Ginger (Marrying Miss Kringle)

by Lucy McConnell

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Ginger rubbed her eyes. She didn’t need sleep, but if she wanted to look under the age of sixty she would eventually have to nap. After checking the C’s, she could rest. Flipping the page, she tuned in to her naughty and nice radar and checked several names into the nice column.

  Propped in the velvet-covered chair next to her, Frost shuffled papers of all colors and sizes, working to match names on The List to requests. Her white hair hung in a curtain over her face, and her multicolored pens flew. Ginger smiled, thinking of the forty-color highlighter set she’d ordered for Frost’s Christmas gift.

  Robbie, the head elf, set a cup of cinnamon cocoa near her elbow. “Drink up, Miss Kringle.”

  Ginger’s smile wilted like snow in the spring. Lux predicted there would be enough power to get them through the next couple of days, but gift delivery was still in question. The power surge had toasted the digital list and taken them back to the eighties as far as verification and production was concerned.

  As Robbie left, Dad came in with a tray of cookies in one hand and his pen set in the other. “This takes me back.”

  “You seem to enjoy our predicament.” Ginger took a gingersnap from the tray and dipped it into her hot chocolate.

  Dad groaned as he took the seat to her right. “I am.”

  “Dad.” Ginger shook her head. “Christmas is a mess.” As they did so often lately, tears stung her eyes. “I’m a mess.” Her cookie broke off into the liquid with a plop. “Ugh! I can’t even hold a cookie together.”

  Dad chuckled. “You could look at it that way. But I see a chance to spend time with my daughter doing something I love.”

  “You enjoy combing through the list?” Ginger rubbed her eyes.

  “All you see is what needs to be done.” Dad rested his forearms on the table. “See the children, Ginger.”

  Ginger focused on the name before her: Gracie Christensen. She listened to that inside voice that told her which box to check. Gracie was a clear nice list, but as Ginger hesitated, more came to mind. Gracie’s love for books, her skill on the volleyball court, and her infatuation with horses shone. Ginger could also sense Gracie’s deep love for her family, the way her younger brother sometimes annoyed her, and how she’d worked to befriend a new girl at her church. Energized by Gracie’s goodness, Ginger checked nice and drew a smiley face before moving on to Gracie’s sister, Maggie. Maggie, who played the flute and tended the family’s almost one hundred chickens.

  “I didn’t realize …” Ginger brushed the tear off her cheek before it could land on the page.

  Dad patted her knee. “It’s all about the children.”

  Ginger nodded. She’d been so caught up in herself, in finding love and getting married, that she’d forgotten the purpose of it all.

  In a way, Joseph was right—wouldn’t he love to hear her say that!—nothing happens without work. But the work should be a labor of love. If only she had had the chance to show him.

  “Thanks, Dad.” Ginger leaned her head on his shoulder.

  Smiling, he said, “Pass me the D’s and let’s do this together.”

  Ginger handed over the leather-bound book.

  Dad lifted the cookies. “Have another.”

  “Why not? It’s not like I have to fit into a wedding dress.”

  “A shame,” Frost sighed. “Your dress is beautiful.”

  Santa winked. “Christmas is about hope—don’t give up on your fella just yet.”

  Ginger snapped the cookie in half. “Sorry, Dad. Some hearts are too broken.”

  “I don’t believe it.” He pulled his gold-rimmed spectacles from his front pocket and placed them on his nose. “Christmas Magic has its limits, that’s true—but nothing is impossible at Christmastime.”

  Ginger nodded. Maybe Joseph wasn’t the only one who needed a shot of Christmas spirit.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “Stupid arm.” Joseph dropped his chisel on the bench seat. He’d done a pretty good mockup of the holly on paper, but transferring that design to the wood was proving to be more difficult than he would have believed. Holding the tools was awkward at best, and he’d hit his cast with the hammer more than once.

  Layla was back to coloring in the corner. She’d been quiet since Ginger tore out of their lives. He couldn’t get the image of her speeding away in the sleigh, like a bright red bullet, the reindeer gaining speed with every step away from him. He’d hurt Ginger, and he didn’t like that, but he couldn’t undo a lifetime of unmet expectations, and he couldn’t lay those same problems on Layla’s shoulders.

  A loud knock came at the door before a man with a long white beard poked his head in. “Hello?” he called.

  “Come in,” Joseph called back.

  “Hi. You must be Joseph Bear.”

  “I am.” Joseph extended his hand, taking in the stranger. He wore a Hawaiian shirt, a pair of shorts, and socks with sandals. Perfect clothes for combing a Florida beach but not so smart for Alaska. “And you are?”

  “Clarence. I placed an order for a—” He stopped as he caught sight of the bench Joseph had just vacated. “This is wonderful.” He ran his wrinkled hand across the bear on the right. “She’s stunning.”

  Joseph nodded. He’d always thought of that bear as a female as well and was glad that the likeness came through.

  “And this is where the holly will go?” Clarence pulled out a set of black bifocals. He leaned close to the rocker to decipher the pencil markings.

  “Yes. I’ve started on the outer leaves, but I’m sorry to say I’m working slower.” He held up his cast. “I should have it done by the pickup date, though, don’t worry.”

  Clarence picked up the chisel. “This is a good tool, but I wonder if it’s the right one.”

  Joseph bristled. “And what other tool should I use?”

  Smiling, Clarence pulled a pocketknife out of his back pocket.

  Joseph stared at the handle. “Did you bring that, or is that mine?” He patted his pocket and felt the outline of his knife. The two were identical. “Never mind.”

  Layla chose that moment to approach. “Hi,” she said, and then ducked her head.

  “Hello, darling. Are you ready for Christmas?” Clarence contemplated Layla even while his hands worked the knife into the wood.

  “I guess.”

  “You guess? Have you written your letter to Santa?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you decorated your tree?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you been a good girl this year?”

  She nodded, causing a tear to fall to her shirt.

  Clarence stopped his work and gathered Layla close. “What is it, sugar?”

  Sniffing, Layla worked to compose herself. “I asked Santa for something, and I don’t think … it wasn’t something you can buy.”

  Stroking his beard, Clarence leaned back. “Well now, let’s think about this. Santa doesn’t buy presents; the elves make them. And elves are adept at making special orders.”

  Joseph sucked in a breath. Layla’s tears had affected him more than breaking his arm had. They were the kind of tears that a child cries when they’re alone in bed—silent and hot and fast. How had he messed things up for her in such a short time? Everything he’d done, he’d done to protect her from the heartache he’d known as a kid. Yet here she was, suffering, and he had no idea how to fix it.

  “It’s not a toy,” Layla whispered.

  “Oooooh. Hmmm.” Clarence patted his chest pocket making a crinkling sound. He smiled. “Let’s see now.” He withdrew a cream-colored envelope and unfolded the enclosed letter. Layla’s eyes widened as she stared at the handwriting on the sheet. Joseph couldn’t see what was there from where he stood.

  “Well now, that is a big order.” Clarence folded the letter and put it back in the envelope. “I’m sure Santa is working hard to make your wish come true. In fact, I think he’s giving this wish his personal attention.” He winked, causin
g Layla to giggle.

  As he tucked it away again, Joseph thought he saw a kiss in pale pink on the envelope. He’d know those rose lips anywhere. “Where did you get that?” he asked.

  “From the letter carrier,” replied Clarence.

  “But—” Joseph tucked his good hand into his pocket. “Do you have any daughters, sir?” Like maybe one that smells like cookies?

  “Nope—just a boy, Harvey.”

  “Granddaughters?” Joseph pressed.

  “Now those I have in droves.”

  “How many?” Please don’t say five. Please don’t say five.

  Clarence sat up taller. “Five. And they’re pretty amazing, if I do say so myself.”

  Joseph shook his head. This could not be … could it?

  Clarence kindly admonished Layla. “Now you be a good girl, help your uncle keep his shop clean, and we’ll see what comes of that wish, okay?”

  “Okay.” Layla threw her arms around his neck.

  “Ho ho ho,” Clarence chuckled. “Go on and finish that picture.”

  “I love you,” blurted Layla.

  “I love you too, Layla.”

  Joseph paused. He didn’t think he’d introduced his niece—how did this guy know her name?

  His head spinning, Joseph sat on the bench next to Clarence. “I’m not sure what your game is. I’m not even sure what you’re doing here …”

  Clarence leaned back. “I came to check on my order.”

  Joseph retrieved his pocketknife. “I’ve never seen another one like it, and yours …” He shook his head. “Nothing makes sense.”

  Clarence chuckled. He took Joseph’s knife in his hands. “Where did you get this?”

  Joseph stared hard at the knife. He’d had it so long he could hardly remember, and yet the memory was suddenly as vivid as if he were ten years old once again. “I found it under the Christmas tree.”

  Clarence placed his knife next to Joseph’s. They had the same pine tree on the handle. Clarence’s had a crest with a K in the middle and Joseph’s had a J.

  “You spell Clarence with a K?” Joseph asked.

  “No, this is a family crest.” Clarence got to his feet, rocking the seat.

  Joseph thought he may already know the answer, but he felt compelled to ask. “And K is for …”

  “Kringle. Name’s Clarence Kringle.” His blue eyes twinkled in a familiar way.

  The air whooshed out of Joseph’s lungs, and he rested his elbows on his knees, his mind too heavy.

  Clarence put a hand on his shoulder. “You’re a good man, Joseph Bear. Don’t fight Christmas, and don’t fight happiness.”

  “I’ve lost her.” He felt the scales of unbelief drop from his eyes. He lifted his hopeful gaze to a man who was the classic Santa with the white beard, round belly, and jolly countenance.

  Santa was real.

  Santa was in his shop.

  “I’ve been so blind.” Standing, he paced, his mind moving as fast as his feet. Ginger was magic. She was a part of Christmas Magic. The joy, the peace, the hope that surrounded her was part of who she was, and he’d refused it all, thinking—no, believing himself unworthy of it because of his past. Ginger had seen past his walls and into his heart, and she’d opened herself up to sharing all that she held dear with him.

  And like a fool, he’d run away.

  “Do you know where she is?” He hadn’t seen Ginger in town, and he’d heard she and her sister had packed up and left.

  “She’s gone home.” At this, Clarence seemed to sag.

  “Can you take me there?”

  “I’m sorry. I can’t—there are limits.”

  “Then I’ll never be able to tell her I love her.” The words had popped out, unrehearsed and uncensored. They’d come straight from his heart and flown out as if carried by flying reindeer.

  He laughed. Flying reindeer!

  Clarence pulled out the letter once again. “There is a way …” He tapped the lipstick kiss.

  “But it’s six days before Christmas.”

  “That’s plenty of time. Get writing!”

  Joseph raced to Layla’s coloring station and grabbed a sheet of red paper. “Wait, what about your rocker?”

  Clarence smiled. “It’s already done.”

  Joseph blinked. Somehow, Clarence had managed to carve a beautiful holly cluster.

  “If you don’t mind, I’ll leave it here until Christmas Eve. Wouldn’t want to give away the surprise.” He winked.

  “Sure.” Joseph sat in the child-sized chair, his knees bumping the table as he began to write. The cast on his arm made his letters uneven and childlike, but he didn’t care.

  Dear Santa,

  I haven’t been good this year. You see, I fell in love with a beautiful woman, and I pushed her away because I was afraid. I was afraid of her goodness, afraid I didn’t deserve it, or that somehow I would taint her. She asked me to believe in her, and I walked away. I’d give anything to have her back. …

  Joseph let out a deep breath. He lifted his eyes to find Clarence had disappeared. Joseph hadn’t even heard the door open. A moment later, he heard the jingle of sleigh bells. Grinning, he put his pen back to paper.

  I love her, Santa. I love her more than I’ve ever loved anyone, and all I want for Christmas is the chance to tell her—in person.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The day before Christmas Eve at the North Pole was organized chaos.

  Robyn spent the day in the kitchen preparing a feast for every elf and Kringle to attend Christmas day. She pressed on with grim determination. Her only comment to Ginger had been, “Now that you’ve failed, the magic will right itself.”

  Ginger gritted her teeth instead of retaliating. Sure, she’d failed in love, but that didn’t mean she’d fail as Santa.

  Lux worked desperately to moderate power and ensure each department had what they needed without straining the new grid. She’d confessed to Ginger that the magic could run out in the middle of her deliveries. If that happened, the sleigh would be grounded, and with the power out, there’d be no way to contact the family. She’d be alone in the world, without magic—stranded.

  Gail prepared emergency evacuation measures to ensure the Kringles could make it to civilization. No one spoke of what would happen to the elves, but the idea of them disappearing in a poof of sparkles was heart-wrenching.

  Stella filled orders. The toys were made, so wrapping was the business of the day. A long line of elves wound from the work room to the stable where the big sleigh, all polished and gleaming, waited. They passed the presents down the line, filling the magic sack to the brim.

  Dad and Ginger were on their second run through the list. Rarely did they have to change a child from the nice to the naughty list. This late in the season, they were more likely to change naughty kids to nice as they realized the error of their ways. That’s why they checked it twice—no child should be left without a gift on Christmas morning.

  Which was something that bothered Ginger. “Dad?”

  “Hmm?” Dad took a bite of a peanut butter cookie, the crumbs splattering across the book of N names.

  “Why didn’t Joseph get presents?”

  “What?” Dad looked up, his crystal-blue eyes contemplating her question.

  “Joseph said he wrote to you but he didn’t get what he asked for. Why not?”

  Dad took off his glasses and laid them aside. “You know the magic has some limits.”

  “Yes.” As a child, Ginger thought it unfair that they were somewhat limited by the economic status of the family. Then, one year, she’d snuck an extra gift into one child’s stocking—a portable game console he’d begged for in his letter. Three days later, he was accosted on his way home, left bruised and battered and the game stolen. She’d unknowingly made him a target, and her heart ached with the lesson.

  “So you didn’t take him anything because his family was poor?” Ginger frowned. Even the poorest kids got an orange and a peppermint stick in
their stockings.

  “No, I wasn’t talking about that limit.”

  “Then—oh! He’d asked you to change a person?”

  “He asked for a family full of love.” Dad lifted his shoulders. “There’s only so much we can do.”

  Ginger hugged herself. No wonder Joseph hated Christmas.

  Frost hustled in, her arms full of last-minute letter deliveries. “This should be the final push. We’ll get a few more tomorrow, but the bulk is here.” She started sorting, but stopped. “Well, lookie here.” She held up an envelope with a tiny pink kiss. Handing it to Ginger, she went back to work.

  Ginger smiled at the kiss before turning the envelope over. There was no return address, so she opened it. As she’d promised Layla, Santa reads every letter sealed with a kiss.

  Dear Santa,

  I haven’t been good this year …

  As she read, Ginger lifted out of her chair. “Peanut butter fudge!” she gasped. She reached behind her for her chair and held on tight as she read the final lines.

  “Dad!” She held the letter out to him, and then jerked it back to her chest—that was her dad. She didn’t want him to read her first love letter.

  Santa lifted his eyebrows.

  “Dad, I have to go back to Clearview.”

  Frost grabbed her shirt. “You can’t leave now. You have seven more books and—”

  Ginger thrust the paper into Frost’s hands. Her sister she could handle reading this. “I have to go.”

  Frost’s violet eyes tripped across the page. “I’ll get the dress.”

  Ginger squealed. “I haven’t even asked him to marry me!” Her hands flew to her cheeks. “What if he says no?”

  “He won’t,” said Dad. He hadn’t read the letter, but he caught on pretty quick. Pushing off the arms of the chair, he headed to the far corner, where his old desk covered in cubbyholes waited. After a moment of perusal, he plucked a paper from the top right corner. He laid it carefully in Ginger’s hands. “Maybe I can fulfill an impossible wish.” Kissing her cheek, Dad left, his bright blue eyes clouded with happy tears.