“I am the cook for the lumber company,” answered a man with a strange looking metal pot on his head where a cap would normally be. He held several spoons in one huge hand, and a mixing bowl in the other that was gigantic enough for Santa to use as a bathtub. Before Santa could say a word, yet another piped up.
“And I am Patch, for I mend the clothes and tend the cuts for all the men who fell the trees.” Santa could certainly see how the man got his name, for his clothes were a patchwork of colors and patterns, and scraps of material stuck out of each and every pocket.
“Well, come along with me, and I will take you home, where Mrs. Claus will feed you some supper.” Santa had a generous heart, and though he didn’t know how to find oranges for the children’s Christmas this year, he did know Mrs. Claus would welcome these men into their home.
Mrs. Claus had just baked bread and when she offered some to the hungry men, one lumberjack popped a whole loaf into his mouth as though it were a gumdrop. Her eyes widened and she hurriedly chopped another bushel of vegetables into the stew she was making. When it was ready, she scooped hearty portions into her biggest pots for the hungry lumberjacks, happy she had enough to feed them. But then they sat down on her chairs and the legs broke under each and every one of the huge men.
Not wanting to be impolite, Mrs. Claus smiled and asked them very nicely, “Would you mind standing up to eat?”
She then turned to Santa and whispered, “They cannot stay here, for the beds are too small and by morning, we will not have a lick of furniture left.”
Santa said the lumberjacks could stay in the barn, but when they tried to go inside, only two of them would fit, and only after they had knocked out the stalls for the mules.
“I will stay in the milk house,” Patch said, laying large boards on top of the milk cans to make a bed.
“I will sleep in the tool shed,” said Cook, opening the door. Before Santa could say a word, he began throwing hoes and shovels, trowels and rakes out into the snow. Even empty, the shed was not large, and as Santa walked back to the house, he saw that Cook’s feet stuck out of the doorway. He would have to ask Mrs. Claus for an extra blanket.
* * * *
Santa woke up in the morning to an incredible amount of racket. It was usually very quiet in the woods where he and Mrs. Claus lived, and he couldn’t figure out what would make so much pounding, sawing, hammering and whirring noises.
When he went outside to see, he found the lumberjacks all at work. They had cut down trees (only the dead ones as they were environmentally friendly), shaved off the bark and were whittling dolls and hobbyhorses, toy trains and soldiers. Patch was sewing little clothes for the dolls, and Cook had taken apart a mop and was using the string to make manes for the hobbyhorses.
One of the lumberjacks, the tallest and widest of them all, blushed as he explained the noise to Santa. “You were so kind to give us food and a place to sleep. We heard you tell Mrs. Claus there would be no oranges for the children this year, so we decided to make them toys instead.”
“Why, that is very nice of you,” Santa replied, “but you have made so many.” He looked around the barn, where dolls and toy soldiers sat in neat rows all along the hayloft. The hobbyhorses were lined up along one wall, their faces comical as one lumberjack painted on eyes and smiles. Though the lumberjacks were very large and two of them barely fit in the barn, they had made all the toys just the right size for children.
“Ouch,” Patch cried when he forgot and stood up straight, his head poking a hole right through the roof.
“I think we are going to have to build a bigger workshop,” Santa stated. “One where you will not have to walk on your knees or sleep with your feet sticking out the door.”
Not only did the lumberjacks make toys and trains and hobby horses, they quickly built Santa a huge building tall enough so all four could work inside and no one banged their head on the roof. And thus began Santa’s Workshop.
* * * *
Christmas Eve came with a new layer of snow all over everything to make the landscape white and glittering.
“I’ve made you a new coat to keep you warm,” Mrs. Claus said, holding it up for Santa. “But Patch used all my material, and even cut up the blanket for the toy soldiers’ coats, and so I had only this red fur to use.”
Of course, Santa wasn’t about to tell his sweet wife that he didn’t look good in red, so he allowed her to help him into the coat, buckling a wide black belt around his middle to keep it closed.
The lumberjacks put all the toys into gigantic bags and loaded them onto Santa’s wagon. Then they hitched the mules to the harness. They stood beside Mrs. Claus and waved, their huge hands causing the new snow to flurry about so much, they couldn’t see Santa as he drove out of sight.
Mrs. Claus only hoped he would not drive the mules right off the road, for not only was there no light to brighten the way, but Bessie, one of the mules, was blind in one eye and really shouldn’t be out late at night. Thankfully, Santa only went to the neighboring villages and farms, always getting home before dawn.
* * * *
Sleepy and tired from his night on the road, Santa unhitched the mules and put them to bed in the barn. He dragged his bag of leftover toys behind him as he walked to the house, hoping Mrs. Claus would have a hot breakfast waiting for him.
When he opened the door, it was to find Mrs. Claus crying, her apron full of tears and the floor awash with puddles.
“What has happened?” he asked, dropping his bag into the corner.
“They reopened the mill so the lumberjacks have left!” she wailed.
“But you didn’t care for the fact they broke your chairs and cut up your blankets and that Patch put a hole in the roof of the barn with his head.”
“I know, and they ruined the tools when they tossed them out into the snow,” she added to the list of grievances against the lumberjacks.
“Then why are you crying now that they have gone?” Santa shook his head.
“How will we make toys for the children next year?”
“Well, perhaps I will have to get apples if the orange trees fail again,” Santa said with a sigh.
“We can help.”
Santa thought Mrs. Claus had spoken, though the words were much higher than her sweet voice. “I know you will, dear,” he replied, patting her on the shoulder.
“I didn’t say anything. I thought you had spoken,” she told him.
“Let us out. We want to help.” A thumping sound came from the corner, and when Santa turned, he saw his bag wiggling and bumping all over the floor.
“What on earth?” Mrs. Claus asked.
“The lumberjacks made so many dolls and soldiers, I had some left over,” Santa replied as he carefully approached the squirming, jumping bag. He pulled the tie that kept it closed. Out tumbled the dolls in their patchwork dresses and the soldiers in their blanket uniforms, all talking at once.
“We should make more trains and bicycles to ride on.”
“And dollhouses to live in.”
“And games to play, like checkers and dominoes.”
Santa and Mrs. Claus were so surprised, they fell into the only two chairs not broken by the lumberjacks. The small dolls and soldiers, so very different from the huge lumbering men who had been there just the night before, laughed and chattered happily.
“Well, we won’t have to worry about anyone putting a hole in the roof with their head now, will we?” Mrs. Claus asked.
“And even though there are many more of them, I don’t suppose they will eat as much as the lumberjacks, will they?” Santa said as he watched the dolls and soldiers merrily dance around the room, still talking excitedly about all the toys they wanted to make.
“If you make so many trains and bikes and games and dollhouses, how will I ever get them all delivered?” Santa asked. “I went as far and wide as I could with my wagon and mules, and still, I had all of you left over.”
The dolls looked at the soldiers, and th
ey all giggled.
“I think we had better go outside for this,” said one soldier with red-painted cheeks and a button nose.
The soldiers dragged Santa’s bag out into the yard. The dolls grabbed Santa and Mrs. Claus by the hands and pulled and pushed them out onto the porch. It was just before dawn and the glint of new fallen snow made everything glitter and twinkle like a fairyland.
“Hurry, before it’s too late,” one of the dolls said. “The magic is almost over.”
As Santa watched, two soldiers held the bag open and another went inside. He could hear whispers and neighs and all kinds of noise as the bag jumped around and looked like it was alive.
“Here they come!” a muffled voice hollered from deep inside the bag.
The head of one hobbyhorse poked out of the bag, followed by another and another. Where once they had only a stick for a body, now they had four legs. As they emerged and stood wobbling in the snow, they grew and grew and sprouted beautiful antlers on their heads.
“Why, you’re reindeer!” Santa exclaimed.
One of the reindeer, whose nose was painted bright red, nodded, the bells on his antlers jingling merrily.
“We can fly, too,” said one. “We’ll make sure you’re on time to each and every child’s house on Christmas Eve, delivering all the toys made by your...” The reindeer looked curiously at the toys.
“We’re dolls.”
“We’re soldiers.”
“Hmm, we can’t keep calling you that,” Santa said. “Let’s see. There are eleven of you.”
“Elvens,” repeated one of the baby dolls who was just learning to talk.
“That’s it!” Santa exclaimed, his belly shaking with his laughter. “We’ll call you elves!”
So the story is told that thanks to the huge and hearty lumberjacks, Santa now has a merry group of elves to help him make toys every year. And with the speed of the magical reindeer, Santa has time to deliver all those toys to good girls and boys all over the world.
About the Author
Barb comes from a family with three sisters and a brother, which made the Christmas holidays fun because there were a lot of presents under the tree! For the first seventeen years of her life, her dad was in the Air Force and that meant moving every few years, but regardless of whether they lived in South Carolina, Florida or Texas; Japan or Kwajalein, their Christmas traditions arrived right along with the Mayflower Moving Van.
Christmas was Life Saver® story books, hanging stockings on a pretend fireplace, dressing alike in outfits Mom had made us for midnight church service on Christmas Eve, even peeking under Mom’s bed because that’s where she always hid the Christmas presents.
Barb likes to think she has preserved the best of the holiday traditions because now Christmas means having her family close at hand – Dave, her husband of thirty-seven years; her son, Tom and his delightful wife Stephanie; and her daughter, Cassie, who married John, a wonderful son-in-law, just this past May on Mother’s Day.
Barb can be reached at: [email protected] or through her website at:
www.authorsden.com/barbarajbaldwin.
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Christmas Quilt Anthology Page 7