Matchsticks and Candy Canes

by C. E. Wilson

  “It sounds nice,” Brynne offered.

  “Yeah, and if it gets so bad that even schools are cancelled, you shouldn’t come out here if it’s nasty.”

  “It’s not like I have a choice,” Brynne muttered, unsure if her words even reached his ears.

  She guessed not as he turned away and started to head inside.

  “My offer stands,” he said over his shoulder. “If I’m working the front of the shop and the weather’s bad, you can come inside.”

  “I shouldn’t,” Brynne stammered, “but thanks for the offer.” She pressed her chapped lips together, wondering if she should say anything else, but the words wouldn’t come.

  In turn, Carter wanted to say he wouldn’t let anyone bother her.

  But he didn’t. He went inside the bakery and said his goodbyes to his uncle. Then, with a nervous smile to the small girl across the way, he began his walk home.

  Chapter Five

  The strange, kind-hearted boy with hazel eyes haunted Brynne all the way home, making the tiresome journey down to the small elf community at the edge of town seem briefer than usual. She couldn’t get his offer out of her head. To be offered entry into the bakery must be so simple to him, but she had to wonder if he even understood the implications of such an invitation. Of letting one of Santa’s Rejects like her – a little, unnatural pest to most people – into a respected establishment.

  If only her life could have been different, like in the old days where elves were spoken and thought of highly. Where Christmas spirit was a real thing and Santa was a respected man.

  Her reverie was broken when she stumbled into the collection of shacks that made up elf town. Sighing heavily, she opened the door to her rickety shack of a home and wheeled the cart inside. Parking it in the corner, she immediately shut the door behind her, barring it shut against the bitter cold.

  Not that inside was exactly toasty.

  The sound of younger children squealing and laughing carried over from the corner of the room, where her siblings were playing with ragged stuffed toys. Her mother Neora appeared immediately, looking perpetually anxious as always.

  “Any sales?” she asked, peering over at the cart hopefully.

  “One matchbox,” Brynne announced. “And I have a surprise.” She proudly pulled out the croissant from under her coat and hefted it onto the tabletop. Her young siblings Henri and Abigail stopped giggling immediately and bounded over to the table.

  Neora paled. “Brynne, did you—you didn’t steal this, did you?”

  “No, no!” Brynne waved her hands. “It was a gift.”

  “A gift?” Abigail squealed.

  “From who?” Henri asked.

  “Yes, Brynne,” Neora asked. “From who?”

  She lowered her eyes, willing her cheeks not to turn crimson. “From a boy.”

  “A boy!” Abigail squealed. “Was he cute?”

  “Who cares?” Henri grumbled.

  “It matters!” she yelped back.

  Her mother’s concern took a different edge from her siblings. “What boy?”

  Brynne’s father Tomas looked up from the table. “Not a human boy, I hope?”

  The blush grew a deeper red. “Dad, it’s not like that—”

  “It could be poisoned!” Tomas declared, shooting up from the table and running towards his eldest daughter. “These people. These boys! Human boys are the worst!”

  “No, Dad! He’s not bad! I swear and—”

  “And what?” Tomas shouted. “Was this the payment for the matchbook? Did you accept poisoned bread as payment, you silly girl?” He ripped the large croissant away from her, ignoring the pleas from the youngest children who had just managed to get a few handfuls.

  “No Dad! It looks good!” Henri bellowed.

  “I’m hungry!” Abigail quickly added.

  “Enough,” Tomas said. He silenced the small party at once, continuing to focus his glare on Brynne. “What is this?” he hissed. “What boy gave it to you and where is the money for the matchbook you apparently sold?”

  Brynne hastened to retrieve the two quarters from her pocket. It was a tight squeeze, seeing as the coins were bigger than most of their dinner plates. She handed them over to her father promptly while Henri and Abigail discreetly continued to stuff their faces with handfuls of the croissant.

  “He paid me half, and promised to pay the rest tomorrow. And he gave the croissant to make up for the inconvenience.” Brynne recalled the memory of him waiting for her to hand over the matchbook. He had been careful and gentle, surprisingly so. “He was actually quite kind,” she added, still lost in thought.

  “Half?” Tomas hissed. “What do you mean he only paid for half? Who is this boy?”

  “He works at the bakery,” Brynne said in a low voice. “I think he knows the owner. I don’t know.”

  “You know him well enough to give away one of our matchbooks in exchange for half the price and some bread?” Neora asked, shaking her head in disappointment. Her husband only continued to get more upset. It had been a long day and his breath already reeked of cheap whiskey. “Brynne, you should know better than that.”

  “He’s going to pay the rest tomorrow,” Brynne insisted. “And it wasn’t like he didn’t give us something else! That croissant is a banquet compared to the scraps we normally have!”

  “I said enough,” Tomas growled, silencing everyone. Brynne’s expression still looked dazed. “I don’t like what this boy has done, and you are not to fall for his tricks.”

  “I haven’t fallen for any tricks, Dad.”

  “Do you know what humans do? They lie. They cheat. They steal. They humiliate us.”

  “They call us witches,” Neora said. “Brynne, you can’t—”

  “I don’t need a sounding board!” Tomas roared over her. He raised his hand in the air and his wife cowered away, grabbing Henri and Abigail and scuttling towards the back room. “That’s right, hide away you little minx,” he called after them.

  “You’re drunk,” she shouted before shutting the door.

  “And I intend to get still drunker,” he called back.

  The door slammed and Tomas turned his attention towards Brynne. She looked distracted and without a pause he drew back his hand and sent it flying towards her pale face. The sound of skin hitting skin echoed throughout the entire shanty. Finally, he captured her ever wandering attention.

  “I don’t care if this boy was kind,” he said slowly. “The next time you give away one of my matchbooks without full payment, you’ll receive much worse than a bruise. Now go. Get out of my sight.”

  Brynne didn’t have to be told twice. She fled the space, down the narrow hallway leading to her room. The cramped room was hardly big enough for her ragged mattress, with moonlight filtering in through a crack in the upper wall. Brynne buried herself under the quilt, curling up into a miserable ball. The sting of the slap stirred up tears in her eyes and sobs wracked her frail body for a long while before calmed down, exhausted. Before she allowed sleep to come, she turned her eyes up towards the ceiling, a desperate prayer on her lips.

  Please, let something change. I can’t go on like this, she prayed. I want to live, to be loved. At least for a little while. That’s all I ask of you.

  Chapter Six

  The following afternoon Carter couldn’t leave school quickly enough. He was right about the weather. The night before had dropped almost six inches, and true to form for his school, they only had a two hour delay.

  It would have been nice to have a snow day and spend the whole day at Jeremy’s bakery and Carter couldn’t help but wonder what time Brynne had set up for the day.

  He was humming Frosty the Snowman on the way to Sweet Mix. Marvin was going to be late so he was going to work the front register. The smell of warm bread hit his nostrils as he rounded the final corner and he pat his pocket, warm from the five dollar bill he planned to give the elf for trusting his word. Not to mention he had to replace the fifty cents he took
from the tip jar.

  At first he couldn’t see her across from the bakery, but as he drew nearer he spotted her hat sticking up from behind a snowdrift. Despite his excitement, he was still a little surprised to see her out on the streets. The snow was half as high as she was tall in some places, and she certainly wasn’t dressed for warmth. At this rate he figured she’d have to come in at some point. Hardly anyone was out after the snow drop so it wasn’t as though she was going to sell anything. And the four dollars and fifty cents would be more than enough to cover any sales she might have had that day.

  Not that anyone would buy anything from an elf these days.

  She was ducked low and hunkered against the cart as he approached and he couldn’t help noticing that she was trembling even more than usual. It was cold, but he’d seen her out in colder temperatures. When he noticed Jeremy was in the back of the shop, he crossed the street to greet her.

  “Hey there again,” he said in what he hoped was a friendly tone. “I have your money,” he trailed off when the elf merely nodded and held out one of her bare hands. He immediately bent down into a crouch to try and find her face, pinching his eyebrows together. “I have to break the five first.” She pulled her hand away, nodding again.

  “Okay.”

  Carter frowned when she still hadn’t lifted her head. “Are you cold?”

  “It’s not s-so bad,” Brynne answered with a quavering voice. She pulled her collar higher, blocking the icy wind and concealing the reddish blue bruise on her left cheek. She stayed like this for a few seconds, then slowly raised her gray eyes up along his bent legs to his face. He was much closer than other faces she was used to.

  “Hey—” he started before she interrupted him.

  “Why are you doing that?” she blurted, unable to keep her curiosity bottled up.

  Carter faltered. “Doing what?”

  Brynne threw a hand out, motioning at his incredibly warm looking coat with matching gloves, scarf and hat. “You’re almost sitting down on the ground. Doesn’t make any sense.”

  His nose scrunched up, still not quite sure what she was getting at. “I thought it’d be easier to talk to you.”

  “Why would you want to talk to me in the first place? I thought you wanted to give me the money.”

  His eyes widened. “Why...” he trailed off, frowning as she went back to hiding her face. Her behavior was starting to get a bit ridiculous. He had hoped he had made some progress with her the day before, but he supposed that decades of his race being cruel to hers couldn’t be solved in an hour. “Why wouldn’t I want to talk to you?”

  “You don’t have to,” she said, pulling her cloth closer to her face. “You said you’d pay me back and I believe you—”

  “I didn’t just come over to pay you back!”

  The girl flinched further and he quickly composed himself, dropping his voice back down to a reasonable decibel and checking over his shoulder. Thank goodness the weather was bad, otherwise people would be in the shop. As it was, he still had a little bit of time.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to shout.”

  “You don’t have to apologize to me.”

  “Yes, I do. I don’t know what I’m doing. I wanted to talk to you.”

  “And all I’m saying is you don’t have to lower yourself to my level.”

  “If me sitting bothers you, why don’t you come inside the shop?” he offered. “It’s warm in there and I doubt you’re going to sell anything today.” He stood up and tried to smile down at the top of her head but her face was still hidden. He faltered slightly.

  She bit her chapped lip so hard that a spot of blood appeared. It didn’t take much in weather like this.

  “L-look,” he stammered, trying to be patient. “Come inside for five minutes. I swear that’s the last you’ll have to deal with me, okay? Let me at least pay you back for the matches I bought yesterday.”

  She wrung her hands together. “The money’s inside?”

  Carter shifted nervously. “Yeah. I need to get change from the cash register for my five.”

  Brynne hesitated a moment longer. Her fingers were so cold she could hardly feel them. “I should come inside to make sure you don’t try anything funny,” she said, taking a hesitant step forward.

  Carter sighed with relief. Shaking his head, he turned to lead the way towards the door.

  “Wait!” she called out, hustling to keep up. He stopped so fast she nearly collided into the back of his knees. “What about the owner? Your friend inside, I don’t think he wants me in his bakery,” Brynne said, craning her neck as far back as she could. The flap of her coat barely concealed her cheek.

  “I’ll make sure he doesn’t see you,” he promised, trying to sneak a look at her face. He couldn’t see much, but he could tell she was frightened of him. The thought bothered him, but he couldn’t blame her for feeling that way.

  “This better not be a trick,” Brynne blurted out in a piercing squeak that cut through the icy air and he froze to a stop in the middle of the street.

  “I can promise you it’s not,” he said as he walked up to the door and held it open for her. The bell rung and he waited for the elf to follow him inside. “Marvin isn’t coming until after five. And even if he wasn’t, that’s fine. You’re with me. You’re my guest in the shop,” he said, hoping this would settle her nerves. He noticed a strange sound coming from below his knee and noticed the girl was sniffing the air, inhaling the scent of the bakery as greedily as some would do when actually enjoying the goodies inside.

  “Smells good, huh?” he said, inhaling the fresh bread. He reached for a peppermint patty roll sample and handed her a piece. “It’s new,” he said. “Chocolate bread with a peppermint white frosting. Good, huh?” He tilted his head for a moment as he walked to the register.

  She didn’t answer, standing numbly by the door and looking with shock at the pastry in her hand.

  Carter didn’t push.

  “Lemme break this five,” he said, opening the register and breaking the five into four ones and four quarters. He dropped two into the tip jar and the other two into his pocket and when he turned back he saw her tearing into the roll sample.

  The chocolate minty bread melted in her mouth, tickling her taste buds in a way they’d never been touched before. She looked nervously around the shop. The warmth she had envied inside the bakery embraced her, relieving her of the stinging chill bit by bit. She rubbed her hands together, gazing in wonder at the towering racks full of loaves of bread bigger than she was, muffins which glistened with sugar crystals and bagels covered with cheese, chocolate chips and raisins.

  “And for you,” Carter said, walking out back around the register and crouching down. He held out the wad of four one dollar bills with what he hoped was a warm expression. Her face remained hidden and he tried not to take it personally. “For trusting my word.”

  “Oh!” She openly gawked at the wad of money, hardly noticing the dried bits of frosting around the corners of her mouth. “You don’t need to do that. Let me get you more matchbooks.” She turned to scurry back to her cart outside, flustered.

  “Wait, no! You don’t need to—” He reached out to grab her thin arm and she spun around, frightened and surprised. His face froze as his hazel eyes landed on her cheek. “... do... that,” he stammered. “What’s on your face?”

  “It’s nothing!” she yelped, quickly going to cover up her face again. “Just let me get you more matchbooks!” She pulled away from his grasp and muscled the door open a sliver, slipping back into the cold and hurrying back to her cart. He must have seen the bruise! If he thought she was strange looking before, she could only imagine what he thought of her face now! He probably thought it was a permanent.

  Her little hands trembled as she dug into the cart to find more matchbooks as Carter remained in the bakery, trying to make sense of what he saw.

  For a moment he could have sworn he had seen a large blue blemish on her pale skin, and that
wasn’t the only thing that surprised him. It was her reaction. Her horrible reaction to him grabbing her. He only wanted to tell her she didn’t need to run outside, but the terror on her face had caused him to let go.

  Still in shock, he edged over to the door and watched the girl digging around in her cart. His mind told him to be a man and get out there and ask what was wrong, but his body wouldn’t cooperate. The shock on her face. The mark. What was that? Did all elves have something like that? Something to remind them that they truly were Santa’s Rejects? He couldn’t remember. The girl across the way glanced back at the shop... thinking about what, he had no idea.

  He wanted to know.

  With her scarf set more securely to hide anything below her eyes, Brynne scurried back across the street to the bakery, pausing at the closed door with its handle a foot above her head. She was trapped outside. She lowered her head in shame when suddenly the door flew open and she stumbled backwards. Her matchbooks fell to the floor at Carter’s feet and she craned her neck back, noticing the boy had come to open the door for her. Blushing violently, she plucked up the big matchbooks, and Carter motioned her away from the door where she would easily be seen.

  “Five matchbooks,” she declared, holding her arms up high as they would reach to hand them off. His large fingers brushed across her much smaller ones as the handoff occurred. Brynne was curious if this boy had an oven on inside him as well – he was so warm. Did he also smell like fresh bread? The cold was messing with her mind.

  “Thanks.” Carter took the matchbooks without a fight. He figured so long as she was making sales, then that was a good thing. He shrugged and carefully tucked them under the register among a pile of unused pens and handwritten coupons. He looked down and realized that she had followed him behind the counter. He smiled. If she stayed here, customers wouldn’t be able to see her and Jeremy couldn’t spot her either from the backroom.

  It was the perfect place to hide her.