The Mrs. Clause

Overlooking the balcony, he spied the little Christmas village with gingerbread-like chalets all lined up in neat little rows. Smoke wafted out of the carefully crafted chimneys. Windblown snow covered half of the multi-paned windows in the little bungalows. Wreaths and boughs of holly were aesthetically decked on the doors. Multi-colored, vibrant Christmas lights highlighted the edges, and outlined the doors and windows. A gentle layer of snow covered the roof tops, which overhung with delicate icicles from the eaves. Christmas lights also peeked out from under the outside evergreens, which were perennially covered with snow and tinsel. Meticulously placed, multicolored bricks, lined the curbs and formed the streets in Christmas themed patterns. In the park, frosted street lamps were aglow, old-fashioned benches were routinely snow-brushed so that elven couples and families could take full advantage of the utopic-like scenery. All was orderly, peaceful, and serene. It was somewhat comforting to the soul that not anything appeared to be out of place here. Nothing seemed to have changed in all the years he had been gone. “It's still all so…unbelievable, isn’t it?” remarked Chris. “I had forgotten what it was like.” “It’s just where we live, Santa, she said, sitting down in a chair by his nightstand, her hands interlocked in her lap, her legs crossed at the ankles.” Remember what we once discussed, ‘believing is seeing?’” They had spoken often since he was a child, before he left. “Oh, yeah, right. I think I’ll have that saying framed and hung above my bed. The faith of a child.” He said, as he smiled and shook his head knowingly. “When they believe something, it’s as though they have actually seen it.” Zoë nodded her head in complete agreement, listening intently to his soliloquy. “But here I am, suddenly, right smack in the middle of my childhood fantasy. Everything I believed in, and cherished when I was little has suddenly become my life. I mean, I always knew this was my destiny, with Dad being my dad and all, but it never seemed like it would become a reality. You know, I never told anyone this, but that’s the reason I continued working for that toy company in Idaho. I love everything about Christmas, the lights, the decorations, the displays, the trees, and the good will amongst friends, neighbors, and strangers. It’s just such a magical, charming, enchanting time of year.” Zoë again nodded, concurring. Outside his window on the balcony he again looked at the Christmas village. “Hey, is that a snowman directing traffic? What happened to the polar bear?” he asked, as he came in and sat down upon his bed. “He and his family went south for the Winter Salmon run,” reminded Zoë. “Well, from the sound of it,” she continued, “though you might never have believed that you could have achieved it, you’ve been preparing for this role your entire life.” He looked down at the antique mug he was holding between his hands, and smiled. “Yeah, I guess I have been.” Santa finished the last of the chocolate, and then yawned. “You look tired, Santa,” she said, as she suddenly stood up, drew down the blankets, and then helped him into his bed. “Well, I don’t really feel tired,” protested Chris. Tucking him in, Zoë took the mug of chocolate from him and placed it on his nightstand. “Why don’t you get some rest? It’s been a busy night,” she said, fluffing his pillow. “But there’s so much going on…a lot I want to see…so much I need to do, beginning with this room,” he said, looking around. “I want…to redecorate…refurbish the antiques. Make this place more my own…” Santa began to drift off to sleep. “Nothing we can’t handle, or that can’t be taken care of later,” interjected Zoë softly. “Pleasant dreams, Santa!” After picking up the antique Santa suit from off the screen where it was hanging, and the boots that were situated near the ornate accent chair in jumbled array, she walked out of the room and closed the door gently behind her. The vintage suit which she held in her hands was made of a dyed red fur, velvetized for softness, with white fur trim. It had become tarnished from the ashes and soot that came from descending and ascending through all of those chimneys—it had to be laundered by a special dry-cleaning method so as to not to cause any damage. The black leather boots he wore also needed a proper polishing. She stopped to listen for a moment to the sound of his rhythmic breathing, smiled to herself, and then whispered, “Sleep well, Santa.” She then walked down the hallway, to go about her business and her duties in the workshop. Zoë’s responsibilities were many and varied. She typed out the daily schedule and set up appointments for Santa that he would have to fulfill in the world. She was in charge of the clerical pool that made up the list of all the little girls and boys each and every year, which was a tremendous responsibility in and of itself. Accuracy was the key component thereof. Even still, Santa would have to go over everything twice just to make sure who was actually naughty, and who was basically nice. She also played hostess when visiting dignitaries, elves from other realms, would come to town for the winter festivals. After all, elves from the world over, were essentially family. “Okay,” mumbled Chris, as he heard her leave. “But make sure Herschel works on that roof thing…don’t want to slip and fall off…slipping, falling…then…splat!” he motioned with his hand in one final, sleepy gesture against his bed. “Don’t want…to fall…off… zzzzzzzzzzzzzz.”