The Legend of Holly Claus

by Brittney Ryan

  “Now? In this weather?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “But there are homes! The Children’s Aid Home is supposed to provide shelter—”

  “She won’t go, sir. She doesn’t want to be locked up. None of them do. They say it’s like jail. If I tell you where she is, you must promise not to reveal her secret. Do you promise?” Holly looked at him intently.

  Dr. Braunfels put away his memorandum book. “Yes. I promise,” he said, and Holly knew he would keep his word.

  Jeremy appeared at her side like magic, with his cap on his head. “I’ll take you,” he said. “I’ll take you there right now.”

  “We’ll need to stop at home for my bag, but it’s not far. Near St. Bartholomew’s.”

  “That’s along the way,” said Jeremy.

  “Take Evelyn, too,” said Holly suddenly.

  “Pardon?” said Dr. Braunfels.

  “Take Evelyn with you. She should meet these children.”

  “I’ll go too,” said Charles. “Maybe there’s something I can do.”

  “I shall be glad of your company,” Dr. Braunfels said to his son, and then clapped his hat on his head. “Very well, young man.” He turned to Jeremy. “Let’s go!” He charged briskly through the door with a doll under each arm. Charles and Jeremy followed, and Jerome, with one final longing look at the rubber frog, grabbed Harrison by the hand and pulled him after.

  Holly watched through the window as they disappeared into the swirl of carriages and snow and coats, and then turned back to the quiet store with a small sigh.

  “That was a very kind thing you did,” said Mr. Kleiner.

  Holly said nothing. She did not seem to hear him.

  The bell jingled, and they jumped. A pale woman with a cloud of black hair entered the shop and looked inquiringly at the shelves. “I heard that wonderful dolls are made here,” she began, and before long Holly was back in the storeroom, quickly manufacturing a winsome doll for a solemn little girl of ten. Then another mother came in with twins peeking out from behind her skirt. She too had heard tales of marvelous dolls, and so Holly made twin dolls with shy smiles and devilish hearts. By now the store was humming with customers, as passersby were lured in by the sight of snow and held by the array of treasures on the shelves. Holly, coming from the storeroom with an armful of dolls, and Mr. Kleiner, winding up a music box for a curious toddler, exchanged looks of satisfaction: a bevy of little girls knelt before the little town in the glass case, each selecting the house she hoped to live in; a contented baby rocked her new teddy bear while her mother turned the shiny pages of a Mother Goose book.

  Between, around, and among the crowds of children were adults, taking respite from the cold and crowded streets in the enchanted aisles of the toy shop. Here and there, Holly saw grown-ups who had discovered an old friend, a toy from childhood, and she watched as their eyes grew full of memories.

  One old man with a face like a hatchet had been caught up in a bright Chinese puzzle for nearly an hour; he simply could not figure out how to unfold the intricate layers of wood that enclosed the tiny paper butterfly within, and each time he thought he was near the prize, he entrapped himself anew. Finally he stomped over to the counter and slammed the little box down. “Guess I’ll take it,” he snarled. Smilingly Mr. Kleiner collected his money, and the grim man turned on his heel. Then he paused. “Got any others?” he asked. Mr. Kleiner showed him six or seven equally maddening puzzles. “Guess I’ll take ’em all.”

  Two hours passed in a matter of moments, and then, in an instant, the flurry was over. The store, which had been thick with people and loud with the clang and rattle of toys, was now empty and silent, except for the ticking of the great grandfather clock far away in the gloom upstairs.

  “Praise be. I’ll rest my weary bones for a minute or two,” said Mr. Kleiner, easing himself onto a stool.

  “And then you’ll get us a Christmas tree, won’t you?” teased Holly.

  “Miss Claus, you are a tyrant.”

  “Pooh. You have no holiday spirit.”

  “You have enough for both of us.” Mr. Kleiner laughed.

  They both became aware of a presence on the gallery above. They looked up uneasily, but the only evidence of Mr. Carroll was the swaying motion of the velvet curtain that shielded the hallway from view.

  Mr. Kleiner jumped to his feet. “Yes, yes, I’ll be off for your Christmas tree. Back in a jiffy.” Wrapping himself in an assortment of bright striped scarves that were undoubtedly the work of Mrs. Kleiner’s knitting needles, he darted out the door.

  Holly glanced around the empty store, unexpectedly alone and acutely aware of Mr. Carroll breathing, pacing, working, and frowning somewhere above her head. Unconsciously she tightened the snowflake shawl around her shoulders, as if it would bolster her. Don’t be silly, she told herself. This is no time to act childish. I have responsibilities. And Tundra is here to protect me, even if he is asleep. She straightened her shoulders and looked around her for something to do. Yes, those masks and crowns could certainly use some tidying.

  Just as Holly was striding purposefully toward the jumble of feathers and pasteboard, the shop bell tinkled and a timid-looking girl of about sixteen edged inside. Her eyes grew large at the spectacle of the dancing snow and the array of toys, and she pressed herself against the refuge of the nearest wall to stare in silence until Holly approached. Then she jumped. “Oh, I’m sorry, miss!” She gulped.

  “Sorry?” Holly said. “What for?”

  The girl twisted her hands. “Just—just—sorry, I guess.”

  Holly smiled into the anxious face before her. “You are welcome here. Can I help you find a toy?”

  The girl offered a tiny smile in return. “Oh, not for me, miss. I’m just a housemaid. I come to pick up a train set for Mrs. August Inchbald.”

  “Mrs. August Inchbald likes to play with trains, then?” asked Holly seriously, hoping to coax another smile from the shy face.

  The girl broke into a surprised grin. “Mrs. August Inchbald don’t play with trains, miss! She’s a grown lady! The train is for her boy, for Christmas!”

  Holly leaned toward the girl and whispered, “Perhaps Mrs. August Inchbald plays with trains secretly. In her ballroom.”

  To Holly’s satisfaction, the girl began to giggle. “I’d like to see it, miss! Maybe next time I dust the chandelier, I’ll catch her.”

  The two girls exchanged looks. They were both thinking the same thing: we could be friends. Then the housemaid sighed. “I got to be getting on, miss. Mrs. Inchbald don’t like to wait. She ordered that train last week, and she was mad as hops when Mr. Kleiner said it won’t come till now.”

  Holly glanced around the shop. A train, specially ordered. Where on Earth would such a thing be kept? “Of course. A train,” she said, considering. “Hmm. Oh! It’s sure to be in the storeroom.” She ducked away to the little room, where she stared hopefully at the rows of shelves that lined the walls. Boxes upon boxes sat there, arranged according to some Kleinerian system that could neither be disturbed nor discerned, but Holly’s quick scan told her that nothing on the shelves could possibly contain the length of a toy train. She returned to the waiting housemaid and said apologetically, “I’m sorry. I can’t find it just now.”

  The girl’s eyes grew wide. “You can’t find it?”

  “Well, no, but if you could come back this afternoon, Mr. Kleiner will surely have your package ready.”

  “She’s gonna fire me,” said the maid gloomily. “She said she would, if I come home without that train. She says I never do nothing right.”

  “But it’s not your fault. It’s mine,” cried Holly.

  “She won’t believe me.”

  “Oh, my dear!” Holly turned in a rapid circle, hoping to spot the package lying unnoticed in a dim corner, but the corners held only their usual boxes. What can I do? she thought desperately. I can’t allow this poor girl to come to trouble through me. Once more, she spun about but the trai
n remained stubbornly absent.

  The housemaid looked miserable.

  Holly couldn’t bear it. She had been left in charge of the shop, and now she was failing at her duty. She pictured Mr. Kleiner’s disappointed face. She pictured Mrs. August Inchbald’s haughty one. Suddenly she had an idea. “I’ll go ask Mr. Carroll,” she announced, a thrill of fear prickling along her back. “He should know where such things are kept.” She stood still, gathering her courage. Holly was honest enough to admit to herself that she felt a kind of dread fascination in the possibility that she would see Mr. Carroll in his private chambers, but she was equally aware that she needed to do it quickly, before she lost her nerve.

  Holly marched smartly across the shop, but at the stairs she paused. They looked darker and more forbidding than ever before. “I’ll be back in a moment. You wait right here,” she ordered. The housemaid nodded vigorously, but Holly was not addressing her. She was talking to Tundra, who had awakened. He flattened his ears and watched her through slitted eyes as she ascended the staircase.

  The ticking of the clock was louder at the top. Holly looked around. The balcony that overhung the shop was empty of furniture or ornament and was lit only by the windows far below. Opposite her was the thick green-velvet curtain that cloaked the entrance to Mr. Carroll’s apartments. Holly stared apprehensively at the lush folds; there was no apparent break in the fabric. It seemed to be a wall of velvet. After a moment she stepped forward, and her fingers brushed against the yielding softness. She pushed, certain that somewhere in the curtain s recesses there lay a way in, and found herself enveloped in velvet. She whirled about, feeling the first sharp touches of panic, and the choking velvet whirled with her, wrapping around her skirts like a crawling vine and blinding her in its green shadows. She threw out her hands, fighting to find space, because there had to be something beyond this thickness, this darkness—

  Strong fingers grasped hers and pulled her from the stifling sea of cloth into a hallway lined with dark wood. Holly drew a deep breath, not daring to look up. Abruptly the strong hand holding hers let go. He said nothing. The silence grew, more suffocating even than the dark folds of velvet.

  With dread, she lifted her eyes. He was staring at her, in astonishment or fury she could not tell. His hooded gaze was unreadable, his lips curled in a sharp half smile that might have meant anything. The impulse to run away was almost overpowering. There it was again—the feeling, so strong that it was a taste in her mouth, that she had known him forever. “Why do you keep coming back?” she murmured helplessly.

  Even in the dim light, she could see his face stiffen as though he had been hit. He looked young now, and defenseless. “But it’s you who seems determined to torment me,” he burst out. In an instant tenderness washed away her fear, and, without thinking, she reached out her hand to his. Their fingers met and wove together.

  He stepped back, dropping her hand. Once again his expression was impassive, his eyes cold. The last few moments seemed to subtract themselves from existence, like water disappearing in the sand, and Holly felt herself grow uncertain of what had just passed. “Miss Claus,” he was saying, “please be so good as to explain your intrusion into my private apartment.”

  “I—I—was looking for a particular item that was ordered for Mrs. Inchbald,” stammered Holly, trying to compose herself. “Her maid is here, and Mr. Kleiner is out, and I thought perhaps you would know where I might find their order, so I came upstairs to ask, and I got caught in your curtain and—”

  “I do not concern myself with the operations of the shop,” he snapped, “and I see no reason why you should forget the first rule of conduct impressed upon you by Mr. Kleiner—that my privacy should under no circumstances be disturbed.”

  Rebellion rose within her. He wanted to baffle her, but he would not succeed. “You don’t know where deliveries are kept?” Holly asked shortly.

  “I do not.”

  “Then I shall not detain you any further, Mr. Carroll.” Holly turned to sweep away, but her eye was caught by something at the end of the hallway. It was a double door of rich, dark wood, and on its surface had been carved the face of a clock, a half belonging to each door. Exquisite care had been taken with every detail—the numbers twined with sinuous curls, and the wood shone with the luster of polish. The clock’s hands pointed to ten minutes before four o’clock. Holly’s gaze moved to Carroll’s face. He had made it, she knew.

  “Please leave,” he growled.

  Holly’s eyes flashed. “I’d be delighted to, if you would show me the way through your ridiculous curtain.”

  In reply, he stalked to the velvet wall and drew aside the cloth with a little rod. Refusing to glance his way, Holly stepped through the aperture and returned to the gallery. She felt as though she had been gone for years.

  Downstairs in the shop, Tundra felt the same way. As Holly descended the staircase, he watched her carefully and saw her confusion and hurt pride, and though he toyed with a pleasant vision of biting Mr. Carroll’s ankle when he appeared next, his worst fears seemed to be unfounded, and he sat back, mollified. Mr. Kleiner had returned during Holly’s absence, dragging a large Christmas tree behind him, and had, of course, efficiently located the troublesome train. Holly reached the shop floor just as the young housemaid was departing. She waved, endangering the bulky package under her arm, and Holly waved weakly back before she dropped onto a stool and drew a long breath.

  Mr. Kleiner approached and laid a sympathetic hand on her shoulder. “I don’t know what possessed you, Miss Claus. Was he dreadfully angry?”

  “Well. Yes.”

  Mr. Kleiner sighed. “One time he threatened to throw a young sales clerk down the stairs. I don’t believe he would have done it, but he threatened, nonetheless. The poor lad’s nerves were quite shaken. Never really got over it, to tell the truth. First he hid in the storeroom every time Mr. Carroll walked through the shop, and then he began to hide there all the time, because he said he never knew when Mr. Carroll would appear. I had to dismiss him.” He shook his head regretfully. “I believe he moved west.”

  Jeremy handed her a bright garland of golden stars. “Reach it around here, and I’ll get it.”

  Holly twisted it up over a branch. “There. That’s lovely. Here it is.”

  “Thank you.” He unwound it further. “So then he’s looking down all their throats and thumping them on the back. He says Grub and Chick got the beginnings of it, but he can fix ’em. And all the other kids are strong as horses, he says. He was jawing on about how we’re an example of the benefits of fresh air and how he’s gonna bring Marty and me to a meeting for showing to this doctor who don’t believe in it or something. And he told me where my lungs are stored and all about what interesting stuff is in ’em.

  “Did Lissy mind leaving?”

  “She cried a little, but I said I’d come see her every day, and bring the other kids around some. I guess she was glad enough to not be going to a hospital after what the doctor said. I thought for sure he was going to make her.”

  “What changed his mind?”

  “That little girl of his. Whew! She’s a bossy one. ‘No, sir,’ she says, ‘Lissy’s coming home with us. Not going to no hospital.’ She was stomping all over, but her pa didn’t punish her or nothing. He just said she had to look after Lissy herself if she felt so strong. And she says she will. Then he picks up Lissy like she ain’t no heavier than a loaf of bread and carries her off to his house.” He shook his head, remembering. “She took that doll you made her,” he added. “Hey, toss me that little beady thing.”

  “That’s a wreath. Here. I’m glad about Lissy. I hope that Dr. Braunfels can help her—Jeremy, dear, will you hand me the glass bird? The one with the tail?”

  “Perhaps I can assist you, Miss Claus,” a smooth voice interrupted. Hunter Hartman had returned. He looked up at her, perched upon the ladder, and smiled charmingly. “You look like the princess in the tower. But I suppose it’s no use my asking you to le
t down your hair.” His eyes probed her upswept curls.

  “No use at all,” said Holly. “This tower is only large enough for one.”

  “Here’s that bird, Holly,” Jeremy said loudly. He scowled at Mr. Hartman, who looked blandly back.

  “Thank you, dear. What do you think? Is it enough? The trees don’t like it when their limbs are overburdened,” said Holly without thinking.

  Jeremy snickered, but Mr. Hartman seemed unaware that she had said anything unusual. “Yes, quite beautifully balanced,” he said, squinting judiciously at the tree. It was a beautiful tree too, glinting with glass icicles and rings of golden stars.

  Holly, stepping down from the ladder, reached gratefully for Mr. Hartman’s proffered hand and found herself lifted to the floor. She looked up, startled; his face was very close, and his large gray eyes rested thoughtfully on hers. A second too late, as though he had just remembered to, he smiled, the corners of his wide mouth crinkling. She stepped back.

  “Miss Claus?” he said softly. Behind him, Tundra rose to his feet.

  “Yes, Mr. Hartman?”

  “Perhaps you would—would”—he paused for a moment, his words lost, then took a deep breath—“be so kind as to assist me in my purchases now?”

  Tundra sat down again.

  “Of course. What do you need?”

  Mr. Hartman thumped his pockets lightly and pulled forth a list. “Modeling clay, charcoal, and paints,” he read.

  Holly was conscious of a slight surprise. Who was to receive these gifts? Dutifully, however, she made her way to the art materials. “Modeling clay, charcoal, and paints,” she said. “Watercolors, I suppose.”

  “Yes. Watercolors.”

  “Paper?”

  “Pardon?”

  “Do you need paper—for the charcoal and paint?”

  “Oh.” He seemed confused. “Yes. Paper. To be sure. Now. What’s this?” He squinted. “Ah. A weaving set.”

  Holly turned to a nearby shelf. “We have two. One has a sweet little loom, you see? But it’s rather complicated to work. The other is a hand loom, and it’s much simpler. How old is your daughter?”