The Christmas Spirit

by Patricia Wynn

  "You mean, I might be human?"

  "No, no! Nothing so bad as that! Only that ye might be partly human which would explain all yer strangest quirks."

  "Well, thank you, Francis," Trudy said dryly. "I suppose you think that solves all my troubles."

  "No, I don't! But--" he scratched his beard, then his head, then his beard again in frustration. "Ye've just got to tell me what ye want!" he said on an angry note.

  "I think I want a soul."

  "No, ye don't." Francis shook his head vehemently. "Nobody who's right in his mind would want anything of the kind."

  "Well, I do."

  Francis shrieked, "No, ye don't! Ye don't have the faintest little inklin’ o' what yer talkin' about. Souls are cumbersome, pesky things what nobody should want. They tie ye down, they take all yer fun away . . . ."

  "Well . . . I still want one. I don't want Matthew to be disappointed when he holds me."

  Francis sighed. Then he tore the peaked cap off his head and stomped on it until it was flat.

  Trudy watched him and her heart reached out to him, for she could see he did love her in his own way. He could not bear to see her make a foolish mistake. She wished he knew how right her decision was for her.

  By now, Francis had picked up his hat, dusted it off, and pulled it back onto his head. He clapped the dust off his hands and said, "A soul now, is it. Well, that shouldn't be too hard."

  "You don't think so?"

  "Nah." He shrugged. "I'm sure there's hundreds of 'em just floatin' about, waitin' to be asked for."

  "Francis, stop teasing me. Is there anyway to get one?"

  He thought a minute with his chin on his chest, his short, skinny arms folded, and his eyes screwed up. Trudy sent all her good feelings his way, for she was too upset to think for herself. If Francis couldn't think of anyway to get her a soul, then she was doomed to a life without Matthew. She might hover around him, might watch his progress through the rest of his years. She might even visit him in his dreams. But she could not think of any greater torture than to watch him from a distance and not be any part of his life.

  "I've got it," Francis said, making her start. "Or I think I have." He raised his eyes. "I've seen Old Christmas about this evening, and ye might ask him."

  "Old Christmas?"

  "Sure, and ye remember him. He's that old, gray-bearded bugger. The one what goes around on Christmas Eve bringin' pennies and such to them what believe in him."

  "Pennies? And you think he could give me a soul?"

  "Sure, and why not? They say he's a deep one, Old Christmas is. Ye might ask him for anything, and he'll do his best."

  Trudy sighed. It didn't seem like much to go on, but she had to try. "Very well, then." She stood and hugged her brother, even though he hated any demonstration of affection. "Thank you, Francis. You've been a great help."

  His ears had turned a deep red, and so had his eyes. "Now, don't ye go blamin' me," he grumbled, "if ye get what ye asks for and then ye don't like it. Don't be expectin' me to get ye out o' this one, now. I've only done what ye asked."

  "I agree," Trudy said. Then, she released him, for he seemed all at once in a hurry to get away.

  He did not fly off immediately, however, but instead dusted his hat again, as if he had not thoroughly dusted it already. With a lump growing painfully in her throat, Trudy waited patiently for whatever he might have to say. But when Francis spoke again, his words were nothing to the purpose.

  "Well," he said, not meeting her eye, but giving a sniff as he righted his hat. "I'd best be off. The Yule's not over yet, and I've got to get meself over to the heath. Give 'em the joy of the season and all that for ye, shall I?"

  "Yes, please."

  With a nod and no look back, her brother took to the air. Trudy might have felt hurt that they'd said no goodbyes, except that Francis had not threatened to wash his hands of her if she became a human. She suspected her brother's curiosity would not allow him to stay away from her for long.

  After watching Francis go, she wondered how she would set about asking Old Christmas for anything. Since this was Christmas Eve, she could almost be certain he would be pulling his beard out with the number of errands he had to run in just one evening. She could hardly stop him in mid-flight to ask for anything so frivolous as a soul for herself when he had so many other, more desperate people to think about.

  As Trudy pondered her dilemma, stories came out of her past, reminding her of what she must do. If she had a house, she would be expected to put out a shoe or a stocking for her Christmas gifts. Trudy thought of conjuring her magic house again, but that fantasy structure had never truly been her home. Her home was in a tree.

  Well. If a tree was where Old Christmas would expect to find her, she had better settle for one.

  Trudy was about to climb the nearest oak, when something on the ground caught her eye. Investigating, she found it was the green dress she had bought to copy for the ball. It must have fallen from the bed in her room of illusion. It was still just as lovely as ever, though the press of damp leaves had left a brownish-green stain just below the bodice.

  If her Christmas wish were to come true, she would need all the real clothes she could get, and if it did not, she would need this souvenir of Matthew.

  Tucking the gown under one arm, she climbed the tree and tried to settle herself down to sleep. She could use the ball gown for a fancy pillow. But her cloak?

  Her habit had always been to wrap it about her, to make herself invisible to anyone who might wish her harm. The woods seemed empty tonight, but from experience Trudy knew better. All the spirits of the dead were alive on Christmas Eve. The witches and trolls would be roaming, ready to snatch up the unprotected.

  But, if Trudy wanted Old Christmas to find her, she must not hide herself from him. Bravely, she removed her cloak and draped it across a branch. She snuggled down onto her dress, hoping its soft pleats would help to conceal her from below.

  Then, she remembered what she had recalled about Old Christmas's practices, and with a jerk, she sat up to remove one of her shoes. Determined he should see it, she inched along a big, sound limb and wedged it down into a deep fork. She tested its snugness by bouncing up and down on the branch. Then, satisfied that the shoe wouldn't move, she crept back to her nest, muttering a prayer.

  The velvet dress was soft. She hadn't thought she could sleep. But the emotional turns of the evening must have taken their toll, for as soon as her head touched down she was gone.

  * * * *

  Along about dawn, a weary traveler was passing aloft through the trees, when he spied an elf maid sleeping on a branch and wearing only one shoe. It didn't take the traveler long to find its match.

  What might have taken him much longer, if he had not been used to guessing people's secrets, would have been to discover what the pretty elf maid wished for herself. But years and years of looking into people's souls and peering into their hearts had made it easy for the old man to ferret out their desires. What was the one thing an elf maid didn't have, he asked himself, seeing her cloak laid purposely aside, that she couldn't conjure for herself? What would she put herself at such risk to gain?

  Instead of moving to her shoe to place a soul in it--a place it wouldn't do her any good, if she only knew--Father Christmas lowered himself silently to her branch and placed his knarled old hand upon her head. He spoke a few well chosen words, for all that he'd seldom had occasion to use these particular ones, and felt the light of the Christmas spirit burning in his hand. It warmed him from his fingers to his toes--his only reward for all the miles and miles he covered at his age. It glowed on the elf maid's hair and disappeared, deep down inside her. It was not until the warmth of that heavenly glow had entirely disappeared, that the old man withdrew his hand, and likewise sought his rest.

  Trudy awoke when the sun first cast its golden beam around the bend of the Earth. She had slept soundly and peacefully, with something extraordinarily soft under her cheek. She sat u
p, wondering what it was, and all at once, her world turned upside down.

  She started falling from the tree. Grasping for the limb, her hand found her pillow instead and dislodged it. She frantically called on her magic to stop her fall, but it did not.

  Arms flailing, Trudy crashed through the leafless twigs and hit the ground with an, "Oof!" She felt as if all the stuffing had been knocked out of her body. Her back and elbows had been scraped, and a thick piece of cloth had fluttered over her face.

  She lay there, blinded and stunned, for only a few seconds before recalling the wish she'd made on Christmas Eve. Had it worked? Did she really have a soul?

  She'd never fallen from her branch before. Her head felt beaten like a drum. Her limbs felt heavier, too, as if cream had been ladled into them to weight her feet and hands. A new kind of spirit tingled inside her body.

  She'd never been so terrified in all her life.

  Gasping for breath, she tore at the material covering her eyes and discovered the green velvet gown, which must've fallen with her. And it was fortunate, too, for it was the only garment within sight.

  Her magic cloak was gone. She looked up into the tree, but it wasn't there. Nothing was there, neither her cloak, nor the boot she'd wedged between the branches. The tree was as bare of clothing as she was herself.

  Hastily, for she had no time to think of the consequences should she be mistaken, Trudy pulled the gown over her head. She struggled with its buttons, dismayed by the difficulty of such a simple task. Her fingers were so clumsy. She'd never had to use them this awkward way before. If something this simple was so difficult for her, how would she ever do anything more complex?

  She found her arms were decorated with thin streaks of blood. The sight of her own blood nearly made her faint. Her pulse was racing, she trembled so mightily. She was almost afraid to stand up. But she could not stay seated in the park on a cold winter morning--Christmas morning--in a wrinkled ball dress with no shoes. Even though by this hour the witches and the dead would have retreated to their normal hiding places, a human or two could easily come along, and Trudy had no cloak in which to hide.

  She had no choice but to go immediately to Matthew and to beg his forgiveness. But with a new awareness that caused a catch in her throat, she realized that Matthew might not want her, no matter what Francis had said.

  Francis. With a sudden ache, she remembered that she had not bid farewell to her brother. And without her magic, she had no way to find him if he chose not to show himself.

  She mustn't think of her brother, though, or her Aunt Petunia or even that scapegrace Grace or such thoughts would surely make her cry.

  Trudy sprang to her feet and felt them sink with a thud to the ground, as if they were lead. It took her more than a few practice steps to become accustomed to this new weightiness. It wasn't that the feeling was unpleasant; it was simply new and bizarre. The realization that she could manage to walk gave her spirits a lift, until she found that the frozen grass and dry twigs she trod were pricking the tender soles of her feet like shards of glass. Every pebble on which she stepped bruised her arch like the meanest blow.

  Yet, these same smarting feet would have to carry her the blocks and blocks to Matthew's house without her magic cloak. With anxious tears, Trudy wondered what sort of foolish mistake she'd made, wishing for a soul so far away from where he lived.

  Deciding she had best not wait until the streets were filled with pedestrians and carriages, she wiped her tears with the back of one hand and started. Gilbert Street could be as much as two miles away.

  Trudy found that this walk was nothing like the one she had taken so blithely the other morning. The pavement beneath her feet was so cold it sent a chill right up her legs until her teeth were chattering, although fear might have played a part. The refuse covering the streets assailed her nostrils with the odor of rot. The feel of dirt between her toes made her shudder with distaste.

  An occasional early-riser crossed her path. Some, also, who might never have found their beds or who had no bed at all stopped to watch her pass. As each man stared at her mussed gown and her dirty bare feet, she felt the shame of her appearance. With no cloak to hide her, she could do nothing but avoid their eyes, but still she felt their stares crawling like spiders on the back of her neck. Her own vulnerability made her want to flee, but she was not so sure her legs could run. Instead, she picked her way through the piles of rubbish left from last night's revelry and prayed that no friend of Matthew's would see her in this condition.

  The sound of Christmas bells from the parish church hastened her pace even though her frozen lungs threatened to burst. Whatever it cost her, she must not be found on the London streets when the members of polite society started to emerge from their houses. Counting only six or seven blocks left to Matthew's lodgings, she began to sprint.

  The sharp cobblestones made her wince with pain. Bitter wind stung her cheeks. Cold air burned her nose and the inside of her chest, but its dearth made her gasp. She could not manage to run the last block. She was too tired, too breathless, too much in pain.

  Matthew's door in Gilbert Street shone like a hoard of gold at the end of a rainbow. The sight of it made her want to cry with relief, even though the possibility of his rejection brought tears of distress to her eyes.

  What if Matthew couldn't forgive her for her deceit? What if he decided never to trust her with his heart again? What could she do? Wish for Old Christmas to take her soul away next year? Though she hadn't had much time to get used to it, her soul already felt like an inseparable part of her being. Even as miserable as she was, losing her magic would be worth it if Matthew would love her.

  Trudy raised trembling fingers to the door and knocked.

  The noise sounded feeble. As feeble as her knees suddenly went when Ahmad's intimidating form filled the doorway. He glowered at her, unspoken curses rumbling in his throat. Trudy's heart plopped into her stomach. In her desperate haste, she had not thought what to do if Ahmad would not let her past.

  Painful feelings pressed like a heavy grip on her chest. She could not speak for drawing breath.

  Ahmad's face first wavered. Then it faded, to be replaced by swirling stars, spinning faster and faster until all was black.

  Trudy felt a bounce. She was bouncing to the cadence of someone's step, moving higher and higher up some kind of hill. She was cradled in his arms like a newborn lamb. Her shepherd had a strong, broad chest and arms like the branches of a sturdy oak tree. But pain kept her eyes tightly shut against the light.

  An ache had spread from the soles of her frozen feet to her ankles and her knees. Her back had begun to sting, right along with her arms. All she could do was let her head flop back and groan.

  She felt her shepherd pause. Her body was shifted in his arms, and a door clicked open nearby.

  "Saab!" It was Ahmad, calling from a region somewhere above her head; his voice was lowered with care. Warmed by the sound of his concern, she slept again.

  "Faye!"

  Matthew had been sitting up, staring at his fire all night, with the pair of gloves he had tried to give her clasped in his hands. He would have drunk himself into a numbing stupor if the past year or two spent in a state of frequent delusion had not made him value his mental clarity far too much. No matter how hurtful that clarity might be.

  Trudy's deception, his pain upon its discovery, the tears that had bathed his chest--all these things pressed heavily on his heart. He had suffered before, but never quite this deeply. The blows and wounds to his body, the scorching burn of others' scorn, even the knowledge of his own foolishness, which had been at fault, could not hurt him as much as his little elf maid had. She had wounded him in his deepest, most secret place. And, yet, he believed she had suffered as much, if not more than he.

  To see her limp in Ahmad's arms made his pulse leap into his throat. What had she done to herself?

  "Put her here," he said quickly, "on this sofa."

  As Ahmad lowered his
fragile bundle, Matthew took in Trudy's altered appearance. The ball gown she had worn last night was only half-fastened in back, revealing a large purple bruise upon her shoulder. The gown was stained and wrinkled. Her feet and legs were bare and covered with filth. Her tousled hair appeared to be full of tangles, and to Matthew's horror, he spied streaks of blood on her cheeks, mixed with tears.

  "Faye." He fell to one knee and gently smoothed the hair away from her face with a trembling hand. "What's happened to you?"

  Getting no response, he raised his eyes to Ahmad's face.

  "I found her on the doorstep, saab," Ahmad said with a worried frown. "Could this be another trick?"

  "I don’t know." Seeing Trudy in this painful condition made Matthew grieve to say it, but after the events of the previous evening, he could do nothing else. "She looks hurt."

  "I will fetch linens and water."

  As soon as Ahmad left the room, Matthew hurried to the tray by his chair to pour a glass of his untouched brandy. Kneeling, he raised her head and tried to get her to take a few sips.

  She coughed and spluttered. The warm, amber liquid seemed to bring some color to her cheeks, though not the bloom that had been there before. She opened her eyes and saw him.

  "Matthew." Moisture filled her eyes.

  Before Matthew could ask her what had happened, Faye threw her arms about his neck, and instantly he felt a difference. She felt warm and soft and full, like a woman of flesh and blood. If he had not known better, he would have believed her to be one.

  "Matthew," she whispered again. "I asked Old Christmas for a soul and he gave me one. I can stay with you forever now, if you'll have me."

  Fear, the fear of being tricked again, robbed him of speech. Could he believe her?

  But, as Matthew held her away, he caught a glimpse of her imperfections--a new pallor; small lines about the eyes he hadn't noticed before--the intensity of her green eyes had faded. But, even with these changes, she was still the most beautiful being he had ever seen.