Christmas Eve blew in with a flurry of snow, catching little Lucy by surprise. She had been working so hard for the past week; she had lost all count of the days to this one special night. Lucy roamed the city streets that evening, carrying her poorly thatched basket with matches. A harsh wind blew past her, scraping against her bare feet and through her thin shawl.
She shuddered and thought about home. Not the shack she stayed every other night in New York. No, her mind traveled to the winters in Italy where she used to stay in her grandmother's warm cottage. Those were the days.
Another foul wind blew against her thin frame and shook her bones with cold. But there is no point in going back home, she thought grimly. It was about just as cold there as it was outside and she remembered what awaited her back at the tenant housing.
He pulled back and threw the matches at her. Quickly she scrambled and started picking up the matches and grabbed her mother's slippers.
"OUT! OUT!" he bellowed and flung furniture throughout the room. "GET OUT YOU UNGRATEFUL BAMBINA!" he shouted furiously in Italian. All she had asked was what she got for Christmas. She knew she had given enough money to her papa for a doll that she saw in the window and she had dropped plenty of hints that she had wanted it.
Unfortunately her father was a terrible drunk and all the money she had given him to be saved was immediately wasted on the bottle. He walked in the shack drunk and demanded food. The first flare up was when she said there wasn't anything to eat. This made him curse and throw himself on a wooden stool.
"Papa?" she asked.
He grunted in response. "Papa, I am sorry," she apologized in their language. He didn't respond. "I-I could go out and get food. Where is the money? I could get food and maybe… the doll that I wished for Christmas—"
He jumped up and started cursing aloud and began throwing things around. "OUT! OUT! GET OUT YOU UNGRATEFUL BAMBINA! MAKE YOURSELF USEFUL AND DO YOUR JOB! DON'T COME BACK UNTIL THOSE MATCHES ARE GONE!" he roared.
Lucy fled, fearing that her papa would hurt her in his rage.
Lucy stopped by a lamppost and rubbed her numb feet. Oh what I would do for shoes, she thought desperately. While running away, one of her mama's oversized shoes fell off somewhere and disappeared. The other had been ran off with by a cruel little boy.
Blowing warm air on her hands and rubbing them, red and blue feet marched on again down the snow covered street.
"Matches!" she called in English, then again in Italian. Back and forth she went, hoping anybody would need her services. A tall man in a fur coat passed by. Sticking her hand full of matches up at him, she asked with her heavy accent, "Matches for a penny."
The man just shook his head and pushed ahead past her. Her eyes sunk down to her feet when she heard bells ringing. Looking up, Lucy saw a family coming out of a store with a large goose. Her stomach immediately growled at the thought of a roast goose… with cranberries stuffed in it… and yams… and noodles… Stop this, she yelled in her mind and ran off down the street and stopped under a nook, rocking back and forth to try and get warm.
It's so cold. Maybe if I lit just one—Lucy reached for the match and looked at it longingly. No, I must sell these… but it's so cold… but… gathering up her nerve she struck the match against the brick wall and smiled as the flame rose to life. It was little warmth, but better than nothing. Her eyes sank as she imagined the warmth growing like it came from the stove back home.
As if by magic, the light grew brighter and the dark New York alley turned into a warm room with a large iron furnace with shiny brass feet and a brass ornament top. The warmth felt delightful and soon Lucy was sticking out her feet to warm them, but the match soon flickered dead and the stove was gone.
She rubbed another against the wall again and where the light was, a room appeared with a large table veiled with a snow-white cloth. Upon the table was a full porcelain dining set and a roast goose stuffed with apples and dried plums. The goose hopped up from its resting place and danced about toward Lucy with knife and fork in hand when… the match blew out again.
Oh this is wonderful, she thought and lit another match. This time the light shined upon a giant Christmas tree lit with candles and decorated in popcorn. Underneath were presents stacked on top of each other, dressed in wrappings of blue, red, yellow, and green. The tree was better than the tree that showed off inside the merchant's store.
Once again the match went out, leaving Lucy again in the cold. Looking up, she saw that the clouds had moved and the stars were shining. A star fell from heaven, causing Lucy to feel pity. Someone has died… and on Christmas Eve. What a way to go. She remembered her grandmother telling her that when a star falls, a soul goes to God.
"Grandmother," she whispered and lit another match. The light grew brighter and in the luster there stood her old grandmother, so bright and radiant, and with love gracing her face.
"Grandmother!" cried Lucy. "Oh, take me with you when you go away! When the match burns out you'll vanish like the warm stove, the delicious roast goose, and like the magnificent Christmas tree!" Making sure to keep her grandmother there, Lucy grabbed all of the matches out of her apron and struck them against the wall.
The matches gave such a brilliant light that it was brighter than at noon. Never before had her grandmother looked so beautiful and so tall. She took Lucy in her arms, and both flew in brightness and joy so high until there was neither cold, nor hunger, nor sadness for they were with God.
Les ran out of his family's apartment on Christmas morning with the new toboggan that his aunt and uncle in Boston sent. David followed, pulling on his coat and running after his little brother. Everything seemed fine when Les suddenly froze and dropped the sled.
"Les, what—" but there was no need to ask. David came up behind his brother and saw a little girl with bare feet, dead matches and a smile on her face.
"She must've froze during the night," David murmured, checking for any sign that she was alive. Les just stayed where he was, staring at her. Lucy?
"I-Is she gone?" the younger boy squeaked. David leaned back on his knees, wrapping his arms around him to keep warm.
"Yeah… she's gone," he answered in barely a whisper.
"She wanted to warm herself," Les pointed out, now looking at the blackened matches. Neither had the slightest suspicion of what beautiful things she had seen or could have dreamed of the splendor in which, with her grandmother, she entered in the joys of Christmas. The little match girl laid curled up in the snow, her cheeks rosy and the most heart-breaking smile rested peacefully on her face.
She was finally home and warm.