How Mrs. Claus Saved Christmas by Jeff Guinn Read Free Book Online

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