The Legend of Holly Claus

by Brittney Ryan

  He stared and then barked with laughter. “A daughter! I have no daughter, child! Nor a son, nor a wife. No,” he said, leaning toward her, “nor a wife. And I confess that I am rather glad of it at the moment.”

  Holly blushed. She didn’t know what to say.

  Mr. Hartman spoke more softly still. “I don’t mean to embarrass you, my dear. It’s just that you take my breath away.” He smiled down anxiously, as if to ask her pardon.

  Holly granted him a smile and held out the two weaving kits. “Which shall it be, Mr. Hartman?”

  He looked at them briefly. “Both,” he said, returning to his list.

  Resolving not to inquire again about his purposes, Holly waited for his next instruction.

  “Now, bears.”

  “We have a lovely selection of bears, right over here.”

  And so it continued. The pile of toys grew until it toppled over, and still Mr. Hartman consulted his list and asked for more. He wanted everything, it seemed: boats and trains and silly tin toys; drums and pipes and a horrible kazoo that made deafening squawks; a wooden farm; tin soldiers and a giant castle to put them all in; soft lambs and ducks and rabbits to cuddle; party crowns and mysterious packages that exploded into showers of candy and enough ornaments to cover three Christmas trees.

  In one corner Tundra watched with fierce concentration. In another sat Jeremy, suffering from a vague discomfort he couldn’t define. In between and around scuttled Mr. Kleiner who, when he was not helping other customers, looked on in disbelief at the growing mound of purchases and reproved himself for harboring suspicious thoughts of such a fine customer. And above, unseen by all, stood Mr. Carroll, his eyes fixed on the tall figure that stood over the slender one, noting the friendly smile that made Mr. Hartman’s face handsome and the answering smile on Holly’s lips.

  “All of them,” Mr. Hartman was saying.

  Holly laughed. “You’re mad. Nobody needs five rubber ducks.”

  “I need five rubber ducks.”

  “But that will leave only one, and he’ll be lonely.”

  “Make it six, then, if you wish.”

  “If I wish? Mr. Hartman, you must decide for yourself.”

  “I’ve never wanted a duck so much in my life as I want that duck,” he said, his eyes resting on hers.

  “I see, Mr. Hartman. Whatever you ask.”

  “I hope you know what I am really saying, Miss Claus.”

  “I really don’t know, Mr. Hartman,” said Holly.

  “That’s because you’re an innocent.”

  “Not entirely,” she protested. “It’s just that I didn’t grow up here and—and—I’m not accustomed to your ways.”

  He took the opening eagerly. “Have you been here long?”

  “No, only a few days. I’m here on a—a—visit.”

  “But you’ll be staying,” he said, moving closer to her.

  She edged away. “No. No, I’m leaving tomorrow.”

  There was a slight stir in the gallery, but neither of them heard it.

  “But then you will have seen nothing of our city! It’s the most exciting place on Earth, in my opinion. We live in a great era of progress, Miss Claus, and New York is the center of it. Before long we will lead the world in our invention and industry. And yet we don’t forget the arts in New York—our music, fine pictures, and great literature are the equal of any! Let me show you!” he said impulsively, laying his hand on her arm. “Come out with me this evening! Have a taste of something other than this shop,” he urged her, looking around the store with a touch of contempt. “See the world.”

  He could not have said anything more calculated to entice her. The world—how glorious it sounded! Something unknown and exciting and utterly unlike what she knew. Holly wavered—and then nodded. “Yes. I would like to. Thank you.”

  “How marvelous, Miss Claus! We’ll go to the opera—I think you’ll be quite impressed, not at all like the old Academy backwater—and supper afterward at Delmonico’s. Will that suit you, Miss Claus?” He looked at her with glowing eyes.

  “Yes,” she said uncertainly. Was it proper? She simply did not know. She would have to rely upon her own sense. “Yes,” she said more firmly. “Yes, it sounds delightful.”

  “Shall I call for you? At eight?”

  Some sort of cautious bell seemed to sound within her, and she shook her head. “No, Mr. Hartman. I will meet you at the opera house.”

  “But I couldn’t think of such a thing! A young lady alone! It would never do.”

  “I will meet you at the opera house or not at all,” she said.

  There was a quick adjustment in his face, a flicker of frustration. “Oh no, Miss Claus, don’t think of it! I will meet you at the opera house. Eight o’clock. Does that suit?”

  “That suits excellently.”

  “Then I’ll just hop over to Broadway and get our tickets,” he said, twitching his hat as if he longed to clap it on his head and be off.

  Holly stared at him in amazement. “But what about your toys?”

  “Oh. Yes.” He looked over to the heap of toys without interest. “I’m done now. Just total it all up.” He pulled a thick roll of bills from his pocket.

  As this was Mr. Kleiner’s task, Holly retired to the storeroom after repeated promises to Mr. Hartman that she would not forget their engagement. Tundra rose with extreme casualness and followed her.

  She was waiting for him. “I know you don’t like it,” she began.

  “On the contrary, I’m sure I’ll enjoy it immensely,” he said.

  “Tundra, darling, you can’t. They won’t let you. You know they won’t.”

  “Then, Holly, I have to ask you—why are you venturing with a stranger into a place where I can’t follow you?”

  “It’s my last night in the mortal world, Tundra,” said Holly pleadingly. Out in the shop, the bell jingled. He was gone. “I’ll never have another chance to enjoy the things that other girls enjoy. Please. Just this once.”

  Tundra was silent. He was remembering a summer night years before, when she had cried because she could not join the party in the village. He could refuse her nothing. “I’ll wait outside the doors for you, Holly. I’ll follow the carriage. You’ll know where I am.”

  Holly knelt and embraced him gratefully.

  When they emerged from the storeroom, Jeremy was alone in the store. He jerked his head up, toward the gallery. “He’s up there. Mr. Carroll wanted him.” He shook his head grimly “He didn’t look none too jolly, either.”

  “I repeat, I want her dismissed.”

  “And I repeat that I shall not do it,” said Mr. Kleiner nervously.

  “Am I not the owner of this shop? Have I not the right to make decisions about the management of the place?” said Mr. Carroll, his face rigid with anger.

  “Yes. You have that right. But I shall not be party to it,” said Mr. Kleiner with growing vehemence. “The poor child does not deserve such treatment. She has labored more devotedly than any other employee in this shop’s history. She has worked wonders with the arrangement of the store. She has charmed every customer she has encountered. And, if you want hard business facts, we have made more money in the last two days than we earned in the month previous! She has the heart of an angel, and if you knew even a part of the generosity she has displayed in these past days, you would be ashamed of your request!” Surprised at his own fervor, he snapped his mouth shut and scowled at his employer.

  “She cannot stay,” said Mr. Carroll through clenched jaws.

  “Then you will have to dismiss her yourself, for I won’t,” replied Mr. Kleiner, and he turned on his heel to quit the room. But when he reached the door, he stopped and looked back at the man who sat staring at his own hands. He looked infinitely lonely. “It would be wrong, and you know it,” Mr. Kleiner said. “No matter what has happened, you would never knowingly do wrong.”

  “I might. It’s as though I’m compelled to—” He broke off and shook his head.
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br />   “I don’t understand you, and I don’t pretend to, but I have known you nearly all your life, and I am certain—yes, absolutely certain—that you will not betray the child you once were by choosing the path of cruelty. I am certain of it.”

  Mr. Carroll drew a long breath. “Then, Isaac, you are much more certain than I.”

  “That’s because I am older and wiser,” said Mr. Kleiner. “And now I will return to business.”

  Mr. Carroll nodded. When the door closed, he sat at his imposing desk for a few moments, resting his head in his hands. Sighing, he arose and approached his workroom. He picked up a thin piece of silver wire, looked at it idly, and put it down again. Then, with decisiveness, he turned and walked briskly out the door to resume his hidden observation post on the gallery overlooking the shop.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  HOLLY STARED AT THE empty folds of green silk. “Miss Claus, please do come along! It’s nearly seven o’clock!” Mr. Kleiner’s voice called from the shop floor.

  She turned the cloth over as if expecting to find some overlooked pocket within. It remained green and empty. “Where could they be?” she whispered.

  “Wherever they are, it was undoubtedly Lexy’s idea,” murmured Tundra. “I expect that she got bored and persuaded the other two to go exploring with her. It’s just like her.”

  “But I can’t leave without them.”

  “I don’t see why not. Serves them right.”

  “Miss Claus!”

  “Yes. Yes, I’m coming,” said Holly, giving in. She gathered her things. “I’m sorry, Mr. Kleiner.”

  Tundra glanced at her shrewdly. She was up to something.

  “That’s quite all right, my dear. Now, you have your doll money?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “She give it all to me, Mr. Kleiner,” contradicted Jeremy, “for the kids’ dinner.”

  Mr. Kleiner turned to Holly with a frown. “Miss Claus, forgive me for interfering in your personal affairs, but you must keep some for yourself. I have also given Jeremy some compensation for his hard work.”

  “I kept a bit for myself, Mr. Kleiner. You needn’t worry,” said Holly, smiling at his anxiety. “Shall we be off?”

  In a matter of minutes, Holly, Tundra, and Mr. Kleiner had waved good-bye to Jeremy, who was going to visit Lissy, and settled into the hansom cab with sighs of contentment. They sat back, absorbed in their own reflections. Mr. Kleiner, totaling and retotaling the day’s astonishing profits in his head, soon fell into a light doze. Holly was imagining Lissy in the splendor of Dr. Braunfels’s house. Perhaps she has a canopy bed, Holly mused. And a ruffled nightgown—

  Her aimless gaze fell upon a tall figure striding along the sidewalk next to the cab. She could see only the back of his black overcoat, just one of the thousands of black overcoats that darkened the streets of New York City on a winter’s day, but the stride was singular—and familiar. She leaned forward to see the face, but he had slipped around a little cluster of pedestrians into the shadow of a building. He was tall, that much was clear; he wore a smooth black bowler, and he had a large bundle under one arm. Was it Mr. Hartman? And if so, why was he walking so determinedly through the slush of Third Avenue?

  Holly pressed her face against the smudged glass, but the cab was pulling ahead of the figure in the black coat, despite his swift pace. There was something terribly familiar about that walk, the swing of it. Was it Mr. Carroll? Suddenly Holly felt an intense wish for the pedestrian to be Mr. Carroll. She wanted to see him, to watch the shadows in his eyes without him knowing that she did so. She pulled down the little glass window and leaned out, hoping that one more glimpse would reveal the stranger to be her employer. But she was thwarted; the black coat her eyes were seeking halted before a granite staircase that led to a large, official edifice. Now he was climbing the stairs. The cab jerked to a stop at a corner, and Holly peered back toward the building. There were letters inscribed y on it, which Holly read sideways: SAINT CECILIA’S HOME FOR FOUNDLINGS. And now the tall figure was descending the stairs at a great pace. She squinted, but all she could see was that the bundle was missing. Whoever it was—Mr. Hartman or Mr. Carroll—he had delivered something to the home for foundlings.

  “What’s a foundling?” she asked.

  “What’s that, my dear?” asked Mr. Kleiner, starting from his nap. “Foundlings? Orphans, you know. Children found without parents. Foundlings.” He subsided back into his snooze, and Holly closed the window. The cab rumbled on.

  Tundra nudged her inquiringly, but he couldn’t ask what she had seen, and she was glad. She didn’t want to talk. She was thinking of the door at the end of the hallway, of the great, dark clock face. She was thinking of his hands brushing away shavings of wood as he worked, and then his hands outstretched to hers for one electric moment in the shadowy corridor. Her heart was beating rather rapidly.

  Tundra observed her with a frown. Something was happening to her, he knew that much. But he could not guess what it might be. Her cheeks were pale, and her green eyes, which were fundamentally incapable of disguising their owner’s soul, showed only that she had received some sort of shock. As he stared, confounded, she suddenly smiled. The color came flooding back into her cheeks. She had never looked more beautiful.

  “My dear child, you must make haste. Have you anything to wear?” cried Mrs. Kleiner when they arrived.

  Holly, flying up the stairs, halted. “What does one wear to the opera?”

  “Why, your best, Miss Claus, your best!”

  “Thank goodness for Lexy,” Holly murmured, and ran up the steps with Tundra at her heels. A moment later she was clad in waves of golden silk. She rustled to and fro, inspecting the minute slivers of herself that she could see in the tiny mirror above the bureau. “Tundra,” she asked plaintively, “do I look all right? Or do I look foolish?”

  Tundra lifted his head and regarded her judiciously. “You don’t look foolish,” he said slowly. “You look like a queen.”

  Holly laughed at that, but then her face fell. “Oh no! I forgot about the opera house! How will my heart bear it?” She stared at him in dismay. “I’m already almost warm.” She went to her window balcony and flung open the door. A shushing sigh of snow fluttered into her hair and, beckoned by the cool air, she stepped outside. She closed her eyes, raising her face to the eddies of gentle snow, and then, just as certainly as the snow shawl had circled her the night before, she felt herself enveloped in a light web of coolness. She opened her eyes and beheld the magic crystals, now embedded like jewels in the fabric of her dress, making a pattern of enchanted golden lace on the cascading silk. She peered into the night sky for the giver of this gift, and murmured, “Once again—always—thank you.”

  Ten minutes later she descended. When she entered the parlor, Mrs. Kleiner let out an involuntary gasp of admiration and Mr. Kleiner leaped to his feet as though pulled on puppet’s strings. “My word!” he muttered, taking off his glasses.

  “You’re perfectly lovely. I’ve never seen such a color,” said Mrs. Kleiner. “Where on Earth did you find it?”

  “A friend gave it to me,” said Holly honestly. “Good night, dear Mrs. Kleiner. Good night, Mr. Kleiner. Good night!”

  “Where’s your coat?” cried the lady of the house, scandalized, but Holly pretended not to hear, and, slipping out the door, she and Tundra found themselves out in the great city at night.

  “I’ll be right here,” Tundra was saying. “Holly, are you paying attention? Right here, by this pillar.”

  “By this pillar,” repeated Holly obediently. She nodded, but her eyes followed a monumental dowager in peacock-blue satin who was borne from her carriage on the arm of a smiling young man in a collar so stiff it seemed on the verge of slitting his throat. Holly looked on, enthralled. Tundra sighed and waited.

  The dowager and her escort were absorbed into the gilded lobby of the Metropolitan Opera House. Exquisitely dressed ladies and gentlemen streamed toward the lustrous theater, and
Holly’s eyes were full of black broadcloth and dazzling white linen paired with explosions of brilliantly colored silk and velvet.

  “Holly!” Tundra hissed through clenched teeth. He wasn’t supposed to be talking, but the cream of society that flowed by him was so hypnotized by its own elegance that it could not be bothered to take note of a talking wolf. “I’ll be here if you need me!”

  Finally Holly pulled her eyes away from the crowd. He had her attention. “I know you will,” she said.

  Tundra was relieved. She had heard him. “Well,” he said. “Go on, then. Have a good time.” In the falling snow, he watched as she climbed the marble steps, her back straight and her steps light. He could not see her face, but he could see her effect on the crowd around her. Several dozen women looked once and then twice, their faces sharp with interest and curiosity. The men accompanying them looked once and then kept looking, furtively. A tall man, his smile boastful, stepped forward to claim her arm. Jealous eyes followed the slim figure clad in what seemed to be a cascade of liquid gold and her companion as they ascended the great staircase.

  “Every man in the Metropolitan Opera House wishes he were in my shoes,” Hunter Hartman said, glancing about. “You are magnificent.” He lifted the hand that rested on his arm to his lips. “Look around you,” he murmured. “Look at them watching you.”

  Holly looked; there were indeed a number of faces turned toward her, but Hartman seemed to gloat excessively. It gave Holly a peculiar feeling, as though she was his possession to parade before the spectators. She lifted her chin defiantly and changed the subject. “What are we hearing tonight?”

  “Otello.” He shrugged. “Not quite as cheerful an evening as I had hoped, though de Reszke is sure to be good.”

  Holly turned to him, delighted. “But this is wonderful!” she exclaimed. “I have always longed to hear one of Maestro Verdi’s operas! And they say this is among his greatest!”

  He looked at her alertly. “Where do you come from, child? How is it that you know of Verdi, but have never heard even one of his operas? The old man’s written such a pile of them; they would seem unavoidable.”