Splintered Heart Read Free Page A

shiny fragile balls on the trees — she wished she could have one of each color, just to hold them, look into them and see herself reflected. The icicle tinsel — she wanted that too — it was like the silver fringe on the ballerina's gown, at Radio City .
    Last birthday, Marian's Daddy had taken there. She never would forget the vision — the ballerina dancing with her Prince, her crown of diamond spires, her dress all glitter-gleam lace, and silvery sparkles.
    And never ever would Marian forget the way the symphony orchestra came rising up from below — musicians like penguins in their black and white suits, the silver and gold horns, the BOOM of the kettle drums, the up and down bowing sticks of violins and cellos all moving together, all following their leader the conductor who made the music get bigger and bigger until it filled every inch of blue space on the stage and in the theater, which was one of the biggest theaters in the world — Daddy said.
    "I am definitely going to be a musician when I grow up, a piano player or a conductor," she said to herself. You had to have alternatives , so if that didn't work out, Marian decided she wouldn't mind being a ballerina.
    The Prince was part of it. Somewhere in the world, perhaps upside-down in China and growing up like her cousin Sammy was growing up, there was a boy who would someday marry her. Marian knew, quite definitely, her Prince was not going to be fat like Sammy. Her Prince would definitely be as tall, as handsome as Daddy. She liked to imagine whirling and gliding with him to the rippling music that was in her ears when she was swinging on the swings at the playground.
    A few weeks before Christmas, though she realized it was childish, Marian began praying for what she wanted from Santa. She was tentative at first. "Please let me get something for Christmas." But as the time grew closer, her prayers grew longer. She began to do "Now I lay me down to sleep." Then, she added "God Bless Mamma, Daddy, Ralph," and onto that she added, "And could I have a string of pearls for Christmas. And a wrist watch. And could you consider a piano?"
    Marian wrote out a list, put it in an envelope addressed to Santa and placed it on the table in the hall, figuring Sara the maid would show it to Mamma who would show it to Daddy. Probably they'd laugh, but maybe they'd open it, and maybe they'd pay attention to the items on the paper.
    The next day the envelope was gone.
    Nobody ever mentioned it.
    A week before Christmas, Marian robbed her piggy bank. Using Mamma's nail file, she found she could scratch up into the slot and get out a few coins. In the locked bathroom, she managed to dig out two quarters, eight dimes, three nickels and seventeen pennies.
    More money came her way unexpectedly when she helped Sara organize the kitchen drawers. There was seventy-two cents in loose change which Sara said Marian could keep. And on Sunday, when Marian got her Daddy his Times from the corner, he gave her a whole dollar bill tip.
    The next day, at the 5 & 10, Marian bought a box of assorted balls and a pack of icicle tinsel. She wanted to have her own secret celebration of Christmas, her own private shrine. She knew even a small tree was out of the question, but she priced the miniature nativity scenes.
    With $3.34 to start with, balls and tinsel using up $2.25, only $1.09 was left. It didn't take long to find out that even the least expensive "Little Town of Bethlehem" was out of the question, but on the other side of the counter there were other souvenirs — Eiffel Towers , keys to the city, back-scratchers, windmills, and rickshaws.
    The rickshaw was IT . Such a tiny teeny thing, all hand-carved wood — wooden wheels with spokes like toothpicks, tiny grips carved in the handles that pulled the carriage — it even had a teeny wood-carved cushion and the smallest of small little foot-rests for the royal lady who would hire the rickshaw to take her through the busy streets of Japan