Hearth and Home (2 page)

The night was crisp and clear—a perfect winter evening, even though it was well past evening and a good portion of night was gone. Bayberry enjoyed this time because it was so quiet. Sound carried in the dark, and Bayberry could hear the night animals going about their nocturnal business. He heard the creak of wood and turned to see a figure slipping out of the transportation barn. Was that Thistle again? Bayberry almost called out to him, but stopped when he noticed Thistle scurrying across the square. At least he thought it was Thistle.

When the figure tripped over what appeared to be nothing, Bayberry knew it was Thistle. He was the only elf who could fall over air. Apparently production had not been the only one to receive a basket of goodies. Bayberry smiled. Thistle’s mate was a very lucky elf to have Thistle in his or her life. Bayberry found himself wishing he had someone like Thistle in his. It would be nice to come home to such goodness of spirit. He didn’t even mind Thistle’s klutziness, found it sort of endearing, actually. Besides, having a klutz for a mate would give Bayberry plenty of opportunity to take care of him or her, and Bayberry couldn’t help but take care of people. It was just in his nature. His mother was always telling him he would make a wonderful mate; she just kept pushing Bayberry to prove her right.

With a sigh, Bayberry resumed his journey home. Maybe after the busy season, he would look harder for a mate. It would require more effort than he had to spare if he tried to do it now.

He turned down the lane between the cobbler and the tailor, a quiet street in the town. Walking down the street always made him feel good. Bayberry always felt safe, could feel the sense of home that swept over him once his cottage was in sight. This night was no different.

Once he had unlocked the door and gone inside, Bayberry kicked off his shoes. Then he chuckled, remembering the way Thistle had curled his toes when Bayberry had called him on not wearing his in the workrooms. He couldn’t blame Thistle for not wanting to wear shoes. Bayberry didn’t like them either. The first thing he did when he got home every night was to kick them off.

Following his normal routine, Bayberry went into his kitchen. He filled his tea kettle and set it on the stove before turning the burner on. He grabbed a teacup from the cabinet, then took a tea container from the open shelf next to the cabinet. A nice cup of chamomile tea would help him relax enough to go to sleep.

“B
AYBERRY
!” T
HE
booming, cheerful voice echoed across the production floor, causing every elf’s head to shoot up. Their faces blossomed with smiles. Ol’ Saint Nick was the jolly fellow the world believed him to be, and he brought that joy with him everywhere he went. His smile was contagious, and no one remained unhappy in his presence for very long.

“Good morning, sir,” Bayberry said, feeling a smile tug at his own lips as he approached Santa. What humans assumed was fat was actually a barrel chest and solid torso full of muscle. The spirit of Christmas and the Holly King of Yule played with polar bears and wrestled moose in his free time. There really was no fat on Santa Claus, save for maybe those rose cheeks.

Bayberry found himself almost crushed in Nick’s enthusiastic hug.

“Three centuries and you’re still the only elf who calls me
sir
,” Nick said with a merry chuckle as he released Bayberry, only to throw a beefy arm around his shoulders. “When are you going to call me Nick?”

“Maybe next time.” Bayberry stopped fighting the smile as they repeated the normal opening to all their conversations.

“Humph, you’re a stubborn elf,” Santa grumbled happily.

“Perhaps,” Bayberry said. “What can I do for you, sir?”

“Let’s go into your office and let these lovely elves get back to work,” Santa said, leading the way to Bayberry’s office, snatching a cookie from the basket on the way. When they were both inside, Santa shut the door behind them, and then took the seat in front of Bayberry’s desk. “Come on and sit down, Bayberry.”

“Okay.” Bayberry wasn’t sure what to make of this meeting. Normally he had some advance warning when the boss was coming for a visit. For Santa to just show up made Bayberry rather nervous. He sat in his seat and looked at Santa.

“I hear there was a mishap yesterday,” Santa said. “Something about the glassworks being destroyed and now they’re behind schedule?”

“Um, yes, sir, that is true,” Bayberry admitted, somewhat reluctantly. It really wasn’t Thistle’s fault that he was accident-prone. It just was. Snow was cold, the sky was blue, and Thistle was clumsy.

“Your month-end reports aren’t filed either,” Santa said.

“I know, sir. I was attempting to finish them last night,” Bayberry said. “I should have them finished by the end of today.”

“You are my most creative and speedy glass smith,” Santa said, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands over his belly. “In order to get the glassworks done, I’m going to need you on the production floor.”

“What about the reports?” Bayberry said. “I’ll never get them done on time if I’m on the floor.

“Perhaps there is another elf not currently occupied with other projects?” Santa mused. The expression on his face was one of deep thought. “There has to be someone.”

“Not that I’m aware of, sir,” Bayberry said. “I suppose I could pull someone from accounting.”

They were silent for a few moments. Then Santa snapped his fingers and laughed. “I know. Thistle!”

“Thistle?” Bayberry was aghast at the suggestion. “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea, sir.”

“Why not? Thistle is very smart. He’s good with numbers and reports. He keeps the inventory for the kitchen and does the ordering when the missus needs a hand. He always helps out during the holiday feasts,” Santa said, a confused expression on his face.

“Well, it’s just…. Thistle is—I don’t know how to say this without sounding mean….” Bayberry sighed. The idea of Thistle in a kitchen, especially after his discovery last night, was intriguing. How did Thistle manage not to get hurt?

“Oh, I think I know what’s worrying you. It’s Thistle being accident-prone, am I right?” Santa said with a big smile.

Bayberry was surprised, though he supposed he shouldn’t have been. Santa never missed anything that was going on in his realm of influence. He might not comment on it, but he was aware. “Exactly, sir. I’d be worried he’ll get hurt every second he’s here.” Bayberry sighed.

“If he’s just in your office, what harm could there be? It’s not as if I expect him to work the production floor. That’s not where his skills lie. However, Thistle wants to help and you need it, so why not have him assist you with the reports while you handle the glass works? He’ll be fine.”

Santa’s positivity did little to quell Bayberry’s anxiety. But one didn’t naysay the Big Guy.

“All right, sir, if you think that would be best. When will he be here?” Bayberry said, trying not to think of all the things that could happen to Thistle just by walking across the room. Maybe he could somehow klutz-proof his office…. Perhaps shipping would have something he could cover the sharp corners of his desk with….

“I don’t know. I haven’t asked him. I figure you can do that while I handle the reindeer foaling. Comet and Blitzen are ready to drop. I think the missus is expecting him around lunchtime to help with baking.”

“Very well, sir, I’ll ask Thistle to help me with my reports,” Bayberry said, giving Santa a smile. Inside, he was shaking his head. Thistle and the production floor were not a good mix.

“Good elf!” Santa boomed as he shot to his feet. “I need to get to the barn. I’ll see you later, Bayberry.”

Once Santa had left, Bayberry let out a sigh. Glancing at the cuckoo clock on the wall, Bayberry saw it was about two hours before lunch. He needed to see what staff he could shift around to get the glass works back on track. Then he would have to go find Thistle. Once that was done, he’d have to quickly train Thistle on how their paperwork and reports were done, show him how to read the numbers, and make sure Thistle didn’t hurt himself in the process.

It was going to be a long day.

T
HISTLE
HUMMED
as he slowly kneaded the streusel dough. While he preferred his kitchen, the one at the workshop was rather nice. There were four ovens going all at once, so the room was decidedly toasty. It was warm to the point where Thistle had all of his hair pinned haphazardly on top of his head to get it off the back of his neck. He had taken off his long-sleeved undertunic and his boots. A red-and-green checked apron covered the front of him. It was as cool as he was going to get without removing more clothing. In his own kitchen, he’d be down to just his breeches, but this wasn’t his kitchen. Moreover, he wasn’t comfortable with the other elves seeing him that way. To say nothing of Mrs. Claus. One did not get nearly naked around the Big Guy’s wife.

As if the thought brought her, Mrs. Claus bustled into the room with a warm smile. “Ah, there you are, Thistle! You snuck by me again.”

“I’m sorry,” Thistle said as he dropped his eyes to the dough on the counter. “I just, well, you were busy and I figured I could help by starting on the streusel. The dough is almost ready.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful, Thistle! Thank you,” she said before she came over and gave him a hug. When she pulled back, Thistle found he couldn’t look away from her kind blue eyes. There was something about this woman, like she could see right through a person, no matter how they tried to hide. “Thistle, what’s bothering you, sweetie?”

“I… don’t know what you mean,” he hedged as he pulled his gaze away. No, lying to the missus was not a good idea and never went uncaught, but Thistle couldn’t help himself.

“Yes, you do,” Mrs. Claus said quietly, gently, in a voice that encouraged a man to spill his guts. “Did something happen yesterday?”

“I…,” he began, but hesitated. He could feel his face heating with shame.

“You know you can tell me anything, dear,” she encouraged as she pulled him in for another hug.

With a little hiccup, Thistle told her about his mishap. It was easier, he found, when he didn’t actually have to make eye contact. “Why is it whenever I try to help, I always end up making things worse? I don’t mean to make a mess of things. And then Bayberry was so nice about it. He just picked me up like I weighed nothing and got me out of the glass so I wouldn’t get hurt. He didn’t yell at me or anything. Mistletoe was furious, but Bayberry…. I don’t understand why everything I touch seems to turn into a mess.”

“Not everything, dear.” Mrs. Claus smiled, released him from her hug, and nodded toward the dough as Thistle turned back and resumed kneading. “And you are one of the most magically talented elves I know.”

“How does this help anyone?” he mumbled.

“It’s hearth magic, Thistle. It’s the magic of home, of family.”

“But I can’t help where it counts,” Thistle said sadly.

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Mrs. Claus said. “All the workers seem much happier since they received the cookie baskets.”

Thistle’s head jerked up and heat filled his cheeks. She knew? How did she know? No one was
supposed
to know. He opened his mouth, but she cut him off before he could speak.

“Don’t bother trying to deny it, Thistle,” Mrs. Claus said with a laugh. “I know the feel of your magic and the taste of your baking. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, you know. The others love the baskets. They feel appreciated, that someone takes the time to make them treats. They feel the love that went into the baking. That is what hearth magic,
home
magic is all about. I almost envy the elf that captures your heart, because the magic will only grow stronger.”

“If they survive,” Thistle muttered. “And if they decide to stick around.”

“The right elf will,” Mrs. Claus assured him with a firm nod.

Thistle could do nothing but hope she was right. He was so tired of being alone.

“Excuse me for interrupting.”

Thistle stiffened at the sound of Bayberry’s voice. What was he doing in the kitchen? Shouldn’t he be on the production floor, trying to make up the time Thistle had cost them yesterday?

“Hello, Bayberry,” Mrs. Claus said. “What can I do for you?”

“Actually, ma’am, I’ve come to speak to Thistle, if you don’t mind. Santa said I would find him here.”

Thistle tensed even further. Why would Santa do that? What did Bayberry want? Oh, he wished Bayberry would just go away.

“Bayberry,” Mrs. Claus admonished. “Why do you insist on being so formal? This is your home. You’re family now.”

Thistle risked a glance over his shoulder in time to see Bayberry blush. His breath caught in his throat. With the light behind him, Bayberry was haloed in gold. He looked absolutely stunning, and Thistle felt his heart speed up. Quickly, he turned back around and tried to gain control of his body. Bayberry… oh, Bayberry was so beautiful, but so beyond Thistle’s reach.

“Thistle, let me take care of the streusel. You can take a break and share some tea and cookies with Bayberry. He’s been eyeing the sugar cookies since he walked through the door,” Mrs. Claus said with a teasing smile in Bayberry’s direction.

Thistle caught another blush from Bayberry, though he didn’t deny the observation, and was completely done in.

“Okay,” he said after he’d swallowed to clear the lump in his throat… twice. Thistle led the way to the little tables set in the corner of the kitchen nearest the door. The kitchen was cooler there, and it was a nice place for the staff to take a break, especially on feast days, when every cooking appliance that could be on was.

Mrs. Claus came over a few moments later with a tray laden with a teakettle, two cups, and a plate of sugar cookies.

“Now, you make sure to let Thistle have some of the cookies, Bayberry. He’s too skinny by half!” Mrs. Claus said sternly before ruining it with a bright, cheerful smile. She pinched Thistle’s cheek and ran a loving hand through Bayberry’s purplish-red hair, mussing it from its neat queue. From the expression on Bayberry’s face, it was a familiar, if exasperating, gesture. Then she left them alone