I move to the dresser, refusing to get emotional. The first drawer contains only socks, the second undergarments, and the third—I stop.
A school picture of me at the age of thirteen faces up. I wince at the amount of makeup on my young face, and that hair. Wow. As I remember it, I had an entire bad hair year. I flip it over. On the back, I see the year and my age written in her handwriting. Odd, I thought she had all the old pictures organized in storage boxes. I wonder why these aren’t with the others. And there doesn’t seem to be any particular order to the things here, which is unusual for my mother.
I slide my hand over the top of the pictures and papers. I see myself at all different ages, notes I wrote, and artwork I drew for her. It's a drawer full of me. I know I won't find hair stuff in here, but I check the bottom anyway. My fingers graze the corner of a box. I uncover it and pull it out. An envelope slides off the top of it as I place it on the dresser.
It’s nothing more than a small shoebox from a pair of children’s shoes—probably once belonging to me. I lift the lid and set it to the side. The picture on the top is of my mother, probably taken in her early twenties as she stands on a beach, wearing a bikini. She smiles radiantly at the camera with her long black hair spilling over her shoulders. I gape as I look at her, wishing I had a body like that. Shouldn’t I have inherited that from her? She stands beside a friend, another young woman I don’t know. I look closer. It could be my Aunt Pattie, but I can’t tell for sure. Aunt Pattie died young too, Much younger than my mom. She was in her thirties when breast cancer killed her.
I sigh and replace the lid. I’ll look at these later. I know I’m running low on time, and I still haven’t found any bobby pins or clips. As an afterthought, I grab the envelope and slide it inside for later. The next drawer I open contains the jackpot I hoped for: a zippered vinyl bag full of bobby pins, barrettes, and clips of all kinds. I remove a large barrette, exposing a red velvet ribbon coiled beneath. My heart quickens as I hold it to the dress—it matches perfectly.
And it keeps getting better. There’s also a curling iron. I scoop all of it in my arms and grab the shoebox, turning out the light with my elbow on my way out. I stop by my room and lay the box on the bed, then head for the bathroom, knowing I have a lot of work left to do.
The mayor stands beside Reason, giving him an earful about liabilities. I’m seated in a carriage, staring at the rumps of five large reindeer and trying to pretend I’m not listening.
“We’ve got kids, babies, and little old ladies lined up from here to Dickens Street. The safety concerns here are staggering.” I sneak a peek at his flushed face. He fidgets with his hand in front of his round belly.
“Mayor Tucker, with all due respect, I have trained these animals myself. I’ve worked with them extensively over the past five years. I promise you they know what to do.”
“No one said anything about real reindeer. We’ve never used real reindeer. What happened to the float and the elves and all that”—he pauses and throws his hands up—“safe stuff?”
“I decided to do something different this year.”
“You decided?”
“I came up with the idea, yes, sir. The elders voted unanimously, and I signed off. ”
“I see.”
“Just think of the photos. You can display them in City Hall. And then the magazines features, the authenticity, the marketability. We felt it would be beneficial to the city—a shot in the arm.”
“It’s not 1890 anymore. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to run a city with the Society shadowing my every living minute? I realize the historical significance of this alliance, but for Christ’s sake a man needs time to make arrangements—get the paperwork, the permits in place—not as fancy as your job, I’m sure, but just as necessary.”
“The Society has already provided those. Hannah gave them to the City Administrator yesterday. You’ll find everything in order. Scout’s honor.”
The Mayor exhales loudly.
“I see. You know your father was a friend of mine, Reason. Did I ever tell you that?”
“No, sir.”
“He was a good, honorable man. I’ll trust you on this. The last thing I want is to fray the relationship between the city and the Society. So I trust this conversation will remain between the two us.”
“Absolutely, Mayor Tucker.”
“All right, let’s get this show on the road.” The mayor scurries past the carriage and stops as though he’s remembered something. He turns to me and smiles as he removes his hat and places it to his chest. His bald head shines in the morning sunlight. “You are simply lovely today, Mrs. Claus.” He says it loudly, so everyone will hear and adds a jolly belly laugh. His breath comes out in clouds of steam, just like mine. I offer him a tight smile and nod my head.
Reason appears and climbs in the carriage, dressed in his red velvet, fur trimmed coat. It comes all the way to his knees with a hood that matches mine. He pulls it over his head and adjusts his black belt as he sits down beside me. My gaze falls to his snow boots. They look similar to mine, except they have more buckles, giving him a sort of Santa-trooper flair. Who knew a Santa suit could be so...sexy.
My mind still reels from the conversation I’ve just heard. He takes the reins and looks at me with a huge grin plastered on his face.
“Ready?” I can see the excitement in his face. He doesn’t look like he just had a run-in with the mayor. No, he seems relaxed and totally in his element as he leans over and gives me a kiss on the cheek. “You smell like snow,” he leans in and inhales again. “And cherries.”
I give him a sideways glance. “Impressive.” I’m wearing lotion called, “Cherries in Snow.”
“That’s because I’m half animal. Didn’t you know?” His laugh is so low and gravely, I’d almost believe him.
“If you’d told me that before, I would never have agreed to dress like Little Riding Hood.”
“Ah! The hood, yes. But you, Mrs. Claus, put Little Red Riding Hood to shame.”
My cheeks grow hot.
He seems so at ease in his Santa suit. It’s hard not to notice his charisma, like he’s come alive. I wonder if people will whisper amongst themselves about the shy, boring woman who rode beside him in the carriage.
We sit just behind the float featuring the manger scene. Mary and Joseph’s costumes make them look like they’ve walked straight out of Bethlehem, as far as I can tell anyway. The twist on it, though, is that Mary is still pregnant—very heavy with a real child. She sits on a haystack near a manger with Joseph holding her hand. She leans back a little farther than Joseph with her legs slightly parted to accommodate the massive size of her belly. Sheep, goats, and even a donkey stand tethered behind them.
Slowly, the procession ahead of us begins to move forward. Being in the rear, I’m hoping it’ll be a while before we start waving to the spectators. The reindeer stomp their hooves and shift nervously, sensing the energy in the air. I never imagined how large these creatures would be. Their shaggy fur and round, bulbous snouts give them sweet, almost personable expressions, but I can see the whites of their eyes as they glance around. I can’t help but wonder about the Mayor’s concerns. Are they unpredictable? Could they go out of control? In my mind, I see them suddenly rear up on hind legs and charge forward dragging the carriage behind them like a dangling pull-toy. My empty stomach grows queasy.
“Hike!” Reason bellows. He sounds like we’re playing football here. The deer obey. We move forward, rolling slowly at first and then picking up speed until we’re cruising down Main Street. I take advantage of my hand warmer while I still can and shove my hands deeps inside the fur, surprised at how toasty it is.
The Mayor’s words still linger in my mind. He made it seem like the Santa Society is some kind of old, clandestine organization. Clearly it has some type of government process going on inside it. And elders? That smacks of tribal or religious culture. And the most curious thing of all was the way he deferred to Reason, a
s though he holds a position of leadership within the Society.
At first I think something innocent like a Santa Claus rotary club merged with a business interest. But what kind of corporation sells real estate, fixes furnaces, sweeps chimneys, owns and maintains land for a private residence, has an unassuming office downtown, provides lavish Christmas costumes, and overrides the local government? While I can’t come up with any theories, I wonder if I should be concerned.
I don’t have time to keep thinking on it. I see the first cluster of people ahead. I had planned to sit, but suddenly Reason stands. He extends his hand to me, inviting me to join him. I stand on wobbly legs, feeling like the carriage rocks in a sea of water. He trusts the deer so much he only holds the reins loosely in one white-gloved hand. The mayor will probably have a heart attack any minute now. Reason doesn’t look at all concerned as he reaches for my hand with his free one. I drop my hand warmer and accept it.
I feel like a wedding cake topper—the Christmas version. Children wave and mothers point to us with babies in their arms. Fathers lift up their little boys and girls to give them a better look. I smile and wave at them all, not feeling nearly as petrified as I expected.
We toss candy canes to them. An elderly woman with a cane bends to pluck one from the sidewalk that has landed near her feet. She smiles and laughs as she peels off the plastic wrapper and sticks the peppermint in her mouth.
Beside me, Reason’s voice booms, “Merry Christmas!”
As we near the center of downtown, I notice a little girl with braided red hair. It blazes like flames in the sun. Callie stands between her mother and sister. It looks like she wears a new purple coat with matching mittens and cap. Her eyes light up when she recognizes us. She waves her little arms and tugs at her mother’s sleeve. Tammy shields her eyes from the sun and squints in our direction. She locks eyes with me and her mouth falls open in surprise. She says something, but I can’t hear. I watch the shape of two words form on her mouth: Thank you.
I nod to show her I understand, but I know I don’t deserve the gratitude. It’s Reason—or the Society. I’m not sure which.
The smell of coffee, hot chocolate, and funnel cake drifts on the breeze. A high school marching band plays not far ahead of us. The percussion of drums and blare of horns thrill me. It reminds me of high school.
Reason’s hand swallows mine and I’m grateful for its warmth. He squeezes tighter. His face looks almost angelic, a mythical creature come to life. Certainly not the sort of Santa I would’ve expected to see, but I’m not sure if I could ever picture any other now that I’ve seen him. Whatever the children make of his obvious lack of white hair and beard, it doesn’t seem to bother them. I don’t see questions on their faces or puzzled expressions, only joy. I chalk it up to the magic of the moment, the charisma of belief.
We pass two mounted police officers, and the deer begin to get uneasy when they near the horses.
“Dancer, Dasher, Prancer, Cupid, Vixen—on by!” His voice sounds stern.
“Seriously, those are their names?”
He grins, but his eyes stay on the deer. “On by!”
And the deer obey. Seconds later we near the turn onto Dickens. “Easy,” he commands, and the reindeer slow down. “Haw!” We hang a left, bringing up the rear of the parade. “Whoa.” We slow to a crawl and, finally, a stop.
I immediately sit down. My arm feels like it’s lost all circulation. As though I’ve been sailing in the ocean, I imagine I still feel the rhythmic sway of the carriage. But I’m also exhilarated. It felt amazing to pretend, to get caught up in joy and play.
Reason sits down beside me. “Did you enjoy it?” He seems so serious, like he needs to hear me say yes.
“I had a lot of fun. I really did.”
Relief washes over his face. “We have to finish up here. Are you ready?”
A steady line of children has already begun forming near the carriage. Camera flashes spark all around us. We sit in the nucleus of a growing circle of chaos as he waits for my okay. I take a deep breath, hoping I have some acting skills handy. “Ready.”
Chapter 16
IN THE DAYTIME, the MacCloud Ranch seems much bigger than I realized. I completely missed most of it last night. Particularly the half of it located on the opposite side of the long private roadway called Chestnut Lane. We turn left onto a gravel road about 200 feet before the gate to Reason’s cabin.
We pull the horse trailer full of reindeer to a large steel building with another stable and…something next to it that seems like a cabin but isn’t. No one would live here, I surmise. It has no windows. A fenced in area separates it from the stables. The structure itself is all wood, including a stairway that leads to the second floor which has a high, deck-like walkway on stilts with wooden guard rails, an extended roof line, and an evenly spaced row of doors—much like a motel, one straight out of the Old West. And it looks about that old too.
Reason circles the truck around and backs the trailer in. Three men emerge from the stable wearing cowboy hats and boots. The youngest one even has on a pair of buff-colored chaps. He comes around to the back of the trailer, where I see his profile in the side mirror. A red bandana sticks out of his back pocket.
By the time Reason opens my door, I hear the sharp clank of a metal release and the squeal of hinges. The trailer door opens and two of the men begin unloading reindeer. The one in chaps approaches us. He looks at me with an expression I can’t read. I’m unsure if it's surprise or disapproval.
I run my gaze along the building. Do these men live here? The idea seems strange to me. It felt so quiet and private here last night, like being a world away from all other people—certainly not a few hundred feet away from a compound of cowboys. They probably just come here for a day job.
“Sir, I need a word with you.”
“Sure thing, Brice. Just give us a second to run to the house and get changed. Help me get the trailer unhooked?”
Brice’s glances at my dress, but quickly turns his eyes back to Reason. I guess him to be in his early twenties, judging by his smooth skin.
“It’s important. I called your phone, but I couldn't get through.”
Reason studies him for a moment with veiled surprise, as though Brice doesn’t usually sound this pointed.
“All right.” He shuts my door. “What’s up?”
Brice’s eyes shift in my direction again. He looks up at the sky and says, “It’s a private matter.” He levels his eyes at Reason with an intense stare.
“Oh.” Reason turns to me. “Excuse me for a second.”
He puts his hand on the younger man’s shoulder and guides him toward the back of the trailer. Brice speaks to him hurriedly, every so often stealing a look in my direction. When he does, he seems to be looking me in the eye—intentionally. I begin to feel like an intruder, in Brice’s opinion at least. Sure, Hannah treated me like the Pope, but I’m an outsider here.
Reason raises his hand to rub his forehead. He looks down and kicks a chunk of packed snow that has fallen from the trailer’s tire well. He folds his arms and nods. Something tells me whatever Brice is saying to him isn’t good. I’ve never seen Reason look like this. He looks completely unnerved.
Suddenly, a loud yell erupts from a doorway upstairs. I look up, surprised to see the Cajun cook from the soup kitchen standing there. “Brice—” he yells, but when he sees Reason he changes to: “Boss, I need help. He won’t listen to nobody but you.”
Reason breaks into a run, bounding up the stairs and sprinting down the entire length of the balcony before I’ve even made it to the back of the trailer. Brice follows closely behind as they both disappear through the door.
I stare after them dumbfounded. The two remaining men stable the last reindeer. They dash up the stairs just as the distinct sound of a ruckus spills through the open door. I hear things falling and crashing inside and what sounds like arguing.
I look around helplessly as my mind identifies the sounds I hear next:
the shatter of glass breaking and a sickening, dull thud. Male voices shouting and the scruff of a fevered struggle tell me it’s definitely a fight. What if Reason gets hurt?
I take off running. If I had any sense at all, I would get in the truck lock the doors and wait it out. Vaguely it occurs to me that if big, strong Reason needs help it’s not going to be the kind he can get from me. But I don’t care. I scramble up the stairs as fast as I can, my heart pounding in my ears. I clear the top step and hear only the thud of my feet running across the floorboards.
I charge through the open door, gasping for breath. The sharp stench of alcohol fills my nose. The drastic change in light blinds me. It takes a second or two for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. Slowly, the outline of a bed takes shape. I’m in someone’s bedroom. A small lamp in the corner with a low-watt bulb gives the only light in the room. To my left, I see a small table. On top of it, playing cards lay scattered around an overturned bottle of whiskey. The amber-colored liquid pools around them and forms a rivulet that drips off the table’s edge to the floor. Otherwise the room appears empty.
Across from me, I see another open door. A sudden loud shout comes from somewhere on the other side of it. I start toward it and stumble on the hem of my dress. Before I realize it, I’m falling. Sharp pain sears through my knee as it strikes the floor first. Propelled by the weight of my entire body, I continue forward. The wood grain in the floor planks rushes toward my face. I block my face with my elbows.
“Grab his arms!” Someone cries.
“I didn’t know it was him. I swear it! I’m sorry—ruined everything.”
“Get it together, man. Brice, get his legs.”
I scramble to my feet, my knee throbbing. Through the door I see another balcony rail. On the other side, a large room opens up with an unobstructed drop off to the first floor. The balcony runs the entire perimeter of the building like some kind of dormitory or saloon-style boarding house. I peer down into the plunge of uninterrupted space and see a kitchen, long dining table, and lounge area.
The Santa Society Page 11
