by Liz Botts
"Where do you think you are going?"
I don't look directly at Elwyn again. There is no way I want to feel his wrath, so I look in the vicinity of his head, hoping to appear somewhat polite. I gesture toward the fence. "I just want to see the cows," I say. "I've always wanted one."
This might sound like an odd thing for a girl to want, even to Elwyn who makes some pretty far out toys for the little snots of the world. But when I was little my mother read me a story called Santa Cows. I laughed over that book for weeks. Then I promptly asked for one for Christmas. Needless to say, I never got that cow. That's when I stopped believing in Santa Claus.
“No time for nonsense,” Elwyn says and turns away to hurry down the gravel road.
I give the cow one last wistful glance and grab my suitcase. After walking for an eternity, we come to a farmhouse. I’m charmed by the two-story structure that looks like it came right out of a fairy tale. The second the thought enters my head, I scoff. Fairy tales never have two story white farmhouses. They have castles. Everyone knows that. So what am I thinking?
"I love this," I say "Is this where Nick lives?"
Elwyn gives me a contemptuous look. "This is where your grandmother lives."
My eyes widen and my jaw drop. "My grandmother?" I look back at the house in awe. Did I really hear him right?
With another sigh, Elwyn says, "Indeed, your grandmother."
Stepping toward the old wood fence separating us from the yard, my heart races in anticipation. We have never been allowed to discuss my grandmother, at least not with my parents. That hasn’t stopped my sisters and me from speculating in hushed tones about our father's mother. My mother's parents passed away when I was small. They were human and didn’t approve of her choice in a husband. I can't say I blame them.
But my father's mother has always been a mystery. Now I’m standing outside her house and I am so ready to meet her. I don't even care about the myriad of questions that parade through my mind. Reaching for the gate, I hesitate, looking to Elwyn for permission. The last thing I need right now is to bring the Elf Elder wrath down on me. He gives me a curt nod.
Rushing through the gate, I barely notice the cobblestone path beneath my feet. I clatter up the old worn wood steps onto a quaint porch with a swing on one side. The farmhouse door has a big brass knocker in the center in the shape of a Santa Claus head. This stops me in my tracks. Granted the knocker is a generic image and not exactly like my father, but something in the glint of the eyes makes me hesitate. Then I lift the knocker and let it drop with a satisfying thud.
When the door opens, after what feels like an eternity, I’m face to face with a sweet-looking old woman who immediately pulls me into her arms.
"I never thought I would see this day," she says, and I can hear the tears in her voice.
Feeling suddenly shy, I let my long blonde hair fall across my face. From beneath my curtain, I safely assess her as she peers over my shoulder at Elwyn. She's slightly shorter than I am and rather plump. She has a soft, round appearance, sort of like a cinnamon roll. Her hair is snow white, which she has pulled back in a bun. The dress she wears reminds me vaguely of my mother's, although the flour at the edges of a cheerful green apron tells me that my grandmother bakes. I don't think I’ve ever seen my mother in the kitchen at home. We have elves who bake for us.
My grandmother and Elwyn stare at one another for a few tense moments before she ushers me inside. Elwyn disappears down the road. As the door shuts behind me, I feel a wave of relief at being released from his clutches.
I set my suitcase down on the hard wood floor. Pulling off my mittens and coat, I let myself appreciate the warmth starting to thaw my frozen extremities. My grandmother fusses around me, taking my coat and making small talk about my trip. That's when I realize she’s nervous too. For some reason this fact relaxes me.
"So…" I begin.
My grandmother smiles at me. "Come into the kitchen," she says. "We'll have some milk and cookies."
That reminds me of home, but in a good way. I follow her through a bright hallway flanked by an open staircase decorated cheerfully for the upcoming holiday. The walls are covered with framed photographs. Upon closer inspection, I see that they are of me and my sisters throughout the years. My heart squeezes at the thought that my parents sent my grandmother pictures of us but never let her meet us.
When we are seated in the cozy kitchen, I take a deep breath. I have so many questions. My grandmother seems to know this, and she places a reassuring hand on my arm.
"I'll answer all of your questions in good time," she says. "Now why don't you finish your snack and we'll get you settled in your room. I'm sure you'll want to rest before we go out."
"Where are we going?"
She smiles. "To meet Nick, of course."
Chapter Three
I follow my grandmother out of her house half expecting to be tossed into a sleigh given how much she seems to enjoy the holiday. Instead we climb into an unassuming green SUV, which my grandmother informs me has four-wheel drive.
As she peels out onto the snow-covered road, gravel sprays behind her wheels. Who would have thought my grandmother, the former Mrs. Claus herself, would have a need for speed? We don't talk much as she concentrates on her driving, which I must say is far too fast for my taste.
My stomach knots in anticipation. I have no idea where we are going to meet Nick. And I haven't been able to formulate the words to ask. When I had been shown my room I’d lain down on the bed for several minutes before racing around to find something appropriate to wear.
Sitting in the passenger seat of my grandmother's SUV I doubt every choice I’d made. Should I have worn this dress? Should I have chosen something sexier? Not something I can ask my grandma.
I shift uncomfortably, glad I chose my soft suede boots. My feet will be warm at least.
"So…um, where are we going?" I finally ask.
My grandmother smiles at me with a quick little sideways glance. She fiddles with the radio until Christmas songs begin blaring. Humming along, she turns onto a larger highway. I discover we aren’t as far out in the country as I had originally thought.
We pull onto a busy main street bustling with activity. No snow has fallen but clearly that hasn’t kept shopkeepers and the like from decorating for the holiday. Falsely cheerful wreaths hang from lampposts, colored lights blinking into the dark night. Store windows are strung with more lights, fake snow, and various other Christmas accoutrements. I try not to stare. This all reminds me of a watered down version of home. I think I might throw up.
Gran parks her car along a side street and we climb out. A crowd has gathered under the awning of some sort of theater. The marquee announces in bold letters that Santa is coming to town. All the pieces click into place. I can't believe how stupid I am. Of course, this is the perfect place to meet my future husband. The brilliant bit of sarcasm dripping through my brain is lost on Gran as I don't voice my opinion. Or my opposition.
What would be the point? Gran is clearly in cahoots with my old man. They both want me hitched before Christmas Eve. Or we might all face the wrath of the elf elders. Just as the thought passes through my mind, a pair of young girls scurry by dressed as elves. I burst out laughing. Everyone in the near vicinity turns to see what I’m braying about and my cheeks flame.
I duck my head, letting my silvery blonde hair hide my face.
"Why are we here?" I whisper fiercely to Gran.
She gives me an indulgent smile, pats me on the arm, and says, "You have to trust me, Virginia."
My mouth actually drops open and I stare at her in surprise. "Trust you? I don't even know you."
Something flickers in Gran's eyes, and suddenly I'm afraid I’ve hurt her feelings. Then she says, "Indeed you don't, but you don't have a choice."
Her words are brisk and clipped, full of efficient energy, leaving no room for argument. I might feel bad or sad but she puts a comforting arm around my shoulders and steers me i
nto the lobby of the theater.
The warmth of the air wraps around me, and I pull off my gloves. A group of teenagers are singing Christmas carols to a small audience on one side of the lobby. On the other side a long table is set up with cookies and hot chocolate. My stomach rumbles. When was the last time I ate? How do I not remember?
Grabbing a cookie shaped like a reindeer, I pick up a cup of the watery hot chocolate and peer at it suspiciously. This must be from a powder. Nothing like this would be served at home. My taste buds tingle at the thought of the elves' thick hot chocolate made with only the best ingredients. A sigh escapes my lips. Gran arches an eyebrow but doesn't ask. Can I really be missing home?
"So what happens here?" I take a large bite of the reindeer's head. That was always my favorite part of Christmas cookies as a kid, biting off a head or a foot.
Gran loosens her scarf and pulls off her gloves, folding them neatly before sliding them into the pocket of her coat. "Hmmm," she says, "in just a bit Santa will arrive. Then you'll have the chance to meet Nick."
I shiver at the sound of his name and glance around hoping he might be in the area. None of the young men in the room resemble the guy I’d seen in the snow globe. Disappointment gnaws at me, much to my surprise. Could Elwyn have used some of his elf magic to change my attitude? I want to ask Gran, but she’s drifted off to talk to a group of older ladies.
With nothing to do but munch on the stale cookie and sip the watery hot chocolate, I wander back across the lobby toward the entrance. Outside a band has struck up a lively round of "Santa Claus is Coming to Town," and a small group of kids are dancing around wildly. The excitement of the moment is written on their faces. Obviously Santa never incited such feelings in me.
Gran appears suddenly at my elbow, murmuring that we need to go outside because Santa is about to arrive. I want to make a snarky comment, but this is a woman I barely met five hours ago. Thinking better of it, I follow her back into the chilly night air.
Once outside, I can hear the band better. The carols sound warm to me, devoid of their usual tinny accompaniment of dozens of elfin voices. I feel a smile tugging at my lips. Could Christmas really be enjoyable here?
Suddenly shouts of excitement fill the air as kids begin jumping up and down all around me. I try to follow the source of the excitement, and that's when I see the strangest sight I’ve ever seen. A large snowplow decked out with thousands of twinkling Christmas lights drives down the street toward us. Standing in the back is Santa waving to the crowd.
This is too much for me. I start to laugh and I can't stop. I laugh so hard my sides ache and tears run down my cheeks.
Gran shushes me. "What on earth is so funny?"
I take a gulpy, gaspy breath. "Are you kidding me? Santa arriving on a snowplow? Is the town afraid of a freak blizzard stopping this little shindig?"
The look Gran levels at me stops my laughter mid-guffaw. Realization dawns on me with all the ferocity of a lightning bolt to my head. Of course that's what they are afraid of, even if they don't know it. My eyes swing back to Santa, who is much closer now. Even behind his costume I can see the youthful glint in his eyes. Nick is playing Santa. If his father, his real father, knew about this setup, this town would get the blizzard to end all blizzards. Suddenly the snowplow seems like the best idea anyone ever had.
The crowd swarms around the truck as Nick climbs down. He greets the children jovially, making his giant belly (probably a pillow held in place by his belt, at least I hope that's not his regular physique) shake as he does the requisite "ho ho ho."
I strain to get a better look at Nick now that he’s mere feet from me, but my view is blocked by a swarm of eager kids. Nick waves to the crowd one last time before disappearing into the little Santa house on the other side of the town square. Teenage girls dressed as elves start to organize the mob into a neat line so everyone gets a turn to see Santa. My stomach knots at the thought of the real elves back home and poor Ebrillwen. I try to focus on what to do next.
“Now how am I supposed to meet him?” I murmur to Gran, planting my hands on my hips and fully expecting her to give me a good answer.
Gran smiles at me. “Get in line.”
I gape at her. “You’re joking, right? I’m not getting in that line like some star-struck little kid.”
“Well, then I suppose that means you won’t be meeting Nick this evening. Shall we go home?” Gran looks me square in the eye. She’s calling my bluff. Of course I’m getting in line. I need to meet Nick, convince him he’s my betrothed, and take him home to be the next Santa.
Groaning, I narrow my eyes at Gran. “Fine, I’ll go get in line. But, he’s going to think I’m the world’s most major freak.”
Gran just keeps smiling at me so I spin around and stomp off to the line.
“Aren’t you a little old to be visiting Santa?” The teenage elf girl frowns at me in disgust as I step into line behind a little girl.
I smile as sweetly as I can. “I need to talk to Santa about an urgent, personal family matter.”
The teenage elf rolls her eyes and moves on to work crowd control further back in the line. I’m puzzling over what on earth to say to Nick when the little girl in front of me turns around. Our eyes meet and I notice she’s shivering, almost violently. Her coat seems a little threadbare and she doesn’t have a hat or scarf. She’s wrapped her mittened hands around herself to keep warm.
On impulse I pull off my scarf and kneel down in front of her. “Here,” I say, winding the scarf around her head and neck. “I don’t need this. It’ll keep you extra warm.”
My scarf was made by the elf master knitters. The material is uber soft and the thing really is amazingly warm. I’ll just get another one when I go home.
“Thank you,” the little girl says softly. She pulls off a mitten to stroke the scarf, pressing it almost reverently to her cheek. “No one ever does stuff like this in real life.”
Her eyes find mine again, and I’m appalled to see them shiny with unshed tears. Questions about her life flood my mind, and I can’t focus on why I’m in this line to begin with. Whatever happens, I need to help this girl. The thought stops me. I don’t even know this kid.
“You’re welcome,” I say. Straightening up, I try to stem the flood of emotions overwhelming me.
“I’m Merry,” the little girl offers. She pulls her mitten back on and suddenly looks much more cheerful. The corners of her mouth turn up sweetly, revealing a toothy smile with a few teeth missing. “Spelled like the word, not the name.”
“Ahh,” I say. “I’m Virginia.”
Merry nods. She glances toward the Santa house as the line shuffles forward. “I’m going to be seven on Christmas Eve,” she continues. “I love Santa, even if I am too old.”
I laugh. “I guess I’m a little old to be in line, too.”
“Maybe, but everyone could use a little Santa magic.” Merry looks up at me. “I mean, I know he isn’t the real Santa or anything, but he just makes it look so real. I have to believe in him. This has been a really hard year.”
I want to ask what she means about it being a hard year, but I’m afraid that might be prying. Since I can’t seem to find the words to reply, we lapse into silence, moving slowly forward with the line.
“What are you asking Santa for?”
The question startles me. “Pardon?”
Merry gives me a strange look. “Huh? I just wanted to know what you’re asking Santa for.”
“Oh. Yeah, um, I haven’t decided yet, I guess.” I shift awkwardly back and forth.
“Do you need to use the bathroom?” Merry narrows her eyes in concern. “I think they have one over there in the theater.”
“What?” I’m confused until I realize I am sort of dancing around like my bladder is full. “Oh, no. So, what are you asking Santa for?”
Merry chews on the thumb of her mitten. “I guess I should ask him for something like a job for my mom. Something we really need. But I really want a d
oll.”
Her confession slams into me. This child has a far older soul than I do. Her simple statement tells me so much about her life. I’ve read letters from children like her, begging my father for impossible things. My heart always cried out for these poor kids putting their faith in a mythical person. My father for his part would toss such letters aside in disgust.
I have no idea what to say, but luckily another teenage elf ushers Merry up the steps of the Santa house. I didn’t realize we were so close. Merry waves one last time before disappearing through the door, followed by the elf.
While I’m trying to process my interaction with Merry, the teenage elf appears by my side.
“Your turn.” Her voice is flat and laced with sticky, forced sweetness. She trills the words so several people, kids and parents, in the near vicinity turn to look at us.
Heat floods my cheeks. This is embarrassing enough. Nick will certainly think I’m a freak. Who wouldn’t when some stranger is about to tell them they are engaged and set to be the successor to a mythical being? Still, Nick obviously likes playing the role of Santa. Maybe this won’t be so hard after all.
With false confidence, I stride to the door of the Santa house, walk up the three short steps, and swing around to face the elf girl. “This is far enough, thanks,” I say. “What I have to say to Ni—Santa is private.”
I open the door and shut it quickly, firmly behind me. The interior of the little house feels cramped but is certainly big enough for at least three people. A fake Christmas tree blazes with cheery lights, and yards of garland are strung around the ceiling. I realize I’m looking everywhere but at Nick.
Digging up my courage, I turn my eyes toward him, and the effect is that of a sledgehammer to my heart. His clear blue eyes twinkle with amusement, and I can see the smirk of his mouth under his beard. My breath hitches. I need to look away to compose myself, but I can’t make it happen.
“What can I do for you, little girl?” The laughter in Nick’s voice is just barely concealed.
