The Legend of Holly Claus

by Brittney Ryan

  “I’m sorry,” he replied sincerely. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” she answered with surprise.

  “Holly, doesn’t it ever occur to you that this place could be dangerous?”

  “What? The mortals?”

  He hated to say it. “Not the mortals.”

  Comprehension dawned in her eyes. “I know. I mean, I know you are right when you say that there is danger here. Herrikhan is more likely to try to find me here than at home,” she said slowly, as though learning a lesson. “But Tundra”—her voice dropped to a whisper—“I just can’t feel it. I can’t believe in it. I don’t know why, exactly, but it seems impossible that I should be the center of this struggle. How could I be that important? I feel none of it.”

  That’s because you have a heart untouched by pride or greed or self-interest. You’re exactly what he wants. But Tundra didn’t say any of that, because it would do no good. What he did say was “Come on, let’s go deliver some dolls.”

  Holly’s troubled face cleared, and her eyes, the color of the sea in a storm, lightened. “Yes, let’s do that.”

  The snowy paths were beginning to fill with the day’s pedestrians, wrapped to their eyes against the bite of the cold. Holly and Tundra walked sedately toward the Mall, trying to look like an average young lady with an extremely lumpy bag, no coat to speak of, and a large, snow-white dog. Yet several curious glances followed them. Soon enough Holly veered off the path, and they lost themselves in the scrubby forest that lay west of the great avenue. They had reached the Place. Again Holly saw the embers of the poor fire at the center of the encampment, but now, around its dying warmth, lay four heaps of blankets, each with a thin crust of snow on top.

  Three of the mounds were still and sleeping, but the fourth wiggled as Holly and Tundra approached. A moist black nose poked out, withdrew, and poked out again. “Sidewalk!” Holly whispered, and the dog squirmed out from beneath the blankets and greeted her with a wagging tail. “Hello, friend,” she whispered. “Is everybody still asleep? I’ve brought some bread for you.” She reached into the bag and pulled out a lump of bread, which Sidewalk ate with gusto.

  Abruptly one of the blanket rolls sat up. It was Jeremy “Some watchdog,” he said to Sidewalk. “Hi. G’morning,” he said to Holly and Tundra. “Whatcha doing here?”

  “I brought some breakfast,” said Holly. “And some dolls.”

  “You bring one for Lissy?” asked Jeremy.

  “Yes, of course,” answered Holly. “How is she?”

  “Not so good. When I come back last night, she was coughing something awful. She wouldn’t take much to eat, neither. Said she wasn’t hungry.”

  “She shouldn’t be outside in this weather,” said Holly.

  “I know it. I told her she gotta go to the poor-house or Children’s Aid, but she says no. She says they’ll lock her up, and she’d rather die out here with us.” Jeremy passed his hand across his eyes. “I dunno what to do.”

  From inside the little shack came the sound of a wracking, gluey cough that seemed to go on and on. It was followed by small rustles and groans as the layers of children within awoke to a new day. The first to emerge was Bat, in dire need of a handkerchief but still a cheering sight to Holly, for he looked rested and reasonably well fed.

  “Hot in there,” he said. “Oh, Holly’s here. Hi, Holly.” He bounced over to her and looked up, confident of his welcome.

  He got it. She kissed his dirty cheek, wiped his nose, and offered him some bread and milk. The smell of fresh bread invaded the sleepers’ dreams, and soon more children straggled out of the hay-filled shack to greet Holly and enjoy the rare experience of having a full belly in the morning. Bruno and Marty, the two biggest boys, built the fire up, careful not to make it large enough to attract notice, and the children lounged around on the few dry patches of ground or on logs.

  Finally Lissy, too, emerged from the wooden shack, holding Joan’s hand. Holly saw the dark smudges around her eyes and the feverish color in her cheeks; she and Jeremy exchanged glances. “Good morning, dear,” she said to the girl. “Come sit here, by the fire.”

  Slowly, slowly, Lissy walked to the spot Holly had indicated, her eyes fixed intently on the place. She dropped down with a sigh of exhaustion when she reached it, and Holly quickly swung two blankets around the thin shoulders and leaned the girl back against the log. “Are you cold?” she asked, handing Lissy a cracked cup of milk.

  “Cold?” Lissy repeated vaguely. “I don’t think so. No. I’m warm.” She drank the milk.

  “I brought you something.”

  Lissy turned her head. “For me? That’s funny.” She lapsed into silence.

  “Do you want it?” asked Holly, puzzled.

  “What? Oh. I forgot. Yes.”

  Holly reached into her satchel and brought forth the doll. She laid it in Lissy’s lap.

  “What is it?” said Lissy. Slowly her vague gaze seemed to focus on the little figure that lay in her lap. She stared for a long time at the face, with its coiled brown hair and smooth pink cheeks. “It’s my ma,” she said hoarsely. “How’d you know what she looked like?”

  “I didn’t—it’s not—” Holly broke off, unsure of the right way to answer. “I didn’t know I was making your mother,” she said finally. “I thought I was making you.”

  “You made it?”

  “Yes.”

  Lissy’s eyes traveled down to Holly’s long fingers and rested there. “You made it?”

  Holly smiled. “Yes. I thought I was making you, all grown up, well and happy—I thought that would be your dream.”

  For the first time, she saw Lissy smile. “I’m not gonna grow up and be well and happy. But if you was making my dreams, you made it right. I dream about my ma all the time.”

  “Is your mama dead?”

  “Yeah. Long time ago, when I was six or something. But I remember how she looked before she got sick, and it was like this.” Lissy drew a rattling breath and continued, “After she was dead, I kept looking and looking for her, ’cause nobody told me what dead was. I thought she had just gone away. Thought she was mad at me for something. Then I found out, and I stopped looking. But now I catch myself watching for her again. Yesterday, at McElhenny’s, I saw a lady in a brown coat, walking kind of brisk, and I thought, That’s her, that’s Ma.” Lissy lifted the doll’s little arms. “Stupid, wasn’t it? But now here she is.” She cradled the doll against her neck.

  Holly reached out and held the little girl. “Oh, this world is so hard,” she whispered. “How can you bear it?”

  “There’s some good parts,” Lissy answered. “This morning is good. This milk is good. Seeing my ma here in this doll is good. She loved me.”

  Holly didn’t reply. Instead she drew forth the rest of the dream dolls from her satchel. “Look, Bat,” she called to the little boy, who was even dirtier now than he had been ten minutes before. “Look, it’s you.” She held up the figure dressed in the bright silk shirt.

  “Hey!” Bat shouted. “It’s me! But bigger and fancier. Look at me!” He grabbed the little figure and danced it around in the air.

  The other children crowded around him curiously. “I’ll be jiggered.” “It even has that scar on your head!” “Whatcha got on there, Bat, silk underwear?”

  “Naw,” said Marty authoritatively, “that’s horse-racing clothes, that is. You gonna be a horse racer, Bat?”

  Bat’s face lit with joy. “A horse racer? You mean you get to sit on the horses while they run?”

  “Sure,” said Marty, enjoying himself. “It’s even a job. You can get paid for it. People bet money on the horses, and whoever wins gets a big pile of scratch. I seen it.”

  Bat’s eyes grew round, and he stared at the doll version of himself reverently. “A horse racer,” he breathed. “It’s a job.”

  Jeremy grinned. “If you don’t get squished on the Mall first. That’s why he was out there yesterday morning,” he e
xplained to Holly. “He’s crazy for horses.”

  Now the other children crowded around Holly, demanding and receiving their dream dolls. If their manners lacked some finesse, their appreciation of their gifts made up for it in Holly’s eyes. They understood intuitively that these figures were not portraits, but somehow models of their inner selves and their hopes. They seemed to take strength from the sight of them, staring thoughtfully at the small faces as if storing them in their memories. Holly saw more than one child tuck the figure carefully into a worn inner pocket, then pull it back out for one more look. The younger children—Johnny, Jim, Sue, and Mel—began to play house with their new toys, which Holly found touching, given the probability that not one of them had ever lived in a real house.

  “We’d better go, Holly,” said Jeremy, after a while. He walked over to a fresh patch of snow and cleaned his face with a handful. “I’m ready.”

  As Holly gathered her bundles, she felt a small tug on her skirt. It was Bat. “You coming back?” he asked.

  “I’ll see you before I leave,” she replied.

  “You’re leaving? When?” cried two or three startled children.

  “Christmas Eve. Tomorrow night,” she said. Jeremy turned away, suddenly very busy with his shoes.

  From her nest of blankets, Lissy said, “Promise you’ll come back one more time.”

  “I promise,” Holly said.

  There was another tug on her skirt. “Gimme a kiss,” commanded Bat. Holly knelt to obey, wrapping her arms around his little boy sturdiness. “You can go,” he said, not looking at her.

  “Oh, Bat, I love you,” said Holly, giving him an extra squeeze. He grunted in reply, but his neck turned red.

  “Come on, Holly, we’re gonna be late,” urged Jeremy.

  They flew through the streets, sliding and laughing, with Tundra trotting behind, and reached the toy shop as Mr. Kleiner did. His worried frown eased at the sight of them. “There you are!” he called happily. “I was beginning to think yesterday was only a dream!”

  As they entered the door, the snow began to fall lightly, adding a dazzle to the Christmas marvels that filled the shop. Tundra took up his corner, which offered the advantage of overseeing both the shadowy staircase to the upper floor and the front door, through which he expected Hunter Hartman to arrive any minute.

  Mr. Hartman, however, seemed to be less than punctual, and Tundra closed his eyes, trying to convince himself that he was ready for a nap. But when the store bell jingled for the first time that day, he leaped to his feet in an instant. To his disappointment, a middle-aged man, darkly bearded, entered the store with three boys trailing behind him.

  “Now!” said the man with expectant pleasure. He looked around and rubbed his hands together. “We’ll surely find what we seek here. By jove! They’ve rigged up some stage snow! How ingenious! What’s it made of? Charles, what’s it made of?”

  Holly, eager to distract from this line of questioning, rustled forward and then came to a sudden halt. “Charles!” she cried.” Jerome and Harrison, too! How glad I am to see you again!” She held out her hands and the three boys ran into her arms.

  “You never told us you had a toy store!” Jerome said enviously.

  “It’s not mine,” she said, laughing. “I work here. Don’t you wish you did?”

  “Yes!” the three shouted.

  “I could work here,” Harrison announced. “I could climb the shelves and put the toys on.”

  “So you could,” said Holly, giving him a squeeze. “I’d hire you in a minute, too, except that it isn’t my store.”

  “Charles, a gentleman must introduce his acquaintances,” his father prodded.

  “Father,” said Charles proudly, “I’d like to introduce you—” He stopped, warned by his father’s waggling eyebrows that something was wrong. “What?”

  “Ask the lady’s permission,” advised his father in a stage whisper. He smiled at Holly, who smiled back.

  Charles appeared flummoxed by this hint. “Oh!” he said finally. “Holly, will you permit me to introduce you to my father?”

  “Certainly,” said Holly.

  “Holly, this is my father, Dr. Braunfels. Father, this is Miss Holly Claus.”

  “Most pleased to meet you, Miss Claus,” said Dr. Braunfels with a bow.

  “And I, you, Dr. Braunfels.”

  Charles, with some assistance from Jerome and Harrison, was explaining to his father just how he knew Holly. “She fell over in the snow, bang!, not like a young lady at all,” Harrison said admiringly.

  “An excellent quality, to be sure,” said Dr. Braunfels with a friendly smile. “Most young ladies are far too particular about their clothes to take the exercise that is so necessary for their health.”

  “You believe in fresh air and exercise, sir?” asked Holly. An idea was beginning to take shape in her mind.

  “Yes, particularly for young people. Exercise, no less than nourishing food and restful sleep, is vital for growth and health. Our children are nervous and debilitated due to—”

  “Father!” whispered Harrison loudly. “Father! Don’t start talking about corsets. Please!”

  Dr. Braunfels ruffled his son’s hair. “All right, Harrison. I’ll stop. Aren’t we here to find Christmas presents for your sisters, boys?” He clapped his hands together. “What shall it be?”

  Jerome, who had been poking about in a low shelf, held up a lifelike rubber frog with a sagging rubber tongue. “Alice would love this,” he said.

  Dr. Braunfels shouted with laughter. “They’d hear her scream in Brooklyn, Jerome. Come now, think of the girls. What do they wish for?”

  “Dolls,” said Harrison. He looked glum.

  “Dolls in silk dresses.” Jerome sneered.

  “Look at that sled with the steering wheel.” Charles sighed.

  “Evie likes to sled,” said Harrison hopefully.

  “No, she doesn’t.”

  They all sighed. “Dolls.” They looked at their father with tragic faces. “Dolls,” they repeated.

  Dr. Braunfels patted them on the back. “That’s the way, boys. That’s thinking of others before yourselves, which is also called the Christmas spirit. Very good. Dolls, then!” He turned to Holly.

  This being precisely what she had hoped for, she was prepared. “Sir,” said Holly, “our dolls are so very special that we don’t put them on the shelves, but keep them safe in our storeroom for favored customers. I’d be happy to bring out two dolls for Alice and Evelyn, if you can wait for just five minutes.”

  Dr. Braunfels shrugged. “I’m sure the boys will manage to while away five minutes without much trouble,” he said, but Holly was already flying toward the storeroom.

  Hastily she removed the porcelain from her satchel and began to work, with Evelyn’s face and then Alice’s floating through her mind. Once the dolls were finished, she wove them magical silk dresses in her mind. But to her surprise, when she turned to the dolls after her reverie, she found that only Alice was dressed in the swishing blue ball gown of her imagination. The small figure that held Evelyn’s dream was clothed in a simple white jacket over a plain skirt. Her eyes were clear, even serene, but her mouth was firm. She was, without a doubt, a doctor. Holly brought the dolls out to the front of the shop.

  “Hey! It’s Alice and Evie!” bellowed Jerome. “Look at that!”

  Charles whistled.

  “Look at Evie,” said Harrison. “What’s she got on?”

  Dr. Braunfels looked long and thoughtfully at the dolls he held, and when he lifted his eyes to Holly’s, she saw that he was both troubled and intrigued. “It does no good to ask how you managed to—to—make these replicas of my daughters, I expect.”

  “That’s correct, sir,” said Holly. “I couldn’t explain it even if I tried to.”

  “This is Alice as she will be, I see. Grown to a graceful woman. I am not surprised, for she is graceful now. But Evelyn? In a doctor’s coat? I cannot imagine such a future for her. S
he cries when she sees someone hurt.”

  Holly interrupted. “Surely compassion should be the first qualification of a doctor.”

  Dr. Braunfels gazed at her. “True, and yet a woman’s heart is too tender for the sights a doctor must endure.”

  “I disagree, sir. A tender heart is no liability, provided that its owner also possesses a steady mind and hand. You would not destroy a dream that has been modeled on your own—you could not”—Holly looked earnestly at the doctor—“simply because she’s not a boy.”

  The boys turned from one speaker to the other, their mouths agape. “But the schools, the associations,” Dr. Braunfels said, “every possible obstruction will be thrown in her way because she is female. The road is long and nearly impassable.”

  “But it is her road, not yours! If, knowing its difficulty, she chooses it anyway, you have no right to stop her,” cried Holly.

  The doctor smiled. “I must say, you are a very argumentative young lady, Miss Claus. Why do you care so much about my Evie?”

  “Dreams are precious,” said Holly.

  “Yes,” he said in a low voice. “You’re right.” He stared at the figure for another moment, and it seemed to stare straight back at him. “Well. Boys, I believe we have found the gifts we need. What is the price for these extremely unusual dolls, Miss Claus?”

  This was what Holly had been waiting for. She cleared her throat and plunged in. “Sir, I will give you these dolls as a gift. But,” she added, seeing Dr. Braunfels ready to protest, “I want you to give me a gift in return.”

  “What would that be?” he asked cautiously.

  “I have a friend, a little girl, who coughs terribly. She has no money, so she hasn’t seen a doctor. I think—I think she might die soon unless she gets some help. Will you go see her?”

  Dr. Braunfels patted her shoulder sympathetically. “Of course, my dear. Tell me where the child lives.” He pulled a memorandum book from his pocket.

  Holly glanced at Jeremy. He nodded. “She lives in Central Park,” began Holly.

  “She what?”

  “She lives with some other children in Central Park—”