“She is Holly Claus, daughter to Nicholas, the king of Forever,” said a low voice. “Also known as Santa Claus.”
“Hush, Tundra,” said Holly.
“Your dog talked,” Jeremy stammered.
“He’s not supposed to,” said Holly with disapproval.
“Dogs don’t talk,” said Jeremy nervously.
“First of all, I’d like to make it clear that I’m not a dog. I’m a wolf. Secondly, permit me to say that your disbelief in my king is most unmannerly not to mention treasonous. Thirdly, perhaps your disbelief will be resolved by the simple realization that if I am not the average earthly wolf, then I must have come from somewhere else, namely Forever, the Land of the Immortals, as Princess Holly has been kind enough to inform you,” Tundra said with dignity. “I must insist that you keep all of this information to yourself,” he added.
“He talks,” said Jeremy
“He’s from the Land of the Immortals. All the animals talk there,” said Holly patiently.
“And you’re a princess. Santa Claus’s daughter,” Jeremy repeated.
“That’s right.”
Jeremy looked at Holly for a long time. It was a point of pride for Jeremy to never be surprised, but somehow this lady, or girl, or whatever she was, surprised him. She wasn’t like anyone he had ever met before, and he had gotten used to the idea that he had met pretty much every kind of person that the world held. But he could tell she was different. Maybe it was her smile, which was sincere. Maybe it was that she listened to him even though he was only a kid. Maybe she really was what she said. Maybe, this one time, he could accept something on faith. Maybe—He grinned. “I believe you! I don’t know why, but I do!”
“We’re honored,” said Tundra with a slight note of exasperation.
“Hush, Tundra,” said Holly. “I’m glad you believe us, Jeremy. Of course you understand the importance of not telling anyone about—about Tundra talking. That’s not what we’re here for.”
Jeremy nodded. “Won’t tell no one. You can trust me.” He looked wonderingly at the wolf. “Never thought I’d see anything like this. A talking dog.”
“I’m not a dog.” Tundra sighed.
A light was dawning over Jeremy’s face. “Oh boy!” he said, looking at Holly. “Do I have a job for you!”
They made an odd little troupe, walking briskly—nearly running—as they hurried from Central Park down Fifth Avenue. If a passerby had stopped to take a second look, he would have been quite confounded: what on Earth would a delicate young lady be doing in the company of a ragged street urchin and an enormous dog? Luckily no one took a second look. So Holly, Jeremy, and Tundra ran through the thronging streets. At first Holly was too easily distracted by the grand houses that lined Fifth Avenue; the sight of the Vanderbilt chateau at Fifty-second Street stopped her abruptly. Jeremy was forced to retrace his steps to pull her from her trance. “Come on,” he said impatiently. “We got to hurry.”
She stared at the massive brick and marble mansion. “I thought you didn’t have kings here.”
“Ain’t no king that lives there. Just a rich man. Come on, Holly. We can’t be stopping now.”
They turned left and then left again. Now the streets were smaller, narrower, dirtier. The houses here had no tracery, turrets, nor stained-glass windows. They were simple brownstones, old and a bit crumbly, with steep staircases. Then little shops began to replace the houses: a bakery with a tempting array of fragrant bread, a narrow shoemaker’s shop, a dry goods store colored with bolt after bolt of fabric, a tiny bookshop with a sleeping owner. Jeremy came to a halt before a small storefront. Holly, hurrying behind, nearly ran into him.
“This is it,” said Jeremy. The windows were curtained, and she looked up at the sign above the door. It was oval, and in fluid, graceful script were carved the words CARROLL’S CURIOSITIES AND WONDERS.
Holly closed her eyes tightly and opened them again. The shop was still there. She felt as though she had been traveling in an enormously long tunnel for days and days, and it had very suddenly ended, depositing her beneath this sign. Carroll’s Curiosities and Wonders. Curiosities and Wonders. The words were familiar. They were more than familiar.
“What’s the matter, Holly?” said Tundra in a low voice.
“I feel odd,” she confessed. “I feel like I just dropped into a familiar but strange world from someplace far away.”
“You have,” Tundra reminded her.
“Yes. Yes, I know. But I feel like I’ve seen this sign before. Somewhere …” Her voice trailed off. Tundra was looking dissatisfied. “I’m sure it’s nothing. Perhaps I saw it through the telescope. I’m sure that’s all,” she said quickly.
“Okay.” Jeremy lowered his voice. “It’ll be just like I said back there.” He jerked his head in the direction of the park. “You’re a young lady traveling to meet her granny in—in—well, it don’t matter—just traveling to meet her granny, and you’re stopped here for a few weeks”—Holly opened her mouth to protest, but Jeremy continued—“I know, I know, your pa is going to come for you on Christmas Day, but we don’t have to tell Mr. Kleiner that. And seeing as you’re short on money and how you’ve had a position”—Jeremy pronounced this word with great emphasis—“in a toy factory, and as how you run into me and I suggested it, we were thinking maybe you could find work here during the Christmas rush,” he said, running out of breath. “Got it?”
Holly nodded seriously. “I think so. Where am I from?”
“Maine,” said Jeremy.
“Main what?”
“Maine. It’s a state. It snows all the time, and there’s wild woods and lots of animals.” A brief wistfulness crossed the boy’s face.
“It sounds lovely,” Holly said, noting his expression.
“Yeah,” said Jeremy. “You ready?”
Holly nodded, and Jeremy pulled the door open. The familiar smell of wood, varnish, and paint wafted toward them, and Holly stepped into Carroll’s Curiosities and Wonders.
Chapter Seventeen
THEIR FOOTSTEPS SEEMED TO echo in the quiet shop. Holly, her eyes growing accustomed to the dimness, looked about and saw shelves stacked from floor to ceiling with toys of every imaginable description. There were painted blocks and stiff horses on wheels, spinning tops and elaborate castles well guarded by legions of tin soldiers. A gleaming metal carriage, child-sized, stood in a corner where it was overseen by a towering pair of stilts and a kite covered in silver stars. A splendid hot-air balloon embellished with scarlet swirls floated from the ceiling.
A row of nutcrackers, grinning diabolically, perched upon a glass case that contained a miniature country town. Holly drew in her breath with wonder and knelt to peer at the little stores and houses that lined the town’s main street. Each tiny house was perfect in every detail, from its glowing windows edged with crisp white curtains to the umbrella, no larger than Holly’s little finger, that waited conveniently on the front porch for its owner to take a bit of fresh air. A thick forest of trees—the largest no higher than a foot—sprouted behind the churchyard, and Holly could just see the flash of a silver stream running through the woods. A deer leaned down to drink from the cool water. Nearby in the snow-covered fields, two white rabbits paused to look over their shoulders. In the midst of the woods was a small clearing where a Christmas tree stood, garlanded in shimmering gold and silver, topped by an angel the size of a teardrop. Beneath its lowest branches was piled a stack of wee packages, wrapped in bright paper. Holly looked again at the splendid scene. She peeked into the tiny houses and squinted into the thick woods. All were empty. “Odd,” she whispered. The little country had no citizens. There was not a single doll inhabitant in the whole land.
Holly rose. Her green eyes, accustomed to toys of every variety, skimmed over bears, brown and black and polar, over exotic Chinese lanterns and great flowery paper garlands, over a monumental mechanical railway well stocked with shiny trains in various degrees of authenticity. She glanced from a daz
zling display of toy watches to the heavy cardboard pictures announcing that A was for Acrobat and B was for Balloon. Ships with masts at full sail. A piano complete with a secret mechanism that played lullabies. Puppets, both chilling and charming, and dozens of paper games, tricks, inventions, and diversions.
Where were the dolls? Holly looked again. And again. There was not a single doll in the whole store. Though it was bulging with toys—marvelous toys, Holly had to admit—in every possible cranny and corner, Carroll’s Curiosities and Wonders contained not one doll. Not a tiny dollhouse doll, nor a homely rag doll, nor a dimpled baby doll, nor even an elegant porcelain doll too fancy to be touched. Curious indeed, Holly thought to herself.
The toy shop also appeared to be empty of humans. She and Jeremy and Tundra seemed to be the only living creatures there. Even the sounds of the street seemed distant and muffled within the well-stocked walls or Carroll s Curiosities and Wonders. The somber ticktock of an unseen clock was the only sound.
“Are you sure that your friend needs extra hands here?” asked Holly. “It doesn’t seem very busy.”
Jeremy looked around as if noticing the lack of clientele for the first time. “Oh, sure. It ain’t so busy now, but you’ll see—it gets bustling sometimes. Not that Mr. Kleiner wouldn’t like more bustle. He’s always groaning about not enough customers.”
“Perhaps he would have more customers if he stocked dolls.”
“Dolls?”
“Haven’t you noticed? There are no dolls here,” said Holly, amused at the uncomprehending look on his face.
Jeremy glanced around at the shelves. “Huh. You’re right. Never saw it before.”
“Don’t you think it’s odd?”
“Yeah, I guess. Girls like ’em,” he said dismissively
“Don’t you?” asked Holly.
“Me?” he said with amazement. “ ’Course not. Dolls are for girls.”
“They’re not just for girls,” Holly said indignantly. “They’re for everybody. A doll is a soul friend.”
“Crikey!” Jeremy exclaimed. “Boys in your Forever place play with dolls?”
Holly was just opening her mouth to explain when their conversation was interrupted by the appearance of a small, thin man in a dark suit. Holly’s first impression was that he was composed entirely of lines: his face was deeply and symmetrically lined, beginning with two vertical lines of worry between his eyebrows and proceeding down his face to a series of parentheses marking either side of his mouth. Despite these signs of anxiousness, he looked very kind, especially now, as he greeted Jeremy with a smile. “Good afternoon, my boy. How do you do today, with the cold?” Holly noted that he asked this question not casually, but searchingly, as if he truly cared how Jeremy did on this day Her heart warmed to him at once.
“Aw, you know the cold doesn’t get to me, Mr. Kleiner. And how’re you coming along today? Don’t seem too busy.”
“Not at the moment,” said Mr. Kleiner, frowning. “I should be thankful for the break, I suppose. This morning we had plenty of customers, and I was hard-pressed to attend them.”
“Mrs. Bath still out, then?” asked Jeremy with what Holly recognized as completely false sympathy.
“Yes. I do feel for her, and her toe, of course.” Mr. Kleiner looked genuinely stricken by the thought of whatever ailed Mrs. Bath’s toe. “But it is most inconvenient that she should go lame right in the midst of the Christmas season, most inconvenient indeed.” He coughed guiltily.
“I don’t reckon Mr. Carroll will be coming downstairs to help out,” said Jeremy in a dry voice.
“I expect not,” said Mr. Kleiner with equal dryness. Holly observed that they both looked somewhat amused by this idea and wondered why. But now Jeremy was moving smoothly ahead—
“That being the case, Mr. Kleiner, you maybe find yourself somewhat shorthanded.”
“Yes, Jeremy, I rather think I am.”
“Then,” said Jeremy, grandly waving a hand toward Holly with the air of a magician, “I’d like to introduce you to my friend, Miss Holly Claus. She’s worked in a toy manufactory before, so she knows the business. But she don’t want to stay, sir,” he added hastily. “No, she’s just passing through on her way to meet up with her grandma, and finding herself a bit short on money, she’s seeking a temporary position. And when we was introduced by our mutual acquaintance, I thought of you, Mr. Kleiner, and how maybe you might be needing some help just now.” Jeremy concluded with a small bow and a hopeful smile.
Mr. Kleiner stretched out his hand to Holly and gave her an inquiring look. Those anxious eyes were wise, and she saw that though he did not entirely believe Jeremy’s story, he was willing to pretend that he did. She looked back at him as she took his hand and said, “I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Kleiner. Any friend of Jeremy’s is a friend to the world, I’m sure.”
Mr. Kleiner felt a slight stir of curiosity, though he tried to hide it decently This was not simply a remarkably pretty shopgirl, but rather a young lady of education and refinement. He wondered what circumstances could have led her to seek employment. “So,” he began, twitching his eyeglasses, “you’ve worked in a toy manufactory? Where was that?”
“In Maine,” said Jeremy at once.
“Oh yes?” said Mr. Kleiner politely. “I did not know that that state harbored a toy factory.”
“It was more like a workshop,” said Holly, with her lips twitching. “I made dolls.”
“Ah. Dolls,” said Mr. Kleiner, and Holly noted that the two vertical lines of worry upon his brow grew deeper. “Dolls,” he said sadly.
“I was just searching for dolls upon your shelves, when you came in,” Holly said. “Perhaps I missed them.”
“You did not miss them,” Mr. Kleiner said. “We do not stock dolls.”
“But why?” asked Holly in astonishment. “Surely they are very popular toys.”
“Very popular. Very popular indeed,” Mr. Kleiner added. “However, Mr. Carroll, the proprietor, does not care for dolls.”
“Does not care for dolls?” repeated Holly.
“Is not fond of dolls,” Mr. Kleiner said, as though that would clarify the matter.
“And so—” said Holly
“And so we do not carry dolls,” he said with ever-increasing gloom.
Holly could see that the failure to stock dolls was a painful point and sought to change the subject. “You have everything else a child could desire,” she said warmly. “And this little town inside the case is a marvel.”
“Mr. Carroll made it himself,” Mr. Kleiner said, cheering up. “In every particular.”
Holly looked at the scene, impressed. “He must be quite skilled, then,” she said. “Those Christmas tree ornaments require a steady hand. I guessed they were of German manufacture.”
Mr. Kleiner grinned. “You do know your toys, don’t you, Miss Claus? German carving is as fine, but Mr. Carroll is of the opinion that their colors are not as delicate as they should be.”
“I agree with his opinion. The Russians solve the problem nicely with their enameled ornaments, but I don’t believe that they work on so small a scale.”
“Quite so, quite so,” said Mr. Kleiner. Jeremy looked from one speaker to the other with a smile of satisfaction.
“I would venture to say, sir, that if you moved the nutcrackers to the side, like this”—Holly pushed the diabolical nutcrackers away from the glass case’s edge—“perhaps children would be more eager to visit your little town. Do you agree?”
Mr. Kleiner regarded the display and nodded. “Very true. Yes, I quite agree. Might I ask your opinion of this counter? Mr. Carroll believes that music boxes should be displayed together, but I believe that the children can scarcely see them here.”
Holly tilted her head to one side. “Why not make a kind of treasure chest of the most beautiful, and put it here? You might leave the rest inside the case. You see, just a few, like this.” Holly quickly moved the stiff row of boxes into an appealing array. “Tha
t way the children will be drawn to them.”
Mr. Kleiner looked positively elated. “Very good indeed, Miss Claus. Very good indeed. I think that you are precisely the individual we have been looking for. How long can you stay?”
“Er—” Holly began, but Jeremy broke in.
“Coupla weeks,” he said loudly.
“That will do,” said Mr. Kleiner. “These last three days before Christmas will be our busiest.” He looked around the empty store and sighed. “I hope. Well, Miss Claus, I consider you ideal for the position, but I must consult, of course, with Mr. Carroll.” He licked his lips nervously. “I’ll just run upstairs right now.” Absently, he picked up a toy bunny and gave its ears a gentle tug. “Yes, well. I’ll just run upstairs right now,” he repeated. Squaring his shoulders, he marched to a dark staircase that ascended from the back of the store to a wooden gallery above. This gallery, which provided a view of the whole store, apparently led to an upstairs apartment, but it was so dimly lit and thickly swathed in velvet curtains that Holly could not tell where in its shadows an apartment might be hidden. Mr. Kleiner’s soft footfalls soon stopped.
“I don’t like it,” said a low voice.
It was Tundra. “You don’t like the store?” she asked.
“The store’s all right, though it would benefit from a lamp. I don’t like that.” Tundra pointed his nose at the shadowy gallery. “What’s up there, and why is this Mr. Kleiner uneasy about it?”
Holly looked questioningly at Jeremy. “Well,” he began, “it s Mr. Carroll. He ain’t exactly a friendly sort of fellow. It’s funny. If I was the owner of a toy store, you could bet I’d be the happiest guy in the world, but not him. He never smiles, and he’ll give you the shivers when he looks at you. He don’t like anybody very much, but I guess he likes Mr. Kleiner better than anyone, ’cause he’ll talk to him and he don’t talk to no one else, hardly. Ain’t much of a favor, I don’t think, ’cause I’ve only ever heard him giving orders pretty sharp. Mr. Kleiner, please see to this; Mr. Kleiner this requires your immediate attendance, and such as that. Mr. Kleiner is the only one he lets upstairs, too, ’cept the maid, and he won’t let her come into some of the rooms, even. But I got to say, he never done me no harm. When Mr. Kleiner asks him if I can deliver packages to folks, trying to get me a little work, Mr. Carroll says okay and pays me fine. He just ain’t very friendly.”
The Legend of Holly Claus Page 17
