“Isn’t it glorious, m’lady?” Mr. Winters said.
Glorious? I was petrified, gripping the reins so hard my fingers ached. But with my reindeer’s legs pumping steadily—the ride as smooth as bicycling through the park—a calm came over me. Snowflakes tickled my cheeks. Santa and the Defenders flew high above. I relaxed and breathed deeply. It was glorious.
I glanced down at Santa’s. Beyond the house and barn, I saw twinkling lights, many more than the ones shining at Santa’s. “What’s that?” I shouted, and then realized it was so quiet our voices carried easily.
“Santa’s factory,” Mr. Winters said.
“Where the elves make the toys?” I asked excitedly. I soooooo wanted to visit that factory.
“Some of them,” Mr. Winters said. “It’s complicated. The world has grown so huge that the elves can no longer meet demand. So Santa relies on suppliers.”
“Other people make Santa’s toys?” I couldn’t believe it. Something seemed wrong about that.
“Yes, m’lady. Santa’s just the fulfiller of wishes. Be it by elves or big companies, the toys are made for him.”
“I guess,” I answered, trying to wrap my mind around that. A thought occurred to me. “What about my uncle’s company?”
“I believe so.”
“My uncle knows Santa?”
“Of course not, dear heart. None of the companies know they’re doing business with Santa. He has representatives who buy on his behalf.”
“Oh, I see.”
“It’s getting more difficult. There are fewer and fewer toy companies and the prices are going up and up. Come to think of it, Santa had to drop your uncle’s company last year. His prices were too high, and big companies like his have pushed out the humble, little toy makers.”
“That’s sad,” I said, thinking of the angry man who had confronted my uncle about the doll company International Toy had swallowed like a morsel of food.
“You don’t know the half of it, dear heart. These are troubling times.”
“How does Santa pay for the toys?”
Mr. Winters laughed. “It’s not polite to ask about another’s finances, m’lady.”
“Sorry,” I muttered, embarrassed.
“I’m not involved in the SNC. That’s the Saint Nicholas Consortium, the business arm of Santa’s operation. The African fellow, Chidi, heads that.”
As Mr. Winters talked, I began to notice how warm it had gotten. The snow had stopped. I could no longer see my breath. The sun glowed on the horizon, slowly illuminating what lay below. I peered through the gray morning and saw ocean, endless miles of water. Santa and the other Defenders flew in silence. Mr. Winters talked and talked, gesturing dramatically.
“Where are we?” I asked, interrupting.
Mr. Winters looked down. “Approaching the Dominican Republic, m’lady.”
“But how? We’ve been flying for only a few minutes.”
“Just another of Santa’s powers. A sort of reverse Pole vault but much more elegant.”
That was for sure. At least I wasn’t puking into the ocean. I hadn’t even noticed leaving the North Pole. Ramon, who had been flying at the head of the pack, slowed down and positioned himself between Mr. Winters and me. He motioned to an island in the distance being lit by the sun. “My home.” He pointed to the right side and said, “Haiti,” then moved his hand to the left. “The Dominican Republic. A shared land. Two vastly different people.”
“It’s beautiful,” I said. As the sun rose, the water sparkled a deep blue. The beaches were a blazing white, almost as bright as snow, and the water lapped gently on the shores. Mountains rose inland, astonishingly green, with clouds that settled on the peaks like gobs of cotton. We passed over a resort, striped umbrellas lining the beach like tiny pinwheels. It was barely breakfast time, but early risers strolled on the sand or took dips in the Atlantic. “Won’t they see us?” I asked.
“Santa cloaks our presence,” Ramon responded. “I must lead us home now, mi’ja.” He bolted ahead, and we followed him toward the mountains.
“He seems like a nice man,” I said to Mr. Winters.
“Indeed, m’lady. I trust him with my life.”
As we soared over the lush tropical forests of the Dominican Republic, I wondered where Amelia’s hometown was and thought of how I hadn’t been a very good friend lately. I missed her. And now that I was a Defender, maybe that meant I would never return to Hillsboro. Maybe I would lose my best friend forever. The thought made my heart hurt.
Below us roads coiled across the mountains, like ribbons tossed on the ground. Cars and motorcycles wound their way up the steep inclines. A horse pulled a cart, and men, women, and children walked alongside the road. We flew toward a town nestled between two hills, not far from the ocean. We descended slowly, landing in the backyard of a massive mansion on a hillside. “Welcome to Sabana Grande de Palenque!” Ramon said.
“You live here?” I asked.
Spreading his arms, he responded, “Si. Mi casa es su casa. My home is yours.”
We hopped off our reindeer and led them to a large building behind the main house. Inside were troughs filled with water and oats, and the reindeer dug in hungrily. I wondered if they felt the miles we’d traveled or if Santa’s magic made it seem as if they’d gone only a short distance. Ramon led us through the yard, toward the house. The heat was insane. I’m talking inside of an oven. “How can someone from such a hot place be a Defender?” I asked Ramon. “I thought Defenders liked the cold.”
He just smiled his gorgeous smile. “You’re from Florida, mi’ja,” Ramon said. “Isn’t that hot?”
“Oh, yeah,” I responded, feeling stupid. It was still hard to think of myself as a Defender.
“The magic of Christmas is everywhere, I suppose,” Ramon said. “I was born different, just like you. And Santa found me.”
The inside of the mansion was cool and refreshing, the air-conditioning on full blast. Everything was white, bright, and spotless. A tastefully decorated Christmas tree, covered in white lights and white ornaments, sat glistening in the foyer. A butler approached with a cart that held cups of ice and pitchers of a fruity-looking drink Ramon said was made from mango and papaya. It was the best thing I’d ever tasted, and he laughed when I gulped it down and asked for more. “Certainly, mi’ja.” Santa and the rest of the Defenders disappeared into another room. Ramon motioned to the butler, who showed me to a room with a huge television. He disappeared for a few minutes, returning with more juice and a plate full of cookies shaped like Santas and reindeer. I heard a soft meow and looked down to see a snow-white kitten staring up at me with pleading eyes as green as mine. I picked up the kitten, which purred and rubbed its face against my cheek. And that’s where I sat for the next couple of hours, channel surfing through Spanish-speaking shows, playing with the cat, eating twelve (yes, twelve!) cookies, and sipping a never-ending supply of juice while the Defenders talked and I got more and more annoyed that I hadn’t been included.
When at long last Ramon reappeared, the cat had vanished, I could find nothing to watch, and I was bored. “I trust you’re doing well, mi’ja,” Ramon said.
“I’m fine,” I snapped. Ramon grimaced ever so slightly, and I felt bad. It wasn’t his fault; he had been nothing but a good host. “What’s going on?” I asked, trying to be all grown-up and mature and not show my annoyance.
“Our plan is ready,” Ramon said. “Tonight we find our lost Defender. Now we must rest.”
“But I’m not tired,” I said. The thought of sitting around doing nothing till nightfall was enough to make me scream.
Ramon leaned in and whispered, “Neither am I.” He glanced toward the room where Santa and the Defenders still talked. “Come with me, mi’ja,” he whispered. “I will show you where I come from. Quickly now, before Santa objects.” And he laughed again. We hurried out the door and down a long path to a huge iron gate. “How did you get so rich?” I asked, then remembered Mr. Winters reprimandin
g me for being nosy about other people’s money.
Ramon laughed and opened the gate. We were at the edge of a small town. “Sugar cane,” he answered. “Various other interests. Even toys, with my whole Santa connection, but I sold that company when I got a huge offer. From your uncle’s company actually.”
“You know my uncle?”
“Not really. We met only during the sale. And if you want the truth, mi’ja, I wouldn’t have sold it had I known more about him. He laid off workers and raised prices. I’m sorry to say it, but he’s ruthless.”
“That’s OK. I’ve seen how he does business. He says it’s like Darwin.”
“Well, I don’t think it has to be that way,” Ramon said. “I come from very humble beginnings myself. You’ll see.” We walked into town, which buzzed with activity. A sign read: SABANA GRANDE DE PALENQUE. Young men on mopeds zipped by at dangerous speeds, most of them carrying a passenger on the back. “Taxis,” Ramon explained. “Better than walking everywhere, assuming you don’t crash into a wall.” Small children played in the street. Some were barefoot, and some were dirty. A boy, kindergarten age, came up to us with his hand out, jabbering in Spanish. Ramon flipped him a coin, and the child squealed with delight, running off and yelling, “Gracias!”
“There is much poverty in this place. I’m working to change that. I built a new preschool. I pay fair wages for fair work. I do what I can.”
The houses were a wild mix of styles and colors, some falling down and others painted brightly and sparkling clean. We stopped in front of one of the well-kept homes. On the left a large window opened to a small store with candy and groceries and magazines. On the right was an attached house. An ancient woman with long, silver hair emerged from the store. “Mama Consuelo,” Ramon said, embracing her. He kissed her on each cheek. The old woman pushed him out of the way to get to me, throwing her bony arms around my neck for a hug. She stepped back and took the long locks of my hair in her hands. “Que linda!” she said. She focused on the white strands and glanced at Ramon with questioning eyes.
“Carol,” Ramon said. “This is Mama Consuelo, my abuela. Grandmother.”
“Nice to meet you,” I said, though I was pretty sure she didn’t understand a word. She nodded and smiled, still stroking my hair.
“Tienes hambre? Comer, comer,” she said.
Before Ramon could translate, she led me into the house and directly to the dining room table, which held a huge bowl of white rice, meat piled high on a platter, and a crock filled with brown beans. It was as if she had food just sitting there ready for unexpected guests. But then I realized it was lunchtime and also that I was hungry for something other than cookies. People started wandering into the small house: three girls, one about my age and two younger (one reminded me of Amelia, with her beautiful skin); three young men wearing work clothes and sweating in the heat; two women younger than Mama Consuelo, perhaps her daughters. I was kissed on the cheek a dozen times.
Mama Consuelo piled food on a plate and placed it in front of me. “Chivo,” she said. “Goat,” Ramon translated. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that, but didn’t want to insult my hosts. I sat at the table, everyone filling their plates and finding a seat wherever they could. More people arrived. The Spanish chatter intensified. There was laughter and warmth. I didn’t comprehend a word being said, but I understood this was a kind and generous family. I hesitantly took a bite of chivo. Then another. Then a spoonful of rice and beans. Holy moly, that was good. I ate and I ate. Mama Consuelo continually filled my plate until, at last, Ramon said something in Spanish and laughed, stopping his abuela’s hand as she started to spoon out more rice.
After lunch, we sat in the living room, Ramon chatting with everyone in Spanish and translating for me on occasion. He had an animated discussion with two of the younger men and seemed to question them intensely. I wondered what they were saying but didn’t want to interrupt. But something nagged at me throughout the visit. “Why doesn’t your family live with you?” I finally asked. “You have such a huge house.”
Ramon laughed. “Too stubborn. Believe me, I’ve tried. Mama Consuelo supported six kids and a bunch of grandkids with that little store and raised them in this house. She won’t ever leave.”
I noticed a small Christmas tree in the corner, decorated simply, with a few presents underneath. Tinsel was draped across the windowsill. “What’s Christmas like here?” I asked, feeling a bit silly as I thought of my own “over the top” room decorations.
“More modest,” Ramon said. “We don’t go overboard with presents like Americans do. And we don’t give gifts on Christmas Day.”
“No way!”
“We have Three Kings Day in January when the kids get gifts.”
“So Santa doesn’t bring Dominican children presents?”
“Oh, he’s definitely involved,” Ramon said. “He knows different cultures have different customs, so he respects that.” Ramon looked at his watch. “Speaking of the Big Guy, mi’ja, we’d better get going. He’ll be sending out a search party for us.”
It took ten minutes to get out of there. My cheek was kissed a dozen more times. Mama Consuelo touched my hair and smiled. Her daughters did the same. Ramon spoke quietly again to the two young men. Standing outside, they pointed toward a mountain that rose above the town. When, at last, we made it to the street, Ramon was quiet, lost in thought. “What were you guys talking about?” I asked.
“Strange activities on the island. I believe I know where our missing Defender is.”
“I thought Santa knew.”
“He senses the general area with his magic. But it’s like a war, mi’ja. You need boots on the ground to find the enemy’s hideout. Someone working in the cane fields spotted a blindfolded man being led into those mountains.”
“The Defender?” I asked.
“I hope.” He thought for a moment. “It’s strange that our enemy’s prison should be here, so close to me.” He shrugged. “Whatever the reason, tonight it ends. We go to the mountain.” Ramon was no longer laughing, no longer smiling. I felt a shiver of fear.
“There is a network of caves in the mountain,” Ramon explained to the Defenders. “Someone bought the property and fenced off the main entrance. But I know something they don’t. I spent my childhood roaming these mountains. There’s another way in.” I didn’t hear anything more about the plans because they disappeared into that room again. When they were done, Santa and Ramon assigned each Defender a task. Poor Mr. Winters got stuck babysitting me. “I don’t mind, m’lady,” he insisted, but I didn’t believe him.
It was dark when we left the “Casa de Trinidad,” as Ramon called his mansion. We lifted off into the night sky, the reindeer pumping their legs in perfect unison, something I hadn’t noticed the first trip. “They’re connected by Santa’s magic,” Mr. Winters explained. “When they work as one, they’re stronger. Like us.”
I nodded, my stomach a twisted knot of nerves. I still wasn’t told the details of the plan, because Mr. Winters said Santa insisted I stay back, out of harm’s way. “We just want you to observe, dear heart,” Mr. Winters said. “We know you can’t control your powers yet.” Mr. Winters didn’t seem concerned about the mission. “We have the element of surprise, and we have numbers. It will be fine.”
We approached the mountain where the suspicious activity had been observed. I could make out a complex of gray buildings, surrounded by a chain-link fence with barbed wire ringing the top. A dog barked twice, then went silent. We flew past the fenced-in property and landed in a clearing about a mile away. A full moon gave the landscape a ghostly glow. The Defenders dismounted and the reindeer put their heads down and grazed. Mr. Winters led me to the sleigh where Ramon and the Big Guy talked quietly.
“There’s a path up to the secret entrance,” Ramon said. “I will lead the way.”
Santa turned to Mr. Winters and me. “We’ll be back in a flash.”
“Why can’t we go?” I asked. “I can help.”
Which, of course, probably wasn’t true. It was more likely I’d just get in the way.
“We need someone to take care of the reindeer,” Santa said. “That’s how we make our escape.”
“OK,” I said glumly.
“Your time will come, dear,” Santa said. “I expect big things from you someday.” He turned and whispered sharply to the Defenders. “Off we go!”
“We shall return, mi’ja. I promise,” Ramon whispered. He hurried into the thick trees, disappearing in an instant. Santa and the rest of the Defenders followed. It was just me and Mr. Winters and the reindeer.
Mr. Winters climbed into the sleigh and sat down, with a thump. I could tell he was about as unhappy as I was to be left behind. I jumped up beside him, and we sat in silence. Animal noises unlike any I’d ever heard echoed from the night forest. I was shocked by the heat. Nighttime should have cooled things down, but the heat stuck to me, the air heavy and wet. Ramon had said that’s probably why the Defender was imprisoned in the Caribbean, the heat sapping his power.
“Is it OK to talk?” I whispered.
“Softly, m’lady,” Mr. Winters answered. “I think we’re alone, but you never know.”
I had been wondering about something since my arrival at the North Pole. “Are there other kids like me being trained as Defenders?”
“Well, there’s no one quite like you, m’lady.” Mr. Winters smiled. “But, yes, we have other trainees.”
“Where are they? Why aren’t they at the North Pole?”
“School, of course. Defenders have normal lives, too, and families. Your father lived in New York with you and your mother, as I recall.”
I nodded. “So when do you train them?”
“Summer mostly. Sometimes school breaks.”
Christmas Carol & the Defenders of Claus Page 8