By

Mary

  For Terry, who is one of the coolest people I know.

He didn’t suffer.

In fact, Jim Frayne, on his roof one snowy, December evening, never even knew what hit him.

At first, Kristopher Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Kringle, known in some circles as "Santa Claus," simply thought he’d had experienced a rough landing; not an unusual occurrence in his line of work.

But as he disembarked, he spied a hand, wearing a simple gold band, poking out from underneath his sleigh.

And his trademark, "ho-ho-ho," became, "Ho, oh no!" when he realized that the hand was attached to a now-extremely-flat human male.

"Blitzen, I think we have a problem," Santa muttered, running his hand down the neck of the nearest reindeer.

Blitzen snorted in reply, white fog pouring out of his nostrils in the cold.

Santa cast his mind back, but could come up with no precedent to the situation in which he found himself.

And with only a day until Christmas Eve!

He shook his head. This could put him way behind schedule—he was at the halfway point for world-wide gift delivery, and although the "N.I.C.E." list was less than last year’s, that still meant a lot of houses.

He scratched his belly and reached for the Blackberry hanging on his belt. A few moments later, he had access to the National/Inter-ContinEntal locator.

"Frayne II, James W.; Belden-Frayne, Beatrix A.; subfile minor children Katje Helen, Madeleine Diana, and Andrew James. Peeves; feline. Bernard, aka Bernie, canine." Santa read aloud. "Ah, yes."

He knew this household. Belden-Frayne, Beatrix A was cleared for a return to the N.I.C.E. list, and he had recently authorized that a particularly rare Lucy Radcliffe book appear in a used bookstore that Frayne II, James W. frequented.

To Santa’s relief, he noted that the book had indeed been purchased and sent.

He hunkered down, ignoring the slight twinge in his knees. Yep, this unfortunate, and smooshed, fella was Frayne II, James W., all right.

This wasn’t a problem he could delegate to an elf, and for the first time in several hundred years, Santa found himself at a complete loss.

"I’m sorry, son," he murmured, patting the outstretched hand at this feet. As his fingertips brushed against the wedding ring, the oddest sensation overcame him, causing him to rise and stagger backwards.

"Whoa-ho-ho!" he exclaimed, his arms pinwheeling madly as his boots shot out from underneath him. The last thing he remembered before losing consciousness was the deafening sound of all eight of his reindeers neighing at once, the sound filling the night.

When he finally opened his eyes, he had no idea how much time had passed. He was lying in a large, comfortable bed, hearing the cheerful crackle of a fire in a nearby grate. It wasn’t unlike his own comfortable bedroom in the North Pole, so it took him a couple of minutes to notice that there was something odd going on underneath his chin.

A curly head rested where normally there was a long, white beard.

And if that wasn’t alarming enough, it wasn’t the head full of soft, white curls he would have expected, but rather, sandy blond.

Startled, he scrambled to a sitting position and then froze as the owner of the curls murmured something that sounded like, "Whuzza huh, baby?"

To his relief, she merely rolled over; the even sound of her breathing telling him that was still asleep.

Cautiously, he exited the bed and made his way to the bathroom. As confused and disoriented as he was, he couldn’t help noticing that he felt…

Robust, he decided.

He flicked on the light and goggled at the face staring back at him from the mirror over the sink, whipping around for a moment to confront the tall, red-headed man standing behind him.

Only, nobody was there.

Turning back around, he ran a hand over a chin lightly covered with stubble and watched the figure in the mirror do the same. He patted a taut belly, feeling the defined ab muscles and watched the grin grow on the face in the mirror. It has been many, many years since his belly hadn’t shook like a bowl of jelly every time he laughed.

And his chest! Good god. He couldn’t resist a quick flex.

He looked closer at his face, taking in the red hair. He’d had a full head of red hair, once. And his eyes…but wait; these weren’t blue, but rather an intense shade of green.

It hit him like a kick from Donner.

He was…

"Jim?"

Santa jerked around, feeling a hot blush race like wildfire over his face, both at the realization that he stood wearing nothing more than a pair of silk boxers (ironically covered with a repeating pattern of his own, red-coated, white-bearded self), and that the owner of the curly head, a woman who was not his wife Jessica, stood before him wearing a red teddy trimmed with white fun fur.

Belden, Beatrix A.

"Is something wrong?"

Before he could stop his borrowed body, it moved towards her, the arms automatically lifting to fold around her as she hugged him around the waist and rubbed her cheek against his chest.

Which, suddenly, presented another problem.

Uh oh.

"Ah…no. No problem," he stammered, subtly trying to shift back and away.

"Mmm. Oh, but there is. Santa, I’ve been really, really bad. What are you going to do about it?"

Profound shock filled him, along with the errant thought that perhaps he had made an error by restoring her to the N.I.C.E. list.

"You know me?" he blurted. He felt her arms drop as she moved away to stare at him.

"Last time I checked, you were my goofball husband. Remember me? Your wife, Trixie?"

"Ho-ho-ho, just kidding," Santa tried.

Trixie raised her eyebrows, shook her head, and, to his relief, smiled. "We’ll pick this up later. You better get in the shower; you’re going to be late."

"Late. Yes. That’s right. Shower. Thank you, Bea…Trixie." He opened the shower door and jerked on the water.

Trixie was still shaking her head as she left the room.

Santa stripped off the creepy shorts, paused a moment to goggle, and then stepped into the hot spray. Late for what? He closed his eyes and concentrated.

A school. Yes, Frayne had a school. If it was still December 23^rd, there shouldn’t be any classes, but plenty to do, he was sure.

Not that he was sure of anything.

He found clothes and put them on, judiciously avoiding the boxers with the large picture of Rudolph emblazoned on the front. Frayne certainly had odd taste in underwear, he thought, before remembering Trixie’s yearly tradition of bestowing what she thought of as "Christmas-y underwear."

He took the stairs slowing, trying to remember everything he could about the Frayne family.

"Where’s Daddy?" he heard a voice say.

I guess that’s me, Santa thought, turning in the direction of the sound.

He found himself in a large, bright kitchen full of noise and cheer. He felt a wave of nostalgia; it was a lot like his own kitchen. There were even elves.

No, wait – those were children.

He’d talked to thousands of children over the years, and yet he found himself completely tongue-tied. What was he supposed to say, "Sorry, kids, I flattened your papa?"

Thankfully, breakfast was such a cheerfully noisy affair that, other than a few "Good mornings" Santa found he wasn’t called on to say much. He helped himself to a large bowl of steaming oatmeal, sprinkled it liberally with brown sugar, and couldn’t stop himself from gobbling it down. It felt like it had been days since he’d last eaten.

"Geez, Dad!" the oldest girl giggled. Frayne, Katje Helen.

A few moments passed before Santa remembered that, for now, inexplicably, he was "Dad."

"Um…hungry. Very hungry." He hastily stood and wiped at his non-existent beard. He needed a plan, but all that came to mind was a hasty retreat. At least it was something. "Well, I guess I should really get going." He backed away from the table and moved towards a door, hoping for the best. Unsure of what to say next, he gave a cheery sort of salute and reached for the door handle.

"Aren’t you forgetting something?"

Oh, dear. Santa shifted from foot to foot and searched his mind desperately for something to say.

"Aren’t you trimming the school tree today?" Trixie prompted.

If there was anything Santa knew how to do, it was trim a tree.

"Yes! That’s absolutely right!" he boomed, feeling more sure of himself. He hoped this school of Frayne’s had plenty of elves on hand. "I had better get to it." He again turned to leave and was stopped short by the unmistakable sound of a very young child’s cry. It was the youngest Frayne, a boy with hair as brightly red as his (now) own. He crossed the room and tickled the youngster under the chin. "You better not pout, you better not cry…" he began.

"I put the star on top!" the little boy wailed.

Trixie folded her arms and looked at Santa with a mixture of puzzlement and annoyance. "Jim, you promised them. They’ve been looking forward to this all week!"

Three stricken faces turned to his, and Santa felt a moment of pure panic—children were always, always happy in his presence. This was unprecedented.

"Sure! That’s just fine!" he said hastily, relieved when the children’s frowns turned to bright smiles.

Trixie gave him a confused look. "Are you feeling all right? And why do you keep shouting like that?"

Before he could come up with a reply, Trixie turned to the children and told them to get their coats. He helped the middle child, a sweet and quiet girl, put on a pink ski jacket and gave her his cheeriest smile, which, to his surprise, she didn’t return.

"Have fun, you guys," Trixie said, kissing each child in turn on the cheek.

To his horror, when she reached Santa, his borrowed body started moving into hers. He just managed to jerk back in the nick of time. "Bye, uh, honey," he said, giving her cheek a quick peck.

Trixie narrowed her eyes at him. "There is something very mysterious about you this morning."

Santa beat a hasty retreat, calling over his shoulder, "Kidding; ho, er, ha-ha-ha! So long!"

He stood outside and took a deep breath of the icy air, hoping somehow that he’d have a "And here’s what you do now!" moment very soon.

"Come on!" the oldest girl commanded, grabbing his hand.

Relieved, he allowed her to lead them down the trail, his mind racing. Clearly, he couldn’t keep up this Jim Frayne business for long.

For many reasons, but mainly, there was that wife of his, Trixie. She was relentlessly curious and had a way of taking action that was sometimes…unfortunate.

He thought of the former, and flattened, James W. Frayne. He, Santa, had caused enough trouble for one family. If he didn’t find a way to make this situation right before Trixie discovered what was really going on… he shuddered to think of the consequences.

But what was he to do?

Suddenly, Santa was annoyed. He was Santa Claus for crying out loud! He could travel the entire globe and bring peace, love, understanding, and presents to billions! (Once, he had used this same line of reasoning with his wife, Jessica, who had calmly replied, "Of course, dear. By the way, you have crumbs in your beard." He decided that some memories just weren’t worth remembering.)

He could figure this out.

They came upon a sprawling compound of log cabins, the largest of which sporting a sign that read, "Frayne Academy." He strode confidently up to the front door, opened it, and resisted the urge to boom, "Ho-ho-ho! Meeeeerry Christmas!" just in the nick of time.

Several painfully long hours later, a shaken Santa Claus managed to sneak out onto the large back deck for a moment, fumbling for his pipe before sadly remembering that he’d finally quit last year.

He took some deep, calming breaths and then sank into one of the large, wooden chairs available, not even noticing that he sat in snow. This was clearly a popular gathering area noticing several of the chairs were cozily situated in small circles, along with a few nearby tables.

The quiet peace was in deep contrast to the chaos in the other room!

For one thing, there weren’t any elves to order about. But he’d adjusted. After all, there were plenty of willing hands as all the kids were very enthusiastic about decorating their tree.

And it wasn’t like he wasn’t used to being around children. After all, he’d been spending time with children for hundreds of years.

But these children had questions. Lots and lots of questions. And not one of them was, "So, how do you fit down the chimney?" or "How do you get to so many houses in only one night?"

And, most shocking of all, the phrase, "You better be good; I’m telling you why" didn’t have any affect at all when one of the boys tried to hang one of the younger boys on a tree branch by his trousers.

And people kept asking him about ordering more clothes, and changing food delivery times, and lesson plans—not one question about toy production!

He took a deep breath and tilted his head back, looking at the constellations and stars. It was a clear night and he could easily see his favorite planet, Mars. It always looked its best at Christmas; it was closest to the Earth then, and Santa stared at its lovely brightness until his eyes went out of focus.

He wanted to go home.

A tug at his sleeve shook him from his reverie and he found himself looking at the youngest Frayne girl. She was a quiet little thing who had spent most of the evening hanging ornaments on the bottom branches of the enormous Christmas tree, scooting around to the back when it became extra boisterous.

He was surprised to see her; she’d been mostly avoiding him all night.

Probably a mama’s girl, he concluded.

"What is it, my dear?" he asked her gently.

Maddie looked at him, her eyes large and blue. "Where’s my daddy?" she asked.

Santa laughed, but it was hollow. "Whatever do you mean, my child? I’m right here!’ He made as if to reach for her, but she backed slightly away.

"You’re not Daddy," she said, her voice so quiet he almost didn’t hear her.

Santa had never lied to a child in his life, and it did not occur to him to start. "No, my child. I’m not," he admitted.

They both looked at each other for a long moment, and this time Maddie didn’t resist as he gently picked her up and settled her on his lap.

"Where’s Daddy?"

"I don’t know," Santa answered honestly.

"Who are you?"

He put his arms around her and rocked her as she began to cry. "Do you believe in Santa Clause?" He felt Maddie nod.

"Sure," she sniffled.

"Well, that’s who I am." He tilted her face up to his and gently wiped her face with the handkerchief he found in his pocket. "So you musn’t cry."

Maddie nodded again and wiggled off of his lap, standing before him.

"Do you believe me?"

"Yes," she answered simply.

Santa regarded her for a moment and wondered why he’d been initially surprised. Small children, with their lack of the barriers that humans built up around themselves year after year, were closer to the truth of things than most people. And like Mars, their light shone brightly if only you took the time to look.

Still, somehow, this little girl floored him. "Seeing isn't believing. Believing is seeing," he muttered. He smoothed back her silky hair. "How did you know? Don’t I look just like your daddy?"

Maddie poked a finger into her mouth for a moment. "Uh huh. But not. It’s all wrong." She looked as if she were going to cry again. "I want my Daddy."

And then, suddenly, it hit him. The solution. And not only was it simple, it was something he could do, something he was born to do. He patted his knee and held out his arms. "Tell me, my child…have you been a good girl this year?"

He couldn’t change history, but he did have the power to grant Christmas wishes.

For there was nothing quite so powerful as a child’s Christmas wish to Santa.

Especially a child who was listed as "very, VERY, nice" on the National/Inter-ContinEntal locator.

The children inside didn’t hear a thing, but a few of the students who happened to be standing near the windows saw a tremendous shooting star, the sight of it filling them with a strange joy.

And outside, a tall, red-headed man was just waking up from what seemed a deep, dreamless sleep.

"Daddy, can we go home, now?"

Jim opened his eyes and wondered how the heck he had gotten from the roof of his house to the back deck of the main building of his school. "Maddie?"

Maddie scurried off of his lap and began jumping up and down. "Let’s go home, let’s go home!" she chanted.

Jim rose slowly, shaking his head as if to clear it. He saw the decorated Christmas tree through the window and was even more puzzled. Why didn’t they wait for him?

Maddie grabbed his hand and pulled him towards to door. Santa had warned him that her Daddy might be a little confused, but made her promise him that she wouldn’t worry; that Daddy would be just fine.

She knew she could believe Santa Claus.

Inside, Jim gaped at the expertly decorated tree. It looked like something that belonged in a fancy department store window. He felt a hand clap his shoulder and turned to face his head dorm master, Mark.

"Dude, I never knew you were such an expert when it came to decorating trees!"

Neil and Ashton, two of the school’s older students, turned from admiring the tree. "It’s the best one we’ve ever had," Ashton, a tall boy whose dirty-blonde hair was always hanging in his eyes, said.

"Yes, it is," Jim said dazedly.

"Is something wrong?" Mark asked. Jim seemed a bit out of it, which was just plain bizarre.

"No, I’m just…" Jim broke off, and then laughed. The holidays were always a little crazy. Maybe Trixie was right and he’d been doing a bit too much. "The tree is great."

"After we get the younger kids to bed, we’re going to watch The Santa Clause. Want to stick around?"

Jim shook his head. "Thanks, but I need to get the kids home." He beckoned to Andrew and Katy. "Everything looks great. I’ll see you in the morning. Happy Christmas Eve, Mark."

Later at home, Trixie cornered him in the kitchen as he raided the refrigerator for a snack. "Is everything okay?"

Jim looked at her in surprise, clutching leftover meatloaf in his hand. "Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?"

Trixie leaned against the counter and folder her arms. "You tell me."

Jim put the meatloaf down and grabbed a few pieces of bread. "There’s nothing to tell."

"Then why were you acting so strangely before?"

Jim thought and thought, but nothing came to him. "Before what?" he finally asked.

Trixie geared up to give him an earful and then abruptly changed her mind. It was Christmas Eve. Everybody was allowed to go a little nuts at Christmas. "Oh, never mind. You going to make me one of those, too, or what?"

Jim laughed and took out two more slices of bread. "As you wish," he said, making their sandwiches.

Trixie poured them both a glass of milk and they sat companionably at the table together. "We’ve got a lot of wrapping and assembling to do," she commented.

Jim winced, but it was mostly for show. He loved Christmas, and now that he had a family of his own, he loved it even more.

"Yeah, well, ‘it’s the most wonderful time of the year’" he sang playfully.

Far away, and happily busy, a man with a long, white beard, and wearing a bright red suit couldn’t agree more.

The End

Animation Wreath proved by:

Animation Factory

Note: Trixie Belden® is a registered trademark of Random House Books. These pages are not affiliated with Random House Books in any way. These pages are not for profit.   All stories copyright © Mary, 2007 - 2012 All rights reserved.