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Chapters (54)
  1. Cover
  2. Colophon
  3. ALSO BY RICHARD PAUL EVANS
  4. Title Page
  5. Copyright
  6. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  7. Dedication
  8. AUTHOR’S NOTE
  9. Epigraph
  10. Grace
  11. THE LITTLE MATCH GIRL
  12. CHAPTER One
  13. CHAPTER Two
  14. CHAPTER Three
  15. CHAPTER Four
  16. CHAPTER Five
  17. CHAPTER Six
  18. CHAPTER Seven
  19. CHAPTER Eight
  20. CHAPTER Nine
  21. CHAPTER Ten
  22. CHAPTER Eleven
  23. CHAPTER Twelve
  24. CHAPTER Thirteen
  25. CHAPTER Fourteen
  26. CHAPTER Fifteen
  27. CHAPTER Sixteen
  28. CHAPTER Seventeen
  29. CHAPTER Eighteen
  30. CHAPTER Nineteen
  31. CHAPTER Twenty
  32. CHAPTER Twenty-one
  33. CHAPTER Twenty-two
  34. CHAPTER Twenty-three
  35. CHAPTER Twenty-four
  36. CHAPTER Twenty-five
  37. CHAPTER Twenty-six
  38. CHAPTER Twenty-seven
  39. CHAPTER Twenty-eight
  40. CHAPTER Twenty-nine
  41. CHAPTER Thirty
  42. CHAPTER Thirty-one
  43. CHAPTER Thirty-two
  44. CHAPTER Thirty-three
  45. CHAPTER Thirty-four
  46. CHAPTER Thirty-five
  47. CHAPTER Thirty-six
  48. CHAPTER Thirty-seven
  49. CHAPTER Thirty-eight
  50. CHAPTER Thirty-nine
  51. EPILOGUE
  52. A LETTER FROM RICHARD PAUL EVANS
  53. JOIN THE RICHARD PAUL EVANS MAILING LIST, GET A FREE GIFT AND HELP A CHILD
  54. ABOUT THE AUTHOR

The little match seller lit another match. This time, she saw her grandmother.

“Grandma, stay with me! I’m cold and alone!” She lit one match after the other, so that her grandmother would not disappear like all the other visions. When she was down to her last match, she cried out, “Grandma, take me away with you!” Her Grandmother smiled and opened her arms to the girl.

Christmas morning dawned, and a pale sun shone down on the frozen town square. On the snowy ground near the base of a fountain lay the lifeless body of a little girl surrounded by spent matches.

“Poor little thing,” said a passerby. “She was trying to keep warm.”

But by that time, the little match girl was far away where there is no cold, hunger nor pain.

CHAPTER One

My memory of her has grown on my soul
like ivy climbing a home until it begins to tear and
tug at the very brick and mortar itself.

ERIC WELCH’S DIARY

DECEMBER 25, 2006

It’s Christmas day. There is Christmas music playing from the radio in the other room. Mitch Miller’s “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town.” It’s a little late, I think; Santa’s come and gone, as have our children and grandchildren. They’ve left an impressive mess in their wake, but I don’t care. As I get older I’ve come to treasure any evidence of family. Snow is falling outside and all is peaceful and still. In such moments it is possible to believe that the world could still be good.

Something profound happened to me today. It started innocently enough—as most life-changing experiences do—with a request from my grandchildren to read them a Christmas story, “The Little Match Girl.” I’ve never been a fan of the tale, but, like most grandparents, I’m not one to deny my grandchildren. As I read to them, something happened to me; by the end of the story I was crying. Four-year-old Ebony Brooke tried to console me. “It’s okay, Grandpa,” she said. “It’s just a story.”

It’s not just a story, there really was a little match girl and she changed my life in ways I’m still trying to understand. Even the grandchildren sitting before me wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for her. As important as she is to me, I’ve never shared her story. It’s finally time that I did.

My memory, like my eyesight, has waned with age and I pray I can get the story right. Still, there are things that become clearer to me as I grow older. This much I know: too many things were kept secret in those days. Things that never should have been hidden. And things that should have.