Kate Hoffmann - Unexpected Angel - Unexpected Angel / Undercover Elf

Of course, Eleanor had read her letter to Santa out loud in front of Miss Green’s class, a long recitation of all the toys she’d need to have a satisfying Christmas, the pretty dresses she’d require. She’d also informed the class that she planned to be the very first in line to give her letter to Santa once the Gingerbread Cottage opened for business at Dalton’s.

Secretly, Eric hoped that Eleanor’s letter would get lost in the shuffle, and that she’d fall through the ice on the Hudson River and she’d be swept downstream to torment some other kids at a grade school in faraway New York City. She was greedy and nasty and mean and if Santa couldn’t see that from her letter, then he didn’t deserve to drive a magic sleigh! Eric’s wish for Christmas didn’t include a single request for toys. And his Christmas wish was anything but selfish; it was as much for his dad as it was for himself.

Two years had passed since Eric’s mom had walked out. He’d been five, almost six, years old and Christmas had been right around the corner. The stockings were hung and the tree decorated and then she’d left. And everything had turned sad after that.

The first Christmas without her had been hard, mostly because he thought she’d be coming back. But last Christmas had been even worse. His dad hadn’t bothered to get a tree or hang the wreath on the door. Instead they’d left Thurston, their black lab, in a kennel, and flown to Colorado for skiing. The Christmas presents hadn’t even been wrapped and Eric suspected Santa had passed them right by because their condo had a fake fireplace with a really skinny chimney.

“Hey, kid. You’re next.”

Eric snapped his head up and blinked. A pretty elf, dressed in a puffy red polka-dot jacket and baggy green tights, stood at the gate and motioned him closer with an impatient expression. Her name tag said Twinkie and he hurried up to her, his heart pounding. He was so nervous he could barely remember what he wanted to say.

“So,” Twinkie said, “what are you going to ask for?”

Eric gave the elf a suspicious glance. “I think that’s between me and Santa,” he replied.

The elf chuckled. “Ah, the old Santa-kid confidentiality agreement.”

Eric scowled. “Huh?”

Twinkie sighed and rolled her eyes. “Never mind.”

He shifted back and forth between his feet, then forced a smile at the elf. “Do you know him pretty well?”

Twinkie shrugged. “As well as any elf,” she said.

“Maybe you could give me some tips.” He opened his pocket and showed her the envelope, making sure that she saw his name scrawled in the upper left corner. If Santa didn’t remember who he was, he’d be sure Twinkie did. “I really need him to read my letter. It’s very, very, very important.” He pulled a bright blue Gobstopper out of his other pocket. “Do you think if I gave him—”

She studied the envelope. “Well, Eric Marrin, I can tell you this. The big guy doesn’t accept bribes.”

“But, I—”

“You’re up, kid,” Twinkie said, pushing him forward, then quickly turning to the next person in line. Eric approached slowly, reviewing all he planned to say. Then he crawled up on Santa’s lap and drew a steadying breath.

The smell of peppermint and pipe tobacco clung to his big red coat and tickled Eric’s nose. His lap was broad and his belly soft as a feather pillow and Eric leaned closer and looked up into the jolly old man’s eyes. Unlike the elf, Eric could see that Santa was patient and kind. “Are you really him?” he asked. Some of the kids at school claimed that Santa wasn’t real, but this guy sure looked real.

Santa chuckled, his beard quivering in merriment. “That I am, young man. Now, what’s your name and what can I do for you? What toys can I bring for you this Christmas?”

“My name is Eric Marrin and I don’t want any toys,” he said soberly, staring at a coal-black button on the front of Santa’s suit.

Santa gasped in surprise. “No toys? But every child wants toys for Christmas.”

“Not me. I want something else. Something much more important.”

Santa hooked his thumb under Eric’s chin and tipped his head up. “And what is that?”

“I—I want a huge Christmas tree with twinkling lights. And I want our house all decorated with plastic reindeer on the roof and a big wreath on the door. I want Christmas cookies and hot cider. And Christmas carols on the stereo. And on Christmas Eve, I want to fall asleep in front of the fireplace and have my dad carry me up to bed. And on Christmas Day, I want a huge turkey dinner and cherry pie for dessert.” The words had just tumbled out of his mouth and he’d been unable to stop them. Eric swallowed hard, knowing he was probably asking for the impossible. “I want it to be like when my mother lived with us. She always made Christmas special.”

For a long moment, Santa didn’t speak. Eric worried that he might toss him out of the Gingerbread Cottage for demanding too much. Toys were simple for a guy who owned his own toy factory, but Eric’s request was so complicated. Still, if Raymond was right, this Santa was his best shot at granting his Christmas wish.

“My—my mom left us right before Christmas two years ago. And my dad doesn’t know how to do Christmas right. Last year, we didn’t even have a tree. And—and he wants to go skiing again, but if we’re not home, we can’t have a real Christmas! You can help me, can’t you?”

“So you want your mother to come home for Christmas?”

“No,” Eric said, shaking his head. “I know she can’t come back. She’s an actress and she travels a lot. She’s in London now, doing a play. I see her in the summer for two weeks and she sends me postcards from all over. And—and I know you can’t bring me a new mother because there’s no way you can make a human in your toy factory. Not that I wouldn’t like a new mother, but hey, I know she won’t fit in the sleigh with all those toys and you’d never be able to get down the chimney carrying her in your sack and what if my dad didn’t like the kind you brought and—”

“What exactly do you want?” Santa asked, jumping in the moment Eric took a breath.

“The best Christmas ever!” he cried. “A Christmas like it used to be when my mom was here.”

“That’s a pretty big wish,” Santa said.

Eric cast his gaze to the toes of his rubber boots. “I know. But you’re Santa. If you can’t make it happen, who can?”

He risked a glance up to find Santa smiling warmly. “Do you have a letter for me, young man?”

Eric nodded. “I was going to put it in the mailbox.”

“Why don’t you give it to me personally and I’ll make sure I read it right after Mrs. Claus and I finish our dinner.”

Reaching in his jacket pocket, Eric withdrew the precious letter. Did this mean that Santa would grant his wish? Surely it must mean that he’d consider it. “Eric Marrin,” he murmured pointing to the return address, just to make sure. “731 Hawthorne Road, Schuyler Falls, New York. It’s the last driveway before you get to the bridge. The sign says Stony Creek Farm, Alex Marrin, owner. That’s my dad.”

“I’m sure it’s on my map,” Santa said. “I know I’ve been to your house before, Eric Marrin.” He patted Eric on the back. “You’re a good boy.”

Eric smiled. “I try,” he said as he slid off Santa’s lap. “Oh, and if you hear I broke the rules coming to see you tonight, maybe you could understand? I know I’m supposed to go home directly after school, but I really couldn’t ask my dad to bring me here. He’s very busy and I didn’t want him to think that I—”

“I understand. Now, do you know how to get home?”

Eric nodded. The city bus would take him back in the direction of his school and he’d have to run the mile down Hawthorne Road to make it home before dinner. He’d already told Gramps he’d planned to play at Raymond’s house after school and Raymond’s mother would drive him home. He’d have to sneak into the house unnoticed, but his father usually worked in the stables until supper time. And Gramps was usually busy with dinner preparations, his attention fixed on his favorite cooking show while the pots bubbled over on the stove.