Kris (21 page)

“Yes, I have work to do.”

“Every child,” she reminded me. “I only ask that you leave the mountains their peace. You face too much danger going back, Kris. Unless you find the proper path, the passage up can be treacherous. And I do not trust the memory of your youth to the snow- filled darkness.

“And Kris,” she said, hesitating a moment, “you know the traders said plague has returned to some of the villages.”

“Yes. I have heard.”

“Then leave them to their peace, Kris.”

I nodded in response and continued with my drawing.

“Promise?”

“Of course.”

I ventured back inside to my workshop and returned to my drafting table, but my mind was distracted by Sarah's discussion and the thoughts of all I had to do.

I unrolled some of the drawings I had made and pinned them to the table in my workshop to study them more closely. They revealed many of the new toys I had recently designed, but I was unsure how I might produce them as quickly as needed and in great numbers.

How would I ever begin to deliver them all in the little time I had?

I began to sketch at my table and focused on an improved sleigh that would carry the many toys I would have to distribute. It would need to hold up under the most severe conditions as I traveled.

As I worked, I began to think back to my youth and the skills Josef had taught me, and I daydreamed about the countless challenges I had faced under his gentle guidance.

As if in response to my thoughts, Gabriella brought me a plate of cookies filled with berries and nuts and placed them beside me at my worktable. I remembered the generous meals she made to keep us
healthy and content as we worked to fulfill the duties of our apprenticeships. Gabby touched my shoulder as she left in the comforting silence which always accompanied her on her small, significant acts of kindness.

I paged back through my journal and recalled how Gabriella had first given me this wonderful tool to record my thoughts and imaginings and the designs that would become my toys.

How many pages I had filled throughout the years! They stood as a record of my hollow youth and the ways my life had been filled up again by my developing passions and the people who surrounded me and guided me. I could see myself as a young boy, so lost and angry without a notion as to how I might overcome my burdens, when Josef and Gabriella took me in and treated me as a son.

I remembered the maps I had drawn on the inside covers, which identified the places where I deposited my brothers and sisters, and thought about how those simple directions linked me to them in my heart. I thought of when I had lost Nikko.

I kept those directions with me, always; I had determined I might one day need to rush to their assistance or return and bring them all together again. I labeled every little turn and bend in the trails that connected me to my brothers and sisters, with notes about their gentle qualities and the discoveries I might chance upon as I looked in on them, year after year, and as they grew in closeness to their new families.

In looking back upon all these things, all the good intentions and support, all the love shared by Josef and Gabriella and by my Love, my devoted Sarah, and even those painful memories and recollections that had suffocated me in my youth, I realized now these experiences were in fact gifts to me that fueled the devotion I now possessed to share the gifts of joy and laughter with the children at Christmas.

I once was a young man hungry for purpose and knowledge. The skills I developed filled me up like the glorious meals my Gabriella and Sarah fed me. Soon I would have a son who would be the culmination of this journey of love and the object of our devotion. I don't know when I decided it was a boy, but this was how I thought of him.

I had grown from a thick and troubled youth to the fullness of manhood in the prime of my life, and now it was my turn to share with my child the many gifts given to me by others. It had become my turn to be the teacher and share the truths that life and experience had taught me. I would teach him the act of selfless giving as a gift we give ourselves, that pride and purpose and goodness and worth could be received from the eyes of a child, when a gift of no inherent value other than the smiles it evoked was given on Christmas morning. If I didn't teach him anything else, I would teach him that.

I turned to see Gabriella and Sarah watching me as I daydreamed and worked, and was captivated by the smell of the cloudberry cookies they brought with them. They were as delightful and comforting as the cookies had been in my youth.

Dragging the heavy logs, from which I cut boards and beams and panels and parts for the new sleigh and cradle and this year's deliveries, was a massive undertaking. I made a sledge out of thick tarp and put it to good use in moving logs across the snowy fields and to the doors of my workshop. By the end of the first long day's work, my tunic was soaked with sweat, and my hands were raw and chapped from the friction and the cold.

“Six months!” I shouted to the treetops. I had wasted too much time. Truly I wasn't even sure if I could accomplish the task with a full year's preparation. I looked about the forest, scouring for the best trees and branches and burl with interesting natural shapes and rich grains or coloration. It was all there, but how would I gather it all without breaking my back? And how could I wrap the twine and paint and clothe and finish each necessary piece? Josef had not trained me to be weak-willed, but there was a reality I had to acknowledge. This ambition stretched beyond my abilities.

Then I heard gentle drumming in the distance and the sound of Enok's glorious bark, and I ran from the trees to greet our welcome visitors.

“Pel!” I shouted when I saw his hat bobbing through the trees. By the time I got to him, he was sitting on a stool, casually smoking his long bone pipe. He had placed his wooden drum beside his feet and blew rings of smoke into the wind, which carried it off in dancing swirls.

Enok lay beside him and jumped to greet me as I emerged from the hut. I wrestled with him for a moment as he licked me furiously.

Pel tapped out the pipe on the bottom of his boot, and tucked it into a pocket. “Is it possible you grow wider?” Pel asked.

“Is it possible you grow shorter?” I replied.

We laughed and thumped each other on the back as the old friends we were.

“Welcome. You have returned early,”

“It was time,” he said. From around him stepped my beloved Sami, each of them holding a roll of twine or a fold of cloth or bowls of various colored lacquers and paints. They were splitting wood of varying lengths and sizes and gathering the twigs they used for their children's dolls.

“How did you know?” I asked, in awe of their insight.

“The Spirit spoke to us,” he stated in his straightforward way. “And Sarah told us you need help.”

Pel smiled and strolled over to my old horse, Gerda, who was tethered outside, and rubbed her soft nose.

“Gerda, good friend. You grow old,” he said.

“She's not useless. Even if she can't handle this year's delivery,” I said to him protectively.

“Reindeer fly fast!” Pel said, moving his arms through the air with the swoosh of a flying reindeer.

“So you tell me. When you have time enough to strap eight reindeer together, you do that,” I chided him, laughing at his antics. “For it'll take no less than that to carry my new sleigh. This needs something bigger.”

Pel shook his head and chuckled again. “You need a big, big, big, BIG something,” he said as he pointed at my belly laughingly, and wandered off chuckling with Enok into the village where others were beginning to appear.

My efforts to create this year's toys went faster now as my preparation and the assistance of the Sami paid off. Their skills allowed me to work with more speed and increase the output of high-quality toys of many types.

Once I had my designs prepared, I would assemble a sufficient number of the necessary pieces of wood and make multiple markings, which allowed me to cut out numerous versions of each toy. When I had the templates formed, I was able to cut finished pieces with staggering
speed and skill and pile them near my workbench, where some of the Sami youth would put them together.

Shavings grew on the floor as we labored, and Gabriella or Sarah would sometimes come to watch us work and assist in sweeping wood chips and sawdust shavings out of the way. Gabriella liked using the chips in the stove, and was certain to insist we save every combustible scrap.

Pel offered his assistance but more often would sit in awe as he observed my progress. He had many gifts, but quite frankly toy making was not one of them; he struggled with the carvings I assigned to him. He was preoccupied with the magical movement of the toys and spent hours each day pulling on strings and twisting levers to send the toys into action. The sight of the animals running, dancing, and flying filled him with joy, and he would smile and laugh throughout his time working beside me. Whenever I observed his errors or struggles and frustrations in shaving the wood to its desired dimensions, I remembered the patience and good grace he demonstrated in teaching me the ways of the reindeer. No matter what his level of achievement, his company and unyielding humor were welcomed and important to me, and our friendship increased each day through working together.

One day Pel led me on a journey to the distant stables of a horseman well known to him and the Sami people. He packed his pipe and blew smoke into the breeze and watched me barter with the horseman over four powerful Friesian draft horses that I wanted to serve as the team for the new larger sleigh I had designed. I offered to create tables and strong chairs for the horseman's cottage and to help him fashion newer and stronger stable doors and hinged shutters and barriers to provide his animals with better protection from the elements and keep them safe.

We approached the stables so I could see the horses and inspect the work to be done, the stable doors flew open as if from a horse's kick, and a monstrous horse with a white mark on his forehead lurched from the stables and into the snow. The horseman gave chase, yelling, “Sebastian,” and cracking his whip at the now crazed horse.

I ran forward and grabbed the horseman's whip as Pel approached the horse and calmed him by stroking his nose. The horseman was angry with us for interfering, but handed me the parchment to sign and conclude our deal. He was tired of this horse's stubborn behavior and wanted to relieve himself of the burden while he had the chance.

I could see the fire in Sebastian's eyes and sensed he had an intellect as strong as his muscular frame. He was truly an incredible specimen, and I knew we would become fast friends and that he would serve as the leader of the horses that would speed me along my way when it came time for the great delivery of toys.

I scrutinized the agreement handed to me by the horseman and added my signature, hoping impossibly I had found a horse that would be as true to me and dedicated as Gerda had been over so many years.

Once back home we went to work creating new templates and new techniques to mass-produce toys for the many families and children on my list. There is something I have learned of children: give them a polished stone from the river and tell them it has magical qualities, and they will keep it in their pockets until they become old men. Give them the most extravagant, ingenious toy ever created, and they will play with it for half a day. Give them one toy, and it becomes their best friend; give them twelve and they play with none. I began to simplify most of my
toys. What I found most important in the exchange of a toy was heart. Did the toy convey and capture the heart of the child? The right gift takes thought and time. And it comes with heart.