'What are you so busy with, Ben', Martha Fraser asked as she entered her grandson's bedroom. The six-year-old boy startled and tried to hide the sheet of paper he was working on.

'Just drawing a picture for Dad,' the little boy answered not looking at his grandmother.

Martha Fraser hated to tell Ben off right now, so shortly after the violent death of his mother and seeing his sad dark-blue eyes looking at her now, made her heart break and so she change her mind. Ben was obviously lying but Martha trusted her grandson to have a really good reason for doing so.

'Fine, but don't miss supper in ten minutes, OK?'

'No, I won't, Grandma.'

Ben bowed over the piece of paper again and Martha left the room. When he was ready he put the sheet into the top drawer of his little desk and dashed off into the kitchen.

'Did you wash your hands, Ben?' Martha asked without looking.

'No, but I haven't been outside since the last time I did it', Ben answered.

'Benton Fraser, why do we always have to discuss this...'

Ben got up and went to the sink, slowly washing his small hands and went back to sit at the table.

'Is Dad going to be home for Christmas?'

'I don't know, darling, he's after some criminals and we never know where it takes him.'

Martha turned to look at Ben. His dishevelled dark-brown hair and his big blue eyes made him look like an angle. He was so much like his mother, her beauty was obvious everywhere and so was her kindness. But he was also a lot like his father, strong and brave. Seeing her grandson sitting and biting his shaking lower lip, almost made her cry herself and she gave Ben a big hug, rubbing his small shoulders and whispering soothing words. She kissed his tears away and tried to distract him by offering him some food.

Ben gladly ate and being a child he was suddenly thinking of something completely different.

'Grandma, where does Santa live?'

'At the Northpole.'

'Do you know his address?'

'I think it's just Santa, Northpole.'

'Do I need to put a stamp on my letter?'

'You're writing to Santa?'

'Yes.'

'You've never written to Santa, Ben.'

'It's my first Christmas after starting school, now I can write and all the other kids in school write to Santa.'

'It's perfectly allright, Ben, do you need any help?'

'No, it's secret. Eric told me that you're not allowed to tell anybody what you write to Santa. I have to do it all by myself.'

Martha smiled, it felt so good seeing Ben getting back to normal again after all the nasty incidents lately. It had been a shock to the whole family to witness Caroline Fraser being shot by Holloway Muldoon. But it had been worse for little Ben, since Caroline had died in his arms. For three weeks he hadn't said a word and barely eaten, but when his father made him his beloved rolled oats with bananas Ben had eaten and they had both talked about their loss.

After supper Ben asked to go out to put his letter to Santa in the mailbox. Martha only insisted on him wearing warm clothes even though he hadn't far to go. From the kitchen window she watched the little figure stomping through the deep snow. Ben put the letter into the mail box and hurried back to the house.

An hour later, when Ben was asleep, Martha went out to the mail box and got Ben's letter to Santa. She went back to the house and opened the letter at the fireplace. It said:

Martha Fraser sat with the letter in her hands and started crying. How should she make this years Christmas a happy one for Ben? No-one could bring back his mother and this was the only, almost only, wish her grandson had.

She went to Ben's bedroom door pushed it open and watchend Ben in his sleep. He looked so peaceful and vulnerable. Martha pushed back one of Ben's dark curls and kissed his forehead.

A few days later it was Christmas eve. Ben's father hadn't made it for Christmas dinner and Ben was very dissapointed. He tried not to show it too openly but Ben's face was an open book to Martha. Before he went to sleep he hang his stocking on the fireplace and put up a plate of cookies and a glass of milk for Santa.

Ben dreamt of his mother this night. She came to him and explained why she couldn't be with him anymore and that she was watching him from heaven, always keeping an eye on her little big Ben.

The next morning Ben woke up and jumped out of bed. He hurried into the living room to see if Santa had been there. The cookies and the milk were gone and there were two presents under the tree. Ben took them and ripped off the paper. In one box there were a pair of black, beautiful shiny hockey skates and in the other one was a picture of Ben with his Mom and Dad. He looked at the picture for a while and didn't realize that a person had entered the living room.

Ben almost startled when his father wrapped his arms around him, pulled him into the air and cheered: 'Merry Christmas, Benton!'

'Dad! You made it!'

'Yes, son, and I'll stay as long as you need to learn to skate.'

'That's great!' Ben laughed as his father tickled him.

Martha watched her son and grandson and smiled and she knew this would certainly be a happy Christmas for Ben and his father.

© 1999 by Gitte Huhnholdt Copyright on all original story content/characters. Not meant to infringe on copyrights held by CBS, Alliance Communications Corp., CTV or any other copyright holders of due SOUTH. Please do not reproduce for anything other than personal reading use without written consent of the author. Please do not copy to other web sites or electronic forums. Comments are welcome: Huhnholdt@gmx.de