Page 15 of Matches and Mistletoe
“I’m not sure what happened, darling,” I say. “Something strange. But I think we’re all right now. How do you feel?”
“Dizzy, but okay.”
“I’ll get you some warm milk,” I say.
“Your name is Ellie?” says the man, as I step away to heat the milk.
“How did you know?” she asks, her blue eyes wide.
“I heard your mother calling for you. You know, she loves you very much.”
“I know.”
“There are millions and millions of little girls out there in the world, so many that it shouldn’t matter whether one comes or another goes. But it seems that you and your sister have suddenly become special tonight.”
I’m eyeing him through the kitchen doorway, not sure what to think of his words, or his manner. He’s talking to Ellie, but he glances at me more than once.
Angel.Surely he must be. No normal man talks the way he does.
I set the pan with the milk on the stove and turn up the heat. “Just a few minutes, Ellie, and I’ll have that drink ready.”
“She takes good care of you, yes?” says the man, smiling at Ellie.
“Yes,” she answers, running her fingers along the sleeve of his red coat. She cocks her head, staring up at him. “Are you Saint Nicholas?”
He throws back his head and laughs, and the sound is bigger than I expected, and it echoes more than it should. I feel a faint chill up my spine.
“No, love,” he tells Ellie. “Not Saint Nicholas. Tell me, though—would you like a trick, or a treat?” His white teeth gleam as he smiles.
“That’s not a Christmas thing to say,” she protests.
“No? Why not?”
“It’s for Halloween.”
“You’re very smart. Well then, how about a gift instead?” He reaches into the spacious pocket of his red coat and pulls out a striped paper bag. “Show that to your mother.”
Ellie runs to me, eyes shining. Inside the bag is an assortment of sweets and candies. They all look perfectly normal and harmless to me.
“That’s very kind of you,” I say. “But Ellie will have to wait till tomorrow to try the treats. I don’t want her having sugar so close to bedtime.”
“But Mama—he’s Saint Nicholas! He is!” Her voice drops to a whisper. “He has candy in his pockets.” As if that proves it beyond a doubt.
The dark-haired angel grins at me, his eyes crinkling at the corners—and my heart flutters to life.
I thought it was dead.
“Listen to your mother, darling,” the stranger says to Ellie. “All wise little girls should be going to bed early this time of year. You do want Saint Nicholas to bring you lovely gifts, yes?”
“Oh, yes,” she says. “I really want the big doll with the golden hair I saw at the store.”
I shake my head. “She hasn’t stopped talking about it.”
Ellie gulps the milk from the mug that I hand her. “Ilovethat doll, Mama! She’s alreadymine. She’s just waiting for me to bring her home.”
I bite my lip to keep the frustrated words from spewing out of my mouth. I’ve told her, explained to her that Saint Nicholas can’t bring her the doll this year. Maybe next year. Although with the pitiful amount of money I make at the clothing store, I doubt we’ll be any better off next Christmas.
“Ellie,” says the man. “Do you believe in magic?”
