“Sounds good.” The truth was Lena was ravenous and slightly envious that Sally had gotten what seemed the better of the two jobs. Lena thought she’d gladly switch with Sally if she could. Even the hard work of waiting tables seemed preferable to playing Mrs. Santa. Plus there was a lot more job security. Still, a temporary job was better than nothing.
After dining fairly economically on grilled cheese sandwiches and soup and spending every cent that Sally had given her, Lena and Jemima returned to the room to play Barbies and get ready for bed. Once again Jemima begged for Lena to tell her ’Twas the Night Before Christmas. As Lena said, “A happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night,” she realized she was actually starting to feel like Mrs. Santa. Perhaps it was a good sign.
Of course, later on as she was drifting to sleep in her own bed, wearing the foam curlers again, she wondered, how would bright-eyed, expectant children react to seeing Mrs. Santa rather than Santa Claus himself? What if they were disappointed? Or even cried? How would she handle that?
CHAPTER
10
“Where’s Santa?” a scowling preschool-aged boy demanded. If Lena had only had a dollar for each time she’d answered that question, she might be able to retire her fur-trimmed dress by the end of the week. And this was only her first day.
“Where do you think Santa is?” she answered cheerfully.
The boy’s brow creased. “Feeding his reindeer?”
“Yes, that and making lots of toys and getting ready for Christmas. You know, someone has to keep track of all those elves at the North Pole. Otherwise they might have a big party and forget all about Christmas. Do you have any idea how naughty elves can be when left to themselves?”
He shook his head.
“Well, they’re a lot like little boys and girls. Sometimes they can’t help but be naughty.” She smiled as she lifted him onto her lap. “Fortunately, Santa understands this. Both about his elves and all the boys and girls. Now, tell me, Tyler, what do you want for Christmas?”
“Hey, how do you know my name?” he asked.
Lena glanced at Cassidy. Her elf assistant, dressed in a green velvet vest and shorts over red tights, would discreetly pen the name of the next child in line on a whiteboard. She would then flash this at Lena as she escorted the child toward the chair. It was a good system.
“Because I’m Mrs. Santa,” she told Tyler with a smile.
“I want Legos,” Tyler told her with serious eyes. “And I want my daddy to come to my house and help me build a really big spaceship with them.”
“Legos are great fun,” she said. “And I’m sure your daddy will want to play with them too, but you might have to invite him.”
Tyler rattled off a few more things, and as usual, she reminded him that Santa had his limits, but she would do her best to tell him of Tyler’s request. Then she handed him a candy cane and said, “Merry Christmas!” just as the photographer snapped a photo.
So it went on into the evening. To her relief and surprise, no toddlers ran screaming from her. And more than one mother mentioned that Mrs. Santa was a lot less intimidating than Mr. Claus himself.
“Someone should’ve thought of this years ago,” a mom said as she peeled her little girl off of Lena’s lap. “My son wouldn’t go near Santa when he was this age.”
“Go, Mrs. Santa. This is one more step for women’s lib.” Another mother raised her fist and several of the moms laughed.
“I told my mom that Mrs. Santa would be a big hit,” Cassidy said. She hung up a sign that read, “Mrs. Santa is on the phone with Santa right now. She’ll be back after she helps him make his list and check it twice.” Cassidy looked at her watch and set the fake clock to 6:30 p.m., then the two slipped back to their makeshift break room, which consisted of several patio chairs, a round table, a small refrigerator, and a microwave, all tucked behind the set of the North Pole. This private spot was deemed necessary since, as Cassidy pointed out, neither Mr. nor Mrs. Santa could get very far through the store without drawing a small crowd of little ones. Hardly a break.
“What gave you the Mrs. Santa idea in the first place?” Lena asked as she opened a bottle of water, which was provided by the store for free.
“I actually had a dream one night a few weeks ago. It was so real. I felt like I was at the North Pole and I was talking to Mrs. Santa.” Cassidy checked the mirror to see if her pointy green velvet hat was still on right. “In my dream, I asked Mrs. Santa why she never came to visit the kids at the store. I mean I knew that our Santa wasn’t the real guy and I know Santa isn’t real, but in my dream it seemed so real. Like I was really talking to Mrs. Santa.” She turned and looked at Lena. “And she looked just like you.”
Lena laughed.
“Seriously, Lena. When I saw you upstairs yesterday, I almost fell over. It was like, there she is – Mrs. Santa.” She cocked her head to one side. “You’re not really her, are you?”
Lena gave her a mysterious smile. “What do you think?”
Cassidy laughed. “I don’t know what I think. But I was praying that Mrs. Santa would show up. And here you are.” She looked puzzled. “Really, where did you come from? And how did you know to come to our store?”
“Ah . . .” Lena held a finger to her chin. “I can’t tell all my secrets now, can I?”
As Cassidy pestered her for more answers, Lena wondered what she would think if she knew that Lena had come here straight from prison. She felt a stab of guilt for the way she’d answered – or not answered – one of the questions on the employment application. It was about prior felony convictions. Instead of answering yes or no as indicated, she had made a very small asterisk (as in “see below”), and she’d placed another asterisk on the back where she wrote in tiny letters: *Falsely convicted. It wasn’t untrue. But perhaps the way she’d done it was slightly deceitful.
Still, she knew that if she’d checked “yes,” the assumption would be that she was a criminal. And she was not. Worst-case scenario, she’d told herself as she’d handed Dorothy all the papers, is that I’ll have to explain. And when no one had asked, she hadn’t said anything either. Why should she?
“Are you married?” Cassidy persisted.
“I’m Mrs. Santa,” she said, continuing her charade. “Goodness gracious, of course I’m married.”
“Do you have any children?”
Lena slowly shook her head. “No . . . no children. I always wanted children though.” She smiled. “Of course, there are the elves. They’re like my children and I do miss them so.”
Cassidy giggled.
Lena winked. “But you make a nice little elf.”
“Tell me, Mrs. Santa, where do you live when you’re not at the North Pole?”
“In a boardinghouse for now,” Lena said. “Just a small room with a narrow little bed. But I do miss the sound of Santa’s snoring. It’s a bit lonely at times.”
“You make this so believable.”
“And when all the rush of Christmas is over with, Santa and I like to take a couple of weeks down in the Florida Keys. Did you know Santa actually won an Ernest Hemingway look-alike contest last year?”
Cassidy laughed even harder. “Okay, okay, I believe you already.”
“Well, it’s about time. I was afraid I was going to have to get Santa on the phone for real, and he’s so busy just now.” Lena glanced at the clock. “Speaking of time, we should probably get back out there.”
The children were a bit older this time of night. And a bit more cynical. One girl who looked to be about seven stuck out her lip and said, “I know Santa Claus isn’t real and neither are you.”
Lena smiled. “Oh, but I am real.” She stuck out her hand. “Here, pinch me and see if it hurts.”
The girl pinched her and Lena said, “Ouch! See, that proves I’m real, doesn’t it?”
The girl looked slightly confused.
Lena looked over to where the mom was waiting with an older girl. “Tell me, Faith Ann,” Lena said quietly. �
��Did your older sister tell you that Santa wasn’t real?”
She nodded with wide eyes. “How did you know?”
Lena laughed. “And does Santa still bring your older sister gifts for Christmas?”
She nodded again.
“Then you should ask your sister where the gifts are coming from and why she keeps saying what she wants Santa to bring her.”
Faith Ann’s eyes lit up. “Yeah. You’re right.”
Lena wasn’t sure if it was right or wrong, but when they were done talking, it seemed that Faith Ann’s faith in Santa had been restored. Really, what did it hurt? Lena knew her father would probably turn over in his grave – or wherever he was – if he knew his daughter, the ex-con, was playing this role. But what was the harm in making children happy? Based on the stories she’d heard today, some of these children (not unlike Jemima) needed a spark of joy in their dreary little lives. And it made her happy to provide them with it. Really, this was a great job!
Lena still felt it was a great job on Friday. Oh, her lap was a bit sore, and she didn’t particularly enjoy the teasing she got from fellow employees, but she tried to take it with good humor. It was the children who made her appreciate this job – she loved chatting with the little ones, catching them off guard, and even hearing some of their secrets, both the good and the not so good. And she always tried to give them a bit of hope to take with them. It seemed the least she could do.
Lena was also growing quite fond of her young elf helper, and she looked forward to Cassidy’s arrival after school each day. Not that the other elf, Patricia from the children’s department, wasn’t good. But her sugar-sweet voice got on Lena’s nerves at times, and she was always relieved to see the shift change.
“Are you going to work every day?” Lena asked Cassidy during their last break. “Or will you take weekends off?”
Cassidy frowned. “Mom says I have to take weekends off.”
Lena nodded. “That makes sense. After all, you’re pretty young to be working all these hours.”
“That’s what Mom says too. She said next week she’s cutting me back to just three hours a day.”
Lena wasn’t surprised about that either. In fact, it seemed a little odd that a twelve-year-old was working this much. Except for the fact that Cassidy did a superb job with the kids. It was obvious they liked her more than Patricia no matter how hard the elder elf tried. Maybe the kids were suspicious of her saccharine voice too.
“Have a good weekend,” Lena told Cassidy after they’d changed back into their street clothes at the end of their shift.
“I’ll miss you, Mrs. Santa,” Cassidy called as she went to join her mother. Ms. Harrington smiled and waved almost as if she appreciated Lena. This small gesture gave Lena a bit of hope – perhaps there would be a job for her beyond Christmas after all. Though it seemed unlikely, since from what she was hearing, sales were down and most of the employees cringed when they saw Ms. Harrington coming around.
On Saturday, Lena was surprised to see Moira and Beth standing among the moms and kids. Certainly Beth didn’t plan to get her photo taken on Mrs. Santa’s lap. Although several teen girls had popped down here thinking that they’d get a picture with Santa, when they saw that it was Lena instead, they’d changed their minds. Something about a teen girl sitting on the lap of a middle-aged woman was a bit off-putting. To Lena as well.
Finally the line dwindled and it was nearly break time, but Moira and Beth were still there. “Are you here to see Mrs. Santa?” Patricia chirped at Beth.
Beth giggled. “Kind of. Can we talk to her?”
“Sure. It’s almost break time though.”
Moira and Beth came up to her chair, and it was obvious they knew who she was, although she’d been hoping to keep it incognito. “Mrs. Santa,” Moira said with a twinkle in her eye. “Do you have a few minutes to chat?”
Lena nodded. “Do you want to come to the back room?”
“We were hoping to take you to lunch,” Beth said.
“In this?” Lena held out her arms.
“We didn’t know you were Mrs. Santa,” Moira confessed. “Until I went up and asked Camilla whether or not you were working here and she set me straight. She seems to really like you, Lena.”
“Her daughter works as my elf part-time,” Lena said as she led them toward the make-do break room. “The Mrs. Santa thing was actually Cassidy’s idea.”
“I wish I could be an elf,” Beth said longingly. “It looks like fun.”
Lena watched as Patricia set the break clock and scurried off. “I wish you could too, Beth.”
“If any openings arise, let me know.”
Moira frowned as they sat down in the patio chairs. “I’m surprised Camilla would allow Cassidy to work like this.”
“Cassidy loves being an elf,” Lena told them. “She actually had a dream that she was talking to Mrs. Santa. Working here like this has been a dream come true for her.”
“That is so sweet,” Beth said. “How is she doing anyway?”
“Cassidy?”
Moira and Beth exchanged glances.
“What?” Lena asked.
“You don’t know?” Moira looked concerned.
“Know what?”
“Oh.” Moira shook her head. “Cassidy has leukemia. She was in remission last year. But I heard she’d been getting chemo treatments again this past fall.”
“Seriously?” Lena gasped. “But she seems healthy to me.”
“She’s a little trouper,” Moira said.
“She’s so happy . . . and helpful.” Lena tried to imagine the vivacious girl having chemo treatments. It just didn’t make sense.
“Perhaps she’s doing better now,” Moira said. “Whatever the situation, I know Camilla would never let Cassidy work if she thought her health was at risk.”
“And maybe Cassidy feels better when she’s doing something like this,” Beth said. “It might take her mind off things.”
“She does seem to enjoy the children.” Still, Lena felt sickened by this news. Sweet Cassidy . . . leukemia . . . it seemed so unfair.
“So, how are you doing?” Moira asked Lena.
“I’m doing fine.” Lena nodded. “It’s great to be working. Not exactly what I expected, but I’m having fun.”
“And will you and Jemima want a ride to church again on Sunday?”
“That would be nice. Jemima has talked about it. She had fun at Sunday school.”
“Then it’s a date.”
“And I thought maybe I could help babysit Jemima if both you and her mom are working,” Beth said.
Lena explained that Sally was working right now and that Jemima was being watched by an elderly woman at the boardinghouse. “It’s not the best situation, but Sally is okay with it.”
“We’ll stop by the café and speak to her,” Moira said.
“I want to thank you again for the beautiful clothes.” Lena looked down at her red velvet dress. “As it turned out, I didn’t even need them. Would you like me to return them?”
“Of course not. They’re all yours, dear. I was happy to thin the herd. Goodness, how many things can one clotheshorse wear anyway?”
Beth laughed. “Dad’s always saying I’m just like Grandma,” she told Lena. “You should see my closet!”
They chatted for most of Lena’s break, which really did help to pass the time. Then Moira promised she’d see her tomorrow. “Same time, same place,” she called as she waved goodbye.
It being Saturday, the store was busier than usual. And the children seemed to just keep coming. But about an hour before closing, Lena noticed a familiar face among the mothers. She looked discreetly her way, trying to remember how she possibly knew her. Was the woman from prison? If so, would she remember Lena and mention it? And if she did, how would Lena react?
The woman, who appeared to be in her twenties, walked up, leading her small son by the hand. Pausing, she peered at Lena curiously and then said, “Lena Markham?”
Lena smiled. “I’m sorry, you must be mistaking me for someone else.” She waved to the sign over her chair. “I am Mrs. Santa. And who have we here?”
The woman frowned. “This is Preston.” When Lena opened her arms, the little guy toddled right up to her and she pulled him onto her lap, smiling toward the camera since it was mostly about the photos with these little ones.
“Well, Preston, let me guess what you want for Christmas . . . how about a tricycle?”
He seemed happy and clapped his hands. But his mother kept staring.
“Now you be a good little boy and I’ll tell Santa to bring you something really special.” She smiled at the woman.
“I know that’s you, Lena Markham.” The woman spoke quietly as she reached over and snatched her son. “You were Pastor Markham’s wife. You’re the one who stole the missions money from church. I was in high school then and I’d worked hard to raise some of that money.” She held her son close to her. “And I can’t believe you’re here doing this. You should be ashamed of yourself.”
“Is something wrong?” Patricia asked as she was escorting a school-aged boy up to the chair.
“Ask her,” the woman said with narrowed eyes.
Suddenly Lena remembered. That had to be Justine Grant – all grown up and just about as mean as her mother, Marsha Grant, had been.
“What’s wrong with her?” Patricia quietly asked Lena.
“She’s a very angry young woman.” Lena shook her head then turned to smile down at the boy. “You must be Brian,” she said to him. She proceeded to guess correctly about the video game he wanted. It wasn’t a hard guess since most of the boys his age had requested the hot new game. But the whole time she made small talk with Brian, she was thinking about Justine, wondering what the young woman might do. Or perhaps she would do nothing. Lena could only hope.
Lena felt bone tired when her workday ended. Whether this exhaustion was from all the children she’d spent time with or a result of worrying over Justine Grant was unclear. But as she put on her street clothes and hurried through the store, all she wanted to do was go home and sleep. And yet she still had to watch Jemima. She had promised to take over for old Mrs. Davies when she got back. But when she went to Mrs. Davies’s room on the first floor, she found the old woman had already gone to bed.
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