Drake has allowed us to present his holiday gift to you. This touch of magic gives us an even greater appreciation of the true spirit of Christmas. Peace and good will to all.
A Yule Tale
by Drake Hunter
So long ago that none truly remember, one person was graced with a heart of goodness immortal. He first began a mission to bring some measure of joy and peace to the young. In time he would encompass the world, but in the beginning he worked alone with such diligence and purity that his life was given extension nearly beyond measure. A single day he chose to carry out his work because the message he heard and understood bred true in his spirit. The need and suffering he saw about him laid bare the simple sentiment that for him was the sole cause: “Peace on Earth. Good will toward men.”
“Peace on Earth. Good will toward all,” he says on each of his annual pilgrimages to spread the seeds of generosity, hope, and kindness.
Kristof Kringle became fable and legend, yet he is neither. Known to some as Father Christmas and more widely as Santa Claus, and still the name means less to him than the duty he has willingly shouldered. His labor of love carries with it a burden of knowledge that the message he embodies has yet to take firm root in the hearts of every person. Kringle sees the need, sees the suffering, and his own heart is so stout no burden can diminish the light that burns within him. Instead it drives him forward knowing he cannot rest until all believe, not in him, but in the principle upon which his life is founded. Thus it was so long ago as he lived out his duty with single-minded purpose that another responsibility came to him, and one he gladly took upon himself without a second thought, for his love of all could turn none aside.
In the times when western Europe was in chaos, called rightly by many The Dark Ages, Kringle saw his work was far from over. Each year he labored making small oddments of whimsy he believed would make a child smile and forget the cares of the world if even for a moment. Long were his days of crafting, but his fingers were nimble and his mission plain. Toy after toy was carved as much from his heart as from the wood he collected in the forests. Bright colors he chose to adorn his trinkets to drive aside a bit of the darkness from the lives of children. Kringle was ever mindful that his duty was not just to children; his duty was to all regardless of age. Those who had grown past the years when their belief in him was pure and simple still held a place in his heart. Kringle forgot no one. When toys were no longer sufficient, he visited the chambers of those fast asleep and gave them the gift of fitful slumber for one night. Since his memory is long, as long as his years, Kringle took note of the faces of those gone missing. Moreover, the darkness of the land and the minds of the people made his eyesight more keen since he viewed the world not through his eyes but through his soul. Because his vision saw humankind differently, he was able to look into the hearts of others and see what lay inside. Kringle was gifted with seeing into the heart of the ages.
Some six hundred years before he saw a small part of his creed take form in the Magna Charta, Kringle sped along through his single night with eyes and heart wide open. From hamlet to village, town to city, he darted along delivering his gifts to young and old alike. He had neither sleigh nor reindeer yet, and the northern winds were friends who carried him aloft from rooftop to rooftop. Time was of no consequence, and a lone night was like a year unto him: a year in which he felt no need of sleep and did not tire in limb or body. He gave warmth to those who had no shelter so they might find a night of comfortable rest. He left small gifts of food to those who hungered so the thought would be driven from them for a short while. He left toys for children so they might smile with joy despite the harshness of their lives. Kringle gave selflessly, and in the giving he was renewed. He asked for no reward. He begged no favors. He even eschewed recognition for his deeds. Verily, Kringle wished none knew it was he in the hope all would think the kindness was done for the sake of kindness as an example to be followed. Night, snow, fog, or rain could not cloud his sight, and see he did.
On a bitterly cold night early in the seventh century, Kringle spied a young man huddled against a crude barn made of rough logs and earth. It was in a country whose name no longer exits, but rested at the feet of mountains. While the northern winds were allies to Kringle, others fared poorly where he thrived. Kringle saw the young man, not even a full two decades under his bare feet, and pity swept through him. He knew the person was freezing and would die from being without shelter. Kringle had seen it too many times when he arrived too late to give the gift of warmth. His burden grew. Moved as he was by his care for all, Kringle dropped quietly down from a rooftop and slowly drew near to the young man. The touch of cold was deep within the form huddled in little more than rags. Kringle bade the cold and the winds to stay their hands as he lifted his own. He placed his hand on the frigid cheek, and the heat of his life radiated outward. Death was held at bay that night. The young man’s eyes gradually fluttered open, and he looked about in bewilderment. Kringle met his gaze, and kindness spilled from his gray eyes. The young man smiled haltingly, and then glanced away.
“How came you to be alone and without a roof or fire on this night?” Kringle asked.
The young man did not answer.
“I know you,” Kringle whispered into the icy silence.
The young man shifted his eyes upward. Kringle saw despair and fear.
“You were a happy child once,” Kringle said, and his concern added more warmth to the hand that still rested on the cheek. “You are far from the place you once called home. How came you to these mountains?”
“I am not wanted,” the young man replied in a timid voice. “Leave me be.”
“I can do neither,” Kringle replied soothingly.
The young man gazed at him once more, but fear was replaced with confusion.
Kringle neatly folded his legs and sat upon the ground. His hand left the cheek warmed by his touch. He clasped the dirt-encrusted fingers of the young man so that the fire of his heart would continue to give relief. Kringle gazed in worry at the sallow face. His burden was draped like the red mantle about his shoulders.
“Is there no happiness for you anywhere this night?” Kringle asked.
The young man cast his gaze to the ground and did not answer. Kringle looked into the young man and found nothing but grief and deep sorrow. It tore at his heart. With his free hand, he reached into the sack slung on his back and pulled forth a napkin tied up at the ends. Inside the folds of the material he knew there was a hard roll, some ripe berries and flavorful nuts. This he handed to the young man, but the gift was not taken. Kringle turned over the hand in his own and placed the parcel squarely in the palm. He then curled the dirty fingers around it, but did not release the hand.
“This is your gift,” Kringle said softly. “Were it I had more to offer, but there are so many to whom I must attend.”
The young man lifted his face. His mouth had gone slack, and he stared in wonder.
“Pere Noel,” he whispered.
A small smile creased Kringle’s mouth and his eyes twinkled like the stars. It was a name with which he was familiar. In speaking the name, Kringle saw a happier childhood return to the heart of the young man. For a brief moment, the grief and sorrow were driven away.
“I can see no wrong in you, Bonar,” Kringle told the young man, his long memory serving him well.
The young man’s eyes widened in awe when he heard his name spoken.
“Have peace this night. You are beloved of God, as are all His children.”
Kringle then stood with the same ease with which he sat. He let go of the hand knowing the young man would live that night. The blustery winds did not touch the flesh of either person. Kringle smiled once more, winked as he nodded his head, and then called upon his ethereal friends to carry him away to finish his task. He rose up and out of view of the young man, and went to his duty.
The thought of the young man did not leave Kringle throughout his sojourn. He was troubled by the few words given to him. That Bonar could claim he was unwanted did not sit well with the man who sought to spread some mote of joy wherever he could. Kringle had not seen any wrong in the young man. Bonar was not evil. He was gentle and kind in spirit, yet somehow he had become disabused of the world. Kringle wondered how and why Bonar had come to be so far removed from Avignon to a country where his language was not spoken. It was unusual for him to take such personal interest in a single individual, yet Kringle could not forget that Bonar, indeed, had once been a very happy child despite the meagerness of his life. He pondered throughout his travels the circumstances of the young man’s condition. He had seen misery before, and still the particular example to which he had been witness was troubling. Bonar, he knew, was a good person who had never brought suffering to others. Kringle thought and thought upon the matter. When his sack was empty, he did not turn to the north where he would find his home and bring to a close the magical night. Kringle returned instead to the feet of the Steppes where he found Bonar. He returned to find Bonar still huddled against the barn, the gift of food untouched.
Kringle stood off at a distance, unnoticed, and spied on the young man. Bonar sat on the frozen ground with his arms wrapped around his legs. Kringle knew he was not cold, but a different chill seemed clad about his slight form. The pitiful image squeezed at Kringle’s throat, and he could tolerate it no longer. He approached as silent as a cat until he stood next to Bonar. The young man had not lifted his head. Kringle crossed his legs and sat once more as he had previously.
“What besets you, Bonar?”
The young man started violently with the sound of the voice. Kringle smiled a small apology. Bonar sat in amazement once more.
“Can it be that even I cannot bring you one night’s worth of happiness?” Kringle inquired, sadness tainting his words.
“I am thankful, Pere Noel,” Bonar whispered and held up the untouched parcel of food.
“You are, but it was your all too brief smile that was my reward… and too brief it was,” Kringle said in his lilting, rolling tenor voice. He would employ all the powers at his command to make the young man smile yet again.
Bonar would not meet Kringle’s gaze.
“Is there some gift I have not thought of which I can bring to you to return the smile?”
Bonar neither spoke nor moved.
“Why are you not with your family and loved ones in your home?” Kringle pressed on, fearing he would yet again receive no response.
“I am not wanted,” Bonar repeated what he had first said that evening.
“Everyone is wanted, for that is the plan of God,” Kringle told Bonar with complete certainty.
“Even God does not want me,” the young man said, and a tiny sob followed in the wake of the statement.
Kringle was crestfallen. Although the Almighty had never addressed him directly, Kringle was convinced he worked through the grace of Him. Bonar’s reply was the most troubling yet, knowing as Kringle did the devoutness of the young man.
“Then why did God guide me to you that I may give you your gift?” Kringle queried solemnly.
Bonar turned his head slightly, and Kringle saw the glitter of tears in the sorrowful eyes. His heart ached to see the sight. The two sat mutely for a span of time.
“God has made me one of His damned.”
“You are yet His child, Bonar. God has not damned you, and it is best to wait for His pronouncement.”
Bonar lapsed into impenetrable silence again.
“I see no wrong in you,” Kringle told the young man for a second time. “If there was evil within you, my hand would not have found a gift for you.”
Kringle did not enjoy making that admission. There had been too many occasions during the evening when his hand did come up empty, and the only gift he could offer was a prayer for peace. Kringle stolidly refused to deny any person a gift regardless of how loathsome they were in life. Corruption and hatred, he knew, could not be answered with the same.
“Leave me be,” Bonar said after a considerable length of time had passed in the night held firm.
“That is one gift I cannot give,” Kringle rejoined resolutely.
“You cannot save me.”
“Perhaps that is true, but I cannot leave you lost.”
“There is nothing you can do for me,” Bonar protested.
“Ah!” Kringle said loudly. “I am Pere Noel, and there is much I can do for you!”
Bonar raised his eyes in surprise as the voice boomed through the night. Kringle stood quickly. His crimson robes swirled around his legs. The ends of the black sash cinched at his waist danced merrily in the cold winds. His gray eyes flashed with an inner light. There was one gift Kringle had for the entire world, and he would share bountifully with Bonar. Kringle had hope that would not die. He reached out with a hand.
“Come, Bonar. Honor me this night by allowing me to give you a hot meal, clean clothes and warm bed where you can lay aside your troubles even for a short while.”
Bonar stared at the man dressed head-to-toe in scarlet. The trim around the hems was smudged with grime, and still the white seemed untouched. The end of the red cap was wrapped about the neck, serving as a scarf. Bonar gazed at the figure. The outstretched arm did not quaver. Bonar hesitated.
“I can only give, my child. You must be willing to receive,” Kringle told him quietly.
His patience had no limit. Kringle stood refusing to retract his offer. He knew as long as he was not within the confines of realm, the night would not end. Thus, Kringle was certain he could wait out Bonar’s reluctance. While he remained in his posture, Kringle thought of those who would wake and find some measure of happiness that would last throughout the day. He smiled a private smile thinking of the children who would have a tiny item to call their own. Kringle wanted joy to take hold, and would not let the night end until he was certain Bonar would receive his fair share. This was not a burden for him; this was Kringle’s duty.
When a trembling hand finally took hold of his, Kringle smiled even more broadly. A booming laugh issued from him and reverberated through the chilly air. Bonar flinched at the sound, but Kringle had securely wrapped his fingers around the starved, thin hand. With gentle strength born of his loving spirit, he lifted the young man to his feet. It only took a scant moment before the empty sack dangling on his back was draped over the bony shoulders. Kringle knew Bonar would not need it so long as they remained in contact, yet he understood it would lend comfort to the young man. Kringle leaned in close to the frail form and winked once.
“Let us be away so the morrow may arrive,” Kringle said with a chuckle. “Hold close to me, Bonar, and my friends shall bear us homeward.”
The winds swirled as Kringle petitioned for favor. Snow billowed around their feet in response. It did not bite into the flesh. The two swiftly rose into the air. Bonar clutched the arm as well as the hand of Kringle. Their direction angled once, and they then soared northward by northeast. Along the way, over each settlement, Kringle was not without words.
“Peace be unto all the Earth! Good will to everyone!”
Kringle called out time after time after time. He seemed never to tire speaking the words. The winds held the duo aloft without fail, and sped them quickly away. Bonar’s head swiveled wildly as he sought to survey the land speeding underneath. The leagues were as steps to Kringle, and so thoroughly did he know the terrain he was able to identify every hamlet. His mission for the year was completed, and the next was just beginning. There was so much for him to do in making preparations for the succeeding visit. Joy coursed through him. It wafted from his form like the snow dancing from the sky. Onward they traveled while Kringle spread his cheer for the season far and wide.
“Merry Christmas!” Kringle said in a mighty voice as the last village approached and disappeared behind.
Bonar was silent for the duration of the trip. The lands below were unfamiliar, yet Kringle appeared confident of his direction. As they flew along, the dark night began to give way to gray. The sun was on the move, reaching for the horizon. Vast stretches of forest and tundra dappled the ground. All was covered in pearly white. The tops of trees seemed near enough to tickle their toes, but never once did branches or boughs catch them. When the first rays of the morning sun turned the eastern edge of the world from gray to pink, Kringle received his gift. He knew the people were waking, and finding the gifts of food and toys or discovering themselves better rested than usual. He had done all that was within his power, and he smiled as he gave silent thanks for his gift. Unlike the previous years, Kringle felt his gift would continue since he had with him for the first time someone with whom to spend the holy day.
The grip on his arm tightened when Kringle began the descent. The last northern patch of trees had arrived where his home was nestled secretly within the towering and wide pines. Kringle had learned how to build and bank a fire so that no trace of smoke could be seen in the unlikely event a stranger was passing by. He aimed for the alcove that obscured his home from view. It took nary but a few seconds before he and his foundling touched down lightly upon the snow. Their feet sank into the ivory powder, yet no cold assailed their ankles. The North Wind whipped and whirled and whistled as it pranced away to play over the frozen expanse. Kringle thanked it cheerfully for the service and bade it to come again one year hence. Now with his home at hand, the powers commanded by the spirit of the season waned. He was as any other mortal man save that which preserved his life and advanced his cause and craft. With Bonar still clutching his arm, Kringle skipped merrily toward his home that was indistinguishable from the bowers hanging overheard. The young man ambled along behind, kicking up small billows of snow as his feet sought purchase on the frozen ground. Kringle let him neither fall nor slip, and guided him steadily to the spot that appeared more of a hummock than house. Kringle led him straight to the oval door painted like earth and iced over with snow.
“Home,” Kringle said in a hush. “Here we will find food and warmth. Here you are wanted.”
Bonar let loose with a small gasp when Kringle pushed open the door. Even from the front portal, it was evident the home, dry and secure, was ample and spacious. A welcoming yellow light slipped out and mingled with the growing light of the sun. A large, low hearth filling nearly the entire stretch of one wall glowed with red embers. The heat that radiated outward was inviting. Kringle grinned at his home, pleased to have returned after a successful night of travel. He hauled the bewildered young man, still dressed with the empty carry sack, into the demesne. Once safely ensconced indoors, Kringle waved his hand. The door flew closed of it own accord. Hat, robe and sash spun from his body and leapt to the peg, leaving Kringle dressed in green leather breeches with suspenders and harness, and a brown billowing shirt covered over with a green jerkin. Long strands of russet-colored hair, streaked through with white, tumbled from his head and splayed out over his neck and shoulders. The interior of the house seemed to spring to life with the return of the master. Candles guttered once, snapped into flame, and added more light. Steam began to whistle from some unseen kettle. The fire in the hearth twitched as the embers spilled more light and warmth into the cavernous house. Bonar stood watching in silent wonder as the home greeted its occupant with boundless joy. Kringle was chuckling happily as he strolled through and into the sitting room, arms stretched wide as if to embrace the furnishings. He spun once, twice and thrice before coming to a halt and facing Bonar.
“Me thinks for you a bath will do to wash away sadness and stain,” Kringle said as though he were singing. “A feast! A feast to follow to ease the sorrow and bid sweet slumber to our eyes!”
Bonar had stood rooted in place watching Kringle. When he failed to move in a timely manner, Kringle waved his hand again. The sack adorning Bonar’s shoulders twirled as though caught by wind and took a peg for its own. Kringle skipped lightly to Bonar, seized a hand, and tugged until the young man took tentative steps forward. Once underway, Kringle led him through a seeming maze of hallways and rooms paneled with rich wood shining with loving attention. The sheen of the walls reflected light in every direction so that no single space was wanting for illumination. The house was lit with a spirit of its own. Having lost all sense of direction, Bonar thumped into Kringle’s back when he came to a sudden stop. The room in which he found himself was as humid as a summer by the sea. The air was thick with the scent of flowers that did not bloom in the region, and the ever-present aroma of pine. Before him sat a large trough wherein water swirled and steamed. It replenished itself in some unknown manner. Bonar looked longingly at it.
“Strip yourself of these old garments,” Kringle said quietly. “Take your leisure and what comfort you can find in the bath. I will return with sheets for you to dry yourself and clothes suitable for these climes when you have properly soaked yourself into a wrinkled fig!”
A moment later, Bonar was left on his own with the chiming laugh of Kringle ringing through the halls. His hands shook as he shed the threadbare wrappings that served as his clothing. The stench of countless months spent wandering through the world, lost and alone, wafted into his nostrils. It was a sour smell, and it was more than physical. Naked but coated with the grime of his wayward life, Bonar stepped up to the immense trough. The stream rose to meet him, and called to him in a persuasive fashion. How the water warmed itself was beyond Bonar’s understanding, but the feel of it against his skin removed all hesitancy. He slipped into the tub and submerged himself. The foulness that clung to his flesh loosened, formed a dirty cloud, and floated away. Heat penetrated his tired muscles, and the cold was leeched from his bones. Bonar found comfort that morning in the home of a man who was legend and mythic. For a brief spell, he let his troubles wash away with the soil removed from his body.
That day and evening Bonar took refuge with Kristof Kringle. He wore clothes that were as good as new. They were protective and snug and warm. Kringle served him a banquet, at least to his eyes, of porridge made from grains and nuts. Berries and fruits Bonar had never seen were mounded in bowls, and the bright colors tempted him sorely. Bread, butter and cheeses were in ample supply. Milk heavy with cream flowed without end. Kringle exhorted him to eat his fill. If Bonar hesitated, Kringle acted without pause. Throughout the holiday feast, Bonar spoke not a word. In the space of his silence, Kringle regaled him with tales of his adventures during the hallowed eve. His laughter was as bountiful as the feast. By the end of the meal, although his eyelids were leaden, Bonar found a tiny smile had taken seat on his mouth. The man sitting across the wide table from him exuded a pure and simple joy that infused everything, including the somber young man. When the feast was finished and Bonar could not force another morsel down his gullet, Kringle trundled him off to a sleeping chamber. He was led to a spacious room. Like most rooms, a cheery fire glowed in a low and wide hearth. It was banked perfectly, and the heat it issued was comforting and steady. A bed of unbelievable proportions awaited him. Kringle prodded and pushed the young man toward it. A quilt of vibrant patches of color was draped over a pile of blankets. Plump, round pillows bulged happily at one end. When Bonar crawled under the covers, he found the mattress stuffed with fragrant rushes and feathers. It enveloped his body like a mother’s embrace. Sleep pounced upon Bonar even before Kringle had finished tucking in the edges of the bedding around his body.
The heart that gives freely without expectation of return was the magic that gave life to Kringle’s realm. When Bonar awoke the next day, fully prepared to be deposited into his miserable existence once again, he learned something more about the man. Kringle went about his life, talking merrily to things both animate and inanimate as though the conversation were lively, and acted as though Bonar’ s presence were a natural element of his world. The day passed, and then another. Bonar said little as he began to follow along behind Kringle. He saw the great storerooms where wood and tools were kept. There were chambers almost too numerous to count packed with shelves. The trestles stood empty, yet that alone seemed the only unnatural part of the house. Whenever he was near, Kringle chatted and did not appear to notice little was said in response. The home was warm. The meals were generous. The nights were deep and soulful with refreshing sleep. The days stretched on until a week or more had come and gone. Through it all, Bonar remained puzzled. At last he could no longer remain silent.
“Pere Noel,” he said quietly over an evening meal. “When are you to return me to the mountains?”
“The time is not of my choosing,” Kringle said and winked.
Bonar stared, confusion playing on his face.
“Then I am to be kept here?” He asked when he could think of nothing else.
“You may keep yourself here so long as you desire. This is where I choose to keep myself, and it is place I desire greatly,” the man in green said with a sly grin.
Bonar sat back in his chair and stared at his plate. The roasted tuber with butter and clotted cream returned the gaze through its many eyes. The young man was plainly bewildered.
“You spoke wrongly in saying you were not wanted,” Kringle continued. “The house delights in having you. The room wherein you rest your head has claimed you for its own. Can you not hear the song its sings when it cradles you in its bosom?”
Bonar’s eyes went wide. He had dreamed of song every night since his arrival. They were old songs, and sung in a language he understood. They lulled him into a land of pleasing and sweet dreams.
“I have heard songs in my dreams, and thought them remembrances of my mother,” Bonar confessed in a whisper.
“That they may be, for the room and bed have come to know you, child,” Kringle said reverently and with utter conviction.
Bonar believed the man.
“Then I am to stay?”
“If that is what you wish.”
Bonar’s brow wrinkled in consternation. A lone thought crossed his mind, and he spoke it aloud: “But I have nothing to offer to provide my keep.”
“Ah!” Kringle said loudly, and it rang throughout the room. “Your gentle soul is a gift to this house, to me, beyond price. We have already been well paid in great measure that places us in your debt.”
“But I have done nothing!” Bonar contested.
“Nothing, says you?” Kringle queried in plain disbelief. “Nothing he says! To give one cause to care for another, to remind us of our duty to all mankind… this is very much something, Bonar! Here within our humble midst sits the reason for what we must do, and you say this is nothing? Do not look with your eyes, my child, but with your heart. See the gladness you bring. See the joy that lends strength because you are here.”
The words were powerful. Bonar felt them as much as his ears heard. His throat constricted. A single tear rolled down his cheek. That he was sitting with this man could hardly be believed: that he heard what he did was inconceivable.
“Think on the matter as you will,” Kringle told him in a soothing voice. “None will gainsay what you choose. There is welcome here enough for you that cannot be worn through. Take what comfort you can and know it is shared.”
Bonar did think on the matter. While the days continued to pass, his mind tumbled over the reasons why Kris Kringle had found him where he did. Bonar was keeping a secret he feared to share. At times it darkened his mood and made him less apt to speak, although Kringle talked away without appearing to notice. Bonar also was of the mind he had to lend whatever assistance he could in the upkeep of the home. He took to wandering out in the wilds with Kringle. Their sojourns served a single purpose: they collected wood. Limbs stout and sturdy that had fallen on their own were rounded up and hauled back to the home. During each expedition, Kringle taught Bonar which trees where which, and the color of the wood that could be found within. The greater branches were hewn into manageable sizes, stripped of smaller limbs, and then stored in the rafters of the numerous rooms. When the sun would set and the evening meal was over, Kringle would sit before the enormous hearth in the great room, knives arranged about him, and he would carve. Bonar watched him in rapt awe as the man deftly and skillfully crafted new toys. Figures of animals and people were born out of the wood as if they had rested there waiting to be discovered. While Kringle worked, he spoke in an endless flow. He explained how he carved and saw the toys trapped within the wood. The forest, he firmly stated, was offering the gifts it knew it held. Kringle said he never took from the trees what they did not freely give. Time and again Bonar was astounded by the precision and speed with which Kringle worked. Each night he produced an armload of toys that were carefully placed on the shelves in the great storerooms. The days gradually became meaningless to Bonar as he learned and studied the ways of Kringle. The winter held fast and hard for many weeks, but it was unnoticed in the house.
“Can you now see the shapes hiding in the wood?” Kringle asked Bonar one night after a plentiful number of toys had been sculpted.
“I think they still hide from me,” Bonar replied quietly.
“Perhaps it is because you have not touched the wood and asked it to reveal its secrets.”
Bonar understood the desire to keep secrets. He could not fault the wood for wanting to hold onto its own. The young man was not truly prepared when Kringle loaded up his lap with pieces of wood and carving knives. He looked down at the implements timidly.
“Remember,” Kringle said with a wink, “the blades care little between wood and flesh. Always draw the knives away from you.”
It was the only instruction Bonar received. Kringle returned to his own piece, sliced away bits, and chatted happily about a new cart design he had seen in a village. He stated he was of the mind to tell the wood the times were changing, but that it always seemed to already know. After sitting for quite a while with the tools in his lap, Bonar tentatively took hold of a branch and a long, curved knife. He had seen Kringle strip the bark often enough that he believed he understood the process. The rough outer covering pealed away with ease. Bonar realized he would have to work cautiously lest he slice himself grievously. When the bark was removed, the young man stared at the wood. He was trying to see the shapes inside of it, as Kringle appeared to do without effort. The piece was smooth and yellow-white, except for the spots where twigs had once grown. Bonar glanced at the knife in his hand and decided the blade was too long to use appropriately. He switched it out for another. All the while he peered at the wood and prayed he could see whatever toy was nestled within. When nothing came to mind, Bonar experimented with a few cuts. He watched as the grain emerged, but he could not spy any pattern immediately. He sliced again. He looked again. He did not see the toy hiding inside. Bonar sighed.
“Please?” Kringle asked and held out his hand.
Bonar delivered the piece of wood. Kringle instantly held it before his face and stared with intensity. He began to mumble, but Bonar could make no sense of the words.
“There!” Kringle said in a deeply satisfied manner, and returned the limb to Bonar. “I have told it you are not prizing the secret out it for your own needs, but for a child with greater need. There are times when the wood can be parsimonious.”
Bonar gazed at Kringle. Had he not seen with his own eyes the power of the man, he might have suspected Kringle of being soft in the head. Bonar shifted his gaze to the wood, arched his eyebrows, and began to cut again. Slivers of wood slipped easily away from the branch. Slowly, ever so slowly, Bonar did begin to think he saw an image. The spirals of the grain reminded him of the great fish he had once seen in the ocean. It was large, rounded, and spouted water from its back. He had been very young at the time, but the image never left his imagination. Bonar did not feel as though he were directing the actions of the blade. He carved along the grain drawing out a rounded aspect. He saw where the hump needed to slope downward toward the wide fluke at the base of the tail. The going was painstakingly slow, yet Bonar persisted. Hours drifted by as he whittled away the unnecessary scrap. What emerged was something like he remembered, but it was not perfect in Bonar’s eyes. It was near to completion, as best as he could make it, when he heard a tiny whistle.
“One of giants of the sea,” Kringle said following the whistle. “I, too, have marveled at the great beasts. Perhaps it was the snow that told the tree about the creature, and the limb made it a secret!”
Bonar was predisposed to accept the explanation. He had not thought there was a whale hiding in the branch, but there it sat in his hand. The young man grinned, wondering what the receiving child would think of it on Christmas morning.
“Ah!” Kringle mumbled through a laugh. “Now the wood will know what you seek is not for yourself!”
“I do not understand, Pere Noel,” Bonar said, startled by the exclamations.
“All the world could have spied the smile I saw on your lips. It was the smile of a child looking with joy at a great wonder. Christmas morn will be gladdened because your hand has touched it through the toy. Good will has come tenfold in that treasure!”
Bonar did see the joy in the figure. It was born of his own memory, of a time when all was exciting and pleasant to behold. The wide sea had inspired him, and the great fish still held him in awe. He grinned again at his crude effort, but he loved it all the same. Bonar heard Kringle chuckle. Bonar felt at peace.
“We receive in the giving of ourselves, my child,” Kringle said softly. “What comes from the heart cannot perish. Long after the toy has seen its final day, the child will remember as though no time has passed. Our salvation lies in that simple joy. It is the hope of mankind.”
If Kris Kringle had sought to teach him a profound lesson, then Bonar knew the man had succeeded admirably. He bent to his task of perfecting the figure. It gradually became more elegant in its line and design. It did not matter to him that it was a far cry from the craftsmanship Kringle could produce; what mattered was that a child would know happiness, even for a small moment. When he was finished with what he could do with the piece, Bonar set it down on the floor and retrieved another piece of wood. He was thinking of the sea and the white birds that floated serenely on the ocean breezes. Bonar was convinced a gull was trapped in the wood and yearning to be free. The knife in his hand worked with the single determination to let the creature stretch its wings in flight. The wood agreed. The bird came to life before his eyes.
“Ah! Mein helfer, zehr gut!” Kringle said in a strange tongue Bonar had heard before, and the words bubbled with an infectious mirth.
Kringle took the unfinished bird. He held it up in the air, and it appeared to be flying. The chuckling from the man was deep and thoughtful. Kringle grinned like a child as he made the gull in his hand dip and dive on imaginary air currents.
“How beautiful! The men of the sea revere these birds; for when they are in the sky, land is near. One is never lost on the oceans when the gulls are on wing! I know the very child who will prize this above any gift. It will remind her of her papa!”
Bonar’s face split into a smile that had long been a foreigner to his face. His heart was filled, and old troubles were distant. He witnessed the power Kringle possessed, and bathed in its glow. Bonar believed in his ability to see where good was most needed, and the fearlessness the man displayed in delivering it. Bonar heard a song in his mind, and he hummed along with it. Kringle joined in. They sat in the great room singing a wordless tune. They worked late into the night. Although his output was not tremendous, Kringle reminded Bonar that the wishes of children he did not know were already fulfilled. Bonar went to his room humming the song begun many hours before. As he lay down and closed his eyes, he heard the room join the chorus. A sleep came over Bonar the likes of which he had never known. His spirit rested in calm and peace.
If Bonar’s quiet demeanor disturbed Kringle, it was never evident. Kringle had words enough for them both. Bonar fell in love with the sound of the voice. It marked time in a unique manner. In the morning the man spoke energetically, greeting the day with boundless vigor. The forays into the forest were accompanied by a rhythm that made the treks effortless. When meals were prepared, Kringle’s statements clanged and thumped like bowls and pots. In the evening, as their work progressed in crafting toys, Kringle’s voice slipped through the air much like the knives through wood. In the late hours, words gave way to humming. The people and the house alike joined in the song. They routinely sent themselves to bed on peaceful tune.
Spring came, but it was not any spring with which Bonar was accustomed. The cold grew less intense. The hard-packed snow was reluctant to leave, and only retreated until it was safe in the shadows of the trees. The air always remained chill, yet Bonar paid it less and less heed. There was warmth building in him that kept the frigid nights from burrowing to his bones. His cheeks and nose were often ruddy from spending long hours gathering timber to fashion toys. The skin on face and hands browned when kissed by the sun. The young man was hale and hearty, nourished by the constant care of Kris Kringle. It was only at sunset when Bonar remembered why he had been found so far from Avignon. There were secrets still nestled within him that no amount of talking, Kringle’s preferred tool, could reveal. Kringle never questioned him directly, and accepted Bonar each day as if it were a new friendship to be cherished. As time wore on, Bonar was beginning to create toys with a skill the rivaled Kringle’s. He worked nearly as fast. While he was astounded by the skill he never knew he possessed, he found greater wonder in the memories the activity evoked. All the things that once held him in a thrall during childhood returned to him. Bonar wanted nothing more than to share the feeling with an unknown child. Spring gave way to what could be called summer in name only. With it came a shift in their routine.
“Does this bring to mind Father Christmas?” Kringle asked one morning when he stepped into the great room.
Bonar did not recognize the man. He was raggedly dressed, stooped in the shoulder, and appeared every bit an old peasant. The disguise was flawless.
“Why are you clothed so, Pere Noel?” Bonar inquired in confusion.
“I must take one of the strong stag reindeer, and the South Wind will carry us, to a village where I may procure fresh staples,” Kringle informed him.
“But we have no money!” Bonar stated in alarm.
“Not all the world turns on gold, my child. There are those who remember the goodness of Christmas morning and would not send away an old man wanting.”
“Pere Noel, is it right to deceive others like this?” The young man questioned.
“Ah!” Kringle’s voice rang out. “Trust there are those who can see through such a thin veil. They see with their hearts, and with their hearts they give. It is the same as when you spend evening time making toys, Bonar. The reward does not come from having a pfennig pressed into your palm!”
Bonar nodded his head. He was truly beginning to understand the real reward of their craft and mission. The young man never wanted payment for his toys.
“Now, mein helfer, come with me. It is time for you to meet new friends,” Kringle told him, and walked confidently to the door belying the decrepit form he presented.
Bonar followed along behind the camouflaged legend. They walked for a ways before coming to a halt amid another clearing in the trees. Kringle raised his hands to his mouth and issued a series of grunting noises. A few moments later, he repeated the call. Kringle and Bonar then stood silently, waiting. Several long minutes passed before either of them heard the soft crunching sound of hard- packed snow giving way under hoof. With great care and even greater caution, the head of a large stag peered from around a tree. Bonar was amazed at the size of the antler rack on the creature’s head. Kringle chuckled deep and low in his throat.
“We have a new friend,” he said quietly, but his voice seemed to carry well in the crisp air. The reindeer gazed at the man. “He is Bonar, and he is as gentle as a yearling.”
The reindeer took two hesitant steps forward, revealing a broad chest. Bonar was appreciative of the fine specimen standing off at a distance. He slowly turned his head and looked at Kringle. Kringle winked once.
“He’s beautiful,” Bonar whispered.
The stag stamped a hoof once.
“You play to his vanity, and that is not a bad thing,” Kringle said with a snicker.
“Pere Noel, I am sincere,” Bonar replied plaintively. “He is marvelous. I have never seen his like before!”
The reindeer lifted its head and sent out a whistling noise, followed quickly by guttural snorts. It seemed to stand more proudly. The two men watched as the animal walked confidently forward. Bonar could see the eyes flicking back and forth: vanity had not overcome caution. The stag came to a standstill just out of arm’s reach.
Bonar was stricken speechless by the awe and majesty of the reindeer.
“He is a fine one, indeed,” Kringle said in a light voice. He then bowed. “My thanks for answering the call.”
The reindeer nickered and tossed his head upward.
“Yes, we shall ride the wind, my friend! The South Wind is playful today, and we shall have much sport with it!”
The stag snorted many times. It sounded to Bonar as if the animal was laughing in delight. Kringle was chuckling again, and he seemed as excited as the creature. The unique affinity between the two was readily apparent. The reindeer trotted up to Kringle and butted the man with its nose. Kringle rubbed the jaw of the animal with an affection and tenderness that was unmistakable. Bonar felt his throat grow tight while watching the display.
“You are grand,” Kringle said quietly, “and it does me well to see you so hale.”
The reindeer responded by leaning firmly into the caress.
“We shall return with the morning sun, Bonar,” Kringle stated without looking away from the reindeer. “Keep to the house, my child, as some friends do not know yet that you are not to be eaten.”
The warning shook Bonar.
“Seldom do they hunt near the house, but they may mistake you for a trespasser. There are many who would be quick to champion me with little provocation,” Kringle said with carefully chosen words. “In time they will know you as they know me, and then you will have little to fear.”
Bonar nodded his head. At the same moment, the stag butted Kringle with its head. Kringle laughed once again, the same joyous sound which he possessed in abundance. He left off petting the reindeer, and the stag then turned to one side. Kringle leapt onto the back of the animal in an impressively agile and lithe movement. Whatever the age may appear on the surface, the vitality he harbored was profoundly youthful. Once Kringle was seated, the reindeer began to trot. Kringle raised his hands to his mouth.
“Ho! Ho! Ho!” He called loudly. “Ho! South Wind! Ho!”
The trees began to stir. The few shoots of new grass started to sway. The wind gradually increased, and it swirled around everything. Bonar felt it come to life and press against his legs, but he was more enthralled with the spectacular sight of the reindeer bearing Kringle when they began to rise into the air. The stag nickered and whistled happily. The ascent was rapid.
“On the morrow, Bonar!” Kringle shouted with a wave of his hand.
Bonar remained rooted in place until man and beast had completely disappeared from view high in the sky. Once he was alone, the enormity of the situation struck Bonar. He had witnessed what could only be called a miracle, and yet it seemed so commonplace when Kringle was about. It dawned on him that he had spent several months with the man and, in doing so, knew a peace he had thought lost to him forever. Bonar finally turned and began to return to the house, keeping fully in mind the warning Kringle had given. As he approached the well-hidden home, a sense of guilt started to grow in the young man. Kringle had never pressed Bonar for answers regarding the reasons why he had traveled so far a- field from Avignon. Fear, not for what might be lurking about, gripped Bonar. He wondered how many seconds it would take Kringle to cast him from the magical home when the truth was uncovered. Bonar hung his head and spent a lonely day wrapped in dark thoughts.
Bonar was deeply sullen when the master returned to the home. Yet Kris Kringle did not seem to take umbrage to the brooding and quiet demeanor. He greeted Bonar with the same joy he greeted each new day. It was difficult for the young man to retain his glowering thoughts in the presence of Kringle. The day had not come to a close before Bonar had all but forgotten what troubled him. When the two were happily engaged in carving toys that evening, the somber night behind him turned into a dim memory. Bonar hummed while Kringle told him about the village and the generosity he found in the people. The generosity had been proven by the multitude of sacks strapped across the back of the great stag and the full larder when the goods were stored. Bonar heard in the tone of Kringle an abiding respect and felt a palpable love for the people the man encountered. He talked of the children, and his voice rang with joy. Bonar never once considered it odd that Kringle knew the names of each and every person. The words could barely speak of the history he understood about those he met the previous day. Bonar listened and was content. When the night came to an end, and a generous amount of new toys were stacked on the shelves, Bonar went to his chambers feeling light in spirit. The room sang him into his slumber.
Time passed around them, and did not seem inclined to include the home of Kringle. The advancing spring meant the season had come for extended forays into the forest. Kringle was a veritable trove of knowledge concerning the plants in the forest. As they traveled about, stomping along in floppy boots that made Kringle even more mirthful, Bonar soon divined the purpose of the outings. The man constantly remarked about the colors of budding flowers, leaves, nuts and roots. It did not take Bonar long to figure out Kringle was surveying the land so he would know the best source of dyes to make paints for the toys. Each time they ventured forth, Kringle would make it a point to introduce Bonar to the animals in the vicinity. Such introductions produced the only occasions when Bonar became sharply aware that Kringle was unlike any other human. The animals gave every indication they understood his words, and Kringle, in turn, appeared to understand their vocalizations. Bonar was beginning to fully realize he was in a land of true wonder.
“The time is nearly upon us,” Kringle said to Bonar one evening over the meal following a daylong trip into the woods. “Summer will be upon us quickly, and it will pass in a blink!”
Kringle winked as if to accentuate his point.
“We shall have to act with all haste, and our friends will be of great service,” he continued. “Were is not for you, mein helfer, I would fear there would not be enough days to do all which must be done.”
The simple statement made Bonar feel important. Moreover, it gave him a sense of place. Kringle was often effusive in his praise for Bonar’s efforts, but this time the man seemed to be hinting at something more.
“When the North Wind decides it is time for his sister to depart, we will learn if your hand is as deft with brushes as it is with knives.”
Kringle confirmed what Bonar had suspected all along: they were to decorate the toys when winter chose to show its face. Bonar was not paying close attention to everything Kringle said, especially since the man would talk regardless of how much food was in his mouth. He heard bits and pieces of the plans being made to complete needed jobs. In the middle of the calculating, Bonar was caught up short by a single statement.
“I will tell you truthfully, Bonar,” Kringle said as he jammed a roll into his mouth. “God was generous in His blessing when He sent you to me.”
Bonar’s mouth suddenly went dry, and his appetite disappeared in an instant. The guilt slumbering in his chest roared into renewed life. Not only had it lived but it also had thrived. Bonar’s gaze lowered to his plate. Once more, fear rippled through him as to how Kringle would treat him once the truth was known.
“My child, have I profaned God before you?” Kringle asked with concern. “I merely meant to say you are a gift from God to me. He has provided for the children through you.”
Bonar’s lips moved without his intending it, and he said, “I am damned before the eyes of God.”
“Then you have redeemed yourself in all you have done here!” Kringle rejoined sternly. “The damned cannot see what the heart of a child desires. You have seen, and you cannot be damned.”
“I… am an abomination,” Bonar stated quietly.
“You are kind and gentle, and giving of yourself as few have ever done.”
Bonar did not believe the man.
“I tell you again you make pronouncements only God can make,” Kringle said gently. “None may know His mind, but all can see what He does through others.”
Bonar was as still as a figure carved from wood.
“If you have sinned against man, then you have paid your penance tenfold, Bonar. By all that is holy…”
“I am not holy! I am damned! An abomination!” Bonar cried out, unable to deceive the goodness of Kristof Kringle for another moment. “I am unclean!”
“How can you judge yourself so?” Kringle inquired, his voice filled with hurt.
“Because I am. I have heard it read from the Holy Scripture what I am: abomination,” Bonar wept. “Pere Noel… I have tainted this place. You should have left me where I lay so that I would face God’s final and just wrath. You have only robbed Hell of me for a short while.”
“Hell cannot have what God has so finely wrought, my child,” Kringle said fiercely and loudly. “What have you done to ever make you believe God has abandoned you?”
“I am corrupt. My eye… my heart… it turns… wrong.”
“I see no wrong in you, Bonar. I have seen countless scores of people, and I have seen true wrong. I have seen men who attend mass every day, thrice on Sabbath, tithing handsomely to the church, and still their hearts are black as pitch. They offend God in their pretense, saying the words but never believing. Their actions are a mockery of humility, and they care so little for their own souls that they care none for the souls of others. They have forfeited their place in Heaven because they have forfeited mankind for their own avarice!”
Bonar felt as though the room were closing in around him. Kringle’s voice had grown powerful and terrible to hear. He was suffused with fright because he was certain Kringle would turn that voice against him when the truth was laid bare. Bonar cowered inside of himself.
“A man may take the life of another, the worst sin of all, and still enter the embrace of God if he humbles himself in true penitence,” Kringle said like thunder. “But none of this I have seen in you. Tell me, child, what sin have you committed that drives your soul to despair?”
“I…” Bonar was barely able to squeak out of his mouth, and yet he felt compelled to reveal all. “My heart turns toward other men.”
“But what sin have you committed?” Kringle asked a second time.
“I would lie with a man as a man would lie with a woman!” Bonar groaned in misery.
“I have yet to hear the sin to which you can claim guilt. Out with it, my son, confess to me your sin so you may know peace!”
“I would know a man as I would a wife! My heart turns toward men with thoughts of love… sin of the flesh!” Bonar howled.
“And you would think yourself damned because you can love? My child, my son… God does not, He cannot hate those who love.”
“But the Bib…”
“Man can hear God,” Kringle said quickly, stopping the protest. “But man does not always listen. Poor child! God does not command us to hate or kill one another. Only man commands that, and it is far from the wisdom of God. We hear, but we do not always listen. Sometimes we hear wrong, and the lie is taken for truth. It is not God’s truth you have been told, but only what man has contrived to be taken as truth. Look within your heart, Bonar. Look there, and see that God gives you the power to love. If God has commanded you to place your love in another man, then you cannot deny Him His will.”
“Pere Noel,” Bonar whispered the name in confusion.
“Look to your heart, and follow it. It is why God gave us one, so that we may see with other eyes when those in our head are blinded by foolishness,” Kringle chastened him with a grin.
“But you are a man of God, Pere Noel!”
“We… all of us… each man, woman and child are creatures of God. He made us as it pleased Him, and none shall put asunder what God has created,” Kringle declared. His voice rang like a clarion, though he had not raised the volume.
“Per...” was the extent to which Bonar was allowed to speak.
“Until I hear the voice of God come from your lips, I will hear no more of this, Bonar. You have lived too long under a cloud of guilt and shame of your own devising. I know now you were sent to me so I could see my duty clear,” Kringle told him with complete authority. “You have known from the first day the truth of my mission. This house rejoices that you have come to us. You hear the song. The only sin you can commit that would banish you from this realm is to withhold the love you possess. Even while you have labored under the burden of your self- pronounced damnation, your heart guided you to create gifts crafted from love. You are righteous before God, Bonar, and should you fail to see it… perhaps that is your sin.”
“Then I…”
“Shall go out in the morning with the stag and find the early roots I showed you,” Kringle said calmly with a twinkle in his eyes. “We need to let them dry if we are to get the correct tint from them. Pull them too soon, and the color will fade quickly. Pull them too late, and it will stain too dark. Yes, I think tomorrow you shall gather the roots while I prepare the cellar.”
Bonar sat and stared at the man. Kringle went on talking at length about the summer roots and seeds needed to make the proper paints and stains. His laughter returned in short order, and the house came to life with his vibrancy. Bonar listened. The plans were carefully explained, and a sense of urgency abounded. The year was not even half over, and still Kringle gave the impression time was in limited supply. Bonar began to eat again. It was mechanical in affect since he was attempting to take in all the instructions pouring from the man. Kringle told him repeatedly there were many tasks he, Bonar, would need to complete if the eve before Christmas was going to be successful. As he listened, a new feeling began to grow in Bonar. Not only did he sense Kringle wanted him to remain, but Bonar felt needed by the man. In the privacy of his mind, Bonar offered thanks to God that one such as Kristof Kringle walked the earth.
It was a struggle to remove the weight Bonar had saddled on his shoulders. The growing number of tasks that Kringle placed before him assisted the effort. His shoulders were only so wide and could only accommodate a given set of responsibilities. Something had to be cast off. As the weeks wore on, summer bloomed rapidly. Bit by bit, Bonar forgot his guilt and shame. There was no place for it in the domain of Kringle. There was work to be completed if the children were to awake on Christmas morning and not be disappointed. Bonar found renewed life as the world came into flower around him. With the aid of Kringle’s guidance, Bonar came to know the land surrounding the home as intimately as the one he had left behind. It was his home. Each night he heard the song more clearly. It made his heart swell and gave him strength. He saw his duty clearly, and it was at the side of Kristof Kringle, Pere Noel: his father at heart and in spirit.
“Ho! Ho! Old Friend!” Kringle called out one blustery day.
Bonar paused and looked about. There were no animals about with whom he was not already familiar. He looked at Kringle. The man stood, face angled toward the sky, and he chuckled long and low.
“So you have come to bid your sister farewell,” Kringle said through a laugh. “I did not think you would arrive so soon.”
“Pere Noel?” Bonar questioned with the name.
“He has returned: the North Wind.”
“Oh!”
Bonar felt a prickle against his neck. There was a slight chill to it, along with a nip that brought winter to mind. He suddenly sensed a difference in the air. It even smelled differently to him. The sweet smell of summer flowers was mingled with the heady aroma of pine trees, but there was an altogether different scent: snow from far away. Bonar breathed in the air. It felt alive to him. The branches of the trees swayed in the wind. Both Kringle and Bonar glanced around. The creak of the limbs was nearly a voice Bonar understood, and he thought he heard them calling to the North Wind.
“Soon, my child, very soon. He is eager to return. Our time grows short,” Kringle said, the sunlight dancing in his eyes while his words danced on the breeze.
“All will be ready, Pere Noel. We will see to it,” Bonar replied encouragingly.
Kringle turned and glanced at him.
“Then you have chosen to stay?” The man asked quietly.
“I can think of no other place where I wish to be,” Bonar answered earnestly. “The children have need of you, Pere Noel. I could not sleep at night believing even one would wake on Christmas morning to find nothing. If I must miss sleep so that does not come to pass, then so be it!”
Kringle smile and said, “Do you see now that you are truly wanted?”
“What I would want… there is no importance in that, my father. I have known sadness, and still sometimes I remember it too well, and I would not have a single person live with it as I have. Even if it is only one day, one morning, there must be time for joy.”
“And the door of salvation opens before the heart that gives so freely.”
Bonar was stunned to see a tear sneak from the corner of one in Kringle’s eyes and roll down the weather-browned face. He wondered what he had said to bring sadness to the man. He felt ashamed for a moment.
“It is joy, child,” Kringle told him softly. “I have been blessed in seeing you return to life. I weep because I am thankful.”
“Then I shall spend the rest of my days returning that thanks, father. You gave me hope when I could find none. You give all the world hope when it is darkest. I know my duty, and I will not turn away from it.”
Bonar lived up to his words. The moment in the woods when the North Wind returned wrought a change in everything around him. Kringle began to confide the powerful secrets of his ways to Bonar. They worked in unison with a single mission in mind. The young man learned the purpose for everything Kringle did while they collected flowers, moss, nuts, roots, and seeds. They gathered more wood to craft more toys. The summer wore on quickly. The shelves in the storerooms began to overflow with gifts. When the first snows arrived, another change was initiated. The early afternoons were spent preparing the paints and tints for their creations. Bonar learned how to extract the simple yet exquisite pigments from the plants. He discovered how to mix them with egg and oils. The house was filled with a myriad of smells as they boiled and brewed the concoctions that would lend color to the dreary winter days. Throughout his tutelage with Kringle, Bonar began to appreciate that some secrets were more important than others. What he hid about himself from the legendary man for those many months paled in comparison to the new practices he learned. Bonar gradually realized that what he was as a person did not rest in the direction that his loved traveled. Rather, it was how he treated his fellow man in both deed and thought that determined the worth of his being. Bonar laid aside old grievances against his family for having forced him from his home. He truly forgave them in his heart. Each act of contrition he begged from God, he extended to everyone in his mind.
Because his soul knew peace and joy, Bonar discovered he laughed and smiled with great ease.
“Ho! Ho! Such a mighty tempest our friend brews!” Kringle said one evening when the year was three-quarters past. “He frolics as though he were a new breeze!”
Bonar laughed. Outside the snug home the winds howled and whipped the snow into a frenzied dance. Bonar heard the North Wind billowing with delight as the lands all around were piled high with a new blanket of white. Inside the home, he and Kringle bent to their task. The time for carving had passed, and now they adorned the toys in merry colors. They sat together at the wide dining table, seldom used at that point for eating, so to save their necks from getting cricked. A chandelier made from shed antlers hung above their heads and glowed with a multitude of candles. Spread out before them was a feast of paints, stains and toys.
“Father, have we made enough for the children?” Bonar inquired quietly while painting eyes on a duck he had carved.
“Any more and we shall have to think over what age makes a child!” Kringle replied with a chuckle. “I shall be stooped for a seven-day come Christmas morning from this load!”
“Could you not take one of the stags with you?”
Kringle raised his head and stared at Bonar.
“Pere Noel?” Bonar asked nervously, fearing he had said something untoward.
“Here I have spent untold years fretting over how I would carry and deliver all the toys,” Kringle rejoined with a grin, “and from the mouth of a child comes the answer I have never seen! How clever of you, mein helfer!”
Bonar was relieved. Kringle snickered.
“Such wonders as can only be seen by new eyes,” the man said after a short while.
Bonar grinned at the statement. He saw through eyes unclouded by guilt or remorse over his circumstances. God had chosen to make him in a specific manner, and Bonar had accepted it was not his place to doubt the divine wisdom. He increasingly viewed the world not through what he thought, but through his feelings. While others might consider his days of labor a backbreaking chore, Bonar believed he lived the best of all lives. His life centered on the sole idea that everything he did with Kringle was for the benefit of the world. The mass of humanity needed the hope that Pere Noel provided, and Kringle accepted Bonar’s assistance with unbridled gladness. Because they saw their duty with clear eyes and mind, Kringle and Bonar never tired in their task. It was in truth never a chore for them.
“Perhaps I should ask the great white bear,” Kringle mused. Bonar glanced at him in surprise. “He is strong and stout.”
“And has no love for the North Wind,” Bonar reminded him.
“True that,” the man replied.
“The North Wind thinks the bear fat and lazy. You would spend all your time quelling their quarrels.”
“Ah! But think of the ride!”
Kringle burst into a gale of laughter. It was too infectious, the mere idea too ridiculous, and Bonar joined right in. The house was filled with their mirth, glowing in response while the North Wind ran amok across the forests and tundra. With such happiness as to be found suffusing all, it was little wonder the toys sparkled like jewels. On and on through the night they worked. Kringle had a fantastic jest dreaming up a vision of him riding aback the great white bear and the protests of the North Wind. Bonar pictured it in his mind, and he chuckled merrily. Bonar wondered aloud how the children would react if they spied Pere Noel trouncing through the sky on a surly beast, being buffeted about by a chagrined wind. Kringle nearly split his seams at the side from laughter as Bonar detailed the image. They worked late into the night, and had a grand time of it.
The North Wind appeared peevish for reasons even Kringle could not discern. Despite his powers, which were growing in strength each passing day, they were unable to venture out of the house. It took five days before the North Wind spent his energies. It was miraculous to both Kringle and Bonar when a timid sun crept along the horizon. With the full onset of winter fast approaching, the sun seemed less inclined to climb high into the frigid sky. The days were shorter than the nights by half as much. Kringle was beginning to fret over the amount left to complete and the little time left to them. Bonar remained confident that every detail would be attended to before Christmas Eve arrived. When at last they could venture outside of the house, after removing a veritable mountain of snow, Bonar had one goal in mind. He had taken stock of the stores of toys. What began as a simple idea had blossomed into a compelling need. When he was at last free of the house, Bonar struck out for the forest proper, wading waist deep through the covering of snow. The North Wind had been mighty, indeed.
“It is but one night,” Bonar found himself pleading his case to the stag some while later. “He is but one man, and there are so many that look to him for comfort and hope.”
The reindeer stag eyed him warily.
“I ask this neither for myself or Pere Noel,” he continued. “Yours is a great heart. You are mighty and proud. I know you do not favor mankind because he is cruel to you and your kin, but shall man ever learn if we do not show the first kindness?”
Bonar had decided to be forthright and honest with the stag. He did not want the creature to think he was being tricked by praise. The reindeer had answered Bonar’s call as readily as he did for Kringle, but the animal nearly departed immediately when Bonar made his request. The discussion had been carrying on for some time, and the human’s hope was beginning to falter. The stag appeared solidly opposed to the idea. There was only one approach left for Bonar to attempt.
“If you hold Pere Noel as dearly as he holds you, then I beg you to consider this. He will not take from you any service you do not freely give. The world grows larger, and he is only one man. Had I the power Pere Noel possesses, I would carry him myself to every rooftop. Yet I do not, and this is why I beseech you, great stag,” Bonar said quietly, fearing his words were falling on deaf ears.
The stag regarded him with a large, brown eye. Bonar could not discern if his appeal had any effect. Several moments passed, and neither man nor beast moved. Finally, the stag lowered its head. It turned slowly around, and trotted away. Bonar wanted to be angry at the animal, but he could not. The reindeer feared man, and with good reason. They had been enslaved and hunted until only the herds that kept to the far north remained free. Bonar understood he was asking the stag to place himself in direct contact with the world of man, and it was unsettling for the animal. When Bonar was left standing alone, he turned and began the long trek to the house. Kringle had not given him the responsibility to make the request, but Bonar felt as though he had failed the man who had taken him into heart and home. The young man wound his dejected way through the drifts. He would not tell Kringle what he had attempted. He did not want to see the look of sorrow upon the wise face.
Kringle did not give Bonar any time to dwell upon his failure. There were toys to paint and plans to be made. The final preparations required a monumental effort. The nights were long for nature and for the two. Sleep became a rare commodity as they raced against the passage of days to complete their task. There were times when one or both of them would nod off to sleep in the middle of a brush stroke. Bonar’s clothes became flecked with spots of color. He never once thought of his appearance, and failed to recognize that Kringle’s untidy aspect mirrored his own. For all that they worked much and ate or slept little, they did not tire from the duty. Each time Bonar delivered a fresh load of newly painted toys to a storeroom, the sight renewed his energy. They had made considerable progress in the months and weeks leading up to the eve before Christmas, and a simple tally told Bonar they would reach their mark if just barely. He informed Kringle of this on a daily, sometimes hourly, basis. In the back of his mind, Bonar continued to worry about the toll such an enormous delivery would take on Kringle. He wished repeatedly that the stag had agreed to the request.
“You’ve a keen mind for this, Bonar,” Kringle told him the day before Christmas Eve while standing in a storeroom after unloading the final batch of toys on a shelf to dry. “I can see the arrangement, and it will make packing go swiftly.”
“This was not planned, Pere Noel,” Bonar replied, glancing about the room. “I merely found any free space I could.”
“Then I bow to your instincts.”
Kringle did bow. Bonar chuckled. Kringle righted himself, laughing as well.
“Yes, I can see how this is arranged. It is like a map of my travels, my child. You have done very well, for your heart guided your hand,” Kringle said with a gleam in his gray eyes. “What a gift God made to me when He brought you here!”
Bonar’s cheeks grew pink under his sun and weather tan. He had long given up on the notion that he was an abomination or damned, yet the praise Kringle heaped upon his head ran headlong into his humility. Bonar had only done what he knew needed to be done. He did not require compliments to reward him. The idea that children would awake two days hence, filled with anticipation and glee, filled him with warmth. He had toiled so others might smile when all else seemed forlorn. Bonar was still nagged by the notion Kringle would set out on foot, but he kept his worry secret.
“Tonight we feast, for tomorrow we load the sacks. It will be a long day, mein helfer.”
Of that there could be no doubt. They departed the storeroom, and headed straight away for the kitchen. The table was cluttered with their final painting, and they took their meal in the sitting room before the wide, low hearth that spanned the wall. A cheery blaze crackled while they supped. The fare was not fancy, even by their meager standards, but it was filling and hearty. At long last, Bonar allowed himself to feel tired. The weariness in his body seemed trivial compared to the accomplishments. It had been a unique year for him, and he gave thanks to God while he dined. Kringle seemed wrapped in thought as well. He was not as talkative as usual. He stared into the fire while he contemplated the best route to take to deliver the toys. The world was growing, and he was beginning to wonder if he had the stamina for the task. God granted him incredible powers, but each year seemed to bring more need. Without the aid of Bonar, Kringle was quite certain it would have been a paltry Christmas for everyone. He marveled at the transformation of the young man. God, he realized, had tested Bonar for a very specific reason. The anguish, grief, sadness and suffering he had endured had honed his heart so that it acted with purity. Kringle could not fully imagine how his foundling had come through his ordeals without being steeped in bitterness. Bonar was an example for Kringle, and the young man was the embodiment of all the reasons he had first set out on his mission. Bonar was every child in need.
“I will tell you this plainly, my son,” Kringle said gently. “It has been Christmas morn for me each day since you first arrived. In all these years I have never been lonely, but I do not think I could be alone any longer.”
“I owe my life to you, Pere Noel,” Bonar replied emotionally.
“You owe me nothing, child, for you have repaid any debt tenfold. This will be a Christmas to remember for everyone. There are toys the likes of which I have never crafted, and they came from your heart. All of them will be wanted, and all of them will be loved. You have done a great deed, Bonar, mein helfer.”
Bonar swallowed hard against the constriction in his throat. There was much he wanted to say to Kringle, but his voice failed him. He also doubted he could find the words to express what bloomed within his chest.
“A babe is born, but the person is made through the heart. In all I have seen you do, you have remained true. This home is yours as it is mine. Stay with me, Bonar. Do not break my heart. Do not break the heart of this house. You are wanted. You are needed. You are loved.”
Where words failed, actions spoke. Bonar dropped his bowl and flung himself at Kringle. He embraced the man with all the strength in his body and soul. Kringle returned the embrace, and kissed the young man on the cheek. It was an expression of love from a father to a son. Bonar was dear to Kringle in more ways than could be counted. Kringle wept with a new joy. He was certain Bonar would remain. It was as though God had ordained it.
“Merry Christmas, papa,” Bonar said through a sob of insuppressible happiness.
“Merry Christmas, my son,” Kringle said, and sniffled. “Peace on Earth. Good will to all!”
They held the embrace for a long while. The house sang around them in riotous glee. The North Wind added voice to the song. Bonar was home. He had found himself through the care and love of a person loved the world over. Bonar felt God move through him, and God was happy. Christmas had already begun in the home nestled in a thicket of pines, and it would spread out. Kringle began to hum a tune while he rocked the young man held fast in his arms. Although Bonar was nearly a full-grown man, Kringle felt Bonar was his child. God, he knew, had delivered a very special gift to him.
The celebration of their union as family could not last the night. There was much work to be completed the following day, and Kringle finally had to usher them to bed. As he had on the first night of Bonar’s arrival, he tucked the young man into bed and kissed him on the forehead. When Kringle left after a long radiant and thoughtful gaze, the room embraced Bonar in its own fashion. Bonar was lulled to sleep, though it was not truly needed, by a gentle song. He was safe and secure, and assured that it truly was a place where he was wanted. He dreamed of the sky and the sun that night, bright and warm upon his face. Bonar was happy.
“Pere Noel, you let me sleep too long,” Bonar lightly chastised the man when he awoke that morning and strolled into the kitchen.
“There are hours before the noontime, and no harm was done,” Kringle said with a chuckle. “You will need that rest more than you know. I must be away when the last light fades if I am to make all the deliveries.”
Bonar was annoyed yet again with the reindeer stag, but forgiving at the same instant.
“Break your fast, my child, and then we will see to the packing,” Kringle told him with a grin.
Bonar did as he was asked while Kringle trotted off to another part of the house. His meal was light, yet it was nourishing. He was eager to set about making the last preparation. The thought had just crossed his mind when the man returned laden with several study sacks. Each was cinched with a golden rope that sparkled in the light. Bonar began to estimate the number of times he would have to fill each one before Kringle had completed his mission. The younger man set down his bowl and followed Kringle to the farthest storeroom. Kringle unceremoniously let the sacks fall to the floor. He then kicked all save one out into the hall. He presented Bonar with a sly grin.
“Now we shall see how well you have arranged the toys!”
With that Kringle grabbed the sack on the floor, shook it open so a wide mouth appeared, and started to grab toys from the shelf. Bonar watched for a short while. Kringle did not seem to be placing the items in the bag in any special manner. One by one toys disappeared from the shelves. It took more than a few moments before Bonar realized that sack should be full, but Kringle continued to deposit more toys into it.
“It is as I thought,” Kringle said, breaking Bonar’s trance. “This is the exact order I had planned to travel. Very clever of you, mein helfer.”
He continued to pull the toys from the shelves and stuff them into the bag. Bonar was at a loss for words. Kringle seemed convinced he had planned the placement, and Bonar knew it had been haphazard for the most part. Kringle winked at him while he worked.
“This is how I knew you belonged here,” the man told him as if confiding a great secret.
Bonar choked back a sudden surge of emotion. Since he was rendered unable to speak, Bonar began to work. He carefully took a toy from the shelf and reached for the sack. He was about to place it inside when the gift flew from his fingers. It disappeared into the dark opening. The young man was slightly stunned, but then he thought of all the other miracles he had witnessed. It seemed perfectly sensible that the bags would aid Kringle in his duty. With the two of them working side-by-side, and Kringle singing jolly songs all the while, the room was rapidly stripped of toys. The man hefted the sack three times, and hummed in a pleased fashion.
“I believe there is yet room in this one,” he said jauntily.
Bonar trailed behind as Kringle trotted to another storeroom. As before, the family in spirit worked in unison. Bonar was hardly surprised when the entire contents of the room were placed within the bag. As before, Kringle jostled the sack three times.
“One more, me thinks,” he said and snickered.
On and on throughout the morning they traveled from room to room. It was not until a third chamber was cleaned out that Kringle decided it was time for a new sack. That one held the contents of three storerooms as well. The hours sped by as thousands of toys were stuffed into the sacks. Kringle was delighted, and complimented Bonar several times on the careful arrangement of the gifts. Bonar held his tongue time and again to keep from telling Kringle no plan had been in place. When at long last the final storeroom was bereft of toys, looking lonely in its emptiness, Kringle hauled the sack to the immense sitting room and placed it with the six others. The two stood gazing at the collection.
“I think there is hardly space for one more,” Kringle said and whistled. “The time has come to make more for next year.”
Bonar stared at the amazing sacks. They bulged with toys. The ropes had been cinched tight across the mouth so the contents would not spill. Bonar was left with one puzzle in his mind. He could not conceive of the manner Kringle would employ to carry the load in a single trip. A sidelong glance at Kringle asked the question.
“Ah! Have you forgotten there is one remaining?” Kringle asked him in response.
Bonar crinkled his face in confusion. Kringle pointed to the rack of pegs on the wall next to the hearth. There hung one last sack. It was the very one the man had placed around Bonar’s shoulders the previous year. The bag had never been moved that he knew of, and it had slipped from the young man’s memory. Bonar chuckled.
“That sack is as hungry as the white bear!”
Kringle waved his hand, and the sack flew to him. It was passed to Bonar, who pulled on the opening to reveal the large mouth. Kringle then bent, grabbed one of the filled bags, and carelessly flung it at the one in Bonar’s hands. It soared through the air, and sailed neatly into the large bag. It vanished into the gullet of the sack. Moments later, all seven were concealed within. Bonar gaped in wonder when he hoisted the bag as he tugged on the golden rope. It weighed nothing in his hands. He began to wonder if the stag knew about the special sacks and understood Kringle would not be overly burdened. Bonar felt foolish for having made the request to the stag.
“We have time for one last meal, and then I must be away. See how the sky is nearly dark?” Kringle informed him and pointed toward the small window on the door.
The world was suffused in a deep gray while the sun quickly retreated to the horizon. It was, in truth, little more than a ruddy bump on the horizon during the winter months, so the sun did not have far to travel before it slipped from view. The newly acquired father and son made their own retreat to the kitchen. Kringle began to spoon out the remaining portion of the stew that had stayed warm on its hook hanging over the kitchen fireplace. It steamed and a wonderful aroma drifted through the kitchen. Kringle ate at the fastest pace Bonar had ever seen. The tiny round windows in the kitchen revealed the night was at hand. The young man picked up the pace of his eating. He was planning on cleaning the house while Kringle was delivering the toys. They had made quite a mess during the remaining days of their preparations. A sudden rattle of the front door drew their attention.
“It appears the North Wind is eager this year,” Kringle said, laughed, and set his bowl down on a short cabinet.
Bonar did likewise, and together they went to the sitting room. The door rattled again, and this time it was accompanied by a scratching sound. Kringle and Bonar glanced at each other. Kringle went to the door and pulled it open. On the other side stood the stag. Bonar’s heart leapt with joy and relief.
“Come to make early Christmas wishes?” Kringle said as a greeting.
The stag grunted, stamped its feet, and whistled through its nose. Kringle was nodding his head. He then craned it around and looked at Bonar.
“Did he now?”
The reindeer made more noises and pawed the frozen ground with a hoof.
“Wisdom does not always belong to the aged, my friend,” he told the stag, but his eyes remained fastened on Bonar. “And the first kindness is always handsomely rewarded, if I might say so.”
“Pere Noel, I did not mean to impose…” Bonar started to apologize.
“He has come of his own mind, and he offers willingly,” Kringle interrupted. “Although I have no doubt his decision was guided by your words. Again you have planned well for me, mein helfer. You are clever, indeed!”
Bonar was not given a chance to explain, and none seemed to be needed. Kringle held his arms wide from his sides. His hands twirled round three times. Robe, cap and sash flew from their place on the pegs and wrapped themselves about the man. The rich red material gleamed as if it were new. The white trim was dazzling. Bonar could not recall how or when Kringle had cleaned the garments. For all he could remember, they had hung on the pegs throughout the year. With his vestments on, Kringle was a towering figure. An intense sense of power flowed out from him. The man was in his element with his duty waiting. All the powers granted to him were in full force. Kristof Kringle was in his complete majesty. He was Pere Noel, Father Christmas: the man who would one day come to be called Santa Claus. Bonar felt tears running down his face as he gazed upon the radiant figure. There stood before him the hopes of children the world over. There was the spirit of hope for mankind in the form of a single man. Bonar was in awe.
“I am away!” Kringle said gaily and loudly, and snatched up the carry sack. He stepped from the house and vaulted onto the back of the stag in a single motion. “Ho! Ho! Ho!”
The snow rose up in a flurry before the salutation was completed.
“Ho! North Wind! Ho!” Kringle continued the traditional greeting.
The man dressed in red sitting astride the stag rose swiftly into the air. Bonar ran to the door to watch the departure. Even without the moon or the stars to shed light, Kringle blazed like a beacon in the darkness. The child inside Bonar burst with delight at the sight. Pere Noel was delivering Christmas.
“Peace on Earth! Good will to all men!” Bonar heard him cry as the glowing red figure soared from view.
“Peace to you, Pere Noel. Merry Christmas, father,” Bonar said quietly as he closed the door.
That which had been found cold and miserable one Christmas eve had vanished, only to be replaced by life and love. Bonar stayed with Kris Kringle. Time passed around them and touched them ever so slightly. The years passed as they worked together to fulfill the dreams of children in need. The reindeer gladly lent his back without fail, and seemed oblivious to age. The North Wind came and went on its yearly journeys, but was always on hand at the call of Kringle. The duty of Kris Kringle and Bonar grew steadily with the years. Bonar was compelled to join Pere Noel on his annual rounds. He wore a robe of forest green with matching hat and a red sash. The eyes through which he viewed the world became keen. He saw his fellow man advance slowly, sometimes too slowly for Bonar’s temperament, and this brought about more changes in the home of Kringle. Bonar never forgot the time he was alone, frightened, and without hope. A man had dropped out of the sky to give him purpose and a reason to find joy in life. Because Kris Kringle trusted Bonar without question, and because he knew the purity of heart in the young man, he assented to special requests. In the passage of time, Kringle found himself less alone than he could have ever dreamed.
Bonar could taste sadness on the winds at times, and he was drawn to it. He knew the source as he knew himself. Kringle never questioned Bonar when he would appear with a foundling at his side. There was room and heart enough in the home to care for those young people of the world who had been cast aside for one reason or another. Bonar followed his heart, and looked into the hearts of those he happened upon. Not every wayward child traveled to the distant, far northern climes. Some would be graced with words of encouragement from Bonar, for there were times when it was the only gift needed. Some would go with Kringle and Bonar, and join the growing family. They would care for one another with gentleness and good humor. With such assistance at hand, Kringle was able to visit more of the world. Legions of children came to know him, and they applied many names to him. The reindeer stag that first aided Kringle saw the need as well. The stag had been named Dancer for the manner in which he rode upon the North Wind. Dancer’s eye and heart had grown keen, and he selected from his kind others to assist with the mission. Eight in all remained loyal and steadfast in the service of Kringle. There was one special reindeer, bold and fiery, that was called upon periodically when the North Wind was too full of himself and made travel treacherous. While the gift of children, family and friends renewed Kringle each moment of his life, there was a point when he did receive one grand gift from his family.
“Ah! Meine helfer!” Kringle cried to the throng when he was presented with a carefully crafted, large sled. It had been built in secret by his foundlings, and built with a tremendous amount of love.
“For you, papa, so you do not miss out on Christmas yourself,” Bonar told him, beaming with unquenchable affection.
“Ah, my child,” Kringle said and raised a hand to his chest. “Christmas is kept here… but see how it shines!”
Whether his father spoke of his heart or the sleigh did not matter. Bonar was caught up in the rapture of the moment. It was Christmas Eve, and the new sled was piled high with the sacks filled with toys. The select reindeer trotted up to be harnessed without a single grumble amongst them. Dancer took his place at the front, eager to discover how the North Wind would treat the sleigh. The North Wind blew with a gusty might, and his breeze was like the laughter of a child having discovered a new toy. Kringle climbed aboard the sleigh still in wonder at the gift his children had made for him. He called to Bonar to join along. The two men, one in red and the other in green, held on tightly when Kringle bade the North Wind to carry them aloft. The reindeer nickered and whistled as they raced in the front, delighting in their duty. The mass of children, young and older, shouted from below with enthusiastic glee. The sleigh sailed across the sky, across the face of the moon, and arched high overhead. There was no distance great enough to mute one voice.
“Peace on Earth! Good will to all!” Kringle called out in a booming voice.
Together with Bonar, the North Wind, the reindeer, and a shining new sleigh, Kristof Kringle set out yet again to make his wish come true.
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