I hope it comes as no surprise to readers that I love to write both non-fiction as well as fiction. Sometimes a good short story can convey truths in a poignant way that touches the heart in a way that a non-fiction article never could. This story in particular is meant to convey God’s grace and his sovereignty. How he takes things that are impossibly broken and redeems them for His good and His glory.
The Locket
The fire crackled in the hearth, casting dancing shadows across the small parlor. Rose Thornton sat beside her betrothed, William, on the worn settee that had been her mother’s pride for as long as she could remember. The room smelled of pine boughs and the cinnamon tea her mother had brewed that morning.
Her father, Reverend Thomas Thornton, sat in his reading chair, his Bible closed on his lap for once. Her mother, Catherine, perched on the ottoman, her hands folded in that particular way she had when she was holding back emotion.
“One more gift,” Catherine said softly, producing a small wooden box.
Rose took it, surprised. They’d already exchanged their modest presents. She lifted the lid and caught her breath. Nestled in faded velvet was a delicate gold locket, far finer than anything her family could afford on a country pastor’s salary.
“Mother, I can’t… this is too much. Where did you -“
“Open it,” Thomas said, his voice gentle.
Rose’s fingers trembled as she worked the tiny clasp. Inside were two miniature portraits: a young woman with dark hair and eyes remarkably like her own, and beside it, a stern-looking man she didn’t recognize.
She looked up, confused. “I don’t understand.”
Catherine’s eyes glistened. “That locket belonged to your first mother, Rose. The woman who gave you life.” She reached out and took Rose’s hand. “And the man is your first father. The one who loved you the only way he knew how… by letting you go.”
Rose stared at the portraits, then at her parents. “My first…?”
“You were six when you came to us,” Thomas said. “Young enough that the memories have faded. We never hid it from you, but you never asked, and after a while…” He paused. “You were simply ours.”
William’s hand found Rose’s. She couldn’t speak.
Catherine settled back, her gaze distant. “I think it’s time you knew the whole story. About a Christmas seventeen years ago, when you became part of our family.” She paused and looked at Rose.
Rose’s chin shuttered a little as she nodded her head slightly.
Catherine drew a breath. “We were traveling to your father’s first parish…”
* * * * * * * * *
December 1858
The coach lurched to a stop with a grinding crack that made Catherine’s teeth hurt. Thomas climbed out into the freezing dusk, conferred with the driver, and returned with his jaw tight.
“The axle’s broken.” He said, “The driver says there’s a town ahead, maybe two miles. We’ll have to walk. The driver will bring our trunks once repairs are made.”
Catherine nodded, pulling her cloak tighter. They’d been married fifteen years. She trusted Thomas and knew there was no point in arguing.
They walked through the bitter cold, their breath forming clouds in the darkening air. The town glowed with festival lights when they finally reached it, but every door they tried was the same: full up, sorry, try the inn.
The inn was a three-story affair with warm light spilling from every window and the faint sound of laughter within. The innkeeper, a hard-faced man with graying hair, barely looked at them.
“Nothing folks. Festival week.” He said, his voice gravelly, “You should’ve planned better.”
“Please,” Catherine said. “The coach is broken, we only need -“
“I said no.” He turned away.
Outside, Thomas looked up and down the street. “The church, then. Surely -“
“Burned down three months ago,” a passing woman said, having overheard them. “Lightning strike. We’ve had no pastor since spring, and no funds to rebuild. You might try the next town over; it’s about ten miles.”
Catherine sagged against Thomas. They’d already walked two miles in the cold, and full darkness had fallen. She felt tired and defeated.
They were standing in the street, trying to decide what to do, when a small voice called out. “Sir? Ma’am?”
A girl stood in the shadows of the inn’s side alley. Six, maybe seven years old, thin as a rail in a dress too light for the weather. Her dark hair hung in tangles.
“There’s a barn,” she whispered. “Behind the inn. It’s not much, but it’s warmer than the street. There’s a loft where I… where you could stay.”
Catherine knelt, meeting the girl’s eyes. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”
“Rose, ma’am.”
“Do you work at the inn, Rose?”
A hesitation. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Won’t you get in trouble for helping us?”
The girl’s chin lifted slightly. “Maybe. But you need somewhere out of the cold.”
Inside the barn looked drafty but dry. Catherine’s face wrinkled at the smell of animals below. In spite of the appearance, it was warm in the loft, probably from the warmth rising from the horses below. Rose showed them where she’d made a small nest of hay and blankets in the corner.
“You sleep here?” Catherine asked gently.
Rose nodded. “It’s not so bad. Better than…” She stopped. “I’ll bring you blankets.”
She returned with two thick wool blankets, far better than the thin ones in her corner. “These are extras from the inn,” she said. “I’ll put them back before anyone notices.”
Then she produced half a loaf of bread wrapped in cloth. “It’s from my supper. I already ate some.”
Catherine’s throat tightened. “Rose, sweetheart, that’s very kind, but we can’t take your food.”
“Please,” the girl said. “You’ve walked so far. You must be hungry.”
Thomas and Catherine exchanged glances. Thomas reached into his coat pocket and pulled out some coins. “Rose, would you do us a favor? Would you go to the inn’s kitchen and buy us some supper? Enough for three. We’d like you to eat with us.”
Rose’s eyes went wide. “You want me to eat with you?”
“Very much,” Catherine said.
The girl stared at the coins in her palm as if they were treasure. Then she fled down the ladder.
She returned twenty minutes later with meat pies, cheese, apples, and a jug of cider. They sat together in the loft, and Catherine watched the girl eat with careful, deliberate bites, as if afraid the food might vanish.
“Do you have family, Rose?” Catherine asked gently.
“The innkeeper took me in when I was small. I don’t remember before.”
“That was kind of him.”
Rose’s expression didn’t change. “I work for my keep.”
Catherine glanced at Thomas. He was watching the girl intently, a hint of sadness in his warm smile.
After Rose left, Catherine turned to her husband. “Thomas, that child -“
“I know.”
“She’s sleeping out here. Alone. In the cold.”
Thomas was quiet. Then: “Yes.”
Catherine pulled the blankets around herself; it was not cold yet still she shivered.
* * * * * * * * *
Rose returned the next morning with fresh bread and butter, and a pot of tea she’d somehow kept warm on the walk from the kitchen. Thomas had already been into town and purchased a few provisions. He insisted Rose join them for breakfast.
She perched on an overturned crate, watching them with solemn dark eyes.
“Do you go to school?” Thomas asked.
“No, sir. Too much work at the inn.”
“Can you read?”
“A little. One of the maids taught me some.”
Thomas smiled. “Would you like to learn more?”
For the first time, something flickered in Rose’s face. Hope, quickly shuttered. “I don’t think the innkeeper would allow it. I have work to do you know.”
“Perhaps I could speak with him.”
Rose shook her head quickly. “Please don’t. He doesn’t like… he doesn’t like when people notice me.”
Catherine’s heart broke cleanly in two.
That evening, after Rose brought them supper from the inn’s kitchen (paid for with a few more of Thomas’s coins, though she’d tried to refuse them), she lingered longer than usual.
“Ma’am?”, she said suddenly, and then shrunk back a little.
Catherine raised her eyes up to meet Rose’s. The girl stuttered a little, “You… you are close to God…” There was a pause.
Catherine waited. “Go ahead, sweetheart.” She said warmly.
“Do you think… do you think God sees people? I mean, even people nobody else sees?”
Catherine’s breath caught. She reached out and took Rose’s small hand. “I know He does, sweetheart. The Bible says He sees even the sparrow fall. How much more does He see you?”
“But if He sees me, why doesn’t He…” Rose stopped, swallowed. “Never mind. That’s a silly question.”
“It’s not silly,” Thomas said quietly. “You’re asking why God allows us to hurt, to be treated unfairly?” She shook her head as he went on, “Why He doesn’t fix everything that’s broken. – I don’t have a complete answer, Rose. But I know this: God doesn’t waste anything. He uses our troubles and our pain. Redeems it. Sometimes in ways we can’t see until much later.”
Rose nodded slowly, though Catherine wasn’t sure she understood.
After the girl left, Catherine turned to her husband. “She is so sweet, so innocent. We can’t leave her here like this.”
“I know.”
“I mean it, Thomas. We can’t.”
He took her hands. “Catherine. We’re going to a new parish. We don’t know anyone. We don’t even know if the parsonage is habitable.”
“I know, but I don’t care.”
“And we don’t know the legal situation. The innkeeper may have papers -“
“Then we’ll find out.” Her voice broke. “Thomas, I’ve prayed for fifteen years for a child. Fifteen years. And now God puts this little girl in our path, this precious, invisible little girl. I don’t know if I could walk away. We can’t have a child and here no one wants this one.”
Thomas pulled her close. “I know,” he said into her hair. “I know, I don’t want you to walk away either.”
She pulled back, searching his face. “You want this too?”
“From the moment she offered us her supper.” His eyes were wet. “I just needed to know you felt the same. Let’s take this to the Lord in prayer.”
* * * * * * * * *
The stranger appeared on the third night.
Catherine woke to find a woman standing at the top of the loft ladder, though she’d heard no footsteps, no creaking of the rungs. The woman was old, but not exactly elderly, dressed simply, with an ageless quality to her face.
“Don’t be afraid,” the woman said.
Catherine sat up, reaching for Thomas. He stirred, blinked, then went very still.
“Who are you?” he asked, “What do you want?”
“I am just a messenger.” She said, her gaze piercing. “You’ve been asking God for a child. An here is a child that has been asking for a family. Do not doubt what He’s already provided.”
Catherine’s heart hammered. “Rose? You mean Rose.”
“The child you’ve prayed for is here. Will you receive her?”
“We want to,” Thomas said. “But the innkeeper -“
“He will agree. He knows he cannot give her what she needs.” The woman stepped closer. “But you must understand: this child has been overlooked, unloved and invisible. She will need more than provision. She will need to be seen. Truly seen and loved so other can see her too. Can you do that?”
“Yes,” Catherine whispered.
“Even when it’s hard? Even when she tests you, when she can’t believe she’s wanted?”
“Yes.”
The woman turned to Thomas. “And you, pastor. You’ll teach her about her Father in heaven. But first you must show her what a father’s love looks like on earth. Can you do that?”
Thomas’s voice was steady. “With God’s help, yes.”
The woman smiled. It transformed her face. “Then go to the innkeeper tomorrow. The burden is heavier than he can bear, He’s been waiting for someone to take it from him. Not because he doesn’t love her, but because he loves her too much and too little at once.”
“Wait,” Catherine said. “Who are you really?”
But the loft was empty. And though snow had begun to fall outside, when Thomas climbed down to check, there were no footprints in the fresh powder, no disturbance at all.
Thomas climbed back up, and he and Catherine stared at each other in the darkness.
“Did we just -” Catherine began.
“Yes,” Thomas said. “I think we did.”
* * * * * * * * *
The innkeeper received them in his private office the next morning. Up close, he looked older than Catherine had thought. Tired. There were lines of grief around his eyes.
Thomas explained their situation carefully. The new parish. Their desire to take Rose with them. Their ability to provide for her, educate her, love her.
The innkeeper listened without expression. When Thomas finished, there was a long silence.
Then, unexpectedly, the innkeeper’s face crumpled. “She came to me too,” he said hoarsely. “Last night. The woman.”
Catherine leaned forward. “The angel?”
“I don’t know what else to call her.” He rubbed his face. “She knew things. Things I’ve never told anyone.” He looked up at them, his eyes raw. “She told me that Heaven had made arrangements. That I didn’t need to carry the guilt anymore. That God had heard my prayers for something better for my little girl.”
“Your girl?” Thomas said gently.
The innkeeper turned away, staring out the window at the festival crowds. “She’s not an orphan,” he said quietly. “Not really. Her mother died when she was born. My wife. My first wife.” His voice was flat, reciting facts. “I couldn’t… every time I looked at her, I saw what I’d lost. I remarried shortly after. Told my new wife the child was abandoned, that I’d taken her in. It was easier than the truth. The truth hurt so much.”
“Mr. Garrett,” Catherine said softly.
“I’ve provided for her. Kept her fed, clothed. But I can’t…” He turned back, and his eyes were wet. “I can’t give her what she needs. What she deserves. And my wife… my current wife… she resents her. She doesn’t understand; How could I tell her after all the lies? I’ve… I’ve made a mess of everything.”
He drew a shaking breath. “The woman, the angel, she told me that God could forgive me. That He already had. That He’d been preparing a family for Rose all along, and that I needed to let her go.” He looked at them. “She said you would come this morning. She said I should trust you with my daughter.”
Catherine stood. “Mr. Garrett, may I speak plainly?”
He nodded.
“What you’re doing now, letting her go to people who can love her properly, that’s the most loving thing you could do for her. It takes courage.”
His face crumpled briefly, Catherine thought he might sob. “No,” he said, “I have no courage; I’ve been a coward all these years. She didn’t deserve to live this way.” Then his face hardened. Determination replaced the guilt and sorrow. “There are no legal papers. I never registered her birth properly. You’ll have no trouble claiming her as your own. Give her the love she was meant to have.”
“We’ll tell her the truth when she’s old enough,” Thomas said. “She deserves to know she had a father who cared enough to want better for her.”
The innkeeper shook his head. “Don’t make me noble. I’m unworthy.” He pulled open a drawer, removed a small wooden box. “This was her mother’s. Give it to her when she’s grown. Tell her… tell her she has her mother’s eyes.”
Catherine took the box, her own eyes blurring.
“When will you leave?” the innkeeper asked.
“In the afternoon. I received word that the coach has been repaired.”
“I know I have not been a good parent,” He said “but I will miss her.” Tears were staining his cheeks now, “She will have Christmas with people who can love her right. Thank you.”
* * * * * * * * *
Rose didn’t understand at first. She stood in the loft, looking between Catherine and Thomas with confusion turning slowly to fear.
“I didn’t do anything wrong,” she said. “I can work harder, I promise -“
“Sweetheart, no.” Catherine knelt in front of her. “You’re not in trouble. We want… we’d like you to come with us. To live with us. To be our daughter.”
Rose went very still. “Your daughter?”
“If you’ll have us as parents,” Thomas said.
“But why?” The girl’s voice was small. “Why would you want me?”
Catherine’s throat closed. She pulled Rose into her arms. “Because we believe God brought you to us. Because we’ve been praying for you. Because you’re precious and seen and wanted, Rose. So very wanted.”
The girl was stiff at first, then she began to shake. Then sob. Great, wrenching sobs that seemed to come from somewhere deep and old and broken.
Catherine held her and wept too. Thomas knelt beside them, his arms around them both.
“You’re ours now,” Catherine whispered. “Our daughter, and we’re never letting go.”
They left that afternoon, their trunks loaded back onto the repaired coach. Rose carried a small bundle of her few possessions. She looked back once at the inn, and Catherine saw the innkeeper standing in an upper window. He raised one hand, just slightly. Rose didn’t wave back; Catherine wasn’t sure she’d seen him.
But as they climbed into the coach, Rose suddenly turned to Catherine. “Will I really live with you? Always?”
“Always,” Catherine promised.
“And you’ll teach me to read properly?”
Thomas smiled. “Every day if you like.”
“And can I… Can I call you Mother and Father?”
“We’d be honored,” Catherine said.
Rose was quiet for a long moment. Then, so softly Catherine almost missed it: “I think maybe God does see me after all.”
Catherine pulled her close. “He always has, sweetheart. He always has.”
* * * * * * * * *
Christmas Morning, 1875
Rose sat very still, the locket in her hands, tears streaming down her face. William’s arm was around her shoulders.
“I don’t remember,” she whispered. “I don’t remember any of it.”
“You were so young,” Catherine said. “And you have been happy for many years now. The hard memories faded.”
“But I had another father. Another mother.” Rose looked at the portraits again. “She’s beautiful.”
“You have her eyes,” Thomas said. “And her kindness, I think.”
“And my father… he gave me up because he couldn’t bear to look at me?”
“He gave you up because he loved you enough to want you to have what he couldn’t give you,” Catherine said firmly. “Don’t mistake his weakness for lack of love, Rose. He was broken. But he did the right thing in the end. And the angel told him God had forgiven him, that Heaven had heard his prayers for you.”
Rose was quiet, turning the locket over in her hands. Then she looked up at her parents, her real parents, the ones who’d raised her and loved her and made her who she was.
“Tell me about the angel again,” she said.
Catherine smiled. “She told us not to doubt what God had already provided. That you were the answer to our prayers. I thought we would always have a baby, but God had other plans. The angel told your first father the same thing she told us. That God had made arrangements so that you could be loved and he could let go of his guilt and pain.”
“I think…” Rose hesitated. “I think God’s providence is amazing- all of it. The good and the bad, my father not being able to love me, the coach breaking down. He did all of that – didn’t He?”
Thomas leaned forward. “I think God doesn’t cause every tragedy, but He doesn’t waste any of them either. It’s like I told a little girl, who was unseen and unlove so long ago in the loft of a barn – God doesn’t waste anything. He uses our troubles and our pain. In the end He redeems it. In our case He has woven all of it together in a special family.”
Thomas looked up at William, “And soon He will weave it all back into anther special family, the good and the bad, all over again.”
“That’s what Christmas is, isn’t it?” Rose said slowly. “God taking what’s broken and making it whole. God coming to people who have nothing and giving them everything.”
“Yes,” Thomas said. “That’s exactly what Christmas is.”
Rose fastened the locket around her neck. It settled just above her heart. She looked at William, then at her parents.
“I’m glad the coach broke down,” she said.
Catherine laughed through her tears. “So am I, sweetheart. So am I.”
Outside, church bells began to ring, calling the faithful to Christmas worship. Thomas stood, offering his hand to Catherine, then to Rose.
“Shall we go?” he said. “I have a sermon to preach about adoption and grace.”
Rose took his hand, then her mother’s. “And love too,” she said, “And love too.”
