Kris (32 page)

“Well, we are all home now. Safe and sound,” Johanna said, handing Thatcher and Rolf warm steaming mugs.

“Thanks to Santa,” Olaf said with admiration. “Santa brought me home.”

The room froze.

“What is this?” Jacob asked loudly.

“Olaf, it was supposed to be a secret,” Ona whispered loudly to her brother.

“Jacob,” Johanna said, “he only meant to help us and bring Olaf home. He was sick. He endangered himself to help our son. He saved our son, Jacob.”

“Let's get a good night's sleep and look at this fresh in the morning,” added Thatcher cautiously.

“I went to warn Santa, because I didn't want you to hurt him. Then it got so cold and I didn't know how to get home. I only wanted to be home. But Daddy, I knew that you would find me. And then the wolves chased me, so I jumped into the river, and Santa jumped in after me.”

Jacob simply stood looking down on Olaf.

“He saved me, Dad, just like you would have.”

Silence rung throughout the room as all eyes rested on Jacob. Then Jacob collapsed to his knees and wrapped his arms about the boy, burying his head in the child's neck. Jacob's breathing came in stuttering gasps as he held onto the child.

“Olaf, I was afraid that you would like Santa more than me. In my jealousy I almost truly lost you. Forgive me for what I have put you through.”

Jacob stood and looked about the room.

“What I have put you all through.”

“How could you think that, Dad?” Olaf asked, looking up at Jacob with innocent concern.

“I don't know,” Jacob said, bending down to look Olaf in the eyes. “I have been stupid, son.”

“You're not stupid, Daddy, you're special,” Ona said sweetly. “You have a snowflake like Santa gave to me.”

Sure enough, the old weather-beaten snowflake left with the infant Nikko hung from Jacob's neck as he bent over, looking down at his son, Olaf. Ona held out her hand, displaying her tiny replica that had once dangled from Dancer's collar. The room was silent.

Jacob stared at the only connection he had ever found to his past. He lifted the tiny snowflake from Ona's hand, inspecting the cuts and curves that unmistakably imitated the form of the snowflake that he had worn from his earliest memories.

Stunned, Jacob pulled on his jacket as if in a dream and prepared to venture out into the night once again in search of Santa. Only this time he sought a connection to his past and the connection to a family he had never known.

Thatcher caught his arm. “Johanna said he was unwell. He may indeed have the sickness.”

Jacob looked Thatcher in the eye, gently pulled his arm free from Thatcher's grasp, and walked out the door into the cold night.

“I'm going with him,” Darrin announced, then shouted, “Jacob!” as he followed out the door.

“I don't know about you, Thatcher, or the rest of the men, but I am not letting them go alone,” Rolf added.

“I don't know where they are going. We need fresh horses and some food, preferably warm, before anyone is leaving,” said Thatcher, holding the door for Rolf.

Jacob rode long and hard in pursuit of the Santa, accompanied by all the men from the village except for Percy, who said it was his job to stay and watch over the women and children should there be a problem. The hunting party followed the trail left by the Santa. Finding the tracks had been relatively easy due to how recently they had been created. Following was a different matter. The snow continued to fall, making
the hunt increasingly more difficult. No one knew for certain where the man they called the Santa lived or how far north they might be traveling.

Jacob and the other men on horseback fanned out though the trees. The snow was falling faster, creating an impenetrable sheet, impossible to see through at twenty paces. Echoing calls passed through the trees from man to man in a steady, monotonous rhythm. Then, a frantic hollering broke the repetition, sending the men converging.

My father stood above me, surrounded by men of our home village.

“Does he have the sickness?” I heard one of the men ask.

Father bent down and cradled my head, wiping the sweat from my forehead and smoothing my hair. “No. But I am not sure it matters.”

“I waited a long time for you,” he said to me. “There is so much I would like to tell you and learn about you.”

I could almost hear sleigh bells in the distance. My father looked so young, younger that I remember him ever looking. He was strong and confident.

“I did everything I could,” I told my father.

“I am sure you did.”

“I am sorry. I lost Nikko.”

“Nikko?”

“Nicholas, Dad, I lost Nicholas.”

Then I broke into coughing.

He's delirious, but he is alive,” Jacob said hopefully to the group.

“If we are going to do something, we'd best do it,” Rolf announced. “I don't believe he'll last the ride back,” he added, putting his hand on Jacob's shoulder.

Jacob stood looking around frantically for any solution that might present itself, as if out of the snow would appear some undiscovered village or roadhouse. And again the jingle of bells rang in the distance.

Pel spotted the red coat and smelled the horses long before he saw the men. Without his hands on the reins, Pel sat inside the sleigh as if he were merely a passenger on the ride. Absent of any goading or guidance, the magnificent reindeer pulled the sleigh alongside the men, who stood looking at the team and sleigh as if they had just flown out of the land of fairies.

Rolf broke the spell and cut to the chase. “Gentlemen, this big fella is gonna take the lot of us.”

One by one, men from my home village stepped up to stand beside my father. I felt guilty for having forgotten the faces of these once dear friends and neighbors.

“Don't worry,” my father said to me. “We have you.” As one they reached down and lifted me up, placing me gently in my sleigh. Then my father stepped in the sleigh with me. “I need to go with him,” he said to our neighbors. “Don't worry about me; I will find my way home.”

J
acob was fascinated when the Sami in their colorful clothing
appeared as if from another world around the low hills that the sleigh passed by. The people matched the unique appearance of the old, short, gruff man who rode in the sleigh grumbling as he ministered to the Santa. As of yet he had not spoken a word to Jacob, barely even giving him a look.

Jacob was completely stunned when a door opened up from one of the hills, and a beautiful woman in her late forties ran to the sleigh,
desperately worried about the Santa's well-being. She called him Kris, and though all her attention was dedicated to assisting the Santa, she gave Jacob a warm if brief greeting and had some of the Sami lead him and the extraordinarily bizarre deer into the back of the hill, which astonishingly encompassed both a stable and workshop. The strange men unhitched each of the deer and stabled them, then wordlessly left Jacob to explore the unusually large and peculiar room.

Wooden snowflakes hung all about the workshop. They were cut in the arches that supported the latticed dome of the earthen structure. They were repeated in the elaborate scrollwork that covered the cabinets and counters. The workshop itself was a mystical combination of two worlds, colliding in a beautiful fusion of purpose and meaning.

Everywhere Jacob looked there were replicate designs of his snow-flake. He was overwhelmed by the evident connection that he held to something that seemed so much greater than him. From beneath his shirt he pulled his snowflake pendant to compare the exact designs.

Unknown to him, Sarah entered from the door in the back of the carpentry and watched from the shadows. “He spent a lifetime looking for you,” she said, slightly startling Jacob.

Sarah stepped from the darkness and walked directly to his side, then touched the dangling snowflake with her fingertips.

“How is he?” Jacob asked softly.

Sarah struggled to hold off her overwhelming emotion, placing the back of her hand over her mouth until she regained her composure. Looking up at Jacob, she inspected the familiar lines of a face so like the one she had fallen in love with a lifetime ago. Reaching up, she placed the palm of her hand on the side of his chin.

“Who can deny that miracles exist?” she whispered. “Come. I think your brother would like to meet you.”

“Brother.” Jacob stood there, testing the thought and tasting the word.

“I believe,” she affirmed for him. “Were you found as an infant one early Christmas morning?”

Water gleamed in Jacob's eyes as he nodded.

“Then it is so.”

“Does he know I am here?”

“He knows you are here. He does not know the significance of who you are.” A tiny cuckoo clock struck the half hour.

Jacob approached the clock. It looked like a tiny cabin with a porch, and instead of a bird, two figures, a man and a woman, poked out the front door as if calling for someone. Along the porch were the carved statuettes of eight children, four boys and three girls, with the tallest boy holding an infant. Around the neck of the woman figurine set the pendant Jacob now held in his hand.