How Mrs. Claus Saved Christmas (6 page)

Upon arriving in the new city, I would then have to find a place to stay for a few days, and that was never easy. As was the case in Myra, most innkeepers did not want to rent rooms to a single woman. Those who would always wanted more money than the rooms were worth, but most of the time I had no choice but to pay whatever was being asked. After that, it took more time to scout out everything, to find where the poorest people lived or camped, and which camps had dogs or were too well-guarded. I would estimate that I spent two weeks traveling and planning for each night that I was actually able to leave gifts.

I don't mean to make it seem as though I was generally unhappy. During those moments that I crept up to campfires, laid down bread or fruit or blankets or clothing, and then stealthily disappeared back into the night, I felt a joy that warmed me even during the most frustrating times in between. No life is perfect, and no dream is realized exactly as it was imagined. Unless we accept the unwelcome parts of our lives instead of resenting them, we can't completely enjoy all the good things that come to us. I grumbled sometimes, but I would not allow myself to brood. As the years passed, I was able to look on my problems as challenges, situations to be overcome if only I had enough common sense and determination. If I let certain things discourage rather than inspire me, it would be more my own fault than anyone else's. Realizing this, I was able to maintain a positive attitude.

Even so, the time came in the year 412 when the coins I carried were so few that I no longer needed to keep them in a pouch hidden under my cloak. I could drop them in a pocket of my robe instead. The fact I had managed to stretch my inheritance for ten years of gift-giving gave me great satisfaction. The additional fact that I'd be penniless within days was also something I had to consider.

I was staying at an inn in Constantinople, by far the largest city I'd visited during my decade of journeys. I found myself there quite often during the years. The larger the place, the more poor people in and around it, of course; because the population of Constantinople was so immense, more than three hundred thousand by some counts, no one took much notice of a woman on her own. There were even a few inns that specifically offered shelter to those like me, and for a reasonable cost. It was a relief not to be stared at, and to be treated with respect instead of insolence.

In my room, which was, for a change, clean and bug-free, I sat on the sleeping mat provided and took out the few coins that remained to me. I had paid in advance for one week's lodging, because that left me just enough to buy supplies for about that many nights of gift-giving. When the week was up, so, apparently, would be my wonderful mission. I had just passed my thirty-fifth birthday. By the standards of the day, I was in my late middle age. I still felt healthy and strong. Somehow I'd avoided the common diseases that claimed lives so regularly. By God's grace I had all my teeth, and my hair remained brown instead of gray. But old age had to be well on its way. I'd been lucky my money and health had lasted so long.

After I spent these last coins and passed my last night at this Constantinople inn, I wondered what would become of me. In such large cities, there were usually places where unmarried women could live and work in the Christian church. That was a possibility; I certainly believed in and loved the Lord. Otherwise, I could become a nomad, perhaps joining with some band or another that would take me in and give me a place in a torn tent at night. While I had any strength left, I had no intention of becoming a street beggar. Well, for these last few days I would simply go on as I had been, and let fate or divine grace determine what happened next.

Reminding myself that self-pity is the worst disease of all, I stood up, put the coins I had left in the pocket of my robe, and made my way to one of Constantinople's many marketplaces. The day before, I had spied a nomad camp on the outskirts of the city, one with many ragged children and hungry-looking old people huddled around tiny fires. They were wrapped in thin, dirty blankets, which was sad, but they seemed to have nothing at all to eat, which was worse. I counted almost twenty people.

Now, in the market, I took out my few coins and estimated how much would buy just enough food to fill all twenty of their stomachs for a few days. While that wouldn't permanently improve their lives, at least it would give them a chance to gain some strength and, perhaps, some hope, because they would know someone cared about them. So I bought bread, and dried fruit, and some blocks of cheese. It was certainly plain fare, but it was nourishing and cheap enough for me to buy quite a lot. Over my ten years of gift-giving I had learned better how to carry large loads. My robes and cloak had many deep pockets.

As I stood in front of one vendor's stall, shoving cheese and fruit into those pockets, I happened to glance at another stall nearby. Bread was being sold there to a pair of customers who were putting the loaves into large pockets in their robes, too. The first thing I noticed about these men was that they were, to say it kindly, both somewhat stout. Because their robes were so wrinkled and stained with dust, I suspected they, too, must be travelers. Their backs were turned to me as they tried to pack away all the bread they had purchased—why would two men need so many loaves? Then, chatting away to each other like old, beloved friends, they walked past me and I was able to see their faces. The fellow on the left looked to be about forty. His hair was mostly brown but streaked with gray. He had no beard, unusual for the time, and he squinted his eyes a little. Like many people before glasses were invented, this was an obvious sign he was nearsighted. He seemed in every way to be a pleasant, even kindly person, but it was his companion who drew my attention.

I could have sworn I recognized that long white hair and beard, and that smile, which was at once warm and welcoming. Other people automatically smiled back as they stepped aside to let him pass. There was about him a unique sense of
goodness,
if that isn't too strange a description. Very briefly, our eyes met, and when they did I nearly gasped, because I realized this was the man from my dreams. As a sensible person I knew this had to be impossible, yet here he was! I wanted to say something, I meant to reach out and pull at his arm and speak to him, but the shock I was feeling left me too confused to move, and by the time I recovered myself he and his companion had been swallowed up in the marketplace crowd.

Still stunned, I slowly made my way back to the inn, trying to make sense of what had happened. Surely I'd just been granted a sign—but of what? Should I now do nothing else but search every street in Constantinople until I found this man again? And, if I did, what should I say to him? He might be repulsed by a strange woman saying to him that she knew him from many years of dreams. But beyond the dreams, I had the sense that I had seen him somewhere else, too.

As night fell, my only instinct was to go ahead and bring my gifts out to the nomad camp. After all, because I had spent the last of my money, this would be one of my last moments of gift-giving, too. I would take most of the provisions I had just purchased. The few things remaining I would bring to others in need, and when the final loaf and dried fig and bit of cheese were distributed, the next part of my life would begin. I wondered, perhaps even allowed myself to hope, that the man with the white beard and wonderful smile might be involved.

“At least let me see who you are,” he said, gently tugging my hood away from my face. My long hair tumbled out, and as the light coming through the windows of the inn fell upon my face, I knew it was clear I was certainly not a man.

CHAPTER
Three

 

 

 

 

T
here were four tents in the nomad camp, with two small fires burning nearby. I always found it easier to leave gifts when tents were involved rather than proper huts or houses, which usually had doors. Though door locks weren't yet in use, sometimes families would block their doors from the inside by placing heavy objects against them, since, particularly in cities, there were thieves who might try to sneak in. I, of course, was also sneaking in, but to leave things rather than take them. Tents only had entryway flaps, and these were easily pushed aside.

I approached the camp carefully, as I always did, trying to be certain no one else was around. On this night, I couldn't escape the feeling that someone was lurking nearby, but after an extra half hour of waiting and watching I decided to get on with my task. The camp was about a half mile outside Constantinople, but it was beside a good-sized road, and someone might ride or walk by at any time. At least there were hills all around. Even if that made it easier for others to hide from my sight, this meant in case of emergency I, too, would have a good chance of getting away.

I quietly walked toward the nearest tent. I knew from my scouting earlier in the day that a mother and father and their two children would be sleeping there. Just before I eased aside the flap to go inside, I reached into the deep pocket of my cloak and put my hand on a long, thick loaf of bread. In those days, a loaf might be the entire dinner for a family of four or six or even ten, so they were quite substantial. Think of how long a modern-day baseball bat usually is, and that was about the length of a loaf in 412, only the loaf was easily twice as thick as the bat. Years of practice made what I would do next completely automatic. The pockets inside my cloak were quite long, from my waist all the way down to the hem around my ankles. I could put several loaves into them at once, along with other smaller items of food or clothing. On this particular night, I would begin by entering this first tent, pulling out one loaf, and placing it gently by the side of one of the sleeping mats. Then I would take out smaller things, in this case some dried fruit and cheese, and put these items by the other mats, so that each sleeper would find something when he or she woke up. I didn't want anyone to feel ignored. After that, I'd leave gifts in each of the other tents, in turn. So my hand was on the bread as I slipped into the closest tent, but almost instantly I recoiled in near panic, because someone very large was standing inside, and he was holding a heavy-looking club.

Now, I had nearly been caught many times over the years by someone who hadn't been able to get to sleep, or else I bumped into something and made a noise, but I had always been able to make a quick escape. I'd never come into a tent to find someone not only wide awake, but on his feet and armed. At least he seemed as astonished to see me as I was to see him; we both peered at each other in the darkness for several seconds, and then, since he didn't call out a warning to anyone else, I realized he must be a thief who was cruel enough to want to rob these poor people of the very few things they had. Anger boiled up in me, and before he could swat me with his nasty club I yanked the long loaf of bread from my cloak and waved it in front of his face, though I couldn't clearly make out his features. In the dark, I hoped he would think I had a club, too, and apparently he did, because after shaking his own club at me for a few moments he gestured for me to follow him and exited the tent through a flap on the other side.

Here was a real dilemma. If I went with him, this hulking fellow might just hit me over the head with his club and rob me, too. But if I didn't go, he might shout out an alarm and send all the nomads running after me, while he made his own escape in the opposite direction. Well, I was a woman, perhaps, but I still could fight if it came to that. More than once in my ten years of traveling, I'd had to defend myself with a punch or a kick. I could do it again.

So I followed the man out of the tent and a few dozen yards beyond the nomad camp. There, in the first swell of hills, another man was waiting. That was when I knew I should turn and run, since I was outnumbered, but the second man, who was large, too, stepped forward quickly and I couldn't get away. Showing signs of fear would only make me a more inviting victim, so I tugged the hood of my cloak tightly around my face, hoping they would not realize I was a woman.

The man I'd followed out of the tent hissed, “You thief, why can't you leave those poor people alone? They don't have anything for you to steal!”

That made me furious rather than frightened. I still couldn't see his face clearly, but his mean words were certainly uncalled for.

“Don't accuse me,” I whispered back. “You're the robber. Well, if the two of you want to fight, I'm ready!” I'd put my long loaf back in my robe pocket as I'd left the tent, but now I reached to pull it out again. But the second man, moving quickly for someone so large, was faster. He reached into my pocket first and pulled out bread instead of a cudgel. Then he reached back in and rummaged about a little before whispering, “There's only food here, bread and fruit.”

“Well, go ahead and steal it,” I whispered, still keeping my tone harsh and, I hoped, masculine-sounding. “Eat it while those poor people starve, and may you get bellyaches afterward, you fat fiends.”