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broken arms or battered bodies were brought to her for repair. Though she enjoyed selling and found a great creative thrill in making her own dolls, nothing satisfied her quite so much as taking a broken toy that was loved and making it whole again. She turned on the light and her radio and set to work.
    It soothed her. As time passed, her nerves drained away. With crochet hook and rubber bands, with glue and painstaking care, she replaced broken limbs. With a bit of paint and patience, she brought smiles back to faceless dolls. Some were given new clothes or a fresh hairstyle, while others only needed a needle and thread plied by clever fingers.
    By the time she picked up a battered rag doll, she was humming.
    “Are you going to fix that?”
    Startled, she nearly stabbed herself with the needle. Jason stood in the doorway, hands in pockets, watching her. “Yes, that’s what I do. Where’s Clara?”
    “She nearly fell asleep in her book. I put her to bed.”
    She started to rise. “Oh, well I—”
    “She’s asleep, Faith, with some green ball of hair she called Bernardo.”
    Determined to relax, Faith sat down again. “Yes, that’s her favorite. Clara isn’t much on ordinary dolls.”
    “Not like her mother?” Interested, he began to prowl the workroom. “I always thought when a toy broke or wore out, it got tossed away.”
    “Too often. I’ve always thought that showed a tremendous lack of appreciation for something that’s given you pleasure.”
    He picked up a soft plastic head, bald and smooth, that grinned at him. “Maybe you’re right, but I don’t see what can be done about that pile of rags in your hand.”
    “Quite a lot.”
    “Still believe in magic, Faith?”
    She glanced up, and for the first time her smile was completely open, her eyes warm. “Yes, of course I do. Especially at Christmastime.”
    Unable to help himself, he reached down to run a hand over her cheek. “I said before that I’d missed you. I don’t think I realized how much.”
    She felt the need shimmer and the longing plead inside her. Denying both, she concentrated on the doll. “I appreciate you helping Clara, Jason. I don’t want to keep you.”
    “Does it bother you to have someone watch you work?”
    “No.” She began to replace stuffing. “Sometimes a concerned mother will stay here while I doctor a patient.”
    He leaned a hip against the counter. “I imagined a lot of things when I was coming back. I never imagined this.”
    “What?”
    “That I’d be standing here watching you stuff life back into a rag. You may not have noticed, but it doesn’t even have a face.”
    “It will. How did the report go?”
    “She needs to do the final draft.”
    Faith glanced up from her work. Her eyes were wide with the joke. “Clara?”
    “She had the same reaction.” Then he smiled as he leaned back. The room smelled of her. He wondered if she knew. “She’s a bright kid, Faith.”
    “Sometimes uncomfortably so.”
    “You’re lucky.”
    “I know.” With quick, skillful movements, she pushed the stuffing into place.
    “Kids love you no matter what, don’t they?”
    “No.” She looked at him again. “You have to earn it.” With needle and thread she began to secure the seams.
    “You know, she was out on her feet, but she insisted on stopping at the tree to count the presents. She tells me she had this feeling there’s going to be one more.”
    “I’m afraid she’s doomed to disappointment. Her list looked like an army requisition. I had to draw the line.” Putting down the thread, she picked up her paintbrush. “My parents already spoil her.”
    “They still live in town?”
    “Mmm-hmm.” She’d already gotten a sense of the doll’s personality as she’d worked with it. Now, she began to paint it on. “They mumble about Florida from time to time, but I don’t know if they’ll ever go. It’s Clara. They just adore her. You might go by and see them, Jason. You know my mother was always