Manchester had been disgruntled, disillusioned, and just plain fed up with the way Santa had been moping around, grieving about Mrs. Claus. He understood that Santa missed the woman, but enough was enough!
Manchester had felt sad when he had been expected to supervise the making of toy after toy, when he didn’t feel like Santa noticed or appreciated him, and the elves just complained and complained -- to him -- to each other -- about him -- about each other, until he felt as if he was living in a nest of pointy-eared, felt clad, toy-making vipers.
He had been afraid that things were going to get worse and worse, in a never-ending downward spiral of bickering, jealousy and pettiness, and that Santa would never return to normal.
He was sorry that he had called the Raven from the nether world, and he admitted that perhaps his actions had been a bit extreme, and it was just possible that he hadn’t thought things all the way through.
All he ever wanted was to be happy again -- one big jolly North Pole family. He had consorted with the evil Raven half to force a crisis -- to force Santa to snap out of it, and half because he, Manchester the elf, head of the Elf Guild, had decided that he would just as soon do in Christmas if people weren’t going to behave. He wasn’t a young elf any more, after all, and he was sick and tired of leading a bunch of unhappy malcontents, and answering to a mopey, grieving authority figure. It wasn’t too late to consider a career change, was it? Perhaps he should consider a job selling delicious coffee beverages.
After thinking the situation through, he was able to forgive Santa for being human. He was able to acknowledge that he, Manchester, had never been married, and therefore, he didn’t know what it was like to wrap your entire life around another human being, only to have that human being cruelly wrenched away from you when you least expected it.
He appreciated everything Santa had done to make the North Pole a happy, homey place. He appreciated the December meetings, and the eggnog, and the sing-alongs by the fire.
In fact, he loved Santa very much. Otherwise, he would never have resorted to such desperate means as summoning the Raven.
In the face of that love, all the elves’ grievances became insignificant, especially because Santa was now going to pay attention to what was going on around him, and try to make things better.
Now, all that remained was for Chloe, Fawn, the wiener dogs, Martin, and a horse named Boxer, to load the sleigh and deliver toys around the world.
You might say “all that remained,” but this was a considerable endeavor, delivering toys all around the world. Nevertheless, the adventure of that Christmas Eve falls outside the purview of this narrative. Suffice it to say that the toys were delivered, and that the wiener dogs were able to make a final wish which took them back to their big house by the edge of the woods near the bridge, and to their yard, with the finest asphalt basketball court in all the land.
The man and the woman looked at each other, on Christmas day, after she finished reading the very last installment.
“There’s a lot to forgive,” the woman said.
The man took her hand, smiled, and looked into her eyes. “I’m going to have a long time to work on that.”
The woman nodded. “Because I’m going to stay.”
* * *
Joey was over-the-top elated when he unwrapped the bubbles and balloons from the dollar store. He bounced, and hugged, and kissed, and bounced, and twirled. “This is the best! I can’t believe how lucky I am! You must really love me!”
Pete smiled up from his new Oregon Ducks sweatshirt. “Thanks Grandma. I really like it.”
Grandpa reached over to fold up the wrapping paper. “Maybe they’ll make the BCS again next year.”
“That’s OK. I still like them.”
* * *
Uncle Duane brought presents for everybody. Mr. and Mrs. Meren got a book about Ghanaian culture and cookery, Pete got a set of water-soluble oil pastels, and Joey got rainbow striped toe socks. They were all a bit mystified by the gifts, but that was nothing new with Uncle Duane.
For his part, Uncle Duane was thrilled with the brightly colored, three foot high, dough ornament parrot that Joey had made him, as well as the gift card from the grown-ups. He said it would come in especially handy, as he still had no access to his bank accounts.
He said he was sorry that they wouldn’t be able to meet Cindi. She hadn’t been back to his cottage since she went into hiding, but he had a feeling that she wasn’t coming back. He was still being plagued by those friends of hers, but with a little luck, he would have them behind bars soon. It turned out that they were the ones responsible for stealing his identity, and they were leaving plenty of evidence for the police to follow.
He was surprised to hear that his family had been afraid that Cindi was going to take advantage of him. It turned out that she had never been a drug addict. The twelve-step program Uncle Duane had planned to accompany her to had been one designed to support people close to addicts. She had had a very bad experience with a very bad man, after she left her husband, who Uncle Duane suspected was probably a very good man.
The very bad man was the abusive drug addict, and yes, Cindi had looked into getting custody of his children, at Uncle Duane’s suggestion. But Uncle Duane had made this suggestion only so that she could see how hopeless it was – with her not even being related to them. She wasn’t always very practically minded, and she kept talking about wanting to rescue the little girls. But she had a boy of her own who needed her too.
By the time Uncle Duane was done telling the story, slowly, in real time, not e-mails – with opportunity for clarifying questions to mitigate his predilection for the dramatic, the Merens were all sorry that they wouldn’t get to meet her.
And now they could go back to worrying about how Uncle Duane was going to take care of himself – living alone in that cottage.
Oh, and the deer. Joey was very worried about the dead deer. Uncle Duane had called the Bureau of Land Management, and they had arranged to have the deer properly disposed of. The hole had been filled in, and the flat ground that remained wasn’t as interesting as the hole had been, but it was no longer a hazard to local wildlife.
* * *
The moonlight through the window bathed the living room in an eerie glow. Pete batted at light switches. The first one he hit turned on the ceiling fan. Then he found one that turned on the outside porch light. The third switch turned on the overhead light.
It was the middle of the night. Pete was feeling restless. Christmas had been wonderful. Everybody had been friendly. No one had fought. Now the rest of the family were asleep, curled up in their beds – but Pete couldn’t sleep.
It was while he was plugging in the Christmas tree lights that he noticed the extra present, way in the back, wrapped in red and green tissue paper. Joey distributed the gifts every year. Pete thought back to that morning. Maybe Joey had gotten so excited about the bubbles, he had forgotten to do a final sweep?
There was no gift tag, but his name was written on the red tissue paper in black marker.
“I’ve already got a nail care kit.” Pete thought, glancing at the top of his pile of gifts that still sat near the tree. “What more could I want?”
But this present was no nail care kit. This was a beautiful hard cover book entitled: A Wiener Dog Advent. Pete flipped through the pages, stunned. The story was all here – even a new installment for December 25. The first letter of each new day was ornamented with flowers and butterflies, just like Brittany had been doing in the notebook. And even better – the pictures were there! His pictures! The houses falling on the pigs, the laboratory, the raven – all of them – right there in a hardcover book. And his name! His name was on the cover! Illustrated by Peter Meren.
There was so much he still didn’t understand. How could the book be there, under his tree with his name on it? Would he be getting royalties?
He shook the wrapping, looking for more of a tag, and he found a note. It read:
Like the fox says, your actions have grave consequence. Consequence, not consequences. Grave importance. Thanks to your efforts, the holes between the worlds are regaining some of their integrity. They are closing tighter. This book is not from your world. It was published in the world of the author. The world in which he wrote this book is not the world in which you live.
We are all writing our own stories. We choose what goes into them. You chose to help, and it has made all the difference.
Pete tucked the note inside the book. He guessed this meant he wasn’t getting royalties, but that was cool. In fact, it was all pretty cool.
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