The Legend of Holly Claus

by Brittney Ryan

  “How much for this fine doll?” Mr. Sterling was saying.

  Holly opened her mouth, but Mr. Kleiner cut smoothly in. “Four dollars.”

  “Very well.” Mr. Sterling brought forth the notes. As he and Louise walked from the store, she turned back to say good-bye to Holly.

  “Thank you. This doll makes me not so scared to be a dancer,” she said.

  Now it was well and truly night. Mr. Kleiner closed the shop door, and they set about tidying the shop for the next day. As they worked, Holly sipped at her healthful carrot soup, and the lady cake was very nice. She and Jeremy shared it as they arranged a swarm of mechanical animals into a parade.

  Mr. Kleiner counted the money in the till. “Easily our most successful day ever!” he announced, putting his spectacles on his head and counting once more. “Miss Claus, you and your abilities are a mystery to me, but I thank you from the bottom of my heart! And I promise to ask you no questions. That should please you.”

  “Thank you for your good opinion, Mr. Kleiner,” said Holly demurely. She took a breath. “May I ask you a favor?”

  “Certainly, Miss Claus,” he said, adding again. The total hardly seemed possible.

  “May I sleep here? In the storeroom?” she asked hesitantly. “I’ve nowhere else to stay.”

  Mr. Kleiner looked up. “Oh, my dear child,” he said compassionately. “I would gladly give you shelter here, but Mr. Carroll would never allow such a thing. He’s—he’s an extremely private man, and he lives in the apartment above stairs. Oh, no, no, he would never permit it. We’d both get the sack.

  But,” he continued, brightening, “I believe that I have a room for you at my own place of residence. You see, my wife and I, we have a boarding house—a most respectable lodging—and there’s a vacant room at the moment. It’s quite convenient to the shop. Yes, indeed, just a few blocks away.”

  “Scratch,” said Jeremy loudly

  “Beg your pardon?” said Mr. Kleiner.

  “Scratch. She ain’t got any. Money,” he explained.

  “Oh! That’s easily remedied,” said Mr. Kleiner. He pulled four dollars out of his pocket. “This is entirely yours, Miss Claus, since you somehow produced the doll that yielded it. This is more than enough for a week’s room and board. I don’t say it’s anything fancy, but it should satisfy. Oh, and should you further require an advance upon wages earned, I would be happy to comply.”

  “This should be plenty,” said Holly delightedly. She was a wage earner—just like a mortal!

  “Now, you’ll need to see Mrs. Kleiner at once,” Mr. Kleiner continued. “I would, under most circumstances, be delighted to guide you, but—ah—unfortunately, I am prevented from doing so this evening due to”—Mr. Kleiner smiled secretively—“a certain pressing errand. But Jeremy can take you, can’t you, my boy? You know where it is, don’t you?”

  Jeremy did and, as he collected his own afternoon’s wages, Holly disappeared into the storeroom and returned with her green hat firmly fixed to her coppery curls, and her bulging satchel over her arm. As they prepared to leave, a soft knock sounded at the door. Behind the counter, Mr. Kleiner started and looked nervously at the black shadow that loomed against the glass. “Mr. Carroll?” he called.

  Silence. Then a knock once more.

  Mr. Kleiner slipped off his stool and approached the door. “Is that you, Mr. Carroll?” he said warily, turning the key in the lock.

  A smooth voice replied, “Hunter Hartman is the name. And you must be Mr. Kleiner. Very pleased to make your acquaintance. Your shop was recommended to me by Mr. Burns, Lucius Burns, of Pittsburgh.” Mr. Hartman edged inside the door, his eyes fixed upon Mr. Kleiner with intense friendliness.

  “Ah,” said Mr. Kleiner uncomfortably. “And how is Mr. Burns?”

  “Somewhat troubled by lumbago,” said Hunter Hartman unconcernedly, glancing around the shop. “I see that he was correct in his description. This shop is indeed a wonderland.” He smiled warmly, his soft eyes slipping around the little circle of observers, pausing ever so briefly on Tundra before moving on. “And precisely what I have been seeking. I am in need of a great number of toys for a certain project of my own.” Again his glance seemed to include them all, and his smile grew warmer still. “I was told by Mr. Burns that Carroll’s shop would see me through the task. And”—he opened his arms wide—“it is so!”

  From the dark street outside, a sharp rhythm of footsteps could be heard. There was a pause, and Mr. Carroll stepped into the store. He too glanced around the little circle, but there was no warmth in his look. Unconsciously Holly stepped back, until her back met the cool glass case behind her. She watched, hypnotized, as his eyes raked across Hartman’s friendly face. “What have we here?” he asked, his voice low and steady.

  “This is Mr. Hart—Hartman,” began Mr. Kleiner, but he was interrupted by Hartman himself.

  “Mr. Hunter Hartman, at your service,” said the visitor, extending his hand. After a slight hesitation, Mr. Carroll responded with his own. “I’m in need of toys, sir. A mutual acquaintance of mine and Mr. Kleiner’s, knowing of a certain project I have undertaken, suggested that I make my purchases here, at your shop.”

  “What leads you to believe that this shop is mine?” responded Mr. Carroll coolly.

  Hartman s gray eyes flashed with anger, but it was soon subsumed in a jovial smile. “You are Mr. Carroll, are you not?”

  Mr. Carroll nodded briefly.

  “Aha! You see? I guessed correctly! And now, perhaps, might I embark upon my shopping? Time is of the essence. Perhaps this young lady”—the friendly eyes lingered on Holly, slipping from her wide green eyes down to her lips—“would be so kind as to assist me.”

  Tundra pressed himself hard against Holly’s knees, and she heard a distant rumble in his throat. “I’d be glad—” she began slowly.

  “My store is closed for the evening,” Mr. Carroll said curdy, not looking in her direction.

  “My dear sir!” said Mr. Hartman. “I assure you that you will be amply recompensed for your time!”

  “My store is closed,” Carroll repeated. “We open tomorrow at nine o’clock. I really must insist that you take your leave. Good night.” He stood, arrow straight, blocking the way into the shop.

  There was a short silence. Mr. Hartman nodded stiffly and left.

  “G’night, Mr. Carroll,” said Jeremy, oblivious to the tension.

  Caught between regret for lost business and relief at his release from Mr. Hartman, Mr. Kleiner wished his employer a good evening and headed with a sigh into the frosty air.

  Holly could not help stealing a final look at Mr. Carroll. He was staring fixedly at Tundra, who was gazing back at him. “That’s my dog, Tundra,” she blurted, for want of something to say.

  Mr. Carroll looked up, and she saw that his eyes, empty now of anger, were tired. But her words brought a flash of amusement to his face. “Do you take me for a fool, Miss Claus?”

  “Excuse me, sir?” she stammered.

  “That’s a wolf. Good night, Miss Claus.” With a slight bow, he turned on his heel and walked toward the shadowy staircase.

  Outside, Mr. Hartman waited. When Holly stepped out the door, she found him deep in conversation with Mr. Kleiner. He turned at her approach and smiled broadly. “And will you introduce me to your lovely assistant?” he said.

  Mr. Kleiner nodded. “Miss Claus, Mr. Hartman. Mr. Hartman will return tomorrow to complete his purchases.”

  Taking Holly’s hand, Mr. Hartman bowed deeply. “I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Miss Claus. Mr. Kleiner tells me that you have an intimate knowledge of the world of toys. I will place myself entirely in your hands. Though they are,” he said, gazing down at her hand, which he still held in his gloved hand, “rather too lovely for such a burden.”

  His words hung in the air, and he smiled charmingly around the circle. Mr. Kleiner cleared his throat. “Do excuse me. I really must take my leave. Pressing engagement.” He scurried aw
ay down the dark street.

  “Perhaps you will let me see you home?” said Mr. Hartman. “It is dark for a young lady to travel alone.”

  Tundra sat down firmly on her feet, but Holly had already begun to refuse: “Oh, no thank you, Mr. Hartman. Jeremy will be seeing me home tonight.” She grinned at the boy “Because without him, I don’t know where home is.”

  “Yeah, come on, Holly,” said Jeremy suddenly. “We better get along. I bet it’s after seven already.”

  Mr. Hartman pulled a glistening pocket watch from his waistcoat. “Quarter past, young man.”

  “All right, Jeremy. Good night, Mr. Hartman,” said Holly.

  “Miss Claus?” Hartman reached out a hand to detain her. She waited. “Miss Claus, may I be so bold as to say that finding you here is like stumbling upon a delicate flower in the midst of a parched desert? Royal courts, balls, society parties, and receptions I have been to, but never have I seen a lady who exceeds you in beauty. Forgive me for my audacity.” He bowed his head humbly.

  Holly smiled. “You are forgiven. And now, good night.” She, Tundra, and Jeremy stepped away and were soon lost in the darkness.

  Hartman watched them go. “Till tomorrow.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  THE CARRIAGE WAS OLD and rickety, and it swayed sideways upon the granite street, but the passengers paid no heed to this. A little door at the top of the cab snapped open, and a large blue eye appeared. “Snow ahead, miss. Pardoning the inconvenience.”

  “That’s quite all right,” said Holly graciously. The eye blinked, the little door clapped shut, and the driver heaved himself down from the seat with his shovel in hand. The horse stamped twice and was still. She turned to her friend. “Are you getting too cold, Jeremy?” “Not me. I feel swell. I never rode in a cab before.” Jeremy yawned happily and wiggled into the worn leather padding that lined the carriage.

  Holly turned back to Tundra and continued their conversation where it had been interrupted. “You never saw him before in your life. How can you be so certain that you dislike him?”

  “I don’t know how,” conceded Tundra. “There’s something about him—something that’s not right.”

  “Maybe you just don’t like mortals,” suggested Holly.

  “I like Mr. Kleiner,” Tundra protested. “I even like Jeremy here, despite his disbelief in my existence.”

  “I believe in you now,” objected Jeremy.

  “But to get back to the point,” Holly said. “You don’t like Mr. Hartman or Mr. Carroll.”

  “Do you?”

  “Well.” Holly smiled in the darkness. “As for Mr. Hartman, it’s nice to be treated like a young lady.”

  “What?” said Tundra incredulously. “You thought it was nice to be called a flower in the desert?”

  “No one’s ever called me a flower in the desert before,” Holly said.

  “He held your hand too long,” said Tundra stubbornly. “It was indelicate.”

  “You ought to hear yourself. You sound like an old hen. What do you think of Mr. Hartman, Jeremy?”

  “Huh? Oh. I think he’s a fellow with plenty of money, and he’s going to spend it in Carroll’s store. Don’t see what else there is to think about him. He’s friendlier than old Carroll, that’s for sure.”

  “Ah, yes, Mr. Carroll,” said Tundra. Holly was silent. “Well, Holly? Does he make you feel like a young lady too?”

  “No,” Holly replied hesitantly. “He makes me feel like something has happened, or is about to happen. And I want to get away, but I can’t. As though my foot has fallen through the floor. I can’t stop watching him. And I can’t stop thinking that I know him. I know him.” Her voice faded.

  Tundra felt a sizzle of fear. It’s him, he thought, his fur bristling along his back. It’s Herrikhan, and I must stop him. Again, he pictured the glove gripping the banister as Carroll’s eyes roved over the shop until they fell upon Holly’s face. Then another glove gripped Holly’s hand. It could be either of them, he thought despairingly. It could be anyone. His eyes fell on a short man who was thundering along the sidewalk with a tremendous scowl on his face. Perhaps that’s Herrikhan. Or Jeremy—that would be clever, wouldn’t it? The boy looked childish and innocent. But still, thought Tundra. And then there was Mr. Kleiner. Hadn’t he suggested that Holly board under the same roof as he? Wasn’t that suspicious? Tundra’s muscles ached with the desire to lunge, to bring something down, to seize and shake it until its head flopped brokenly from side to side. No. He took a breath. It could be anyone, but I mustn’t frighten her, he cautioned himself. Keep watch. Be ready. But be certain first.

  He shook his head to dispel his dark thoughts and heard Holly asking, “Are you so tired, Jeremy? Would you like my cloak for a pillow? I really don’t need it.”

  Jeremy stretched. “Naw. I’m not so tired. When you live like me, out and about, you catch yourself some shut-eye whenever you can. This is nice and cozy in here.”

  Holly glanced around the cab’s tired interior. It was neither nice nor cozy. “I have a present for you, Jeremy,” she said, reaching into her satchel.

  Jeremy straightened. “For me?” he croaked as she put a small figure into his hands. In the watery light of the street lamps, he looked down. “Hey! It’s one of them dolls. Hey! Look at that! It’s me!” With a rough finger, he brushed the little face that bore his own broad cheekbones and wide smile. “It’s me,” he repeated. “But I have a nice suit on.” The carriage rocked as the driver, having cleared the way, climbed back aboard. The horse resumed his tired tread.

  “I know that boys on Earth don’t play with dolls,” began Holly anxiously. “But I thought maybe this could be a sort of memento.” She looked at Jeremy, but his face was hidden in the shadows.

  “What’s a memento?” he asked after a moment.

  “A—a thing that reminds you of someone or something that happened—” she began.

  “I don’t need no memento,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I won’t never forget you. I never got a present before, ’cept some food, and that’s not the same. You give me this and I’ll keep it forever.”

  “Don’t you see?” Holly brought the figure up into the light. “It is you, all grown up into a doctor. It’s you just exactly as wonderful and special as you are right now, but grown into the person you will be.”

  “A doctor?” A cautious smile lit Jeremy’s face. “Yeah? Think I’ll look like that? In my mind a doctor don’t look like me.”

  “That’s why I made this for you,” Holly said, looking into his eyes. “A doctor can look just like you. Just precisely like you.”

  There was another silence inside the carriage. Holly saw Jeremy rub his cheeks furtively. “Jeremy?”

  “What you want to do that for?” he said. “I never did nothing to you!”

  “Jeremy, dear, tell me, what have I done?” cried Holly.

  “You go and make me want something I can’t have! You give me this little doll thing, and I look at it, and it’s like it’s saying ‘You can do it. You can become something good,’ and you know I can’t!”

  “Jeremy,” Holly said, and her voice was certain. “You already are something good. You’re better than good. You’ve made a home for all those children, a real home. You’ve taken care of them and taught them that there’s love in this world. You’ve done everything I ever wanted to do myself, and I admire you more than I can say. You have proven that you can change the world. You have to believe that you can make yourself what you want to be—I believe it already. And so does Mr. McElhenny. And Mr. Kleiner. And all the children in the park believe in you. You’re the only one who doubts. Believe in yourself. Look! Look at what you can be!” She pulled the dream doll up before him, and his eyes rested on it thoughtfully.

  “You think I changed the world?” he asked.

  “Yes,” said Holly definitely.

  “You think I really could do it? Get some schooling? Get to be a doctor someday?”

  “Yes.”


  “I can’t read nor write.”

  “You can learn,” said Holly promptly. “What you need to know, you can learn. What you already know can’t be taught.”

  There was another silence. “I heard of schools you don’t have to pay nothing for. Mr. Kleiner told me.”

  “But Jeremy! That’s wonderful! Are they nearby?”

  “Dunno. Never asked no more about it.”

  “Why?”

  “I got to thinking it’d be all little kids—babies—and me. Guess I felt stupid.”

  Now it was Holly’s turn to be quiet. “I know what you mean,” she said slowly. “I’ve felt sometimes like I’d be less trouble if I’d just sit back and be quiet. But dreams are too important. We can’t just let our dreams dry up and die, because then our hearts would break.”

  Tundra, hidden in the dim corner of the carriage, bowed his head. Take her away now, and she will never smile again, he thought. He looked out the greasy window at the few passersby, bundled up against the fearsome cold, and wished hopelessly that Holly was safe at home.

  The door opened and before them stood a small, round lady. Her dark brown hair was brushed over her ears in an unfashionable bun. Her eyes were kind as she peered nearsightedly at the three faces before her.

  “Yes?”

  “Good evening, Mrs. Kleiner, ma’am,” Jeremy began. “This here is Miss Holly Claus, who is needing …” In a matter of moments, the arrangements were concluded to Jeremy and Mrs. Kleiner’s satisfaction. As for Holly and Tundra, they were struck dumb by the mouthwatering aromas that were wafting into the front hall where they stood.

  “Do come into the parlor, Miss Claus. Your dog is welcome too, of course. Come along, Jeremy. I am fond of animals, though I keep none myself. You see, we’ve scarcely enough room for humankind, let alone a pet.” It was true. The parlor was stuffed with potted trees and flowers. There was even a vine growing from a brass bowl set near the door, and dangling flowers brushed Holly’s face as she entered. The piano was lost in a jungle of orchids, and the dark horsehair sofa was embellished with the drooping fruit of a pomegranate tree that hung over its back. Making himself small, Tundra squeezed into a space between a curio cabinet and an aspidistra and waited for the source of the delicious smells to appear. “We’re just waiting for Mr. Kleiner, for he will bring the candles,” Mrs. Kleiner was saying. The front door shut with a muffled thud. “Yes, here he is now.”