Page 3 of Shelf-Made Man
He stood quickly. “Of course. My lady, is there anything I can do for you? Errands? Things that need fixing?”
“I’m quite set, my dear boy, but it’s very kind of you to ask. Please take your box before you go.”
By now his eyes had adapted to the dark, and although he still couldn’t see her well, he made it to the table without tripping over anything. He picked up the box and tucked it under one arm.
“Don’t open it until you get home.”
He suppressed a groan. That was over six hundred miles. His curiosity was going to kill him. “Okay.”
“Oh, and one more thing. Do you have plans for Christmas?”
“Would you like to spend it together?” he asked, surprised. It was only a week away, and they hadn’t spent the holidays together since he was a boy.
“I prefer to celebrate alone, thank you. I merely wished to point out that at some points in the year, the border between the possible and the impossible becomes more permeable. The later part of December—with the Solstice and Christmas—is one of those times. My second husband and I used to… well, perhaps those memories are better kept to myself.” She chuckled. “It’s a good time to be daring, Tobias. To try something new.”
Now he was just confused. Maybe being tired was making her confused too. But he thanked hernonetheless, and she thanked him for visiting and for the gift he’d brought, and then he let himself out.
In the elevator on the way down, it felt as if something shifted inside the box, and he nearly opened it. But he’d promised to wait.
Chapter
Two
Tobias was taking Amtrak home. He always found it uncomfortable to be crammed into an airplane seat for any amount of time, and the scenery along the train’s route between San Francisco and Portland was supposed to be beautiful. Unfortunately, it was already dark by the time he boarded in Emeryville. He slept poorly on the too-small train mattress, despite having sprung for a roomette, and was bleary-eyed by the time the sun rose somewhere near Klamath Falls, Oregon. When he finally stumbled into his little bungalow, it was almost dinnertime and all he wanted to do was eat, shower, and fall into bed.
He felt slightly guilty for putting off the huge pile of work that awaited him. But he’d planned to work through Christmas anyway, and that would make up for these two days away.
He’d already rooted through his freezer, unearthedone of the frozen meals he’d picked up during his last Trader Joe’s run, and started up the microwave when he remembered the box. It was right there in his tiny living room, perched on the love seat where he’d dropped his things when exhaustion and hunger distracted him.
Now, as the microwave whirred away, he wandered into the living room and picked up the box—old and worn, as if it had been tucked away in a closet for a long time. Its weight felt as if there might still be a pair of shoes inside, but that in itself was puzzling. Tobias supposed it could be shoes from one of Aunt Virginia’s previous husbands, but he couldn’t figure out why she would be gifting them.
Well, there was no point in mulling over the contents when he could simply take a look. The lid was attached with yellowed tape, which he carefully peeled away. When he opened the box he discovered a lumpy object wrapped in cloth. He lifted it out, set the box aside, and peered at the cloth. The cobalt fabric was thick and lustrous, embroidered in silver thread with stylized snowflakes. Silk brocade, he guessed. It had probably cost a fortune. But he also guessed that the focus was supposed to be on whatever it encased.
Very gingerly he unrolled the fabric and found… a doll.
Not a baby doll or a Barbie, however. Actually, maybefigurinewas a better term, because this seemed like the sort of object intended for display rather than for a child to play with. It was about afoot tall, with jointed shoulders, elbows, hips, and knees, which had allowed it to fit in the box. The face, hair, and body were made of finely painted porcelain, and its clothing and hat were made of velvet and lace.
It was, in fact, a Christmas elf, with a peaked cap, red tunic, and green-and-white striped stockings. It had yellow hair and blue eyes, and Tobias thought its smile was more sweet than mischievous.
The elf was adorable, although Tobias was disappointed that there was some damage to one leg: the fabric torn and the porcelain underneath cracked.
Well, it would still be nice as a holiday decoration. Tobias set it on the bookshelf in front of his collection of old sci-fi paperbacks, where it looked… festive, he supposed. He hadn’t bothered with any other holiday décor.
When he checked the box, he saw that it also contained a folded sheet of paper, thick but yellowed and somewhat brittle. The inside contained a note written in spidery, old-fashioned cursive, which Tobias had a little trouble deciphering.
I have protected him for now, but unfortunately I am unable to restore him to his proper state. Please care for him well.
—Olve Lange
Tobias was fairly certain that had been the name of Aunt Virginia’s second husband, the wizard. The elf must have belonged to him. Tobias didn’t know why Aunt Virginia had decided to give it to him, but the elfmust have been treasured, so he appreciated her thoughtfulness.
“Thanks, Aunt Virginia,” he said aloud. He’d write her a letter, perhaps tomorrow, after he’d tackled some of the work backlog.
Then he returned to the kitchen, where the microwave beeped impatiently.
Tobias wokeup early the next day—Friday—yawned through a cup of coffee and slice of toast, and then tackled his email inbox. One good thing about his data engineer job was that he could do a lot of work from home. And on a day like today, when he had no meetings, he could do it in flannel pajamas and a ratty but comfy sweatshirt he’d owned since college. The flip side of that, however, was that he didn’t have contact with many people outside of formal business interactions. Sure, there was a lot of electronic discussion with stakeholders and clients, and endless Zooms, and even times when he met up with people in person. But during those times, the conversation centered pretty exclusively on work. There was none of the chitchat that might lead to making friends.
He'd had a hard enough time making social connections as a kid, but it turned out to be even more difficult in adulthood. His hobbies—reading, Legos, wandering in forests—tended to be solitary. His neighbors were pleasant but he didn’t seem to have much incommon with them aside from living on the same block. Bars and clubs made him feel so awkward and nervous that he literally broke out in hives. His only family was Aunt Virginia, and she’d been a recluse for decades.
