How Mrs. Claus Saved Christmas (25 page)

“What about you and Leonardo?” I asked. “You're in danger, too. If Culmer ever discovers the factory, and why we make toys there, you'll end up in the Tower of London.”

Arthur sighed. “I've come to the conclusion that, at some point, it will be better to close the toy factory down. I won't until I absolutely have to, and for now there still is no specific law against Christmas, just strong suggestions by the Puritans that it's no longer wise to celebrate it. Everyone in England has heard about what happened here in Canterbury.”

“Do you think Parliament will legally outlaw Christmas, Arthur?”

“It's only a matter of time,” he said. “If, in another year or two, enough people in England don't voluntarily accept the Puritan view of the holiday as sinful, then the Puritans will stop trying to persuade and start commanding instead.”

I reminded Arthur of how Oliver Cromwell once told me no one should force religious beliefs on anyone else. “Cromwell is growing in influence among the Roundheads,” I said. “Maybe he will prevent them from passing anti-Christmas laws.”

“Cromwell is a devout Puritan who hates Christmas as much as any of them,” Arthur replied. “Besides, power changes the way people do things. When he told you he believed in persuasion rather than force, he was an unimportant member of Parliament who had very little power. Of course he believed in persuasion. That was the only way he could get things done. But now he's one of the most important men in England, and as people grow in power they usually grow less concerned about the opinions of others. Don't fool yourself that Oliver Cromwell will protect Christmas if he sees the chance to destroy it.” He shrugged. “But we really can't do anything about Cromwell. Let's talk about you.”

I wasn't accomplishing anything for our overall gift-giving mission by staying in England, Arthur pointed out. I couldn't be in London, helping at the toy factory, because of the warrant for my arrest issued there by Blue Richard Culmer. In Canterbury, all I did was wash clothes and sweep floors for the wife of a Christmas-hating Puritan. In Europe, children in Italy still waited for Befana on January 6 and French children loved Pere Noel, who'd leave gifts in their shoes while they slept on Christmas Eve. A holiday custom unique to France was that children could open their presents on Christmas morning, but adults had to wait until New Year's. So many countries had their own special traditions, meaning Attila and Dorothea and St. Francis and Willie Skokan had all they could do preparing for the holidays and delivering all the right toys to all the right places. They badly needed my help. And what about the New World, where Nicholas and Felix were working so hard to spread the wonder of Christmas? Didn't I think they needed me, too?

“Isn't it possible, Layla, that you're being selfish by insisting on staying here?” Arthur concluded.

That stung me, because, in a way, he was right.
Selfish
is such an awful word, implying a person cares much more for himself or herself than about others, and for twelve centuries I had devoted my life to gift-giving. I had been granted very special gifts, and while I remained in Canterbury I was not using them.

I was quiet for a few moments, thinking—about my husband, so far away in America; about Oliver Cromwell, and whether he was as special a leader as I had once believed; about all the children in the world who depended on holiday gift-givers for moments of joy; and, yes, about the person in the world who, next to Nicholas, had become dearest to me. Every moment I spent with Sara was a delight. I had to admit that part of the reason I refused to flee England was that I couldn't bear to leave her. She was so hopeful, so anxious to see the world and do special things and not become just one more country farmer's wife. So much, I realized, like I had been back in Niobrara.

But there was something more at work here, and finally I tried to explain it to Arthur and, perhaps, to myself.

“Not long after we married, Nicholas told me he felt there was no coincidence where our gift-giving mission was involved,” I said. “He believes, and helped me to believe, that we find ourselves in certain places at certain times because there is some great purpose to our being there. You've heard the story more times than you wanted, I'm sure, of how Nicholas and Felix and I just happened to bring gifts to the same nomad camp outside Constantinople one night in 412, or 1,231 years ago. Constantinople is a sprawling city in a huge world—what brought us together there in that one modest spot? I'm here in Canterbury now as a result of many apparently coincidental things—Nicholas wanting to see the New World, the Puritan ‘Saints' making a voyage just as we came to London, Pamela Forrest working at your factory and having a kind, generous sister here when I needed some place of refuge . . . Arthur, I believe if I leave now, I ignore a message from God, who has so generously given us the special gifts to carry out our mission.”

“A message to do what, Layla?”

“It's hard to say,” I admitted. “Surely it has to do with Christmas, and the danger to the holiday. Canterbury is where Blue Richard Culmer made clear the Puritan determination to eliminate Christmas forever. Canterbury, then, may be the place where it is saved.”

Arthur looked doubtful. “Who will save it, Layla?” he asked gently. “You? Remember, you're running from Blue Richard because you're not strong enough to fight him. I understand why you say God is with you, but don't forget the Puritans believe just as strongly that God is with them. Please, be practical.”

I took a deep breath. “I'm staying, Arthur,” I said. “We have been friends now for more than a thousand years. Support me in this, as we have all supported one another for so many centuries. There is no coincidence in our lives, and somehow Christmas will be saved.”

Arthur embraced me and returned to London. I went back to the Hayes cottage and resumed my life there. Parliament continued to combat both king and Christmas. December 25, 1643, was one of the saddest holidays in memory. Parliament still did not demand that Christmas no longer be celebrated, but it deliberately met on Christmas Day as a sign business should be carried on as usual. Across England, a few brave church leaders put holly on their doors and invited working people in to celebrate. Many of those who conducted services soon afterward received visits from vandals sent by Blue Richard Culmer.

The vast majority of the English people still loved Christmas and kept the holiday quietly in their homes, sharing special dinner treats and summoning up their courage to sing some carols, though not too loudly. Those with Puritan employers reported for work. Arthur wrote me that so many families feared reprisals that they made it clear Father Christmas should not enter their homes and leave gifts for hopeful little ones. Reluctantly, he complied, since we never left gifts where we were not welcome. “For the first time, we had a surplus of toys left over after Christmas,” Arthur wrote. “We sent them immediately to Attila, so they could be distributed on Epiphany.” He added that he didn't think he could keep the factory open much longer, especially since there was so much less gift-giving to do now in England.

On December 25, 1644, Parliament took another step toward eliminating Christmas completely. Just before King Charles had fled two years earlier, in a last-minute effort to appease his rivals he had agreed that the last Wednesday of each month should be set aside for fasting, since Puritans believed the act of going hungry would remind everyone of how grateful we should be to God for providing us with food. Now, in this year, the twenty-fifth happened to be the last Wednesday of December. In towns like Canterbury where the Puritans had control, town criers offered reminders that, by law, December 25 was a day to fast, not feast. Singing Christmas carols in your home might not be illegal, but eating a Christmas goose or holiday pudding certainly was.

Though there still was not one final, heavy-handed decree that Christmas was unlawful, these acts and edicts gradually wore down the Christmas spirit all across the land. Fewer people grumbled about having to work on December 25 because it seemed like one more permanently sad fact in life, rather than something temporary. Poor villagers were much less likely to band together and march singing to the homes of their richest neighbors because, in too many cases, they would be met with curt reminders that Christmas was a pagan holiday, and then have heavy doors slammed in their faces.

Not everyone rejected Christmas out of either conviction or, more likely, fear. Some wealthy families encouraged their poorer neighbors to make the traditional holiday visit and gave them wonderful things to eat and drink when they arrived. Brave working-class families declared what happened in their homes was their business, not Parliament's, and feasted on Christmas and exchanged small gifts. The very bravest even ventured out to church, knowing spies among their neighbors might report them for doing it. In Canterbury, the Hayes family tried to balance Christmas spirit with common sense. Elizabeth and I were employed by Margaret Sabine, so we had to work. But Alan Hayes was home between voyages, so he had the whole holiday free to celebrate if he wanted—and he did.

“When I was a boy, my family was probably the poorest one in Canterbury,” Alan explained. “We counted ourselves lucky, during the year, if we had vegetables more than once a week to go with our bread at mealtimes. Then my father got work with a farmer who loved Christmas. One of the ways he celebrated it was to give a goose to each of his employees to enjoy for their holiday supper. I cried on that first Christmas when we had goose, Layla, because it was the most wonderful thing I'd ever tasted. When my parents brought me to church that day, I thanked God for sending us his son
and
the tasty goose. When my mother served it to us, that was the one time that year I can remember her smiling. I promise you, while I live we
will
celebrate Christmas in my home, and I feel sorry for all those who deny themselves and their families the joy of the holiday.”

So while I went to work with Elizabeth, Sara stayed home with her father, and Elizabeth and I returned home at the end of the day to find the cottage decorated with holly and a fine goose sizzling on a platter.

Sara received another dress that Christmas morning, and Leonardo had sent me more candy canes from London, which I left on her pillow. But she announced as Alan carved the Christmas goose that Father Christmas probably shouldn't bring her gifts in the future.

“I'm ten now, and will be eleven next month,” Sara said. “I know this is a hard time for Father Christmas, and so I'm ready to do without presents.”

“Is this because of something Sophia has said to you?” her father asked sharply. “I know her father is a powerful Puritan and won't allow Christmas in their home, but in this house your mother and I make the decisions—and Auntie Layla, too. If you want Father Christmas to keep coming, I promise you he will.”

“I do want him to, but I know there's danger in it,” Sara replied. “I would not want Father Christmas or anyone helping him to get in trouble. Sophia does say her father expects new, stern laws about Christmas to be passed very soon, since the king's troops are losing nearly every battle and the war will be over before next year's holidays.”

I was proud of Sara for putting concern for her parents ahead of any desire for Christmas gifts. It was another sign that my beloved girl was indeed growing up fast, in mind as well as body. She was almost as tall as me, and the instruction she still shared with Sophia Sabine now included drawing and dancing in addition to reading, writing, and sums, since privileged young ladies were expected to master such social graces. Of course, the purpose of the instruction was to prepare Sophia, not Sara, for society life, but Sara admitted to me she enjoyed dancing very much, though, being so shy, she would never dance anywhere but in a small room with only her best friend and the dancing instructor there to see. Then she wanted to know if I had ever done much dancing. I replied that I hadn't—but didn't add that twelve centuries of making and giving gifts all over the world had left little time for such things.

The year 1645 in England started with very bad news. Meeting on January 4 in London, Parliament began considering a rule that would allow only Sundays to be considered holy days. Confident now of complete victory, not long afterward its members put former Archbishop Laud, who'd been appointed by King Charles and then appalled the Puritans by not restricting religious worship, on trial. He'd been held for a long time in the Tower of London, but now he was brought out, sentenced to die, and promptly executed.

Oliver Cromwell caused a stir by temporarily leaving the battlefield to make a speech. In it, he accused Parliament of still promoting rich men to be military leaders rather than more talented working-class men. Hearing this, I felt hopeful about him. Clearly, power had not altered Cromwell's commitment to the common people.

Then members of Parliament turned their attention back to King Charles, and soon they convincingly defeated him at Naseby, with Cromwell leading what was known as his New Model Army to victory there. Now the king's soldiers were in full retreat, and the holiday haters were about to have the power they had craved for so long.

But they hadn't destroyed Christmas quite yet. As December 25 drew near, I found myself wondering if it was right for me to remain safe in hiding in Canterbury, while Arthur and Leonardo and their employees risked so much operating the toy factory back in London. Dusting in the parlor while some visitors from London chatted over tea there with the Sabines about the war and its most prominent figures, I overheard that, on Christmas Day, Blue Richard Culmer intended to prowl some northern English cities, punishing those who celebrated the holiday there. Meanwhile, Oliver Cromwell was going to be visiting his wife back in London.