by C. E. Wilson
Matchsticks and Candy Canes
A holiday novel by C.E. Wilson and Mary Dublin
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Cover Image by Desiree DeOrto Artist and Designer
Matchsticks and Candy Canes
ASIN: B01N7BD4I5
Text copyright © 2016 by C.E. Wilson and Mary Dublin
All Rights Reserved
C.E. Wilson
For my mother-in-law for always believing and supporting me.
I want to say that I hope I make you proud.
But you always tell me that you already are.
Mary Dublin
All my gratitude to C.E. Wilson,
for helping me realize my dream more than she can imagine.
And to everyone out there who
still keeps the Christmas spirit full of magic!
Matchsticks and Candy Canes
Chapter One
A fresh coating of snow was just beginning to blanket roofs and streets and hoods of cars, but it wasn’t the snow that made Carter Holly smile. He gazed at the day on his Star Trek calendar, eyes alight. December 15th. For the past two years, this particular day had brought something new to his otherwise scheduled routine. And while there was a very small part of him which hoped that the change in his routine wouldn’t be there, he also felt a certain thrill knowing she would. He didn’t tell his friends where he was going on that day and his mother didn’t ask why he couldn’t come home right after school.
And once the final bell sounded and he was free from the confines of public education, he wrapped himself up in a warm coat and scarf, slung a cap over his head and jogged down the slushy streets before anyone could change their mind and ask him questions he wasn’t quite sure how to answer.
The early December air in this town was scented with evergreen wreaths and cinnamon pine cones until he grew close to his uncle’s shop. There, the street was flooded with the pleasant smells of yeast, salt, and butter. He inhaled deeply. Carter loved his uncle’s bakery no matter what time of the year it was, but there was always something extra special about Sweet Mix around Christmastime. Maybe it was the snowman shaped bread loaves with a dusting of cinnamon, nutmeg and powdered sugar, or maybe it was the fact that his uncle made a special gingerbread roll every Sunday. Or maybe it was that from December 15th until December 24th for the past two years Carter had been able to see her.
One of the elves.
Elves were very rare this far south, and the few who stayed were notoriously reclusive and lived in their own communities on the outskirts of towns.
Christmas Elves were a strange breed of person who rarely reached a foot and a half tall, but they were human in every other way. And for the last few years there was one elf in particular who had shown up around Christmas to sell matches.
She was always alone, standing across the street from his uncle’s bakery with her rickety old cart loaded with matchboxes, old chestnuts and dried flowers. She stood about a foot tall, and looked to be young from the glances he was able to sneak.
Despite his growing curiosity he never approached her.
His mother’s warnings about elves rung heavily in his ears every time he glanced across the street. He remembered her harsh words. Elves were dangerous because of their magic. Elves would trick you. Elves would steal from you. Elves were cruel and looked down on people. All these things were said and more, but Carter couldn’t believe his mother’s words so easily. After all, not all people were bad or good, but they were never generalized one way or the other, so why should elves? There was nothing scary about the young woman across the street, just the small differences. Once in a while he caught a glimpse of her pointed ears which she tried so desperately to keep hidden in her fluffy brown hair and worn out hat. And while she seemed to be young, she also had looked terribly frail.
Carter quickened his pace as he remembered what she had looked like last December. How chilled she looked and how much he wanted to talk to her. How he promised himself this year would be different and that he would find the courage to finally approach her. But all this was for naught if she didn’t show up.
He turned the corner and with a sigh of relief he spotted a familiar shape parked on the opposite street in front of the shop. The tiny elf was there. Just like clockwork. He was unable to hide a shy smile into his scarf because, just like he had hoped, this year would be no different than the two before.
Carter blew warm air into his gloves, slowing his approach so he could prolong his sideways glances to peer at her. As before, her clothes were tattered and her cheeks, though pink, were sunken in. Her thick knit cap was grey this year instead of black and she tugged at it nervously. Her matching gloves were fingerless which probably made it easier for her to grab items from her cart, if she ever sold anything. Which she never did. As it was, she was fumbling with some dried flowers as he approached so he couldn’t catch her face. He wondered if she was going to try out a sales pitch on him before he glanced up the street and noticed a mother and child who looked to be almost as chilled as she did. Realizing that the offering of flowers and attention wasn’t meant for him, Carter entered the bakery, choosing to safely observe her from inside the shop.
Her voice barely reached the door as he began to close it.
“Matches? Box of matches for a dollar, five for three,” she called out to the streets, frowning as the pair of humans bustled by, quickening their pace when they realized she was speaking to them. “Perhaps some flowers for your hearth?” she tried once more.
Carter frowned as he ducked into Sweet Mix, letting her voice fade into the cold air.
As an elf, it was near impossible to be a good salesperson.
***
Brynne Mirren watched the couple hustle past and lowered her matchbook. Her quiet, scratchy voice barely reached the ears of those who passed by and most who did hear her over the sounds and echoes of the town simply ignored it. Her size had made her timid over the years, along with the constant disappointment of meager sales. The cold streak of weather didn’t help. Her ragged jacket was faded, stained, and worn thin from over a decade of use, not to mention too small. She shivered relentlessly, rubbing her arms, her nose, and her legs. The matches she sold looked more tempting with every passing minute.
How wonderful would that burst of heat be if she lit the match?
How blessed would it feel to have warmth spread into her body like a hot soup?
She smiled to herself at the idea of a steaming mug of homemade chicken broth before the happy vision was pushed aside by her father’s enraged expression. The last time she’d pulled a stunt like wasting the matches for her own use, her back had tasted the lash of his belt.
Precious merchandise was meant to be sold, not wasted on her petty desires.
During the winter, Brynne rarely sold more than a handful of matchbooks. Only especially piteous or generous souls who fondly remembered the old tales of the elves would buy anything from her, especially when a general store down the road sold them for a fraction of the cost. The days of true Christmas spirit, the power of their magic, and the kindness of the humans had all been waning for many generations. Without their magic to keep them warm, even the most traditional of elves could no longer survive at the North Pole. Many were forced to emigrate further south, scattering around Canada and the Northern states in America. So long as they kept to themselves, most humans left them alone in turn. Most elves preferred to live in their own secluded communities far from humanity, but poor elf families didn’t have that option. In t
he old tales, money had been the root of all evil. Now, it was the key to survival. And humans had it.
Giving up on her selling spirit for a few moments, Brynne Mirren pulled her hands inside her coat, burrowing down to escape the fury of a cruel, cold wind. Elf or not, she didn’t enjoy the bitter bite of winter. Was a bit of sunshine too much to ask? Would it be such a crime for an elf to want to travel south for the winter and enjoy the warmth and bask in the sun?
She raised her head, trying to picture an endless canvas of sands and ocean when her grey eyes caught a glimpse of a young man across the street. He stood inside the store window: tall, handsome enough, and obviously well taken care of. Eventually, she recognized him as the boy who had entered the bakery a few moments ago. He had passed her by like anyone else. Of course he had.
Brynne readjusted the stack of matchbooks on her cart, remembering all too easily that the boy didn’t matter and that she would never see the sun or the sand. Elves were barely welcome in the north, let alone in the heat and sun. She was born in the north, raised in the north and would remain in the north, trying to sell overpriced matchbooks to people who looked through her rather than at her if they bothered to turn their heads at all.
She blinked back bitter tears, not because she wanted to be strong, but because she worried they would freeze to her skin.
Life as a Christmas elf was not nearly as glamorous as the old stories made it sound.
Chapter Two
Turning away from the window, Carter inhaled deeply. He never tired of the smell of Sweet Mix. Freshly baked bread and sugar clung to his clothes for days after leaving and though his mom pitched a fit when she had to do his laundry, Carter didn’t mind. The smell of sugar and butter was a welcome change from ink and cafeteria food. Not giving his stomach an opportunity to complain, he reached for a cinnamon roll in the window and took a hearty bite. It was fresh. He smiled for a moment before his eyes caught the young elf woman standing across the street. She looked cold. Frail. He looked down at his bun and then back at her before tilting his head.
Certainly there couldn’t be any harm in offering…
“I’m going to take that roll out of your Christmas money, Carter.”
A man with a simultaneously loud and friendly voice interrupted his thoughts, forcing him to pull his attention away from the poorly bundled elf.
His uncle Jeremy stood tall and proud, just as a baker should. This time of year he looked more like Santa Claus himself with his broad mid-section and near white hair – not that anyone appreciated the comparison anymore. He removed his thin glasses from the bridge of his nose and cleaned the frames before he fixed Carter with a stern expression.
“Those are my Christmastime buns for the year. What do you think, boyo?”
Carter took another bite, not that he needed it to come to a conclusion. “Incredible, Uncle Jeremy. Really. You’ve outdone yourself. What’s the secret?”
“A great chef doesn’t reveal his secrets, and that goes for bakers too,” Jeremy said as he settled the frames back on his reddened nose. The brick ovens in the back always made his face look flushed and red. “I do like using you as my guinea pig, though.”
“I’m a tough man to please, I know,” Carter said with a laugh.
Jeremy joined in. “I’m hoping we’ll have quite a few orders of the buns for the holidays.”
“Oh yeah?”
“That’s the plan.”
“What are your plans for advertising the new recipe?” Carter asked, polishing off the bun and willing his attention not to drift back outside.
Jeremy shrugged. “No idea. I’d normally ask Heather to stand outside and offer samples, but she’s always a bit down until the kids come back home for the holidays. I can’t have her stand sadly out in the cold handing out bun samples.” He laughed to himself. “Wouldn’t look much like a family man if I did.”
The words escaped Carter’s mouth before he had the chance to stop them. “I can do it.”
Jeremy eyed him curiously behind his frames. “You have school.”
“After school, then. I don’t mind. It’s cold, but I don’t mind helping out.” He tried to smile. The idea of standing in the freezing mountain weather made him shudder, but if the elf girl could do it, why couldn’t he? His eyes trailed to the window, watching as the tiny, shivering girl in question held up a limp flower to a passing couple. They barely spared her a glance and her arm froze in the air before falling to her side. He turned to his uncle. “I’ll do it today, actually. Get me a table and I’ll go now. Just for an hour or so.”
Jeremy’s bushy eyebrows furrowed. “Carter, I don’t know. Your mother always gives me a hard time about you coming here in the first place after school. Thinks it’s silly for men to bake—”
“She doesn’t even have to know! Besides, if I wasn’t passing out samples, then I’d just be standing around.”
“Heh, eating all my goods,” Jeremy grunted, crossing thick arms over his broad chest. As Carter stared up at him Jeremy couldn’t help wondering why his nephew was so desperate to be out in the cold, but the businessman inside him couldn’t pass up free advertising. “It has been a slow day… alright, but only an hour,” he relented. “I’ll get a table and some fresh sample buns ready.”
“Great!” Carter said, beaming. “I think I’ll set up across the way—”
Jeremy uncrossed his arms. “No.”
Carter stopped. “No? No, what? Now you’re not letting me do it?”
“I don’t want you outside next to the elf,” he said, brandishing a large hand towards the main window. “That elf hanging out in the street is bad for business. She’s scaring off my customers.” He shook his head. “Stay in front of the shop.”
Carter frowned and didn’t argue. Instead, as Jeremy disappeared into the back, he walked up to the window and pretended to check the weather. The clouds were dark and heavy with snow, but despite that, the elf didn’t look to be leaving anytime soon. She blew into her bare hands, and tugged her wool cap more tightly around her ears before shoving them back into her tattered coat. He turned away only for a moment now that his uncle was out of sight and reached for a large croissant in the front window and tucked it into his coat. His eyes drifted back to the girl.
She didn’t look like any witch he had ever seen, despite everything he’d heard growing up. Weren’t there old tales of friendly elves as well as the stories of trickery and deceit?
He wondered when the terms elves and witches had become synonymous.
Chapter Three
Brynne glanced over when the bakery door opened. Sighing loudly and wishing the warmth would somehow manage to reach her, her breath pooled in a puff of white air. The smell alone surely wasn’t far off from heaven itself. Her stomach growled fiercely, longing for some of the warm bread and pastries that radiated the aroma, but the thought was laughable. She couldn’t even afford the stale scones at the end of the day with the money selling matchbooks made.
But that didn’t stop her mind from considering it.
She was about to get lost in her thoughts of melting butter and sprinkled sugar when two pairs of large shoes came to a halt not far from outside the bakery door. She craned her neck, recognizing the boy from before. He stood aside while the familiar owner of Sweet Mix set up a small table. When he brought out a basket of fresh, steaming gingerbread rolls she had to turn away.
The temptation was cruel.
After a few moments, a prickling sensation climbed up the back of her neck and she looked back across the street. Her grey eyes searched the few passing faces to see what would cause such a feeling and suddenly her heart nearly leapt from her tattered jacket.
That boy! He was staring right at her!
He was being subtle, but definitely watching her while the larger baker was occupied. Brynne shivered, this time not just from the cold. She prayed desperately that he would leave her alone. In her mind, he was leering and it reminded her of a time when a drunk couple had tried to
purchase her instead of the matches. What was he doing out here? She strained her ears in hopes of overhearing their conversation over the howl of the mid-December wind.
“Thanks Uncle Jeremy,” Carter said with a smile as his uncle put the finishing touches on the sample table. He tossed the fresh samples in with the ones from the early afternoon and let the warm steam hit his face. “They smell like Christmas in a pastry. I’m sure you’ll get lots of customers.”
“Remember, only one sample per customer,” Jeremy said teasingly in a voice that easily carried over to the elf across the street.
Carter laughed, knowing Jeremy didn’t care. He could give children ten samples a day and it wouldn’t bother his uncle. The point was to give out the bread to help kids smile on that chilly December afternoon.
“One hour, Carter,” Jeremy warned him, holding up a single finger. “My cashier is coming in for the afternoon and he’s going to work the register. I’ll be in the back kneading for tomorrow.”
“Got it,” Carter said with a salute.
The cashier was a decent guy – freshman in college. Kind of a tool, but he needed the money to get his girlfriend a decent Christmas present. Besides, working at Sweet Mix was pretty easy money.
Carter waved his uncle away. “One hour and I’ll bring the table back in.”
“Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out, boyo. I won’t keep you.”
As Jeremy began to head back into the shop, a heavy gust of wind prompted Carter to speak. “W-wait,” he called as the door opened and Jeremy glanced over his shoulder.
“You’re not bringing the heater out there.”
“That’s not what I was going to ask.”
