A VISIT FROM SAINT NICHOLAS

by Linda S Barth

It was almost midnight, much later than Vincent had intended. He knew he should abandon his plans and retrace his steps to his chamber, but he could not bring himself to do so. Catherine might already be asleep, and he would be loath to wake her, but he couldn’t resist even the slightest chance of being with her, if only for a few minutes. His rapid pace increased as he rounded a curve, then plunged into an unexpectedly unlit stretch of tunnel. He slowed immediately but not in time to keep himself from stumbling forward, his outstretched hands smashing against the rocky wall. Its surface carved small nicks into his palms, as the impact sent a wrench of pain up to the clenched muscles of his shoulders.

Straightening, he listened into the darkness but heard nothing other than his own harsh breathing. He pulled a small flashlight from the pocket of his tunic and frowned as its beam revealed several lightbulbs missing from the overhead sockets and two objects lying in a jumble at his feet. 

Loudly muttering a very atypical comment, he crouched to examine a large pair of muddy, well-worn boots left just outside the darkened entrance to a bedchamber. He recognized them immediately, remembering the day months earlier when their owner had proudly displayed them after a successful finding and taking foray Above.

Vincent rose to his feet with the boots clutched by their knotted laces in one bleeding hand. Aiming the flashlight’s flare forward, he strode into the chamber. Light reflected off surfaces of metal and glass, gizmos and inventions-in-progress arrayed on tables, and myriad other treasures stuffed onto shelves, until it landed on a lumpy, blanket-covered form on the bed in the far alcove. A form that was trying hard not to move or even breathe.

“Mouse!” 

The wooly lump twitched.

“Mouse, I know you’re awake, so there’s no use pretending you’re not.” Vincent took a step forward, raising his voice to a decibel level that could not be ignored. “Mouse!”

A shaggy head emerged from beneath a blanket as the younger man slowly sat up and blinked into the flashlight’s glare. “Vincent? Need Mouse’s help?”

Vincent directed the flashlight’s beam at the offending footwear he still held in his hand, then let the objects drop to the floor. He quickly lit a night candle he found on the bedside table next to a box of light bulbs, then switched off the flashlight. “Yes, I need your help in learning why the tunnel outside your chamber was deliberately darkened and why your boots were placed where unsuspecting people could trip over them.”

Mouse’s eyes widened. “Sorry, Vincent! Didn’t mean to do anything wrong!” His voice trailed away as he took in the small oozing scrapes on his friend’s hands. He started to scramble out of bed. “Get towel, get water, get bandages!”

Vincent held out one hand to ward him off. “I’m all right. But someone else might have been seriously injured. What if it had been one of the children or Mary or Father?”

Mouse sank back onto his bed. “They’re asleep. Wouldn’t be coming to see Mouse so late.”

Vincent shook his head. “You can’t be sure of that. There could have been an emergency or something they needed help with. Your actions might well have had very serious consequences.”

“Guess you’re right. Didn’t think of that.” Mouse chewed at his bottom lip and averted his eyes.

Vincent knew further explanation wouldn’t be gained without a prompt. “Mouse, why did you remove the lightbulbs from the ceiling fixtures and put your boots out in the corridor?”

Mouse grinned. “Saint Nicholas Day!”

Clearly, that answer was meant to explain everything. It didn’t.

“I don’t understand, Mouse. What does that mean?”

Mouse rolled his eyes. “Father’s story. Saint Nicholas Day. It’s tomorrow. Had to get ready for it tonight.”

Vincent tried to remain patient, but his shoulders were throbbing, he needed to visit the hospital chamber for some ointment for his hands, and any precious moments he’d hoped to spend with Catherine were rapidly disappearing. “So, by getting ready for Saint Nicholas Day, you mean setting a trap for people outside your chamber?” 

Mouse laughed loudly. “Not a trap! Put your shoes out at night. In the morning, you get presents in them.” He waggled a finger at Vincent. “Not listening carefully when Father was reading.”

A vague memory of a recent evening of storytelling when Father spoke of holiday traditions around the world, drifted into Vincent’s mind. It was true. He hadn’t been paying one bit of attention. Instead, he’d been completely entranced by picturing Catherine during their planned meeting on her balcony later that night. How she would smile as soon as she saw him. How she would throw herself into his welcoming arms. How she would shiver in the frosty night air, silently urging him to hold her closer…and how for the very first time, he might venture into her apartment, sit with her by the fire…

“Vincent? You okay?” 

The strident voice shattered his far more enthralling reverie. “I’m fine, Mouse, just thinking about something else.”

As Mouse grinned and raised his eyebrows knowingly, Vincent quickly continued. “And you’re right. I didn’t pay attention to Father when he was reading that evening. Why don’t you remind me what he said about Saint Nicholas Day?”

“Okay good, okay fine! It’s simple. Saint Nicholas had lots of stuff, but he sold it all. Then he bought presents and if you’re good, you get them. December 6th. Saint Nicholas Day.”

“And what does that have to do with missing light bulbs and misplaced shoes?”

Mouse leaned forward as if to emphasize his point. “Leave shoes outside. At night he puts presents in them.”

Vincent nodded. They were making progress. His visit with Catherine still might be salvaged. “So, you put your boots in the corridor and made it dark so it would look like night.”

Mouse’s grin was brighter than any candle’s flame. “That’s it! Vincent’s right!”

The expression on the younger man’s face was that of a delighted teacher whose struggling student had finally gotten the point. Vincent couldn’t resist smiling back. “Ah, now I understand. But still, Mouse, you should have thought this idea through so that it would not create problems for others.”

“Sorry. Won’t do it again.” Mouse stretched out a foot to kick his boots under his bed. “Probably just a story. Probably not true anyway.”

Vincent couldn’t bear to see the disappointment on the younger man’s face. Although Mouse was no longer a boy, it didn’t mean he should be denied all his innocent, childlike beliefs. 

“I’m not so sure about that, Mouse.” He watched a glimmer of hope return to the eyes staring back at him. “Maybe there’s something else we can try instead.” He reached for the box of light bulbs and then tilted his head toward the half-hidden boots. “Why don’t you put your boots just inside your doorway? I’m sure if Saint Nicholas comes by, he’ll be able to find them.” He watched Mouse’s face lighten with excitement. “And I’ll replace the light bulbs.”

Correctly guessing Mouse would object to the latter part of the plan, he added, “We don’t want Saint Nicholas to get hurt or lost while he’s delivering gifts, do we?”

Mouse nodded seriously. “Vincent’s right again. Good plan!”

A few hours later, Vincent carried a cloth bag as he made his way on silent footsteps along a now well-lit tunnel. Crouching by the familiar waiting boots, this time placed safely out of harm’s way, he carefully filled them with several small, wrapped objects.

How grateful he was there had been one last RubyFrost apple and several unshelled walnuts William had been willing to donate. He placed them into the boots, then added, a bit reluctantly if he were to admit it, a small dark chocolate candy bar wrapped in gold foil that Catherine had given him. Those treats were followed by the new screwdriver he’d planned to give Cullen as a Winterfest gift, along with two packets of nuts and bolts scrounged from his own unsuccessful repair work on an old clock. There was just enough room for his small flashlight, complete with fresh batteries, and a pair of mittens offered by Mary. 

Smiling, he retreated before Mouse awakened and decided morning had come, only to discover someone other than Saint Nicholas at his doorway. There were some beliefs — and dreams — that needed to be kept.