The Legend of Holly Claus

  Mr. Kleiner appeared at the doorway, a little out of breath, as though he had been hurrying. His anxious face seemed to smooth as he caught sight of his wife. “Do excuse me, Sarah, for my lateness. Ah!” He clapped his hands together. “Miss Claus has preceded me! I am so glad.”

  “Come along then, all of you.” Mrs. Kleiner beckoned them all through an archway.

  “Me too?” asked Jeremy, looking down at his worn clothes.

  “Especially you,” Mrs. Kleiner assured him. “We must have a child.” In the dining room, a table was set with flowered dishes. In the center a large platter held a steaming stack of potato pancakes, and silver bowls of applesauce guarded each end. Another platter, with roasted meat laid in tempting slices under a savory sauce, and yet another piled high with delicate fruit, completed the meal. Mr. Kleiner produced a brown paper packet from his coat and opened it, revealing nine candles. Carefully he placed them in the silver menorah that stood on the table.

  “It’s Hanukkah,” he explained to Holly and Jeremy. “The eighth and last night of Hanukkah. The Festival of Lights,” he added, “commemorating a miracle that took place among our people.” Holly nodded; the holidays and celebrations of all people were considered basic knowledge in Forever. Jeremy, however, looked blank. “Our people, the Jewish people,” Mr. Kleiner continued. “We light the candles to remember the lamp that did not falter for eight long days. Then we say a prayer. And then—we eat!” He laughed at Jeremy’s sudden change of expression. “Thank you, Sarah,” he said, as Mrs. Kleiner handed him a flaming taper. “No, stay, you must help me.” With a smile, she placed her small hand on his, and they lit the center candle. Holly looked on, her eyes soft, as their joined hands hovered over each candle and they spoke the prayer that invoked God’s blessing. Quietly, her voice mingled with theirs as they completed the prayer. Mr. Kleiner smiled and released his wife’s hand. “And now—”

  “We eat!” cried Jeremy.

  And they did. The crispy pancakes, loaded with applesauce, were consumed, resupplied, and consumed again in a matter of a half hour, and the savory meat disappeared at the same rate. After gaining Mrs. Kleiner’s permission, Holly set out a plate for the grateful Tundra, and for a while they all enjoyed themselves without much conversation. At length Holly set down her fork, and then Mrs. Kleiner followed. Mr. Kleiner declared himself full and put down his napkin with a sigh of contentment. Jeremy, however, continued to eat with steady purpose.

  As the minutes ticked by, Holly tried to ignore the familiar weakness that was creeping upon her in the close room.

  “I never had such a tasty meal in my whole life,” said Jeremy with his mouth full. “This might be the best day ever.”

  Mr. Kleiner laughed and glanced across the table. “Sarah,” he said, “do we have a corner for young Jeremy tonight? It’s bitter cold.”

  “I was thinking that very thing, Isaac. Jeremy, would you like to stay here tonight? Free of charge, of course.”

  “What’s that?” Jeremy gulped. “Oh, thank you, ma’am, but I gotta be getting back to the kids. Now if you could spare some leftovers, ma’am, I wouldn’t say no. For the kids. They never get victuals like this from one year to the next.”

  As Mrs. Kleiner bustled about, preparing a gigantic bundle of blankets and food, with a few coins tucked inside, Jeremy felt an insistent pressure against his leg. “What?” he said incautiously, looking down at Tundra.

  Tundra glared at him, and then turned his head to Holly. She was very pale, and her hands were trembling. The warm, humid air of the Kleiners’ overstuffed parlor was sapping her strength with each passing minute. “Uh, Mrs. Kleiner, ma’am, Miss Holly here is pretty tired. Maybe you could show her the room you got for her?”

  Mrs. Kleiner was all concern at the sight of Holly’s pallor and conveniently attributed it to exhaustion. “You worked this poor child to the bone,” she said, scolding her husband lightly as she guided Holly upstairs.

  “I’ll be all right,” Holly said dully. Her pulse was pounding in her ears, and she summoned all her strength to put one foot in front of the other. What was Mrs. Kleiner saying? Nothing fancy; do hope you’re comfortable, oh dear, it’s ice-cold in here, the girl comes to tidy at ten; breakfast at seven; poached eggs unless you prefer otherwise. “Poached eggs will be fine,” stammered Holly, sitting down on the bed and feeling herself revive in the chilly air. Tundra trailed in behind them and hid himself in a dark corner, trying to be inconspicuous.

  Plenty more blankets; the water closet is just down the hall here; oh, let me light the grate; there, you’ll be warm in no time; is this little bag all you carried; well, it’s not for me to question; always better to travel light; the other lodger, Mr. Hamerky, you should have seen his luggage when he came, my dear, and that reminds me, you’ll hear his footsteps late this evening; poor boy is a printer, works day and night; I suppose it’s better than no position at all …

  Still chattering, Mrs. Kleiner closed the door. The sound of her footfalls on the carpet died away. Quiet. Holly fell back on the bed, taking great mouthfuls of frigid air.

  “Can you turn that thing off?” Tundra asked, staring at the gas fire.

  “Yes.” Holly rose and fiddled with the handle. The gas hissed away to nothing. Hungry for cold, she flung open the narrow window and found to her surprise a tiny balcony that hung over the street far below. “You are welcome to come in, snow,” she called to the sky, and was rewarded with a scattering of flakes. She flopped down on the bed again. After a long silence, she said into the darkness, “Was it only last night we were at home?”

  “Only last night.”

  “Oh.” They were quiet, remembering. “I miss them all so much.” Holly’s voice shook a little. “Do you think Mama is worried?”

  “I think she’s worried, but not as much as your father.”

  “Mmm. But he’ll pretend he’s not, for her sake.”

  “And she will know that he’s pretending and pretend herself that his calmness is the only thing that keeps her from a nervous attack,” said Tundra with a chuckle.

  “You know them so well,” said Holly, laughing softly.

  “I’ve known them so long. So many years.” Tundra sighed.

  There was a thoughtful pause. “Do you want to go home?” she asked.

  “What, now?”

  “Yes. Do you want to go home?”

  “Not without you. Ever.”

  Holly looked at the cracks on the ceiling. “I don’t deserve you, Tundra,” she said humbly.

  “Deserve.” Tundra rolled the word around his mouth. “That’s what I don’t understand about humans. This deserving idea. If it’s love, you don’t have to deserve it.” Holly lifted her head to stare at him. After a moment he smiled. “Doesn’t that hurt your neck?”

  “Yes,” she admitted, and sat up. They looked at each other affectionately for a few moments, and then Holly stood. “I must hang up my clothes, or they’ll be a mass of wrinkles tomorrow.” She rustled through the satchel, pulling out a creased dress of gray wool. “Uh-oh,” she said. “This looks terrible. What do you do with wrinkles, Tundra?”

  “Grow fur,” said Tundra indifferently. “You’ll look fine.”

  “I wish Lexy were here,” said Holly. “She’d know what to do.”

  The satchel snorted.

  “What?” said Holly and Tundra to each other. Before their amazed eyes, the satchel snorted again. And then clicked. And shivered.

  Summoning her nerve, Holly quickly overturned the satchel onto the bed. Out tumbled a muslin nightgown, a tawny skirt, and an assortment of stockings and brushes and satin pouches. Thump—a great knob of porcelain fell out. Then The Book of Forever, still in a featherweight edition, floated to the top of the pile. A mysteriously bumpy roll of green silk appeared. It lay on the coverlet, giving no clue as to its contents. Holly and Tundra exchanged glances. “Should I bite it?” Tundra asked.

  At this, the bundle erupted. “No! No!” it squeaked. “It s us, you
hound!”

  Holly began to laugh. Quickly she unrolled the silk and found three tiny creatures: Alexia, Euphemia, and Empy They were no more than two inches tall, but they were themselves. Excitedly they began to jump up and down, their teeny voices raised to the highest pitch they could muster.

  “About time!” cried Lexy. “I thought we’d never get out of that bag! So stuffy!”

  “I did it!” screamed Euphemia. “I’m the one who thought of it, and Holly, I’m the one who remembered the magic words!”

  All Empy could say was, “Holly, Holly, Holly!”

  “I’m so glad to see you, my wonderful friends,” Holly said. “I was just saying to Tundra that I missed you all horribly.”

  “We know! We heard!”

  “I can barely hear you,” Holly said, kneeling on the floor to see eye to eye with her friends. “Can you unshrink?”

  Euphemia opened her wings proudly. “Yes, certainly,” she said. “I’ll take care of that in no time.” She placed one wing around Lexy and one around little Empy “Scadoddle, Scadaddle, Scadee!” At the last word, there was a quiet pop, and all three creatures disappeared for a fraction of a second, only to emerge from nothingness to their customary sizes.

  Holly kissed them all. “Oh, my friends! My loyal friends!”

  “That was Strigigormese?” Tundra asked.

  Euphemia smiled proudly. “Yes. One of the more ancient incantations. And,” she added, “I remembered it.”

  “Doesn’t sound like I thought it would,” said Tundra, considering. “I was expecting something more like Greek. Something noble.”

  “Tundra,” said Holly warningly.

  “Oh. Right. Very interesting, Strigigormese.”

  “Thank you,” said Euphemia.

  By this time Empy was in Holly’s arms, but Alexia was peering critically at the clothes on the bed. “These look terrible. You should have hung them earlier.”

  “I was just saying the same thing,” Holly replied.

  “Luckily I brought a few odds and ends with me. Euphemia. Euphemia! Stop preening and unshrink that little bag there, will you?”

  “Scadee, Scadaddle, Scadoddle!” quickly obliged Euphemia, and a tiny silk bag, suitable for housing a single ring, suddenly blossomed into a large valise.

  “I can’t believe that’s Strigigormese,” Tundra muttered as Holly opened the bag and exclaimed over the fresh and unwrinkled contents. She pulled out a silvery skirt embroidered with white snowflakes and a crisp white blouse. New boots, too, soft and white, and a gray hat with a soaring white feather. A silvery wool jacket lined in white velvet completed the outfit. A dress the color of sea foam, with a long, fitted coat of raspberry wool. Stockings, shoes, even hankies, all neat and tidy. Finally out came a shushing torrent of glinting, golden silk and a pair of satin dancing slippers of the same color.

  “What in the world! Lexy! This is a ball gown!” Holly cried. “I don’t think I’ll be attending any balls, unless Jeremy holds one in the sausage pavilion.”

  “A lady is always prepared,” said the fox sternly.

  “Oh, it’s lovely!” Holly assured her. “Perfectly stunning. I love the way the ribbons pull back here.”

  Under Alexia’s watchful eye, Holly hung her new clothes carefully in the wardrobe and put the rest in neat stacks in the dresser drawers, all the while talking with her friends. Finally, as Mrs. Kleiner’s mournful clock, far below in the hall, struck midnight, Tundra gave up suggesting that they go to sleep and commanded it. Exhausted, they all complied.

  All except Holly, that is. She lay awake, her mind racing from one image to the next: tiny Bat next to the massive horses with their heavy hooves; Jeremy’s hand on the little boy’s arm; the dying light of the fire in the eyes of the children huddled around it; the little shack that barely kept the snow from their faces as they slept. “We got hay to keep us warm,” Jeremy had said. But how warm could they be? Holly tried to imagine being cold, being freezing. Your skin must hurt, she thought, looking at her own shadowed hands. And your nose. And your eyes. She remembered Lissy’s wracking cough and the way she had closed her eyes afterward.

  Holly slipped from her bed and went to the little desk near the window. Pulling aside the curtain to admit the thin light of the moon, she broke off a morsel of the porcelain from her bag and began to smooth the warm lump in her hands. She had only seen Lissy for a few moments, so she had to close her eyes to remember the short chin and soft brow. Once well, the thin cheeks would fill out, yes, like that …

  When her work was done, she peered into the darkness outside her window. On an impulse, she climbed out onto the tiny balcony and looked up at the indigo sky with its silvery crescent. From the clear night, a fluttering ring of snow crystals descended silently “Magic?” she murmured as the glistening snow wove itself into a light mantle around her shoulders. It did not melt but grew, until she was wrapped in a cool shawl, spangled with the lacy patterns of the snow. Holly smiled and pulled the shawl close around her. She returned to the quiet room and slipped into the bed, wrapped in the gossamer shawl. Near her feet, she could hear Lexy’s soft sighs and Empy’s wuffles. A few snowflakes drifted in the open window. She was among friends. She was safe. She slept.

  In a gray, stony house across the street, a lank curtain also dropped back into place. The inhabitant had had some trouble persuading the landlord to rent him every room on the floor. “But I got a good boarder there, in room three,” the landlord had said, perspiring.

  “I’ll pay you four times his rate,” the man said smoothly.

  “For how long?” the landlord replied doubtfully.

  “For a week.”

  “Well, I suppose Mr. Fairlee could come downstairs to the back parlor for a week. You say you’ll only want it for a week?”

  “A week,” he said through clenched teeth.

  “But you’ll pay for a month?” The landlord still didn’t believe it.

  “Yesss.”

  “Well.” The landlord sighed. “All right.”

  Oh, but it had been well worth it, he reflected now. Very well worth it. The girl was right there, within view. Nothing could happen without his knowing it. He looked down at his mortal clothes. Binding, scratching, chafing him throughout the day. He pulled off the black gloves and regarded the hands that had been imprisoned within them. Now the skin seemed to melt away, and the bones themselves squeezed and lengthened, until the familiar scaled silver skin slipped over the open flesh. Ripping off the black coat and stiff collar, he sighed. Oh, and the hat, the vile hat that seemed to rest just where the iron band bit most painfully into his flesh. He looked at himself in the long mirror. Much better. Ever so much better. Opening his mouth wide for the first time in hours, he smiled at his appearance and inspected his mottled tongue. The mirror began to spin on its stand. Around and around, madly. He started to laugh—wildly.

  I am so very close, he thought.

  Chapter Twenty

  THUD. THUD. THE LONG-SUFFERING satchel thumped rhythmically against Holly’s knees as she walked through the pale, frosted city. It was early, and the bricks at the very tops of the houses were touched with the colors of the sunrise. Delighted with the crisp air, the slippery ice beneath her feet, and the exhilaration of freedom, Holly broke into a short run. Abruptly she stopped and slid along the frozen bricks, startling several pigeons and Tundra, who was still sleepy. “Excuse me!” Holly laughed at the birds, who replied with offended coos. “You should be up, anyway! It’s a beautiful morning! Oops!” Holly neatly skirted a large, tired-looking man who was scattering sawdust on the ice.

  “Hey!” he yelled, watching her go.” Ain’t you kind of big to be sliding around?”

  “You’re never too old for sliding!” she called back to him, skidding along the sidewalk.

  He guffawed but made a tiny slide himself. Putting down the bag of sawdust, he made a more determined run and slide. “Looney,” he said, looking after Holly with a grin.

  On she went. A trio
of shopgirls, hurrying anxiously to one of the great department stores on the Ladies’ Mile, caught sight of Holly’s gliding figure and smiled at one another. Then one of the three, the youngest, gave a little push and slid herself. After an exchange of glances, the others followed, and three faces that had been stiff with worry and haste melted into something better.

  Still sliding, Holly passed into the neighborhood of lofty mansions and graceful châteaux imported stone by stone from France. Now she could see the lacy treetops of the park, and she slowed and called over her shoulder, “Race you, Tundra! First one to McElhenny’s gets a sausage!” Tundra snorted scornfully. Holly stuck out her tongue at him. “Scared you’ll lose?” she teased.

  In answer, Tundra leaped and bolted. Head down, he skimmed across the pavement and suddenly veered across the broad expanse of Fifth Avenue and into the park. He could hear Holly laughing and panting behind him, but in the ecstasy of running he flew faster, his paws scarcely touching the icy ground. He raced on madly, until he realized that the only sound he could hear was the light crunch of his own paws in the snow. He stopped dead, rolling into a crouch, and waited. Nothing. Only his own panting breath. Where was she? He cursed himself and leaped to his feet. If he had run fast before, it was nothing to his pace now. He streaked over a gentle incline and across the snowy lawn, retracing his steps until he reached the south tip of the Mall, where he saw her, a small figure flapping along the snow-covered walk with a bulging bag in her arms. Relief streamed through him, and, when he could breathe again, he loped to meet her.

  “Show-off!” she cried when he came into hearing range.