He approached her slowly while she continued stirring a bowl of pudding batter with a wooden spoon.
“It is my house and my family.” And then he sniffed at the air. “Do I smell pudding?”
Jacob quickly grabbed at Johanna and tickled her. Giggling, she escaped from the room to finish her preparation of the food they would bring to the great Christmas feast that was to be held in the assembly room of the village church.
Jacob took the packaged gifts from a pouting Olaf and placed them high on the mantle over the fireplace. “That’s no face for Christmas Day,” he said sincerely. Then he held out two closed hands, giving Olaf first choice at the surprise he was hiding inside them.
Olaf tapped one hand and waited.
Jacob slowly opened his fingers to reveal a mighty chunk of rock candy.
Olaf scooped it up and popped the sweet into his mouth, while he looked longingly at the mysterious toys that had been taken from him.
“That’s something you won’t find on a windowsill,” Jacob said earnestly. “Now don’t tell your mother.” Then he called to Ona, “Come on, Winklet.” Jacob picked Ona up, gave her a tender hug, and rubbed noses with her.
“Daddy! Merry Christmas,” Ona said softly to her father.
Lifting her high in the air and tossing her, he questioned her playfully with a chuckle. “Merry Christmas? Merry Christmas? What is this Merry Christmas, Winklet?”
“Where is it?” Ona asked breathlessly, giggling heartily, pulling at her father’s coat.
“What?” Jacob teased her in return.
“Stop it, Daddy,” Ona laughingly insisted.
“All right,” Jacob said. He set his wriggling daughter down and explored the depths of his pockets. “Well, now. Let’s see here. Nothing in that pocket.”
Ona watched him carefully in an effort to discover where the candy was hidden.
“Maybe there’s something over here,” Jacob said. “Oh! What’s this? What’s this?”
Jacob held out a clenched hand and opened it slowly to reveal three pieces of candy.
Distracted, Ona ignored the candy and pointed to the undiscovered toys on the mantle that had once more caught her attention. “Let’s see what Santa brought me, Daddy,” she cried out with delight, running for the presents.
Forgotten, Jacob closed his hand and returned the sweets to his pocket. A sense of jealousy overtook him as he watched his children roughhouse near the toys.
“Who’s ready for pudding?” Johanna called from the doorway.
“Ona, Olaf. Your mother has finished the pudding. Come along now.”
But Ona and Olaf continued to wrestle on the floor.
“What did I get? What did I get?” Ona said.
“Santa didn’t bring you anything!” Olaf answered unmercifully.
“He did too! I saw him leave the toys.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“Yes I did. I even went outside to meet his reindeer,” Ona shouted at him. And she waited to see his reaction.
“Ona, what did you say?” her father asked with concern from across the room.
“I saw him,” Ona said timidly.
“Did not,” Olaf mocked.
“Did too. I talked to him.”
Jacob looked to his wife with an expression of anger. “Ona,, come closer,” he said to her solemnly.
Jacob grabbed Ona by the wrist and covered the side of her face with the palm of his hand. He then pulled down each of her lower eyelids with his thumb and forefinger, searching for signs of plague. His steely eyes examined her intensely.
“Open your mouth, Ona,” Jacob instructed.
“Did I do something wrong?” Ona asked with a mystified look.
“Ona! Listen to me!” Jacob said sternly.
“Jacob! You are scaring her,” Johanna said. Then she called to the children. “Come on Ona, it’s time to go. Olaf?”
The children retreated to their mother’s side, and Ona clung to Johanna’s hip as she led them away.
Jacob was left standing alone in the main room looking at the colorful toys that had been brought by the visiting stranger called Santa.
At the Christmas feast, a gathering of jovial townspeople sat ready to eat, filling rows of wooden benches that framed decorated tables covered with platters of warm breads, big bowls of nuts and berries, fresh cheeses and roasted meats, chunks of cod, thick, fragrant puddings, pies, and mounds of cookies and candies, along with Christmas cakes that rested beside large pitchers of fresh milk.
The villagers talked and laughed together in a genuine spirit of holiday joy as they celebrated Christmas Day.
The children sat impatiently while their parents exchanged greetings and gossip and dashed off in reckless abandon when they finally were excused from the table to play.
A group of men gathered away from the women and children, who remained working clearing the tables. The men were engaged in a serious discussion that increased in its intensity as it progressed.
Gill, a cantankerous man in his forties, who was as soft as a Christmas cake, grumbled to the men. “It’s the imaginings of a child, I tell you.”
“And I’m telling you she spoke with him,” Jacob said.
A man named Thatcher, a tall and strapping, well-reasoned ranger in his mid-thirties, gave their comments his consideration and said flatly, “Nothing like this has ever happened in the past.”
“Jacob, would you wish to take this little bit of joy from our children?” asked Rolf. The weather-beaten old tracker seemed perplexed that such a commotion was being raised over the visit of the Santa.
“If it protects us, yes,” Jacob said, looking him in the eye.
“What do we do if we find him?” challenged Gill.
“Shake his hand and buy him a pint!” a willowy boy-faced man named Darren mused, and the men erupted with laughter.
Jacob was intent on making his point. “This strange man, bringing God knows what sort of disease with those toys–”
“So you’re worried the toys are sick?” Darren jabbed.
The men laughed again.
“Jacob, it is Christmas,” Thatcher said with a tone of forgiveness. “Let’s say we give it a couple of days, and look at this with clear heads.”
“By then it will be too late!” Jacob said sternly. “We’ll miss any chance of catching his tracks!”
“We don’t even know if she is telling the truth,” Gill said as Ona quietly snuck up behind her father.
“I am telling the truth,” Ona said, much to the embarrassment of all.
“Ona, you are too old to make up stories,” Gill said.
“I promise! His sleigh is pulled by reindeer.”
“You see!” Jacob shouted. His voice was loud enough that the women clearing the tables turned to see what had happened. Not seeing the immediate response he desired, Jacob stormed off to collect his gear and weapons.
“Now I’ve heard it all. Who would harness a deer?” Darren mocked, sending the men once again into riotous laughter.
“Have you seen the tracks?” Thatcher asked, bringing the men up short. A few of them nodded and grunted in affirmation.
“Rolf, do you think you can find him for us?” inquired Thatcher.
“Deer I can follow,” was Rolf’s sound reply.
“Saddle the horses!” Thatcher said.
“You are not serious?” Darren asked.
“I’ll get the dogs,” Rolf said.
“It’s Christmas!” Darren complained to no one.
“Go inform the women,” Thatcher said to a lean, awkward teen named Percy who seemed determined to join the men.
“I will; then I’ll get the muskets,” Percy said enthusiastically.
“You’re staying here!” Thatcher said to him curtly. “Now, go tell the women!”
“Yes sir.” Percy replied dejectedly, nearly tripping over his own feet as he ran off.
“I’ll round up food and supplies,” Gill announced.
“And i
f he has the sickness?” Darren asked with a bit of fear in his voice.
Thatcher grimaced at him and shooed Ona away so she would not hear his response. “Bring torches,” he whispered harshly.
“I’ll grab Jacob and tell the other men. Meet back here. We’ll stay together and spread out as a group so we are sure not to lose the track,” Thatcher said as the men hurried off to prepare.
The sound of determined rummaging filled a small, cluttered shed near Jacob’s cabin. Inside the hut, a rambunctious husky dog, a tiny horse though little more than a puppy, sniffed around at the rubble.
Like a gust of winter wind, Ona ran through the front door of the shed, calling for her dog. “Wolfie!” she cried out. “Wolfie, come here.”
Olaf stepped from behind the clutter, holding an ice axe in one hand as he struggled to adjust the heavy, overfilled satchel slung over his back. Trying to hold the sack in place with the same hand holding the ice axe, he reached down to pick up a disk sled attached to a rope the children used to pull each other around with.
“Where are you going, Olaf?” Ona asked him with surprise and worry.
“Why should I tell you?” Olaf said to her in a rude, ugly tone.
Ona’s eyes began to tear as she weighed Olaf’s response.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
Olaf continued his preparations, determined to ignore her.
“Why won’t you tell me where you’re going?” Ona cried.
“I’m going to find Santa,” Olaf said sharply.
“I want to go with you,” Ona said, pleading with him.
“Don’t even talk to me,” Olaf barked at her.
“I can help you,” Ona told him, seeking his acceptance.
“I said, don’t talk to me!”
“What did I do?”
“You are so stupid. Papa has the whole village out looking for Santa. Because of you!”
“I didn’t mean to.”
“Dad told you to go to sleep, didn’t he? Didn’t he? Now Santa is in trouble because of you!”
“I didn’t mean to,” Ona cried again, now completely in tears.
“Just go home, Ona. You are such a child,” he said to her. And he pushed past her, heading out the door. “Come on, Wolfie,” he called, throwing the sled down and plopping on top, sack and all. He attached the rope to the husky’s collar, and together they embarked, loyal steed and wayward adventurer. “Let’s find Santa before the others can hunt him down.”
I hunched over steaming bowls of water in an effort to loosen the tightness in my chest and to relieve the persistent cough that so frequently interrupted my breathing, choking the life from me. My body was punishing me for ignoring its call for needed rest and sustenance over the last few days.
Gabriella and Sarah brought me tea to soothe the harshness in my throat and were ceaseless in their efforts to tempt me with fruited cakes and cookies and other treats to lift my spirits, which I could only turn away, much to their concern and dismay.
I sat in my chair near the hearth in an effort to keep warm, watching the fire dance and lurch into the air and listening to its crackle. I paged back through my journal and gave thought to the distance I had crossed in time and space, and emotion, to get to this day, and of all the powerful lessons I had learned within the memories that washed over me.
I rocked in my old chair to the music of the fire and drifted into the spirit land, as I had so many times listening to Pel’s drumming and the songs he and other visiting noiadi would sing or through the tales they would tell of heroic deeds done in a discordant world. I thought of the reindeer herds and the migrations they tolerated majestically as part of the natural cycle of life, and I realized with clarity that the challenges and migrations I had endured were no less than theirs, and still, no greater.
Sarah continued to watch me from a distance. I was not well, and Sarah and Gabriella knew this and fretted over my health and the ragged breaths I took. I struggled to sleep as best as I could, but the punishing force of my cough interrupted me each time I drifted off, and roused me from my slumber. When Sarah could no longer restrain herself in response to my restlessness and discomfort she said to me, “Kris, you can’t keep this up. I love them too. But you are venturing beyond your capability. The people may call you the Santa, my love, but you are just one man.”
A loud knock at the door interrupted her, and before Sarah could complete her thought, I lifted myself from the chair and crossed to see who might be calling at our door.
My dear friend Pel stood in the snow, and I motioned him inside. He eyed me with apprehension as I launched into a round of deep coughs that shook me as I stood before him.
“You look bit thin,” Pel said with a worried grin.
“You look a bit taller,” I said, smiling in return.
“I miss you, friend,” Pel said, watching me as I fought to restrain another cough. “You no well. I sing to spirits in the sky. Give you breath of reindeer.”
“Thank you, Pel,” I said to him with some difficulty.
“Baldur say many men look for you, and Flem say one boy is lost,” Pel nodded his head and held up one finger to underscore his concern. “Baldur see men with weapon and fire in the night, watch everywhere. They ask question of you, with anger in eyes. Baldur say men hunt for big man with sleigh pulled by deer.”
I nodded, confused. Obviously they were looking for me, but why?
“Baldur tell them, big man, he go other way.”
I laughed at Pel’s comment, and he smiled, but I returned quickly to the issue at hand.
“You say a boy is lost.”
“Flem like Christmas feast and sometime send little girl to trade for food. She say boy lost but no men home to find him. They look for you. She say boy’s name is Olost.”
“Olaf,” I said in response and realization as I began to see the connection that might have been drawn to me. Had Ona come after me?
“How long has the boy been lost? Was he alone?” I asked to see what Pel had learned from his men. “Was it only the boy? Was there also a young girl?”
Pel shrugged his shoulders.
“Are the men searching for the boy or for me?”
“Men look for you. No one look for boy.”
I threw off the blanket keeping me warm and reached for my coat.
Sarah quickly stepped before me to block my exit. She had fire in her eyes. “Don’t you dare,” she said with powerful emotion in her voice. “You are not going out there. No!”
She struggled with me as I continued to put on my coat.
“Stop, Sarah. Please. Let me do this!”
“You’re already ill,” she said, almost crying.
“It’s one of the children, Sarah. I must help him. There is only us. And I fear somehow this is my doing.”
Sarah leaned into me and released my coat. But she looked into my eyes and with a heavy heart said, “You find him. And then you come home to me.”
I nodded in acceptance of her wishes.
I looked to Pel, who waited patiently for me to see how he might assist my efforts. “The boy may have followed the coastal trails where passage seems easier,” I said. “This time of year, with the westerly winds, the fjords won’t be fully frozen, so I doubt he could have gotten far. I will go there. You take the trail leading to the forest and circle back to find me if you are able.” Pel gave a nod.
“If he’s further in, the men will probably stumble into him. But I will look for him along the river trails and the pathways just north of his village.”
I gave Sarah a strong hug and quickly released her to make haste in finding Olaf.
Pel loaded a small sleigh with blankets and furs and shot off along the trail to the forest.
Sebastian saw me approaching with another stack of blankets and a satchel filled with supplies. He neighed and stomped in greeting.
“Hello, old friend,” I said to him as I prepared him for the ride and loaded the gear. “It’s been some time since
we have journeyed together, but I need your help now to find young Olaf.”
Sebastian sputtered and whinnied, signaling his allegiance to the cause.
“He’s in danger, I fear. We must find him before the wolves and winter can claim him for their own,” I told him.
I climbed into the saddle and made sure all was secure. With that, Sebastian lurched from the stable mound and made haste through the powdery snow, driving ahead with fervor toward the trail where we would begin our search, onward to the river.
I thought back about young Ona and Olaf as Sebastian raced on. They were children of good heart and as devoted to their parents as they were to their adventures and dreams. Ona was a brave young girl with the radiant light of excited youth in her eyes, and Olaf was a bold adventurer, who no doubt felt above all risk.
Olaf had come looking for me. It was clear the boy’s message was one of intended warning. I guessed that the torches of plague, spurred by fear, searched for me once again.
Chapter 9
Searching
Sebastian and I poured our strength out on the land in our search to find our errant champion. As we rode ahead on our way to the river, searching along the trail and through the trees, a new snow began to flutter and tumble from above. Then, as if a hole had been torn open in the sky, the frozen tears of heaven fell upon us: heavy, slushy ice rained down and grew in intensity, making passage difficult and increasing the risks we all might face in our efforts to track down Olaf.
Now, once more, the wolves began to howl as I expected, for I had come to know their devious ways and the endless plaintive melodies that announced their intentions and desires. I knew they would follow us without pause and challenge us for young Olaf when at last we discovered him.
Sebastian and I pushed on as I surveyed the land, watching for movement in the shadows between the trees which might indicate Olaf’s presence or other signs that he had passed this way.
It was difficult to estimate how far he might have traveled in the time that had elapsed since his journey began. I did not know precisely how he had set off, when, or whether he had come by horse or sleigh or on foot. I only prayed that he would be found before the wolves and winter could hurt him.
Kris Page 18
