you’re that someone special. I’d like to introduce you to your Christmas present.” I moved Samantha from behind Aunt June’s chair to stand next to her.

“Hello, Grandmother,” Samantha said timidly, not sure how she would be received.

Aunt June was speechless. After a moment she started crying as she sat there staring at Samantha. It seemed like hours before anyone moved. Aunt June picked up her napkin and wiped her eyes. Smiling she reached out her hand towards Samantha. Being just a little shy, it was several moments before Samantha placed her hand in Aunt June’s.

Aunt June finally broke the silence, “You must be Samantha. I’m so very pleased to finally meet you, my child.” Aunt June gently pulled Samantha close and gave her a hug. “I was afraid I never have the privilege of meeting you, my dear.”

I whispered into Aunt June’s ear, “Aunt June, please don’t ask about her mother! I’ll explain everything later.”

Aunt June looked up at me, her eyes full of questions. However, she complied with my request.

I helped Samantha to her seat and then I took mine. The day passed far too quickly. There was such love expressed by all that day that no one wanted the day to end, but time waits for no one.

I left Samantha with Aunt Bee as I went with Dad to take Aunt June back to the hospital. Along the way we stopped at the cemetery to see Uncle James and Victoria. While there, I explained to Aunt June everything that had taken place in Victoria’s and Samantha’s lives and the progress we’d made in getting Samantha to open up. Aunt June understood, and promised that she would help her granddaughter in any way she could.

Every day from Thanksgiving to Christmas, I took Samantha to see her grandmother. They spent hours together each day, talking, coloring, reading stories and putting together puzzles, mostly just talking. Aunt June seemed to cheer up a little each day when Samantha arrived, and seemed a little sadder each day when she left.

When Christmas day arrived Aunt June was too sick to leave the hospital, so we took our Christmas celebration to her. We took a small-lighted tree, Aunt Bee’s wonderful Christmas dinner and a gift that Samantha had for her Grandma June.

Dad met us at the hospital and we spent Christmas day together.

It was just after New Years day that Aunt June asked me to stop bringing Samantha to see her. She said that she was getting too sick, and didn’t want to be remembered that way.

The next day I tried to do as Aunt June had requested, but Samantha had her own ideas. “Come on, Uncle Greg, It’s time to go see Grandma June.”

“I don’t think we’re going to see Grandma June today, Sammie.”

“Why not?” she demanded.

“Well, you know that Grandma June is sick, that’s why she’s in the hospital.”

“I know that, Uncle Greg. I’ve known that since we got here. I know everyone has tried to hide it from me, but I know she has cancer.”

“How did you figure that out?”

“Uncle Greg … I am ten-years-old. I know most of what has been going on. Now take me to see Grandma June.”

“But Sweetheart, she asked me not to take you to the hospital every day.”

“WHY NOT?”

“Because she doesn’t want you to be sad, because she’s … because she’s sick.”

“Uncle Greg, take me to Grandma June right now! I don’t go to make me feel good. I go cause I help Grandma June feel good! I know she sick and some day she … she will die. But till then I want to be with her. She needs me to help her. I will talk with her and sing to her, and when she is too tired to keep her eyes open, I will read to her. Grandma June is not going to die alone in her hospital bed … like … Mommy. I know now I couldn’t help Mommy, but I can help Grandma June. She will always know that her family loves her and cares ‘bout her. Now take me to the hospital!”

“What do you know about your mother?”

“I heard you talking with Uncle Shawn. I know that Mommy died all alone. For a long time … I was mad at her. I thinked she left me ‘cuz she didn’t love me no more. Then I heard you talking about her, and about Frank. It wasn’t Mommy’s fault, what happened to her, or to me. It was Frank what treated us bad. Now, is you going to take me to Grandma June or do I have to ask Ralph to take me?”

I took her to see her Grandma June that day and every day. In the end, it was as Samantha said, she would go in, hold her grandmother’s hand, and read to her for hours on end.

Aunt June died in early March. She was buried next to Uncle James in a private ceremony. None of Dad’s family came, although they were invited. To my surprise, Elizabeth came, along with her friend Rebecca; I think Samantha had something to do with it. Secretly I was glad she did, I really needed that support that day and am so grateful that Elizabeth still cared for me that much.

Elizabeth had never married, and after the sudden turn in my life, there was nothing to stop me from asking her to marry me. She accepted on two conditions; one, that we adopt Samantha; and two, that Rebecca be allowed to live with us to help care for Samantha.

So that Christmas, three special gifts were exchanged, I gave Aunt June a granddaughter that she'd never known. Aunt June gave Samantha a home where she will never again know fear. You see, in her will, she left the entire estate to Samantha. However, I was given the most precious gift of all, love, the kind of love I hadn't felt since I ran out on Elizabeth, so many years ago. The fact that twenty-two years had passed, didn’t seem to matter to Elizabeth. The love in our home has no comparison.

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