Christmas Carol & the Defenders of Claus

by Robert L. Fouch

  I nodded, pushing aside the memory, knowing it would always be there for me to revisit. I wished I had my wooden Santa, the only thing I had left of my parents, other than memory, but it sat on the dresser in my room in Hillsboro. Maybe someday I could go back and get it. Mr. Winters opened the front door, and I stepped inside, the warmth washing over me. I wiped my eyes. My legs felt wobbly. “Is Santa’s workshop here, too?” I asked. I could hardly breathe from the excitement.

  Mr. Winters chuckled. “No, dear heart, just his house. He doesn’t really have a workshop nowadays. You’ll see.” The house was even bigger than it appeared from outside. Everything was made of polished red wood. The floors gleamed so brightly our reflections shone back at us, and I had the urge to kick off my shoes and slide across the floor in my socks. A roaring fire crackled and popped in the hearth. Stockings were hung by the chimney. (With care, I suppose.) A Santa house music box tinkled the tune “Here Comes Santa Claus.” A huge Christmas tree weighed down with decorations sparkled in the corner. Gifts covered every inch of space under the tree. Wonderful smells wafted from the kitchen. Turkey, I guessed. Maybe mashed potatoes and gravy, pumpkin pie. My now-empty stomach rumbled.

  Along the far wall was perhaps the coolest thing I’d ever seen. The whole wall—probably thirty feet wide and ten feet high—was a bookshelf covered with clear glass, sort of like a museum display. And when I thought about it, that’s exactly what it was. A display on the history of toys! I wandered over and realized that these weren’t just ordinary toys but the best of the best from decades, even centuries, past. Starting on the top shelf were the earliest toys: ancient-looking rag dolls made from cloth and straw, small carved stone figures, wooden building blocks, a tattered stuffed bear, a tiny wooden wagon, baby rattles. The next shelf held colorful tin toys, marbles, a ball and jacks, a small bucket and shovel, a baseball bat and odd-looking leather glove, elaborate dolls with beautiful eyes, wooden soldiers, and a Radio Flyer wagon. The next shelf displayed more modern treasures, some still in their original boxes: electric trains, a windup Mickey Mouse metal figure, board games like checkers and Monopoly, a ray gun, some kind of doll called “Howdy Doody.” Each shelf held newer and newer toys: Barbies, G.I. Joes, an Easy-Bake Oven, Mr. Potato Heads, Cabbage Patch dolls, a Slinky, Beanie Babies, remote control cars, Legos, video games, until, at last, on the very bottom, sat iPads, ZhuZhu pets, Xbox and Wii, and the hottest toy of the current holiday season (one I’d heard my uncle complaining about because it wasn’t made by his company): a My Pretty Beatrice doll that had red hair, like mine. I was too old for dolls, but that didn’t stop me from wanting to hug her tight to my chest. There was something wonderful about the feel of a beautiful doll.

  I heard footsteps and turned, noticing for the first time a spiral staircase. Down the stairs came two big feet in white socks. Then bright red pants, a red sweater lined with white, and, last, the pudgy face with its full, white beard. He wasn’t wearing his hat, but it was the man himself. I honestly thought I might explode with happiness.

  “Welcome, Carol,” Santa said as he stepped off the staircase. “I trust you had a good journey.” And he laughed. Not a ho-ho-ho. Just a normal old guy laugh. But filled with joy and warmth. I was pretty sure Santa was poking fun at me—probably knowing I puked—but with that laugh, I didn’t mind. His belly even shook a little, though I wouldn’t describe it as a bowl full of jelly. Who puts jelly in a bowl, anyway? That’s what jars are for!

  I nodded. I wanted to ask about the toys but was too intimidated to speak. Santa glanced at Mr. Winters, and his smile vanished. He looked my way again, studying me. I shifted nervously, like a little kid who has to pee, which, come to think of it, I actually did. “So,” Santa said at last, “tell me about the humming.”

  That surprised me. I expected him to ask about the little boy. I still thought I might be in trouble. “I hear humming,” I said, then realized how dumb that sounded. That’s what the man just said!

  But Santa simply smiled. “Yes, sweetheart,” he said gently. “Tell me more. Give me whatever details you can.”

  I thought about it, trying to find the words. “It’s gotten stronger the past two nights. Or louder. Or clearer. Or whatever.”

  “I see,” Santa said, tugging thoughtfully at his beard. I wondered where Mrs. Claus was, or if there even was a Mrs. Claus. Maybe Santa was a bachelor. “And it’s a tune, you say. A song.”

  “Not one I recognize, but, yes, the same song repeats over and over.” I thought for a second, trying to hear the song in my memory. I hummed the notes: a simple tune that went up, then down, slowly at first, then up and down more quickly, then down, down, down. Santa and Mr. Winters gasped.

  “That’s the song you hear?” Mr. Winters asked. He was suddenly standing next to me, his face bright with anticipation.

  “Yes,” I said. “What is it?”

  “It’s good news, m’lady,” Mr. Winters said. “It means a Defender we thought lost is still alive.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “It’s like a distress signal,” Santa explained. “But for years, we’ve had no one capable of picking it up.” Mr. Winters hummed the rest of the tune back to me and gooseflesh sprang up on my arms. He knew the song! Something I thought was only in my head!

  “Who’s humming it?” I asked.

  “We don’t know,” Santa said. “Half of our number has disappeared. A few may have left on their own. Others, we fear, met a nefarious end. But we’ve always held out hope that some are out there waiting for us to rescue them.” A flicker of a thought crossed my mind, though I didn’t dare say it aloud. But Santa knew. Of course he knew. “Yes, sweetheart, maybe your father.” Santa looked away, as if trying to gather himself. I thought he might cry. “He was a fine man.”

  I nodded, a tear trickling down my cheek. You try not crying when Santa’s all sad and emotional right in front of you. I wiped the tear away, hoping they hadn’t seen. I wanted to ask how we could use the humming to find the missing Defender. Was it truly possible I could get my father back? For that, I would do anything. But a voice called out from the back, a female voice. “Kris, dinnertime!” I looked at my watch. Six o’clock! It had been early afternoon when we left Broward. How could time have passed so quickly?

  A woman emerged from the kitchen. She had long, silver hair that shone like it had been polished. Her cheeks were rosy, and her skin was as smooth and beautiful as porcelain. She was tall and slender and striking, like a fashion model in her later years. She wore a simple, white housedress and had a bright red apron tied around her waist. When she saw me, her face lit up and she rushed across the room. She moved with such grace it was as if she flew, hovering just above the floor. She wasn’t at all what I had pictured, but I knew without a doubt that this was Mrs. Claus. “Oh, my sweet dear,” she whispered and pulled me into such a fierce hug it took my breath away. She was warm and soft and smelled of pine, making me think of the wonderful aroma of the Rockefeller Christmas tree. “Welcome to our home.”

  “Carol, this is Mrs. Claus,” Santa said. “The real boss.”

  Mrs. Claus pulled away and smiled, her blue eyes twinkling. “That’s right, Carol. He’d be lost without me.” She winked at Santa, and he threw back his head and laughed. She put her arm around my shoulder and pulled me toward the wondrous smells in the back. “That’s enough business for now,” Mrs. Claus declared. “The girl must eat.” Santa started to say something but simply shrugged and followed us to dinner. The boss had spoken.

  That night Santa sat right outside my door while I tried to sleep, and if you want to know the truth, it freaked me out a little. Actually, it freaked me out a lot. You try sleeping while Santa Claus listens to you snore. “A necessary evil, dear heart,” Mr. Winters explained after dinner. I was so stuffed with turkey, mashed potatoes, green beans, buttered rolls, and pumpkin pie that I could barely move. I had offered to help with the dishes, but Mrs. Claus just smiled warmly. “So sweet of you, dear, but the elves wil
l take care of that.” Elves? I wanted to see elves! But Mr. Winters was already pulling me back out to the living room where we were to discuss the “business” Mrs. Claus had delayed. “Remember how I said the Defenders help power Santa’s magic?” Mr. Winters asked. “Well, it works the other way, too. His magic focuses our power, like a wire conducts electricity.”

  “But what’s he going to do?” I asked as I sipped a mug of warm apple cider. It was so delicious I could hardly focus on what Mr. Winters was saying.

  “Don’t worry. It won’t hurt,” he said. “He just taps into your mind to hear the Defender’s distress call. Hopefully he can pinpoint where it’s coming from.”

  So Santa sat outside my door as I lay in bed staring at the ceiling. I had been given a small room, very cozy, with a single bed, a small chest, and a bookshelf filled with leather-bound books that looked as old as I imagined Santa to be. A candle burned atop the chest. Shadows played on the walls. “You have to sleep, dear,” Santa said, peeking in. “That opens your mind to the tune.” Easier said than done with you sitting there listening to me, I wanted to say. But I just tried to clear my mind. I truly was exhausted. My body felt like a washrag that had been wrung dry. “From the Pole vault,” Mr. Winters explained. “Perfectly natural.”

  But sometimes you’re so tired you can’t sleep. I tossed and turned. I buried my face in the pillow, periodically flipping it over to the cool side. I counted sheep, getting to 1,132 when I decided that wasn’t going to work either. My left leg shook nervously. I thought about my uncle and the note Mr. Winters said he mailed, telling him I was safe, and how my uncle probably wouldn’t believe it and would have the police searching for me. I thought about my father and whether he might actually be alive. I worried about what Santa and Mr. Winters were asking me to do and whether I would let them down. Maybe I wasn’t cut out to be a Defender. I heard Santa clear his throat lightly. I suspected he was getting impatient, and that made me all the more nervous. Then I heard humming. I got excited until I realized it was Santa, not the voice in my head. He started out with the tune I’d heard, softly humming the peculiar notes. The song was a little creepy but stuck in my brain all the same, like a weird pop hit. When Santa was done with that, he started with Christmas songs. “Silver Bells.” “White Christmas.” He had a pleasant voice, soft and soothing. “O Christmas Tree.” “Joy to the World.” I felt myself getting drowsy.

  I was so very tired, more tired than I’d ever been. I heard the odd tune once more, growing stronger, and at first I thought it was Santa again. Then I realized it was in my head. A different voice. I concentrated hard, pulling the song toward me. I could hear it as clearly as if the missing Defender were in the room with me. Moments later, another voice exploded in my skull, a bloodcurdling shriek. I screamed and bolted up in bed, heart pounding, head throbbing. Santa rushed into the room. “You did it, sweetheart,” he said. “I found him. I know where the Defender is.”

  “What was that scream? It felt like a knife in my brain.” I was trembling.

  “The enemy,” Santa answered. “He is stronger than I imagined if he can sense us.” I felt a chill, though I was burning up. Santa pushed back the hair that had fallen in my eyes. “You did wonderfully, my dear. Now it’s time to sleep. We have a big journey tomorrow.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “To find our Defender. I hope you like rice and beans.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Sabana Grande de Palenque

  We stood in a circle, holding hands. Santa, me, Mr. Winters, and the rest of the Defenders, who came from around the world. Looking at them, I realized they all had two things in common: they were all adults, and each had bright red hair with a streak of white. “It’s like a red-haired United Nations,” Mr. Winters joked. There was Nori Takahari from Japan, a small, intense-looking man with coal black eyes who bowed when Santa introduced us. Next up was Chidi Yakubu, a Nigerian with a musical accent that tickled my ears, then Gerta Kaufmann, a German woman with piercing blue eyes. The others were Toby Wise from Australia, Natasha Andropov from Russia, Samantha Blair from the United Kingdom, Tomas Martinez from Chile, and Thulie Botha from South Africa.

  Last was a guy from my best friend’s home country: the Dominican Republic. His name was Ramon Trinidad, and he was tall and slender and moved with a grace that reminded me of Mrs. Claus. His smile was unlike any I’d ever seen, unless you count movie stars, and I’d never seen one of those in person. He had the whitest, most perfect teeth in the history of teeth, whiter than the streak in his own red hair. When Santa introduced us, Ramon smiled and bowed low. My face flushed and I stuttered, “N-n-n-nice to meet you.” He smiled again and my knees wobbled. Good gravy, what was wrong with me? I could be such a weirdo.

  “It appears we’ll be visiting Ramon’s home,” Santa said.

  “You will love it, Carol,” Ramon said. “My country is beautiful. I will show you the beaches and the mountains, and the people will welcome you with open arms.” I hardly heard a word. I couldn’t stop staring at that smile. I was too tongue-tied to even tell him that my best friend was Dominican.

  “We won’t have time for sightseeing,” Santa said and motioned for us to gather around. It was early morning but still dark. “Take hands and form a circle.” The Defenders did as Santa asked, stretching their arms to full length and closing their eyes. Ramon stood on my left and Mr. Winters on my right. I felt a tingle in my fingers, like the electric charge when I’d touched that reindeer. I instinctively pulled away, afraid I was about to get a shock. But Mr. Winters and Ramon tightened their grips. The tingle increased until there was a steady hum, like a power line. I felt a surge in my chest. My hair felt like it was lifting off of my scalp. I’d never felt better. It was like when I was on the ice at Rockefeller Center but ten times more exhilarating. At last, the Defenders let go. Ramon turned to me with eyes wide and whispered, “You have great power within you, mi’ja.” So everyone keeps telling me, I wanted to say.

  I heard a racket behind me and turned to see what was going on. Snow had begun to fall, but through the flakes I watched the huge doors to the barn swing open. Out came eight reindeer, pulling Santa’s massive sleigh. Behind them came more reindeer, and on the back of those were the most beautiful creatures I’d ever seen. They weren’t dwarflike, but slight, like wood pixies in a fairy tale, and about my height. These had to be the elves! At last! I had the strange urge to run up and hug them, but I managed to restrain myself. They’d probably think I was some kind of weirdo.

  Each elf held the reins of the reindeer it rode, and when a Defender approached, the elf would leap from the back of the beast, almost floating to the ground. They wore fur-lined suits of red, and little green shoes that looked like moccasins. Their hair was thick and long and snow-white, their pointy ears emerging through the flowing white. One rode toward me and smiled. His eyes were silver, his skin pale. He handed me the reins of a massive reindeer that snorted and shook his head. Welcome, beautiful one. I heard the words but realized the elf’s mouth hadn’t moved. “They do not speak,” Mr. Winters said. “They communicate with telepathy, and only with each other.”

  “I heard him,” I said.

  “You what?”

  “He welcomed me.” I turned back to the elf. “Thank you so much. It’s very nice to meet you.”

  I am honored to meet the Gifted One, the elf said, and gooseflesh covered my arms. He leaped from the deer, hurrying back to the barn. As he ran across the snow, I was amazed to see he left no prints. “He called me ‘the Gifted One,’” I said to Mr. Winters. “What does that mean?”

  “Astonishing, m’lady. I’ve never heard a word those scrawny devils say. Only Santa can. You do indeed possess special abilities.” Mr. Winters lifted me onto the back of the reindeer. He walked over to another deer a few feet away. “Now we must ride.”

  “I’m riding by myself?” I asked, trying not to panic. I rubbed the reindeer’s neck. Even through the gloves Mrs. Claus made me wear, I could fe
el his powerful muscles as he shifted and rocked like a racehorse in the starting gate.

  “Yes, oh Gifted One,” Mr. Winters said with a smirk. He jumped onto the back of his deer. “Don’t worry, m’lady, I’ll ride beside you. Just do this.” He slammed his legs against the torso of the deer and yelled, “Haaaa!” The reindeer surged forward, taking just a few strides before it soared into the snowy night sky, making my heart feel as if it might fly right out of my chest. I did as Mr. Winters said, thumping my legs against the deer and meekly saying, “Haaa.” The reindeer took off. That’s when I remembered I hadn’t grabbed the reins. The deer flew forward. I stayed right where I was, tumbling backward into the snow. The fall knocked the breath out of me and I lay on my back, gasping. I stared at the sky as my reindeer flew above me and looked down, surely puzzled why I hadn’t joined him. “Make sure you hold onto the reins, m’lady,” Mr. Winters called, and he laughed.

  “Gee, thanks,” I muttered, standing up and brushing snow out of my clothes and hair. I sucked in deep breaths. My reindeer circled around, landing softly next to me. He put his nose in my hand and snorted. I wondered if he was laughing at me. I reached for the reins and jumped onto his back. Only I jumped too hard and slid over the other side. I hung there struggling to pull myself up, feeling ridiculous, until at last I gave up and let myself fall to the ground. My reindeer turned to look at me. He must have thought I was nuts. I stood up and brushed myself off again. “Third time’s the charm,” I said and jumped on once more. Success! Holding tight this time, I shouted, “Haaa!” and off we flew. Santa’s house, the barn, the mysterious lumps in the snow—all of it shrank below me. Mr. Winters circled around and flew up beside me. I held the reins with all my might, afraid to look down for more than a second.