by Starr Meade
Clare agreed that the penguin’s theory made sense. Then their food came, and no one said anything for a few minutes while they all ate hungrily. Spending so much time outside on a cold day had given Dylan and Clare quite an appetite. Once they had slowed down a bit, Dylan said politely, “Thank you for the tour. It was very interesting. The icicles really are beautiful, and it’s amazing, that secret process you have for making them non-melting. But, I’m not sure I see what they have to do with the Founder or why we always see them on our Holiday vacations.”
“Well,” the penguin explained, “legend has it that the Founder first came to the town that is now Holiday in the dead of winter. The funny thing is, as much good historical evidence as we have about so much else that has to do with the Founder, no one really knows what day he first showed up. It probably wasn’t winter at all. But the dead of winter would have been a really appropriate time for him to come, wouldn’t it, because the conditions of the people he came to were certainly winter-like. Think about it. In winter, everything’s dark, dreary, and dead. Days are short, and people feel depressed. There’s very little sun, so nothing grows. Plants go dormant, producing nothing. Tree branches are naked and they can’t bear any fruit. Winter’s a wasteland, like the one you came through. Before the Founder rescued them, those he rescued lived in a winter of their own making. They were hopeless; they were lifeless. They could produce nothing worth anything at all. Even if they’d wanted to return to the good Emperor they’d rebelled against, they would have been able to bring him absolutely nothing as a gift to win his favor. The Founder came and changed all that. He burst in upon them all like springtime. He brought light and life and worked so many changes in them and in their town that they became wonderfully productive. Now, the real citizens of Holiday grow all kinds of fruit and produce all kinds of gifts for the Emperor, gifts that he not only accepts, but accepts with delight. So people decorate Holiday homes and Holiday vacation spots with icicles and garlands, reminders of the winter barrenness from which the Founder rescued them.”
“What about the Founder?” Dylan asked. “Does anyone give him gifts? He’s the one who has done all this for these people.”
“Oh, gifts for the Emperor, gifts for the Founder—it’s all really the same you know,” the penguin answered vaguely.
Dylan didn’t know. But he was only half listening. “I think I’d like to give the Founder a gift,” he said. He looked the penguin full in the face. “What would you give to the Founder?” he asked. “And how would I get it to him?”
“Well,” the penguin began. “I can’t tell you how to find him to give it to him, because, well, you know,” and the penguin glanced at Dylan who nodded. “But I think you could leave it for him at the Holiday chapel. Many people who find him—or, who are found by him—” and even the penguin seemed confused for a minute—“anyway, it often happens there. At the chapel. And I really can’t tell you what to give him. But you said that on this whole trip, he’s been going ahead of you, or behind you, or whatever, and seems to know all about you. He’s probably been providing for you all along the way, hasn’t he?” And the penguin nodded at Dylan’s fur-lined boots. “I rather suspect that you’ll find giving him a gift to be the same.” The penguin, who seemed to feel important when he talked in riddles and who seemed to like feeling important, would say no more. Dylan and Clare finished their chili thoughtfully, told the penguin good night, and went off to bed.
The children rose early to catch the departing dog sleds out of Winterland. They had already climbed onto a pile of boxes on one of the sleds when the penguin waddled out to see them off. “The dogs can only go as far as there’s snow, of course,” he told them. “There’s a tiny train station just before the edge of Winterland. That’s where the sleds stop. The icicle shipment finishes its journey by freight train. That’s where you’ll get off and give back the warm clothes. From there, just follow the road—it won’t be far into Holiday.”
“Would that be the real Holiday?” Dylan asked. The penguin nodded. “Not the Visitors’ Center and not Holiday Village?” The penguin shook his head. “The real Holiday?” The penguin nodded again. “Well, that’s good!” Dylan said. “And not a day too soon. Our passes expire today at sunset.”
Just then, the sled the children sat on started off with a jerk, and Dylan and Clare grabbed at each other to keep from tumbling off into the snow. “And then once you’re there,” the penguin called, “head for the chapel.” He waved his wing, growing smaller and smaller as the caravan of sleds moved steadily away at a trot.
The brisk pace in the early morning breeze caused Clare to reach up to pull her hood more tightly closed against her neck. Dylan adjusted his wool cap over his ears. He looked thoughtful. Clare wondered if he was worrying about their passes expiring before they could get authorized. “So,” she said, “we’re finally going to be in Holiday! Aren’t you excited?”
“Hm?” Dylan said absently. Then he realized what she had said, and his face brightened. “Oh. Right. That will be good.” The thoughtful look reappeared almost immediately. “But I don’t care nearly as much about Holiday as I did a few days ago. It’s the Founder I want to see. And I really want to get him a gift. What do you think I could get him?”
Clare was thinking about how to answer when the lead dog on the lead sled gave a short sharp bark and began to run. The other dogs all began to run as well. The cold wind blew into Clare’s face, stinging her eyes and numbing her lips. The wind roared in her ears, even in spite of the warm hood. Talking became impossible, and the two cousins huddled together on top of the sled for the rest of the ride.
After some time, Dylan caught sight of a line in the distance that ran across the snow. At almost the same time, the dogs slackened their pace. As they approached the line in the snow, they slowed to a walk and finally stopped at what looked something like a child’s playhouse. It was a tiny building, with a roof no higher than Dylan’s shoulder. “Oh my goodness,” Clare laughed. “When the penguin said a ‘tiny train station,’ he meant it! Look, Dylan, it’s a model train.” Indeed, it was—a large model train, but a model train nonetheless.
The snow was much less deep here. The wind had died and the sun shone brightly. Once the sled had stopped, the children realized that their coats and gloves had become much too warm. Even so, after the cold, bracing ride, they found their arms and legs stiff and hard to move as they crawled back down from the pile of boxes on the sled. Once they were on the ground, they had gloves, hats, coats, scarves to remove, fold up, and place on the sled. It must have been because they were busy with those things that they failed to notice where the team of short men in red uniforms came from. They could not have all fit inside that tiny building! The little men nodded at Dylan and Clare, then got to work unloading small packages from the dog sleds and filling the model train’s freight cars. Dylan and Clare thanked the dogs harnessed to the sled they had ridden, then started off down the road. It led up a little hill, and, as soon as they’d topped the hill and started down the other side, the snow was gone. The sun shone, the birds sang, the grass grew—and Winter-land was but a memory.
Suddenly, Dylan gave a little cry of dismay. “Clare!” he said. “I don’t have any money. I’d forgotten about my wallet getting stolen.”
“So?” Clare answered. “We should be okay—we only have one day left, and so far, we really haven’t had to buy anything; whatever we’ve needed has just been there for us, all along the way.”
“I mean for a gift,” Dylan said. “How can I give the Founder something when I don’t have any money?”
“I have a little bit,” Clare answered, “and you can have it if you want, but—doesn’t it seem like the Founder’s not really the kind of person you could buy a gift for?”
“What do you mean?” Dylan asked.
“Well, think about it, what would you buy him?” Clare persisted.
Dylan thought for a moment, started to say something twice, but stopped himself both t
imes. Finally, he answered, “I see what you mean. What would he want? I’m sure there’s nothing he needs. He’s been giving us everything we’ve needed. But that’s just it! That’s why I have to give him something. In fact, Clare,” and Dylan’s face grew animated with this new idea, “maybe that’s why he takes so long to be found. Maybe he only wants to authorize people who really appreciate what he does. Maybe he watches to see which people show appreciation and those are the ones he authorizes.” And Dylan muttered, more under his breath than to Clare, “I’ve got to give him something.” He turned back to Clare. “Maybe we can find something in one of the Holiday Village shops. How much do you have? I’ll pay you back when we get home.”
Clare took her wallet out of her pocket and handed it to Dylan. “Not much, but you can have all that’s in there. But I still say, even if I had loads of money in there, it wouldn’t be enough to buy something for the Founder. I just don’t think he’s like that.”
Dylan and Clare soon arrived back at Holiday Village. Clare followed Dylan as he wandered into, then back out of, every shop on the street. Sometimes his face would light up for a moment or he’d pick something up to examine it more closely, but each time, he’d shake his head, thinking how this just could not be good enough to give to the Founder.
Finally, Dylan exited the last shop, Clare at his heels. Dylan took a few steps away from the street to a weathered little bench sitting off by itself. He sank onto this bench, discouraged. “I can’t give him anything,” he moaned. “So I guess I’ll never find him. He won’t want to see me when I have nothing to give. He’ll think I don’t appreciate all he’s done and he won’t authorize me.”
“Dylan,” Clare was actually scolding her cousin now, something she did not often do. “You’re making all that up. No one has said the Founder’s like that. No one’s said you have to give him something before he’ll see you. You’ve just come up with that yourself and talked yourself into it!”
“Clare,” Dylan answered, speaking as though he were talking to a very young child who did not understand much, “you never get something for nothing. Everything always costs. It may be that you can’t really pay for what the Founder does for you, but you have to contribute something. That’s just the way things work.”
A gift for the Founder
When Dylan, already frustrated, heard Clare laugh, he snapped. “What’s so funny?”
“You are, dear,” said a quavery little voice, from behind the bench he sat on and near the ground. At that moment, Dylan realized it had not been Clare who had laughed. The laugh had not even sounded like Clare’s. “You sound so sure of yourself,” the sweet voice continued, “but you’re so wrong.”
Both Dylan and Clare spun around on the bench, so that their backs were to the road, and looked down at the ground. A small plant with dark green leaves and one large bright red flower grew there. “A poinsettia!” Clare cried.
“That’s right,” replied the plant, in a voice that sounded like that of Dylan and Clare’s grandmother. “My name’s Penny. And you, dear,” she said, turning to Clare, “understand much better how the Founder thinks than your friend there.”
“He’s my cousin,” Clare answered, and then, generously, considering how short Dylan had been with her, “and he’s my friend too. His name’s Dylan, and I’m Clare.”
“Well, let me tell you something, Dylan,” Penny said, “something about gifts for the Founder. Do you ever remember seeing poinsettias like me on your Holiday vacations?”
Dylan, still cross from his long fruitless search, only nodded. Clare hurried to give a more civil reply. “Sure,” she said, “they’re everywhere. They line some of the streets, they’re in houses and stores, sometimes they’re even in the church.”
The poinsettia plant moved up and down slightly. That must be the way a plant nods its head since it doesn’t have a head to nod, Dylan thought, becoming interested in spite of himself.
“There’s a story about poinsettias and about how they came to be used in Holiday,” Penny went on. “The story has it that a particular village had planned a big celebration for the Founder. It would be held at the village church, and every single villager would bring the Founder a gift. For months, all the villagers had been planning and preparing. Farmers had grown prize vegetables to bring. Shepherds had chosen their most perfect sheep. Women had sewn, knitted, or embroidered scarves and sashes of the most beautiful colors imaginable. Rich people had saved all year, then gone on journeys to purchase wonderful jewels to give. Everyone had something and no one planned to give less than his or her very best. But, there was one very, very poor woman who had nothing to give. She had no money with which to buy anything. She had no food to prepare as a gift—why, she herself had not eaten a real meal all day. She lived alone in a tiny rented room with no yard in which to grow anything. She had absolutely nothing for a gift.
“The day of the Founder’s celebration had come, and all the villagers were streaming up the hill to the church with their gifts, singing and laughing. The woman could not stay away, even though she had no gift. She loved the Founder and was as grateful as anyone for all he had done. It broke her heart to have nothing to give him on this special day for him. So she followed along on the edges of the crowd, but, as the others hurried faster when they drew near the village church, the poor woman’s feet moved more and more slowly. How could she go in the door with no gift in her hands? How could she just stand there when everyone else was moving up to the front of the church to set down a gift? At last, left alone on the dusty road when everyone else had passed, she sank down by the side of the road and began to cry. Legend has it that her tears fell on a weed growing by the road, and they washed the dust from its bright red flowers. The woman stopped her crying to look at the flower, and realized how beautiful it was. Gladly, she gathered it up and hurried on to the church. The flower would be her gift. She was sure it would bring the Founder joy; in fact, she rather believed the Founder himself had left it there for her to give him as a gift.”
Penny paused. “She was right, of course; he had left it there for her to give. And if you’re thinking that that flower must have been a poinsettia, you’re right, too. When you see poinsettias all around Holiday, you should let them remind you that the only way anyone can ever give to the Founder is by giving back to him what he’s given first.
“You can’t give him anything he needs,” the perky plant continued. “He doesn’t need anything. You can’t give him anything he doesn’t have; he has everything. You can’t earn his gifts and you can’t pay him back for them. Think back to when you were little and you wanted to give a gift to your mom. Of course, she loved it that you wanted to give her a gift. But the only way you could do it was to go to your mom, ask her for some money, then use her money to go buy her a gift. When you gave it to her, she was delighted, wasn’t she? But, when you think about it, it was almost like a gift from your mom to your mom! That’s how it will be with the Founder. He’ll show you gifts he wants from you. But you won’t have what it takes to give them. He’ll give you all you need to give him a gift. So stop wasting your last day here shopping and go on to the chapel.”
Dylan, ashamed of his previous rude behavior, spoke up. “I’m sorry I was rude earlier—to you, too,” he added, turning to Clare. “Thank you very much for telling us all that. I’ll do like you say, and I’ll just wait to see what the Founder wants, and how he gives it to me to give back to him. Your story was very helpful, and I’m glad we ran into you.”
The poinsettia giggled, sounding like a sweet little old lady. “Of course, you didn’t ‘run into me,’” she corrected. “The Founder put me here to wait for you.” And the whole plant moved gently from side to side—(which must be, thought Dylan, the way a plant shakes its head when it has no head to shake). “Are you ever going to get this, young man?” she added so quietly that Dylan was not even sure she had said it.
Since Dylan and Clare had searched every store in Holiday Village, their co
nversation with Penny had taken place at the very end of the little village that lay just outside of the real city of Holiday. Now they had only to cross the short stretch of open road between Holiday Village and the real town to finally be in the beautiful city they had looked down on from the roadside overlook. They hurried along this stretch of road, eager to finally reach their destination. They kept up such a brisk pace that, when they spoke, their sentences came out in jerky little bursts.
“You know,” Dylan said, “annoying as it was—back at the beginning—to have to go—the long way to—Holiday,—I’m glad it worked out—that way. I’m sure—we’ll appreciate—Holiday—much more now—that we’ve gone through so much—to get to it.”
“And,” Clare added, also panting because of their speed, “look how much we’ve learned—about the Founder. We wouldn’t have known—any of that—if we’d come the easy way.”
“Yes,” Dylan agreed in a soft, serious voice, more to himself than to Clare, “and the Founder really seems to be the main point. I’ll bet you can’t know the real Holiday if you don’t understand about the Founder.”
A few more moments of quick walking and Dylan and Clare passed the sign that read “Holiday City Limits.” Several more steps and they stepped through the city gate that stood open, inviting. There they stopped, overwhelmed with the wonder of what lay before them. Buildings of all kinds greeted their eyes. Grand elegant halls, simple cozy cottages, tall imposing towers, exquisitely styled mansions, inviting little shops and cafes—all were different, but every one was beautiful. Each building had its own yard, landscaped to be an extension of the building. The great, imposing structures sat in expansive green lawns, bordered by well-trimmed hedges. Each smaller house or shop, even the most simple, had its own garden, however tiny, full of flowers of all kinds. The streets, obviously cared for with loving attention, were lined with every sort of tree. Pine and fir trees, flowering fruit trees, full shade trees, all grew along the streets.
