Tundra’s expression grew grimmer. “Holly,” he said after a moment. “Let’s leave this place. Something’s not right here.”
For a moment Holly teetered on the verge of obeying. Tundra was the voice of wisdom, certainty, authority; he had been all her life. And, she admitted to herself, she had the same feeling he did. There was something strange, even unsettling, about the shadows and doll-less shelves of Carroll’s Curiosities and Wonders. Something unhappy. Another voice argued, haven’t I come to the mortal world to help the unhappy? Hasn’t that been the work of every human who became an immortal—who deserved immortality? Her mouth straightened into a stubborn line, and she stuck her small chin out. I will stay. I will stay right here, and if Mr. Carroll needs my help I will offer it with all my heart. I’ll make this the best toy shop I can.
Tundra sighed. He recognized that look. He padded softly to a corner and sat down.
Holly glanced around. “Don’t you think this room would look more cheerful if it had more light?”
Jeremy replied, “Yeah, but the electric lights are expensive.”
“They are, are they?” said Holly. “Well, sunlight is cheap. Let’s pull those curtains all the way back.” She marched to the front windows, which were veiled in thick cloth. “Is there a ladder, Jeremy? If we take these down, the daylight will stream in. And why aren’t there any toys in this window? How is anyone to know that this is a toy shop?” She looked around energetically. “Let’s move those sweet bears into the window. We can give them a Christmas party.” Throwing off her cloak, she reached for a particularly tempting brown bear.
Tundra, in his corner, watched the staircase steadily.
Meanwhile, Mr. Kleiner was knocking discreetly upon a heavy wooden door. “Mr. Carroll?” he called softly. “Mr. Carroll?”
Abruptly the door was pulled open from within. Mr. Kleiner stared as Mr. Carroll threw himself down in a chair before his worktable without a glance at his visitor and resumed his intent concentration on a small model of the planets. Though a close observer would discern that he was still a young man, Mr. Carroll’s face was weary. His hooded eyes were joyless, and his mouth, set in a sharply defined jaw, was closed in a severe line. As his long fingers connected one delicate wire to another, a fleeting satisfaction crossed his face, but when he finally looked up, his expression was impatient. “Yes, Mr. Kleiner?”
“Hmm.” Mr. Kleiner cleared his throat. “Excuse me, sir, there is a young lady downstairs seeking temporary employment. She strikes me as an exceedingly capable and trustworthy young lady, and since I am in need of assistance in the absence of Mrs. Bath, I should like to give her a place for a few weeks.” Mr. Kleiner ran his finger between his stiff collar and his neck. “Provided you approve, of course.”
“References?”
“Ahem. The young lady is from Maine and has not had employment in New York City before.”
The hooded eyes gave Mr. Kleiner a steely glance. “You wish to employ a young lady who simply wandered in from the street?”
Mr. Kleiner drew himself up straighter. “Certainly not, Mr. Carroll. Young Jeremy brought her in and vouches for her.”
“Ah. Recommendation indeed,” said Mr. Carroll, his face empty of expression. There was a short silence as the thin, deft fingers connected another wire. Mr. Kleiner stood before the table, waiting. “I see you have made up your mind,” said Mr. Carroll, without looking up. “Then do as you think fit. See to it that she minds her own business and not mine. I will be watching for any infraction of my rules. I trust you understand me, Mr. Kleiner?”
“Yes,” said Mr. Kleiner shortly, and turned to go.
As he opened the door, Carroll spoke again. “What’s her name?”
“Miss Claus,” replied Mr. Kleiner. “Good afternoon, sir.”
“Likewise,” said Mr. Carroll.
Mr. Kleiner hurried down the stairs, but was halted midway by the sight that greeted him below. The toy shop was filled with unaccustomed light. A family of bears had encircled a small Christmas tree (which Holly had filched from another little scene in the back of the shop) laden with ornaments. They were clearly singing carols as they stood hand in hand—paw in paw—in some soft, cottony snow. And Holly had not stopped with the windows. She and Jeremy were stringing up a long, twisted garland of paper leaves and berries from one side of the store to another. Holly, atop the ladder, was just saying, “Don’t you think one of those little gold medallions would look festive right here?” when Mr. Kleiner emitted a fearful squeak that betrayed his presence.
Holly turned to him and smiled. “Doesn’t it look lovely?”
“My dear Miss Claus,” began Mr. Kleiner. “My dear Miss Claus, loveliness is beside the point. Mr. Carroll is most exacting as to the arrangement of the store, and I’m afraid that your improvements will have to—”
The street door opened. A young woman heavily wrapped in a blue coat entered. “Good day,” she said, lifting her veil and addressing Mr. Kleiner, who happened to be close to her. “I was walking by when I saw your delightful bears in the window. I had no idea this was a toy shop!” she said, laughing.” My boy absolutely must have that cunning brown bear with the little hat. Yes, that’s the one. What a face! I had no idea you carried toy bears.” Smiling radiantly at Mr. Kleiner as though he was giving her a gift instead of taking her money, she put the wrapped bear under her arm and swept from the store, the picture of satisfaction.
The small bell over the door jingled as it closed behind her. There was a strained silence, and then Mr. Kleiner began to laugh and laugh. After a moment Holly began to giggle too, and then Jeremy. “Well, my dear,” wheezed Mr. Kleiner, wiping his eyes, “I think you’d better continue with your decorating. Jeremy, please help Miss Claus. You may both consider yourselves employed.”
“Thank you, Mr. Kleiner,” said Holly. She reached out her hand, “Truly, thank you,” she repeated, looking gratefully at the older man.
The lined face flushed a little as he took her soft hand in his. “I have a strange feeling, Miss Claus. I have a feeling that I shall be thanking you before many days have passed.”
“Come on, Holly. Let’s get them garlands up over the shelves,” said Jeremy enthusiastically.
“Right, we’ll fasten them up with these golden medallions. And Mr. Kleiner?” said Holly in a lightly wheedling tone, “don’t you think it would be nice to have a Christmas tree? A real Christmas tree?”
Mr. Kleiner threw up his hands. “Of course, Miss Claus. It would be lovely. I will get one tomorrow.”
Perhaps there is a secret world of toys. Perhaps they really do, as all children suspect, come to life after the doors close and dance and whirl the night hours away until the first grumbling human yawns and footsteps can be heard in the dawn. With the morning, they resume their frozen poses and trick us for another day, every so often catching one another’s eye when we do something foolish. It almost seemed as if it were true, that afternoon at the toy store, as if the toys themselves knew that they were in the presence of Santa’s daughter. For, under Mr. Kleiner’s marveling eye, the store grew brighter, cheerier, livelier with each passing minute of Holly’s stay. The gleaming engines seemed shinier, the stuffed animals more cuddly, and the wooden toys somehow brighter. Holly greeted each toy she touched like a long-lost friend; she straightened them and arranged them lovingly. She put old bear colleagues together; she created marvelous little chests bubbling over with treasures; she set tin soldiers into full battle array against a carved dragon who threatened their castle; she made a theater for the puppets out of a checkered silk parachute; she placed spinning angel candelabras in artful spots; she garnished and draped and devised until the room glowed, redolent with the spice and glory of Christmas.
“Now!” she was saying from the top of the stepping stool, her hands full of evergreen boughs (Mr. Kleiner had relented to the point of making a quick trip to the flower shop). “Do you think that’s enough?”
“Naw,” said Jeremy, look
ing up at her with a smile. He couldn’t remember a better day in his entire life: food and warmth and this lady who seemed to understand everything important. “Naw, you gotta have another one. Don’t want to look skimpy.”
Holly stepped up on the counter. “Never skimpy! Christmas comes but once a year!” She turned to look down at the boy. He seemed suddenly very far away. “But once a—” she said again, uncertainly. The bright lights above her were very bright. She blinked. “I’m afraid—” she began, and clutched at the shelf next to her.
Tundra made a flying leap from his corner. As Holly dropped limply from the counter, he landed in position directly below, breaking her fall. Jeremy, jerking out of momentary paralysis, reached forward to catch her, and Holly came to rest, unconscious but unharmed, on the wolf’s fur back.
It took every ounce of Tundra’s self-discipline to keep from shouting orders. He waited until Mr. Kleiner, shaking with distress, went to fetch some water, before he muttered urgently to Jeremy, “Open the door. She needs cold air.”
Jeremy obeyed quickly, and, as the first gusts of freezing air eddied into the shop, the color returned to Holly’s cheeks and she began to breathe normally. Mr. Kleiner came rushing back with a cup of water just as her eyes fluttered open. She and Tundra exchanged a long look; hers mutely grateful, his tender.
“That’s a good dog you’ve got there, Miss Claus,” Mr. Kleiner was saying excitedly “I’ve never seen anything like it! As soon as you began to fall, he was beneath the shelf to save you. My word! What is he, a wolfhound? One of those Canadian dogs, I’ll be bound. Good dog! Smart dog!” he bellowed to Tundra, and patted him heavily on the head. Tundra quelled an urge to bite him. “Now, Miss Claus,” said the man, turning his attention to Holly. “You haven’t had a morsel to eat for quite some time, am I correct?”
“Yes, sir,” said Holly quietly. Anything was better than trying to explain the real cause of her faintness.
“Just as I thought! Young lady, you need some nourishing victuals.” Mr. Kleiner gave her a keen glance. “Perhaps you are a little short of the needful, Miss Claus, but do not fear. I shall be happy to extend you credit against wages to be earned. And indeed!” He gave a short laugh. “You’ve already earned enough this afternoon for a fine meal. You rest here, in this chair, and I’ll run up the street. Meat pasty? Carrot soup? Most healthful, carrot soup. Lady cake? Tea, most certainly. I’ll be back in no time. Stay seated.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Holly faintly.
The door banged behind him. Jeremy began talking at once. “But Holly, why didn’t you tell him? You ate at McElhenny’s. You ain’t really hungry, are you?”
“No, I’m not hungry,” said Holly. “I just wanted him to leave for a moment. Oh, Tundra, what am I to do?” she wailed.
“Whatsamatter?” goggled Jeremy. “What’s going on?”
Holly buried her face in Tundra’s fur. “I can’t bear to fail like this,” she said.
“I know, but you must remember, you’re on mortal land. It won’t help anyone if you die here,” said Tundra softly.
“What!” yelled Jeremy. “Are you dying, Holly?”
His combined outrage and alarm made her smile a little. “No, no, of course not, dear. It’s just that I have an illness. When I get warm, my heart doesn’t work very well. In Forever I lived apart from everyone, in the cold, but I thought that here, because of the cold weather, I could—” Her voice broke.
“Shhh,” said the wolf soothingly. “You’re all right now, aren’t you?”
“But if I can’t stay indoors, I can’t stay here and then—then—” Two tears spilled from her swimming eyes and landed on Tundra’s white coat.
“Hush, now. We’ll find a way,” he said.
“But how, Tundra? How can I possibly find a way to help the children in the park if—if—if—” She stopped. Her eyes were locked on the tears she had just shed. What was happening? They were quivering, ever so slightly, growing opaque and brittle. “Look,” she said, awed. Her tears had turned to snowflakes.
A tiny crystal spiraled from the ceiling. It was followed by another and another and then another. Gently now, snowflakes wafted through the air as gracefully as flower petals in the breeze.
Jeremy’s mouth hung open. “I never seen anything like it.” He reached out and a tiny flake dropped into his palm. There it glittered brightly for a moment and then melted, not into water, but into a light breath of frosty air. “What is it?” he croaked.
Holly began to laugh, her coppery hair covered with spangles of snow. “It’s magic, Jeremy. It’s magical snow that keeps my heart at the right temperature and never melts. I didn’t believe it could happen here, but it can! Tundra!” She hugged the wolf so hard he coughed. “Tundra, you know what this means?”
“What does it mean?” asked Tundra.
“It means that the elders want me to be here.” Unconsciously her fingers crept to the locket that hung around her neck. “Thank you,” she whispered to the snow.
“This is some day,” remarked Jeremy.
Holly jumped to her feet. “Now!” she said happily. “Back to business!”
“Perhaps it would be wiser,” Tundra suggested, “to wait for Mr. Kleiner to return with his soup before you revive completely It will avoid the necessity of explaining your condition.”
“Oh!” Holly plopped back down on the floor. “You’re right!”
“How’re you planning to explain this?” said Jeremy, waving his hands at the snowflakes that were now lying lightly on the shelves and tables.
Holly and Tundra looked at each other in consternation, but before they could concoct a reasonable explanation for indoor snow, the shop door tinkled, and Mr. Kleiner stood at the front of the shop, staring at the snow that eddied lightly around him. The paper packet in his hand slipped unnoticed to the floor. Silently he watched the snowy scene. He stuck out his gloved hand and caught a single snowflake. He inspected it, the two furrows on his brow deepening as it disappeared with a little puff, and gave Holly a long and searching look. Then his gaze shifted to Tundra, who tried to appear as innocent as possible. He turned back to Holly and said, “I trust there is an explanation for this.”
“It’s magic,” replied Holly simply.
Mr. Kleiner nodded. He reached down to pick up the packet he had dropped, and when he stood again, his face was impassive. “That’s what I thought.” He handed the package to Holly. “Meat pasty?” She nodded hopefully, her eyes fixed on his face. “Carrot soup? It’s most healthful, I assure you. I don’t want to know how you did it, Miss Claus. Can you undo it?”
“I don’t think so, sir,” said Holly, dropping her eyes.
“Then I am afraid, Miss Claus, that you and—”
There was a particularly loud jingle from the bell. Two children, about eight years old, burst into the shop hand in hand. Their eyes were fixed on the twirling snow and their mouths were hanging open in awe. A vigorous lady carrying a variety of packages bustled in after them, saying loudly, “Edward and Michael, how many times have I told you not to enter shops without me!” She grasped the two boys by the shoulders and gave them a healthy yank.
“But Ma!” cried the boys in unison. “Look!” They pointed at the snow-dusted toys and the crystals that danced in the air.
The vigorous lady glanced up and delivered another yank before the meaning of what she had seen settled upon her, and she looked again. “Well, I never!” she said softly. “How on Earth?” She stared. “How on Earth did you do it?” She turned to Mr. Kleiner, who turned to Holly.
“Magic, ma’am,” said Holly. “Christmas magic.”
The woman broke into a broad smile. “You don’t say, miss. Edward and Michael, this is magic snow! It must have come from Santa Claus!” The two boys nodded. This was far more reasonable than most of the explanations grown-ups gave. “Look,” said their mother cheerfully. “Look at those soldiers, boys! Aren’t those exactly what you’ve been begging for?”
The sh
op door jingled again. A very thin boy in an elegant black coat stood inside, his eyes shining behind his spectacles. “Look, Mr. Carston. It is snow!”
“Impossible!” said a tall but gentle-faced man entering behind him. “Good Lord!” he exclaimed in the next moment. “You’re quite right, Martin! How do you suppose—?”
He was pushed aside by a gaggle of little girls—one, two, three, four, five—identically dressed in thick, warm coats and each as bossy as the last. Their teacher trundled up behind them, panting, “Girls, girls! Young ladies! Gracious! Your fathers shall hear of this behavior! Dashing down the street like a gaggle of geese! Gracious alive! Oh!” Then she took in the scene before her and was silenced. Not so the little girls, who shouted at the sight of the snow and then dispersed themselves around the store to inspect each and every snow-dusted toy
An astonished gentleman in a brown coat. A bedazzled young lady in a bedraggled hat. Three children pulling their indulgent grandfather. A bundled baby on the shoulder of her nanny, gurgling with excitement. Four dirty boys in ragged clothes, who greeted Jeremy with shouts of admiration, asking him how he did it. Three fat, yellow-haired children who expressed their delight by falling on the floor. One very cold little girl, who looked up at the dancing crystals with starry eyes and then crept away with a good portion of the meat pasty, which Holly had pressed into her hands.
Mr. Kleiner flew about, his grave doubts forgotten, pulling down bears and tops, trains and skates, for the children. Holly, too, was busy, bringing toys to children, and, in a few cases, children to toys. She seemed to have a special intuition for the precise toy that would fit each child. The thin, elegant boy left clutching a case of scientific instruments, and the gaggle of girls promised their miserable teacher that they would be well behaved for the rest of the afternoon only if they each received a tin dog that jumped up and down as it banged upon a drum. Holly doubted that they would ever be well behaved, but she found five tin dogs and smiled as she watched the girls leave. She wished that Nicholas was by her side; he loved little children who had the gumption to be naughty sometimes. The astonished gentleman bought a fire engine for his nephew. The bundled baby was rewarded with a new rabbit, which she drooled upon. The four ragged boys came away with a handful of candies apiece, courtesy of Mr. Kleiner, who had once been a ragged boy himself. The indulgent grandfather turned out to be a train enthusiast and bought an entire railway for his grandchildren. The fat yellow-haired trio disappeared for a few minutes and then returned with their monumentally fat yellow-haired mother, who purchased three sleds, three pairs of skates, and three drums.
The Legend of Holly Claus Page 18