Christmas Comes to Dickens

by Nancy Fraser

  HOLLY TRUDGED DOWN Main Street, lugging her heavy bag of camera equipment from her latest shoot. Why did clients leave it till the last minute to decide they needed a family photo to include with their Christmas cards? As if this time of year wasn’t busy enough.

  She pushed open the door to Dickens’ famous Gift Emporium, currently all done up for Christmas. “Hey! Kris,” she called. “It’s Holly. Are you out back?”

  Kris Kringle, a retired actress of a certain age, with a staggering collection of stage costumes that she wore to the shop, strolled from the back room, wiping crumbs from the corner of her mouth. Today, she wore a Santa’s elf costume, with green tights and a short red skirt that showed she still had great legs.

  Holly grinned. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your snack. I just need that list of families and gifts so I can start wrapping up the donated items.”

  “Here it is.” Kris rummaged in her apron pocket and passed Holly the list of local families who had it tougher than usual this time of year and needed a little extra help. Her eyes twinkled behind wireless glasses that Holly knew were just for show. “I’m so glad you started Holly’s Toy Chest to collect and distribute donations. Any plans for the holidays?”

  Holly shrugged. “I’ll spend the big day with Sherry and her boys. Her hubby’s overseas.”

  “Isn’t it high time you had your own wedding and family, instead of photographing other people’s?”

  “How many times have you been married?” Holly shot back

  “That’s different,” Kris said.

  “I’m very happy with my life,” Holly said.

  “And a darn good photographer,” Kris said. “You have a real gift of capturing the inner soul of the person you’re taking the picture of.”

  Holly smiled indulgently. “I should take your picture one day.”

  “I think I’ll keep my secrets, thank you.”

  It was impossible to tell how old Kris was, for she always dressed in costume and assumed a different identity on a revolving basis. Santa or his helper at Christmas, Cupid at Valentine’s, Mrs. Easter Bunny during that time of year, and when there were no special holidays, favored her getup as a gypsy fortune teller.

  Kris Kringle, obviously her stage name, claimed that one day she’d had enough of Broadway’s bright lights and moved here. Through the years, she came to know everyone who lived in Dickens.

  “You should never underestimate the power of wishing,” Kris said. “It always worked for me.”

  “I’m the queen of wishing,” Holly said blithely. “Every shooting star, new moon, and birthday candle. You name it, I send my wish out there. It’s not my fault no one seems to be listening.”

  “Your time will come,” Kris said.

  “Right now, I need to go edit these photos and email them to the last-minute clients, then get started on the wrapping. You have a good day.”

  “You too.”

  As Kris spoke, the shop door opened with a tinkle of overhead bells. Holly looked over to see a tall, dark haired man stamping snow off his feet, then took another look because, truthfully, there weren’t a lot of good-looking men in Dickens.

  Something about the newcomer seemed familiar, but before Holly could get a second look, he turned away. She was left with an impression of a square jaw and pronounced cheekbones, with a straight, masculine nose nicely balanced above full lips. Perhaps she photographed him at some point in the past.

  When he passed her in the aisle without a second glance, she figured she must be mistaken. She paused at the door for one last glimpse, but his back was toward her. Typical man, doing his Christmas shopping at the last minute.

  Holly stopped by Dickens’s newspaper office on her way home. Print newspapers were getting to be a thing of the past in today’s online world but Burt, the publisher, stubbornly clung to the old ways, and the townsfolks supported him with subscriptions and advertising. She had to drop off the latest “wish list” for Holly’s Toy Chest in person because she knew Burt avoided reading his email.

  “This is the last of the requests, Burt,” she told him.

  Burt switched his reading glasses from the top of his head to the bridge of his nose and squinted at her list, which she had written in large print.

  “How come youngsters these days want electronic gadgets instead of books and dolls and trainsets, like when I was their age?”

  “Don’t kid yourself,” Holly said. “They still like toys.”

  “You taking the haul with you today?”

  “I’ll wait a few more days,” Holly said. “Then I’ll come by with the van.”

  “Folks are digging deep, same as always,” Burt said.

  Holly knew Burt would top up any unfulfilled requests, the way he always did. “That’s why I love this town,” she said. “Now I’ve got a date with the computer.”

  “You need to have yourself a real date, pretty young thing like you.”

  “If only you didn’t have all girls,” Holly said. It was their ongoing quip. She insisted she was waiting for someone just like Burt. Someone with old fashioned chivalry.

  “Managed to get them all married off,” Burt mumbled. “Cost me a king’s ransom.”

  “Their dowries?” Holly teased.

  “Worse,” Burt said. “Those big fancy weddings they all wanted. You should know. You took the photos.”

  “You were the proudest father of the bride I ever saw. And the most handsome.” Holly hitched her camera bag higher on her shoulder. “See you in a couple of days.”

  Even though dusk fell early these days, the streets were cheery, with Christmas lights on all the downtown buildings and glowing warmly through the windows.

  Candy canes and wreaths adorned the streetlights. A star twinkled atop the huge, lit-up tree in the town square. Holly scuffed through the snow. She loved Christmas, even if it sometimes felt a little lonely.

  BACK IN THE GIFT SHOP, Nicholas was overwhelmed by the collection of Christmas ornaments. Macy’s, where he usually shopped in New York, was never cluttered like this. Some of the decorations looked older than the woman dressed like an elf, who watched him with a speculative gaze. Maybe she worried every stranger was a shoplifter. He acknowledged her with a lift of his brow.

  After ten minutes of prowling the aisles, trying not to knock anything over, he approached where she stood behind the till, shaking a snow globe.

  “You have quite the selection,” he told her.

  “Something for everyone,” the elf said.

  “My sister has twin boys. I thought maybe wooden toy soldiers for the tree. Something they can also play with that’s not too fragile.”

  She nodded sagely. “Always a wise choice. They’re over this way.”

  “I need something for my sister as well. I used to buy my mother an ornament each year and now that she’s gone, I’ll transfer that tradition to my sister.”

  “Traditions are good to hold onto,” the elf said. He noticed she wore a great many rings on both hands.

  “Are rings your tradition?” he asked.

  She looked down at her hands and nodded. “I bought myself a good luck ring for every opening night.”

  So the elf had once been an actress. That explained a lot.

  Nic pointed. “I think I’ll take that glass slipper for my sister. She used to love Cinderella when she was a girl.” Funny, he hadn’t thought about that in years.

  “And those two soldiers.” One carried a trumpet, the other a drum, so the boys could tell them apart.

  The woman’s rings flashed brightly, reflecting light from the shop’s many strings of Christmas lights that adorned the artificial tress on display, and wound through the overhead beams as she wrapped each ornament lovingly in tissue, almost as if she was parting with them reluctantly. She tucked all three into a paper bag that was stamped with holly leaves.

  Holly! he thought. Why did the sight of printed holly leaves seem significant?

  As he reached for his wallet, he paused. On a
miniature tree near the till, a small silver angel twirled, her robe reflecting a rainbow of lights. Nic reached toward it for a closer look, then pulled his hand back as the edge of the ornament pricked his finger.

  The elf didn’t miss a beat, and lifted the angel from the tree. “She’s a beauty, isn’t she?” She placed the angel in Nic’s palm. “So exquisitely made.”

  As Nic held the angel, he felt heat radiate through his hand and spark up his arm. The ornament must be hot from being so near the lights. The second he passed it back, his hand felt empty. “I’ll take her as well,” he said impulsively.

  “Excellent choice,” the woman said, before she wrapped the angel and added it to the bag with Nic’s other purchases. “It’s always good to follow your impulses.”

  Nic left the store shaking his head, unsure what had come over him. He wasn’t impulsive by nature. Not any more.

  Chapter 2

  HOLLY GOT UP FROM HER computer and stretched gratefully. The photos were edited and emailed to the client in time to be printed on their glossy printer and tucked into their friends’ Christmas cards. Thank goodness some people still sent old-fashioned cards.

  Holly remembered the excitement of the December mail deliveries when she was young. The fat stack of cards her mother would open and read to her and her sister, explaining who the people were and how she knew them, before she fashioned the colorful cards into garlands to hang in the apartment windows.

  Her mother loved Christmas, but detested the cold. As soon as Holly and her sister, Ivy, were in college, their mother moved to the Caribbean where she met a sailor. These days the two of them spent their time sailing from tropical island to tropical island, and the closest thing to a Christmas card that Holly got from her mother was an email.

  She stooped to plug in the lights on her Christmas tree. The tree was less than two feet high, a live pine that made the whole house smell good. Kris always managed to find miniature decorations for Holly’s tree, and adding to them each year was a tradition she wouldn’t miss out on. She reached to admire her newest addition, only to get a poke in her finger from a particularly sharp pine needle.

  “Ouch!” She pulled her hand back and quickly made a wish, a childhood holdover from her favorite Christmas storybook.

  The sudden movement must have jostled the tree, for it started to shift. The top branch swayed, toppling the fragile glass star to the wood floor where it shattered into a million irreparable pieces. Holly stared down at the wreckage then went to get the vacuum. She’d loved that star. Kris had come across it in the store’s attic and insisted on giving it to her for her tiny tree.

  She almost made it to the closet for the vacuum before the phone rang; her friend, Sherry.

  “Just checking in about Christmas day,” Sherry said.

  “Am I still invited?” Holly teased.

  “Of course. I just wanted to warn you. My brother is here for the holiday.”

  “The pompous dick of a lawyer? The one who never came to visit your mother before she died, and still hasn’t met the twins?”

  “The same,” Sherry whispered.

  “Did hell freeze over?” Holly asked.

  There was silence on the other end before Sherry spoke. “I’m sorry I told you so much about him. Now you have a preconceived notion before you even meet him.”

  “You’ve got that right,” Holly said.

  Sherry exhaled heavily. “Try not to let what I told you about him influence you when you two meet, okay? I might have been a bit harsh in my judgement. He’s really not so bad. He’s been a godsend, helping keep the twins amused.”

  “Are you into the rum and eggnog already?” Holly asked.

  “Seriously,” Sherry said. “Give him a chance.”

  “A chance for what?” Holly asked herself as she ended the call, already starting to regret that she’d agreed to spend Christmas day there. But Ivy was off to some glamorous ski town to meet her boyfriend’s family. Once Holly finished delivering the surprise parcels to the families in need, sitting around by herself on Christmas day didn’t hold much appeal.

  TWO DAYS BEFORE CHRISTMAS...

  Nic watched the twins fly past the Christmas tree, ornaments shaking in the breeze of their tail wind. They’d been like this ever since the tree went up.

  Excited as all get out, running through the house in circles, and even though Sherry insisted they were too young to really understand about Christmas, Nic wasn’t convinced.

  Seeing the steadily growing mound of gifts under the tree reminded him that he’d better wrap the ornaments he bought the other day and add them to the pile. And figure out what to do with that silver angel he’d purchased.

  “Have you ever been in that shop on Main Street? The Gift Emporium, I think it’s called,” Nic asked his sister.

  “I haven’t been there since before the twins were born. I didn’t dare venture in when I was pregnant, my big belly would have knocked something over for sure. These days, I shudder to think what havoc the twins would wreak if I took them in. Is it still stuffed to the rafters?”

  “Pretty much,” Nic said.

  “Was Kris Kringle there?” Sherry said. “Dramatic gal of indeterminate age?”

  “Sounds like her. She was dressed like an elf.” He shot her a look. “That can’t be her real name.”

  “She used to be on Broadway. I think that was her professional name. She’s a lot of fun.”

  Eccentric would have been his assessment.

  “I picked up a little something for the tree.” As Nic reached in the bag to pull out the angel, the darn thing pricked his finger again. He passed the angel to Sherry. “Careful. She has a habit of poking me.”

  Sherry took it from him. “Your hands are just too big for something so delicate.” She turned it over. “Pretty. But it’s too small for this tree. It would disappear on here.” She passed it back.

  “Yeah, you’re right,” Nic said, feeling silly. “I’m not even sure why I bought it.”

  “I know.” Sherry snapped her fingers. “You should donate it to Holly’s Toy Chest. My friend collects gifts for families in need. Someone with a small tree will love this.”

  Nic shot her a look. “You have a friend named Holly?”

  Sherry rolled her eyes. Come to think of it, she’d been doing that a lot since he arrived.

  “Holly’s a photographer. She took that picture of the twins that I sent you after they were born.”

  “Here.” Nic thrust the angel toward her. “She’s your friend. You give it to her.”

  “Uh huh.” Sherry shook her head. “It’s time you got in the Christmas spirit. Drop this off at Holly’s and I bet you’ll feel really good after.”

  “I always donate to a worthy cause at Christmas,” Nic said defensively.

  “Don’t you mean you write a check? It’s hardly the same thing as a hands-on donation to a worthy cause.”

  Nic looked down at the silver angel in his palm. Like in the shop earlier, it felt strangely warm. Shouldn’t silver-colored metal be cold to the touch? “Where does your friend live?”

  “She’s across town in the storybook section. 123 Holly and Ivy Lane. You would have passed by there on your way from the airport.”

  Nic raised a brow. “You’re kidding? Your friend Holly lives on Holly and Ivy Lane?”

  “She said the name reminds her of her favorite Christmas story from when she was young.”

  “And that’s why she moved there?” Nic shook his head at the gullibility of some people. “Can I borrow your car?”

  “Not a chance,” Sherry said. “How long since you drove a car in the snow, big brother? The walk will do you good.”

  “Hmmph,” was all Nic said, as he shrugged into his heavy wool jacket and tucked the angel gingerly into his pocket.

  “I’ll call her and w—tell her you’re on your way.”

  Nic shot Sherry one last look before he left. Was that a speculative gleam in her eye?

  “Anything you pl
an to warn—I mean tell me about her? Does she prick unexpected guests the way this angel keeps pricking me?”

  “Be nice,” Sherry said. “Show her your charming side. I know it’s buried under there someplace.”

  Dickens was a cute town, Nic had to admit, as he cut across the Common, the town square where a shiny white gazebo was all decked out in greenery and lights. There was a group of carolers off to one side, surrounded by a cluster of townspeople of every age; from seniors huddled on a bench to women pushing baby buggies. A few snowflakes rested on the shoulder of a life size statue near the middle of the square.

  As he rounded the gazebo, a snowball hit him in the face, followed by a spate of giggles. Smiling, he wiped the snow from his face. When was the last time he’d been hit by a snowball? Or the last time he’d thrown one?

  He reached down, picked up a handful of snow, packed it into a ball the size of a softball and sent it toward the evergreen bush where the giggles had come from. There was an answering volley, and he responded with a second and a third snowball before he threw up his hands.

  “I surrender, guys.”

  “Why?” came a prepubescent voice.

  “I know when I’m outnumbered, that’s why.”

  Across from the Common, he passed an old-fashioned horse-drawn sleigh and driver.

  “Need a ride?” the driver asked.

  “Not tonight,” Nic said. “But can I hire you for tomorrow afternoon?” What a great surprise for Sherry and the boys.

  He continued on his way and soon found Holly and Ivy Lane. 123 radiated a warm coziness, with smoke rising from the chimney, lights shining from the front window, and a lighted wreath on the door. He lifted the knocker and winced when something, probably a piece of holly, pricked his finger.

  Through his pocket, he could feel the warmth radiated by the silver angel.

  Chapter 3

  HOLLY ANSWERED THE door seconds after someone knocked. Her eyes widened as the porch light illuminated the features of the man standing there. She gripped the edge of the door for support.