Treacherous Toys

by Joyce

  She smiled and pushed her long hair away from her face. “I think that’s what happened to the last photographer. I’m not sure he was supposed to be taking pictures either. In fact, I think he was just here to make a delivery. Mom is desperate. She’ll make anyone take pictures.”

  “Why not you?” She seemed capable and mature to me. “You’re old enough, right?”

  “Thank you. I keep telling her that. I’m not a little kid anymore. I can do all kinds of things now that I’m eleven.”

  We stopped walking as we reached a big room containing a large, gilded chair, a huge, decorated tree, and an old-fashioned instant camera—the kind my grandmother had once had on a tripod. The rest of the room was filled with children, noisy, crying, demanding children.

  They gathered around the beautifully decorated tree, which reached the high ceiling and had a star on top. They ran restlessly around the camera. Their parents seemed to have given up on any order while they waited to see the toy maker. The only place they didn’t go was on the thronelike seat. Probably afraid Father Christmas wouldn’t like it.

  I was about to ask where the man himself was when another door opened and he bounded into the room. I was immediately caught up in the old poem about Saint Nick. His eyes—how they twinkled! his dimples: how merry, / His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry.

  He was the perfect Father Christmas. Leave it to the Village to hire the best. The fact that he was also a talented, highly regarded toy maker was icing on the holiday cake.

  I’d never seen such a beautiful outfit before. It had to be his own and not a rental. The long coat was embroidered with gold thread and had bright gold closures on the front. It was made, as were his trousers, of the plushest velvet.

  His beard and mustache looked real, too, soft and white. Seeing him was enough to make my heart sing a few bars of “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town.”

  He was probably a little more seventeenth-century Saint Nicholas than Renaissance, but the costume was good. As always, Renaissance Village erred on the side of what looked best and would sell tickets, even if it wasn’t historically accurate.

  He came right up to me and took my hand in his white-gloved one. “You must be Jessie, my new apprentice. It’s very good to meet you. I apologize for the delay in taking you to the workshop. The Village didn’t tell us they were opening the Father Christmas visitation today. I’m a little short staffed, even with my brood.”

  His blue eyes smiled at me in a kind way, and his voice held the enthusiasm one would expect from the jolly old elf.

  I looked around the room and saw more elves—eight in all, varying in age from older teen down to preschooler—walking around and talking with the children there to have their pictures taken. “Are all of those elves yours?”

  He laughed in a low-key yet contagious way. “It gets cold up there at the North Pole, you know. And Mrs. Christmas and I share a great love.”

  “I wasn’t criticizing. I think it’s wonderful!”

  “You wouldn’t think so early in the morning when they’re all looking for breakfast. Or at night when they have to get along with one bathroom.” He chuckled. “But it makes them closer, Jessie. Do you have family?”

  “One brother. My twin, actually. He and I are kind of close. He works here, too.”

  “That’s the way to be. I hope you’ll be happy here with us for the next few weeks. We could certainly use your help. It gets really crazy around this time of year.”

  I couldn’t believe he’d taken the time to talk with me while the line of children grew longer. It was a nice gesture. Nothing melodramatic or strange here like some of the other people I’d worked for in the Village. I couldn’t wait to see Chase and ask him about Father Christmas’s history.

  Or maybe not. I wasn’t sure I wanted to spoil what might be an illusion. Very few people at the Village were what they seemed to be.

  “I guess I better get up there and hear some wishes.” He put his head back and laughed again. “I’m sure we’ll get along famously. I have so much to share with someone interested in learning to make toys. When we’re done here, we’ll go on to the workshop. Thank you for being here.”

  He started to walk away, and I remembered that he hadn’t told me his real name. “What should I call you?”

  “Why Father Christmas, of course. You might know me by other names—Santa or Saint Nick. But here, I’m Father Christmas. Chris Christmas, in fact.” He smiled, went to his chair, and sat down.

  The effect was completely charming. I was swept away by it.

  Garland was there a minute later, distributing coloring pages and candy to his brothers and sisters. They all began weaving through the crowd, passing out the goodies while the first child came to sit on Father Christmas’s lap.

  The little girl had been wailing when she and her mother approached the big chair. She stopped crying immediately and had a contrite look on her face as he lifted her. They discussed what she wanted for Christmas at length, despite the crowd. She got down, smiled, and waved, and the next child came up.

  It was so heartwarming that I totally forgot I was supposed to be taking pictures of it. A small elf hand pulled at my tunic. “You have to take the picture while they are on his lap,” Merry Beth suggested. “Once they’re gone, it’s too late.”

  Not like I didn’t know that. I had just been transported into holiday heaven for a moment where my brain wasn’t working. It was as though this man was the real thing and all I could do was stand and marvel at seeing him. He had a huge amount of charisma. Good line of work for him.

  The camera was tricky. It wasn’t made during the Renaissance, but it was old enough to be classified as an antique. I wasn’t even sure how to use it. My cell phone might have been better.

  I tried to secure it on the tripod, but the connection was the wrong size. I finally held it with one hand and managed to snap the picture with the other. Immediately, a developing photo (not very good) was spit out.

  The second child’s mother raced over and jerked it away from me. “I’ll take that. No telling what you people would do with my daughter’s picture. And don’t forget, it’s free. I don’t have time for a sales pitch either.”

  Too bad Father Christmas didn’t seem to have the same calming effect on the adults that he did the children. As each child sat on his lap, I took the picture and a greedy, rude adult snatched it from me. Where was the holiday spirit?

  Some parents asked if I had copies or knew where they could purchase them. I thought it was obvious that I didn’t. I was lucky to have even one photo to hand them with the old camera I was using. Others tried to give me money for the picture. I waved it away. One man threw a ten-dollar bill at me. I stooped down to pick it up.

  Merry Beth’s little hand was there before mine. “All tips go in the jar. We split eight ways—well, nine including you.”

  I was fine with that. Not like I was expecting tips. It was obvious this session was nothing new for Father Christmas’s children. Even the youngest ones seemed to know exactly what to do.

  As the photo session continued, the tip jar that Merry Beth had brought out grew increasingly full. This looked like a lucrative idea. I was glad for Father Christmas and his wife. It couldn’t have been easy raising so many children. It was good for the Village, too.

  I was surprised when a very pregnant Queen Olivia came into the room with her usual entourage of ladies-in-waiting, gentlemen courtiers, and, in this case, a jester or two dressed for the holiday in red and green with jingle bells on their hats.

  The queen was the top figurehead of the Village, along with her husband, King Harold. Whatever they wanted usually happened. Their word was law, in an almost real sense of the word.

  Despite her increasing girth, the queen was dressed to the hilt in fine blue satin and a silver gauze stole, which she wore draped across her shoulders. The others in her party were dressed well, too—but never the equal of their queen. There was an unwritten law about that.
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  There was a strange, sort of awkward moment when the queen finally came face-to-face with Father Christmas. They just stood there and stared at each other. I wasn’t sure what that was all about, but it felt like something.

  “Olivia,” he said with a smile. Then he gave her a deep, respectful bow and everything moved forward. It was hard to describe but odd somehow.

  “Carry on,” the breathless queen proclaimed. “We only wished to see how the event fared. It appears to be going quite well.”

  There was always excitement and interest when the queen visited any shop or amusement in the Village. The parents of the Father Christmas-bound children were no exception, taking plenty of pictures and asking for her autograph.

  The children were another story. They just wanted to see the man in the big chair whom they instantly recognized as one of their icons, even though his costume was a little different than what they were used to. The queen wasn’t interesting enough for them—not when there were toy requests on the line.

  After a few minutes of preening in front of her audience, Queen Olivia took her leave in grand theatrical style. There was a chorus of admiring sighs after she swept out of the manor house, but she was quickly forgotten in the renewed push forward to visit Father Christmas.

  “She’s quite a character,” Father Christmas said with a rich chuckle. “I knew Livy and Harry a long time ago. They were the best salespeople ever born. No wonder Adventure Land snapped them up to run Renaissance Village. The things I could tell you!”

  I’d never met anyone who knew the king and queen before they were royally installed in the good life presiding over the Village. “I’d love to hear it,” I said, thinking of the possible future leverage that quirky stories from the past could lend.

  “Not now!” Christine chided with a deep frown marring her attractive face. “You have a whole house full of children waiting to see you, Chris. You need to sit down and get through this.”

  He kissed her lightly on the cheek—to the awws and camera flashes of the visitors. “I’m heading that way right now, love. We’ll get through it just fine. We always do, don’t we?”

  Christine stood near me as we both watched the man in demand go back to his seat and start receiving children again.

  “This gets harder every year,” she confided. “Sometimes I don’t know how we’ll make it through another Christmas. But it’s his life. How could I take it away from him?”

  Two

  I knew it! Things could never be that simple and good.

  I sensed trouble in this holiday paradise. It seemed that Father Christmas didn’t feel the pressure his wife did. Or she protected him from it. Either way, she was bearing the brunt of some pressures that he didn’t seem to notice.

  I had hoped things were exactly as they seemed, but that rarely happened. Especially here in the Village, where everyone concealed their true identities. There were always deeper secrets.

  I didn’t have much time to think about it. Chase paid me a surprise visit. Between shots of crying or angry children, he managed to sneak up behind me and hug me tight.

  “Welcome back!” he said after a big kiss that received appropriate notice in the form of flashing cameras and ribald teasing from visitors. “I was wondering if we were ever going to see each other today.”

  Chase was six foot eight, two hundred and fifty pounds of Village justice and sex appeal. I noticed his new costume right away. Gone was the usual leather tunic, replaced by rich black velvet with a dashing black cape. I supposed he looked a little strange to some, kissing a large elf.

  “You’ve traded up in the world,” I said, so pleased to see him that it was all I could do to concentrate on the pictures I was taking. “I hope I see a costume as nice for the season.”

  “You don’t like this cute green elf costume?” He laughed at me. “You look really sweet and in the holiday spirit. Why would you want to change?”

  Chase and I had known each other for years. Even before we’d started dating, we were friends. Because he was the bailiff and had a permanent apartment above the Dungeon, I was always guaranteed a place to stay while I was at the Village. Not that I would have cared where it was if I could be with him. Sappy, I know. But he was the light of my life.

  “I guess that means I’m stuck looking like the jolly green giant for the next six weeks.” I snapped a picture of a cute little girl with pigtails as she sat on Father Christmas’s lap. I had the hang of it now.

  “But you’ll have me.” He smiled and winked at me. “How long are you going to be here?”

  “At least until the Main Gate closes,” Christine intervened. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be, sir? We’re very busy here. Jessie can meet you later.”

  “Maybe.” He looked back at me, not at all abashed by her. “You must get lunch, right? Even Santa takes a break.”

  Christine put her hands on her ample hips. “I’m sure everyone gets a break sometime. In the meantime, we’re trying to work here. I’d hate to complain to anyone about you interfering with our busy, important schedule.”

  Chase sobered immediately and bowed slightly to her. “You’re correct, madam. I would hate for you to complain as well. I beg your pardon.”

  She gave him a satisfied nod and turned away to go back into the crowd. Chase picked me up and spun me around, one of his favorite pastimes, before he whispered that he would return promptly at noon.

  I had to laugh. Christine didn’t realize that everyone in the Village loved Chase, and she’d have to go past the CEO of Adventure Land, who lived at the Village under the guise of Merlin the Wizard, to find anyone who would chastise him in any way. He was just too modest to admit it.

  My heart was pounding in that old familiar way that happened whenever I was around Chase. I never tired of seeing him and knowing that he was mine. It was what kept me going when I was teaching history in Columbia and couldn’t be with him. It was my own personal curse that I couldn’t let go of that other life and be here with him all the time.

  Then the old camera ran out of film, and no one could find any to replace it. I couldn’t see the end of the long line that stretched out of the manor house. It wasn’t lunchtime yet. Christine looked ready to explode.

  “I told you we needed a new one,” she whispered in an angry voice to Father Christmas. “There’s never enough money for the important things. Now what do we do?”

  His kindly face didn’t change. He put one arm around her that she hastily shrugged off. “We take a break and go get a new camera,” he said. “Not to worry. We’ve made enough this morning to get a much better one.” He nodded toward the tip jar.

  A tall, thin likeness of him—minus the white hair and beard—offered to get the camera. “Let’s go ahead and invest in one of those that connect to a computer, Dad. That would be the best thing.”

  “You see, Christine.” Father Christmas put his arm around the young man’s shoulders. “Jolly will look out for us. The two of you take the money and get what he needs. I’m sure there’s some electronic warehouse store around here somewhere.”

  “Call me Charlie, Dad.” Jolly was wearing an elf suit like mine but apparently was having issues with being part of the holiday retinue. “You know Jolly embarrasses me.”

  “But that’s your name.” His father laughed. “Charlie is just your middle name. And your uncle’s name at that.”

  “Whatever.” Charlie/Jolly turned away.

  “And what are you going to do while I’m out shopping?” Christine demanded.

  “I’m going to show Jessie the workshop, and we’ll get started on her apprenticeship.”

  Those words were always music to my ears. But Christine didn’t look too happy with his answer.

  I didn’t want to get stuck in a family brawl either. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to run and get my suitcase and check in with the Village.” By the Village, I meant Chase. “I could grab lunch for both of us and meet you at the toy shop later.”


  He nodded. “I understand. That was quite a handsome young man who was here looking for you earlier. That’s fine. The workshop is right next door. We’re hoping to have it set up and open by tomorrow. Then part of my time will be here with the kids and the other part will be making toys.”

  “You should come with Jolly and me to the store so you can see what we’re buying,” Christine said to him. She eyed me suspiciously. “Nothing that important is going on here while I’m gone.”

  “That’s okay. I trust your judgment. And I’ll take one of those big turkey legs, Jessie,” he said, apparently unconvinced. “And a big ale to wash it down. I can’t afford to lose weight, not at this time of year.”

  Christine gave him one of the looks wives are famous for, then stormed out with Jolly for the store. The other Christmas children, with the help of a few Village security guards, were emptying the manor of the remaining crowd. Merry Beth was handing out little pieces of paper that would ensure the people who’d been waiting would get in first once the camera was replaced and Father Christmas returned.

  I didn’t care. The satchel of clothes I’d left in the car was forgotten. I took out my cell phone—totally against all the rules—and called around the shops and restaurants until I had located Chase. It took less than ten minutes for both of us to end up at the Dungeon together.

  “What about lunch?” he asked in a mischievous tone that said he already knew my answer.

  “I think I’ll have dessert first,” I told him, playing with his long brown braid that casually rested on his shoulder. “Right now.”

  Chase and I had a little time left over for lunch at one of our favorite eating spots, the Pleasant Pheasant. He brought me up to date on everything that had happened in the Village since I’d seen him a few weeks before.

  “Olivia’s baby is due before Christmas,” he told me. “Her staff have practice runs getting her from the castle to the Main Gate almost every day, and every time, they make some mistake or bad decision. It would be funny if it weren’t for the fact that she’s really having a baby. I don’t see anything getting better.”