The Legend of Holly Claus

by Brittney Ryan

  She could feel it before she heard it: the great city awoke. Suddenly the atmosphere began to crackle with the electricity of over a million lives. Sounds, isolated at first, grew and blended and formed the chorus of the day. Horses’ hooves hammered against the granite streets, the early risers shouted greetings at one another, streetcars rattled, silvery sleigh bells jingled, children whooped, windows slammed shut against the cold, and machinery hummed to life once again. The first bundled and muffled pedestrians began to hurry through Central Park toward Fifth Avenue. Not one of them lifted his eyes to see the girl who stood, coatless, atop the Terrace, watching the scene before her as though she could never see enough.

  Meteor, still saturated with the violet adornment of the Boreal Rainbow, was waiting patiently in the meadow below the Terrace. Holly smiled at the picture her rainbow deer made, their brilliant shades glowing against the white expanse of snow.

  “Don’t they look like magic?” She nodded her head in their direction.

  Tundra, sitting at her feet in an imitation of doggy obedience, murmured, “They are beautiful. But magic shocks the mortals, you know.”

  Holly smiled. “I have a plan, Tundra. Wait and see.” Lightly she ran to the meadow and whispered into Meteor’s lavender ear. Tundra saw him nod and grin, and in a few moments, to his surprise, the rainbow deer had been reborn as a carousel, linked by silken ribbons. Holly came flying back to Tundra, her eyes shining. “There!” she exclaimed. “Isn’t that the most spectacular carousel you’ve ever seen? Don’t you think the children will love it?”

  Tundra shook his head. “You thought of everything, didn’t you?”

  Holly laughed. “I had a long time to plan. But I never thought they would be all the colors of the rainbow.”

  An early riser, clad in a stiff black coat, strode by the Terrace, firmly on his way to some important business. The rainbow deer, turning in their carousel ribbons, were apparently beneath his notice. He strode along, his eyes fixed on his own concerns. Tundra had agreed, during the sleigh ride, never to speak in the presence of a mortal, but now he murmured, “I don’t think mortals are very observant, Holly.”

  Captivated by the waking city, Holly didn’t hear Tundra’s words, but she turned to the sound of his voice and threw her arms around his neck. “Can you feel it? Can you feel how wonderful it is?” she said passionately. “This is everything! This is life!”

  “I don’t understand how dogs sit still for so long,” he muttered.

  “Let’s walk, then!” She waved to the angel. “Goodbye, angel!”

  The angel was silent.

  “Remember—they don’t talk here,” said Tundra between his teeth. A mustachioed man in a fur-lined coat looked curiously at Holly as he walked by. “Is there something wrong with the way you’re dressed, Holly?”

  Holly looked down at her clothes. She was wearing a simple shirtwaist above a long, graceful skirt of forest green patterned with holly leaves. “I think I’m supposed to have a hat and coat,” she admitted. She paused to peer into her satchel and drew out a fashionably upswept hat featuring a satin ribbon that matched her skirt precisely and a green cloak. “How did she …” Holly murmured in surprise, slipping the cloak over her shoulders. The light material fell in handsome folds around her, giving the impression of a much heavier wrap. “Clever Lexy.” Next she fastened the hat upon her shining wreath of hair with an alarmingly long hatpin and tucked up a few flying curls. “There,” she said. “Do I look respectable?”

  Tundra eyed her. “I believe so. Humans would be better off with fur, in my opinion.”

  Holly ran up the Terrace steps and disappeared down the other side. Tundra hurried after her, and together they encountered the Mall. The long thoroughfare was covered in snow, and a curtain of tree branches shielded it on each side. It was here that the city’s wealthiest citizens came to parade in their victorias and landaus in the summer and their sleighs in the winter. The first of those was now turning up the avenue. A stiff coachman drove a fine pair of black horses, pulling a large, solidly built cutter, shell shaped as fashion required, replete with red leather seats, furred rugs, and jingling bells. Holly marveled at the proud horses and the elegance of the cutter, yet there was something not especially cheering about the scene.

  As she was pondering this, the expressionless coachman pulled tightly upon the reins and abruptly brought the cutter to a halt, disgorging a little band of children and a tightly wrapped lady with a large chin and a severe expression. Holly’s heart lifted; here, finally, were the children. She had been waiting all her life to meet them. She stepped forward eagerly, but her greeting died on her lips.

  “Charles, you will stand still,” snapped the severe lady. “Alice, a young lady does not jump from one foot to the other. Jerome! Harrison! Walk forward this instant! Evelyn, if I see your finger approach your nose again today, you shall be most sincerely sorry. Lines, please.” The five children struggled into two lines, with the oldest boy, Charles, at the lead. “Play!” cried the lady. “You may play for exactly thirty minutes, according to your father’s instructions. Foolhardy as they are,” she added in a mumble. With a sour face and a series of fussy flounces, she settled herself back into the carriage and began to read a book entitled The Depravity of the Impoverished Classes.

  As Holly looked on with growing unease, the five children walked, still in formation, to the frozen lawn. There they stopped still and waited for the thirty minutes to pass. The littlest boy, Harrison, bent down and picked up a stick, but he did not seem to know what to do with it afterward.

  Holly couldn’t stand it. On an impulse, she went toward the silent cluster of children with her arms outstretched. “Come, children,” she called, “shall we make snow angels?”

  They looked at her suspiciously. Finally Charles said, “What’s a snow angel?”

  Holly smiled. “Come. I’ll show you.” The five children exchanged glances and, apparently concluding that anything was better than standing around, they followed her to a spot in the lawn where the snow lay untouched and thick. Holly threw off her cloak and hat. “Look! You hold out your arms and fall into the snow, as flat as you can without losing your breath.” She fell backward like a monument toppling. “Then you wave your arms,” she said, “so it will look like you have wings. And then,” she said, carefully rising, “you have to get up without ruining your angel. That’s the hardest part. See!” she concluded triumphantly, “a perfect angel!”

  The children regarded her with round eyes. “You’re a young lady,” squeaked Alice after a moment. “And you fell in the snow on purpose.”

  “It was fun,” said Holly. “Even young ladies have to have fun. Come on!”

  They seemed paralyzed with surprise. Evelyn’s finger rose cautiously to her nose. Then Harrison said in a clear voice, “I bet I could do that.” He walked to a fresh patch of snow and flopped back in it. “Hey,” he said after a moment. “This is fun.” Slowly he extricated himself from the snow, mangling his angel a bit. “I’m going to do it again,” he said. “I’ve got to get up better.”

  “Me too,” said Jerome.

  “It would look nice if we all did it together,” suggested Holly. “Then we could make a row of angels.”

  “Yes,” said Evelyn unexpectedly. “Let’s do that.”

  For the first time, the five children played instead of waiting silently in the snow for the exercise to be over. They ran and slid and threw themselves enthusiastically into the snow. Harrison got the idea of drawing pictures with his stick, and Alice built a snowman. Thoroughly involved in her book, Miss Bellows, their governess, noticed nothing, not even the time, and a glistening hour ticked by.

  “Let’s go over to the lake and go skating,” said Holly. She sat down breathlessly after helping Alice complete her second snowman.

  “Yes!” the children shouted in unison. Evelyn wrapped her hand in Holly’s.

  Holly jumped to her feet and donned her cloak and hat. Cheerfully the children swar
med after her as she turned northward. “Come along!” she cried.

  “Charles!” shrilled a furious voice. “Alice! Evelyn! Jerome! Harrison! Come this instant!” Miss Bellows slammed her book shut and strode toward the little group. “How dare you!” she hissed. “How dare you exhibit such wicked behavior? Cavorting with a stranger!” Her voice whistled with rage.

  The children, abashed, offered no defense. They dropped their eyes and fell into sullen silence. Holly looked on with horror. She stared at Miss Bellows’s too-big chin and finally broke into her tirade. “Excuse me, Miss Bellows. It was my suggestion, going to the lake. The children are not to blame.”

  The grim face turned toward her. “And who, pray tell, are you?” snapped the governess.

  “My name is Holly Claus.”

  The sharp eyes took in her disheveled appearance, and Holly hastily tucked her flyaway hair back under her hat. “And under whose authority have you invited the children in my care to go skating with ruffians?”

  “Under my own,” said Holly steadily.

  “I am afraid, Miss Claus, or whoever you are, that is insufficient. The children of Dr. Louis Braunfels do not proceed in such a disordered fashion. And they most certainly do not skate in the kind of low company you obviously find attractive.”

  “What do you mean by ‘low company’?” asked Holly, honestly curious.

  Miss Bellows turned redder than ever. “The common, squalid characters who frequent the lake, that’s what I mean by low company, Miss Claus.”

  “Ah,” said Holly, staring at Miss Bellows’s face. “That’s what you mean,” she repeated absently.

  “And now I bid you good day!” snapped Miss Bellows.

  Holly tilted her head questioningly She seemed to be thinking about something far different than the topic at hand. She looked into Miss Bellows’s small blue eyes for a moment, until the governess dropped her gaze. The children watched, openmouthed, for Miss Bellows appeared, suddenly, not to know what to do. She was twisting her handkerchief in the strangest fashion.

  “What are you afraid of?” said Holly softly.

  “The children,” gulped Miss Bellows.

  “Why?” asked Holly.

  “Because they hate me.”

  “No. They are frightened of you, but they don’t hate you. They will love you if you love them.” Holly looked intently into Miss Bellows’s eyes and then transferred Evelyn’s hand from her own to the governess’s.

  Miss Bellows swallowed visibly. Evelyn, staring at her governess’s fearful face, suddenly felt a rush of compassion for Miss Bellows.

  “It’s all right, Miss Bellows,” she said. “We’ll go home now.”

  The governess looked uncertainly at the other children. Charles glanced at Holly, who nodded encouragingly at him. “Yes, Miss Bellows,” he said, nodding. “We’ll go home and have our lessons. Perhaps you can tell us more about the constellations. That was awfully interesting. Let’s go home.”

  He took Miss Bellows by the arm. Hastily, Alice kissed Holly’s cheek, and Harrison and Jerome followed suit. “Good-bye, Holly! Good-bye!” they called. Harrison, trailing behind, whacked the tree trunks with his stick.

  “That’s a bit better,” said Holly, looking after them. “But, my heavens, what a tangle these mortals get themselves in.”

  “Your father says it’s because they’re afraid,” said Tundra under his breath.

  “Yes. Papa knows.” She thought of her father, peering mildly over his spectacles, and felt a stab of homesickness. Holly picked up her satchel. “Let’s go to the carousel. I want to tell Meteor and the others how beautiful they are. Perhaps we’ll meet some low company. They must be happier than the high company.”

  The Mall was thronged with sleighs and little cutters now. Horses paraded by, their bells jingling merrily, and even the pampered bundles in the seats behind seemed to have been energized by the irresistible morning. Ladies put back their veils and greeted one another. Young men lifted their smooth black hats at the passing ladies and called out jovially to one another, “Frozen yet, Taylor?” “Splendid morning, isn’t it, Brace!” “Mind on the right, Bostwick!” More than one appreciative glance rested on Holly as she stood watching the surging traffic with a slight smile on her lips and a vibrant look of interest that was utterly unlike the cool composure prized by society ladies of the day. “Remarkably pretty girl, that,” said one young man to his companion as their horse trotted past.

  “Don’t fancy the dog, though, Law,” commented his friend, gazing at Tundra. “Looks like the sort with big teeth.”

  “Now, now,” said Law, “bravery and chivalry, Knapp. Let’s turn around here and drive by once more. Perhaps she’ll take a bow.” He turned his horse smoothly and retraced his path, but Holly was nowhere to be seen. “Where’s she got herself to, then?” he muttered, then, “Whoa! Whoa! What’s the trouble up there, Knapp!” He pulled violently on the reins to keep his horse from plunging off the path. “What the dickens!”

  “It’s a kid,” said Knapp sourly. “Right in the middle of the way. Get off, you filthy brat!” he called.

  A very small child was standing in the middle of the avenue, staring at the dozens of horses and vehicles around him. Drivers called out threats and issued harsh commands, but the child, frozen in confusion, stood rooted to the spot. Law, having regained control of his horse, spit out a curse, and when that failed to dislodge the boy, he reached for his whip.

  Holly appeared at the child’s side, her cheeks flushed with running. “What are you doing?” she cried furiously at Law. “What on Earth are you doing?” she repeated, catching sight of his hand upon the whip.

  Law turned pink and dropped the whip as though it were on fire. “Child’s a danger to the horses, running into the road like that,” he muttered.

  “A danger to the horses?” Holly repeated in such disbelief that Law blushed further. “He’s a child.” Turning to the urchin, who was staring at her in wonder, she said, “May I pick you up?”

  The little boy nodded solemnly, and without a glance at the two shamefaced drivers, Holly took him up and walked to safety at the roadside. He was the first child she had ever held in her arms, after a lifetime of waiting, and she breathed in his sweet, dirty scent rapturously. After an extra hug, she set him gently on his feet. “Now, where is your mama?” she asked.

  The boy was silent. “Got no mama,” he said finally.

  Holly looked at him anxiously. “Are you here with your papa?”

  “Got no papa.”

  “Who—who takes care of you?”

  “Nobody. I takes care of myself,” the ragged boy said proudly.

  “How old are you?” demanded Holly.

  The boy rubbed his face. “Dunno.”

  “Where do you live?”

  “Why, here!” he replied, waving his arm about.

  Holly looked around at the bright snow and leafless trees. “In the park?”

  “Yeah! Look, I’ll show you!”

  “Lady don’t want to see nothing like that,” said a rough voice. An older boy had slipped from between the trees and now clasped the little one under the elbow. “I’ll just take him, ma’am,” he said to Holly. “You don’t have to worry about him no more.”

  “Who are you?” asked Holly.

  “This is Jemmy,” said the little boy with the air of one presenting royalty.

  “Jeremy,” said the older boy instantly. “He can’t say it.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Jeremy,” said Holly with a smile. “I’m Holly. What’s your name, dear?” she asked the small child.

  “Bat,” he answered promptly.

  “Bat?” repeated Holly.

  “Bat. ’Cause I can see in the dark, like a bat.”

  At this, Jeremy seemed to feel that the child had revealed too much, and he once again took Bat’s elbow. “We’ll be off now, ma’am,” he said with a polite bow, and Holly was struck by his grace and innate good manners, which made his patched clothes and gen
eral grubbiness unnoticeable.

  “Do you live in the park too?” she asked, to keep him from leaving.

  “Sometimes,” answered Jeremy.

  “Sometimes Jemmy gets a job,” said Bat.

  “What he means is I get a room when I have a job. But now—now I’m staying here.”

  Holly looked around at the snowy woods. “Where do you sleep?”

  “I’ll show you!” said Bat eagerly, but Jeremy tightened his hand.

  “Lady don’t want to see it,” he said firmly.

  “Oh, but I do, Jeremy,” said Holly. “Really, I do.”

  “No. Ma’am.”

  “But why?” cried Holly in disappointment.

  “Not for the likes of you to see,” Jeremy said stiffly.

  “Aw, Jemmy, she won’t tell,” interrupted Bat.

  Holly turned to the older boy. “Is that what you’re concerned about?” She smiled. “I won’t tell a soul. And besides”—she laughed—“I wouldn’t know who to tell.”

  Jeremy had long ago learned that faces told more truth than words, and in the warmth of Holly’s smile, his doubts began to dissolve. He looked at her curiously. “Where’re you from? You’re not one of these ladies.” He pointed his chin at the passing sleighs.

  “That’s right. I’m not. I’m from a country far away,” replied Holly.

  “Italy,” said Bat, looking wise.

  “All you know,” said Jeremy scornfully. “She talks English, don’t she? She has blue eyes and gold hair, don’t she? She s not from Italy.

  “Come on, Jemmy. Let’s take her to the Place,” pleaded Bat.

  “Okay,” conceded Jeremy. They began to walk toward a thickly wooded section of the park, Bat running ahead and Tundra padding behind.