The Master by Melanie Jackson Page B

reasonably thorough about the holiday; he clearly didn’t believe in lying to children or keeping information from them. “For many people, Christmas is about celebrating a very special birthday. Have you ever heard of Jesus?” he asked.
    Zee translated the name to the children, her voice soft, and they nodded. Apparently reassured, Nick launched into a story about people called Mary and Joseph, who were traveling to a town called Bethlehem. He hadn’t gotten very far, though, when Gretel again interrupted.
    â€œThe people had no room for them—just like us,” Gretel said, her eyes filling with tears. “Poor Mary! Did she have to go see the elves, too?”
    Appalled and a bit thrown, Nick hurried on.
    â€œElves? No! Don’t worry—they found a place in Bethlehem. And after the baby was born, a bunch of wise men came and gave him wonderful presents. Anyway . . . that is only one part of Christmas. These days, it’s about Santa Claus, too.”
    â€œSanta
Claws?
” Hansel’s voice was hushed, and he raised his hands and hooked his fingers into bird talons.
    â€œClaus, not claws. He’s also called Kris Kringle or Father Christmas.”
    â€œKris Kringle,” Hansel said, almost coughing on the K’s. He added doubtfully. “He sounds like an elf. A real one.”
    â€œHe is—‘a right jolly old elf,’ ” Nick said.
    â€œA real elf!” exclaimed Gretel, sounding alarmed. But at least she had stopped crying. “Is he a good elf or a bad elf?”
    â€œWell, a good elf, of course. And he loves children—brings them presents and treats and puts them under the Christmas tree and in their socks. That’s why we celebrate him at Christmas.”
    Both children looked doubtful, but Nick was looking so harassed that Zee finally intervened.
    â€œTime for bed,” she said, getting up. “We can have more stories tomorrow.”
    Nick rose and helped Zee fold the blankets into makeshift sleeping bags, but a brief movement at the corner of his eye made him turn swiftly toward the darkened window.
    â€œWhat is it?” Zee asked, also turning toward the pane. False sunrise was beginning to lighten the night sky. “Is someone there?”
    â€œIt’s nothing,” Nick said. He wasn’t about to explain how his own elderly reflection was recommending he tell the story of Ebenezer Scrooge and how the miser was finally redeemed. He turned deliberately away from the glass. It wasn’t a terrible idea, but he refused to be coached on how to approach Zee.
    â€œListen, both of you,” he said, kneeling beside the children as they snuggled into their hard beds. Zee had been correct; now that the nutmeg was wearing off, they were very sleepy. “I think Santa may come visit us. And then you’ll see that he isn’t a bad person at all.”
    â€œWill he come today?” Gretel asked, giving a large yawn. “I thought the elves lived far away.”
    â€œHe’ll come while you’re sleeping.”
    â€œBut I want to
see
the good elf,” Hansel complained. “I think that’s just a made-up story.”
    â€œChildren can’t see Santa. It isn’t allowed,” Nick said. “But don’t worry. Your sister and I will be here in case he brings some presents for you.” Then, not sure what prompted him, he reached out and smoothed back the child’s tousled hair. “Sleep now. And have sweet dreams. When you wake up, it will be Christmas Day.”
    â€œGood. I’m hungry,” Gretel said. “I want a partridge and a pear tree.”

Chapter Six
    â€œSo,” Nick said, trying not to be conversationally heavy-handed and fearing that he was, “tell me all about yourself.”
    â€œThat would take a while,” Zee answered, pulling out a chair and seating herself at the table. They spoke in low voices so as not to disturb the