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“‘Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.”
Cute. Well, I’m stirring. I’m a mouse, aren’t I?
I guess the mice Clement Moore knew were much more easy going than me. Probably didn’t have a wife and growing mice kids to keep ‘im up late, worrying and burnin’ the midnight oil.
What, you don’t know who I am? Name’s Plagg Mouse. Plagg to my friends but Mr. Mouse to you!
Ah, fine! You can call me Plagg. I may be a little ornery, but it is Christmas, I suppose.
It’s been a rough year for the boss and me. But don’t tell Adrien I called him the boss, it’ll go to his head. Adrien, that’s Adrien Agreste, engineer, handyman, clockmaker and all around good guy. He’s the son of Old Miser Agreste—now there’s a guy that should have a handful of ghosts visit him for a Meet Jesus talk—though you couldn’t know two people who were more different. Well...things haven’t been going too well for him lately. And, by association, things haven’t been going so great for me, either.
Yep. We’ve got trouble. How would you feel if it was only three minutes to Christmas and you didn’t know if…
Well, Tikki would say I’m getting ahead of myself. Of course, she’s asleep right now so it doesn’t make much of a difference one way or the other. But she’s usually right about those things, so maybe it would make more sense if I do a bit of explaining for you. As I say when approaching a tall piece of camembert, better start from the top.
It all started a couple months back, when the postman came…
~There’s More to the World than Meets the Eye~
Junctionville is a quiet little town; average some might say, but it’s got a good respect for cheese and we call it home. Situated in the countryside, a nice distance away from the nearest city and its noise and soot but not so far as to feel that it’s in the middle of nowhere, Junctionville sits pleasantly between rolling hills and has a nice view of the sea from the scenic cliffside. Clapboard houses, Colonial houses, and little Victorian builds with gingerbread trim--Marinette and Tikki love that--fill the center of town and then give way to farmhouses on the edges.
It’s a nice community for us mice. We go about our lives and our jobs as we should, with little of the fuss and bother some of the city mice get.
Honestly, some people just don’t like to share--not very hospitable--and then they get all in a tizzy when you sample a little aged cheddar...and wasn’t it laid out for guests?! I’d like them to say I wasn’t a guest, even if I wasn’t invited! A fine cheese is meant to be eaten, you know!
But I digress. Tikki would be rolling her eyes at me. Where was I? Oh yeah…
Junctionvillie was on the precipice of the sea, on the precipice of society, and on the precipice of the future. The year was 1899 and we were all buzzing with fresh ideas and enthusiasm.
My pal Adrien, probably more than any other person in town, thrived on innovation. He may not have put his name on a patent yet, but mark my words! He will someday! For now, he tinkered and kept the newfangled what-cha-calls-its around the town in working order. His main bread and butter comes from his work as a clockmaker and that’s where I come in. I’ve been his business partner ever since he clawed his way out of the Old Miser’s clutches and my family and I have our own burrow in his family’s home. He’s the best clockmaker I’ve ever had the pleasure to work with.
Yep, Adrien keeps the folks and cogs of Junctionville in fine working order and at the height of innovation and Marinette, his wife, keeps them at the height of fashion. She’s the best seamstress in town, bare none, and I’m not just saying that because she makes me and my family cheese cozies. No, Marinette could probably go to one of the big cities and become a pattern artist--and Adrien would happily follow her--if she didn’t dest the city so and have her heart set on living her life and raising her family right here in Junctionville, just down the street from her parent’s bakery.
Their kids are pretty cute, for humans. Louis, Emma, and Hugo are as imaginative as their parents and are pretty sweet, to boot. They play well with my and Tikki’s kids, which is probably good since we live in their walls.
The point is, they’re kind kids. Nice kids. So are mine. So it was a royal shock when the postman came around one day in the early fall and dropped off a very unpleasant delivery.
Upstairs in the house, Adrien came out of his workshop and Marinette put down the dress she was restyling for Mrs. Chamack. The kids all dropped what they were doing and everyone gathered in the entryway as they all accepted letters from Mr. Ramier. Downstairs, the postmouse, Jaque, had already scurried down from his coworker’s shoulder and slide down our tea-cup pulley and similarly dropped letters for me, my sugarcube, Tikki, and our little scamps: Trixx, Pollen, Nooroo, and Duusu. We all had the same reaction, whether it was in the Agreste home or the Mouse home.
“What the deuce is this?” I exclaimed, earning a swift smack upside my head from Tikki.
Adrien was a little more genteel in his questioning.
“What is earth?” Adrien frowned.
“‘Not accepted by addressee.’” Emma read the envelope.
Downstairs, my kids were making similar observations.
“These aren’t for us, they’re for Santa!” Trixx exclaimed.
“And this!” Pollen, Nooroo, and Duusu agreed.
“Why, these are all for Santa.” Tikki looked at me in confusion.
“I spilled this ink.” Trixx announced, pointing out the blot on the back of his envelope.
“These are all our letters to Santa!” Duuzu’s lip began to quiver.
Upstairs, Hugo turned his wide, innocent eyes to his father. “What does it mean, Papa?”
Adrien looked befuddled, but answered, “Well, I guess it means Santa doesn’t want our letters.”
“But why?” Marinette voiced the question on all their tongues.
“I don’t know, M’lady.” Adrien shook his head. “I don’t know…”
It wasn’t just our house that received rejected letters that day. All over town, letters were returned to young and old, alike. From the town center, to the furthest farm, and to the most modest mouse hole. Even the hospital was not spared the unhappy surprise. None of us knew what had happened to cause this and it churned the town into an uproar. One thing was for sure, we grownups were determined to do everything we could to find out.
Citizens flocked to the Village Hall in droves, all carrying letters and some even brandishing picket signs, and Mayor Damocles suddenly found himself wishing he were somewhere else. I had to snicker when I thought of Mayor Damocles trying to calm the masses. Although I had a slight, chaotic curiosity to see what bombastic, generalized, pretty speech he would give to answer the demand; I knew what the other people and mice probably also knew but didn’t see any other alternative: there was no way Mayor Damocles would have any type of solution or answer to the problem.
It was times like these I wished Marinette would throw her hat in the ring and run for mayor, but she hates politics and would probably pull her hair out just trying to keep that one council member awake during the town council meetings.
No, I decided to take my inquiry straight to the source. With my crew of miscreants behind me, I made a dash for our telephone, wound the crank, and asked the operator to connect me to the North Pole.
“North Pole substation, this is Mullo.” a squeaky voice answered.
“This is Plagg Mouse in Junctionville, am I coming through?” I hollered into the receiver, removing the pencil from behind my ear and putting it in my work apron’s pocket so I could more easily listen to the earpiece.
“The equipment is in working order.” Mullo responded.
“Good.” I frowned. “What the deuce is wrong with Santa?! Ow! Tikki!”
I pouted at my wife as I rubbed the back of my head and Tikki scowled at me.
“I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific, sir.” Mullo answered diplomatically.
“I’ll be specific!” Plagg exclaimed. “How about these letters that all came back, not even opened!”
My frown deepened as from the corner of my eye I saw Pollen nervously fiddle with the lace of her yellow dress and Duusu’s eyes begin to overflow with tears. Even my most boisterous son, Trixx, was as subdued as his brother Nooroo.
I could barely hear the sounds of shuffling on the other end of the phone before Mullo was back and asking, “You did say ‘Junctionville,’ didn’t you, sir?”
“Yes, Junctionville.” I confirmed.
“Oh, that explains it.” Mullo said. “Santa did not care for that letter in The Junctionville Register , sir. He didn’t care for it one bit.”
“Letter? What letter?” I asked. “Who sent it?”
“I wish I knew,” Mullo responded. “It was simply signed: ‘All of Us.’”
And with that, Mullo must have disconnected the call and the line went dead.
“Hello? Hello?” I jiggled the hook but received no further response.
Slamming the earpiece back onto the hook, I turned to my brood. “Back issues of The Junctionville Register in the cellar! Let’s hurry!”
~When Doubt Fills Your Mind Give Your Heart a Try~
Back at the Village Hall, Adrien was doing what he usually did when confronting a threat: jumping on the problem with his whole weight behind him.
“Mr. Mayor?” a clerk inquired after knocking on the door to the council room. “There’s a citizen to see you.”
“A citizen?” Mayor Damocles parroted. “They’re not allowed in here. This is public property!”
“This one says he’s got a solution to the problem with Santa,” the clerk added.
“Oh, very well then,” Mayor Damocles blustered. “Show him in, show him in!”
The clerk reopened the door and allowed Adrien to enter. Adrien nervously took off his hat and sat a cloth covered object on the table.
“Mr. Mayor, honorable councilmen,” Adrien greeted. “I’m Adrien Agreste and I think--”
“Aren’t you that bitter, recluse clothing manufacturer?” Mayor Damocles interrupted. “I hardly think trousers are going to fix this problem, Mr. Agreste!”
Adrien brittlely smiled. “That would be my father, Mr. Mayor. I am Adrien Agreste and I am primarily a clockmaker.”
Before the Mayor or anyone else could derail his proposal with another comment, Adrien began his introduction again. “I think we all know what the problem is.”
“We have concluded that for reasons unknown, Mr. Claus--Santa, that is--has taken an unconscionable attitude of hostile retaliation toward--” Mayor Damocles growled. “Oh, heck! He’s mad at us!”
The council members were clearly resigned to this fact and had clearly heard all this before. One member cleaned his spectacles in a rather bored fashion and another was apparently asleep with his head resting on his arms on the table and a cigar in his mouth. Adrien had to wonder about the safety risks of the man sleeping with his cigar and had to wonder at the fact that he’d managed to keep it from falling or burning out.
“That’s just what I think, too, and I want to make him happy again.” Adrien unveiled the model clock that he’d hidden beneath the cloth. “With this.”
The council members perked up a bit with the new development and stared curiously at the delicately carved table clock.
“That’s a handsome clock, Mr. Agreste, but what does it have to do with getting Santa to like us again?” Mayor Damocles asked.
“It’s not an ordinary clock,” Adrien explained. “You see, at exactly midnight on Christmas Eve, when Santa is flying overhead, he’ll hear this.”
Adrien had to refrain from biting his lip in nerves and excitement. This was an idea he’d been tinkering with for the better part of two years and this was its big moment. Carefully, Adrien turned the hands of the clock until they were both on the twelve. Instantly, delicate chimes began to play and the voice of children began to sing.
“ Christmas chimes are calling,
Santa, Santa!
Every heart recalling,
Santa, Santa!
Come on Old Kris Kringle,
Down the Milky Way!
Christmas chimes are calling,
Santa, we need you today!”
“Of course, this is only a small model with my children singing.” Adrien went on. “We’d need a much larger version--big enough for Santa to see it and hear it.”
The man with the glasses--what was his name? Adrien was sure he might have voted for him--raised his hand and said, “I move to authorize construction at once!”
To Adrien’s surprise, the sleeping man raised his hand, without ever opening his eyes, and said, “Second.”
“All those in favor?” Mayor Damocles asked and added, “And don’t you dare say no, Rolland.”
“Aye.” All the men signified.
Mayor Damocles loudly slammed his gavel. “Carried! You may build your clock, Mr. Agreste. And may the enchanting tones of it’s melody soar to the pinnacle of the celestial heights where--”
Adrien saw the sleeping man open his eyes only to roll them. I suppose no one could blame anyone for trying to sleep through the Mayor’s long winded pomposity.
“Oh, heck!” Mayor Damocles groaned. “Get started!”
~Let Up a Little on the Wonder Why~
Nooroo’s eyes widened as he quietly perused the old newspaper before him. He glanced to his family and whispered, “Umm…”
No one heard him.
Trixx flopped face first onto the newspaper he was searching. “This is pointless!”
“Do we even know what we’re looking for?” Pollen complained.
“A letter.” Tikki reminded. “The elf told your father a letter printed in The Junctionville Register was the cause of all this. Look in the editorial section, children.”
“Actually…” Nooroo spoke a little louder but still not loud enough for his family to hear him.
“Do we have to do this?” Trixx groaned, still face down in the newspaper.
“If I have to do this, then so do you!” I answered.
Tikki shot me a cross look but was too far away to whack me upside the head so I merely smirked back.
“What your father means ,” Tikki said pointedly, “is that we all need to do our part to help bring this matter to a happy resolution.”
“Yeah, that too.” I nodded.
“It’s like a mystery!” Duusu exclaimed.
Tikki smiled. “Exactly, dear! Now--oh my! Yes, Nooroo dear?”
Nooroo smiled gently at his mother, having startled her a bit with his quiet approach and sudden appearance.
“I found something, Mama.” Nooroo announced.
Trixx perked up and lifted up his head. “Way to go, Roo! Always knew you could do it!”
Nooroo smiled as his father affectionately messed up his hair and his siblings all scrambled to follow him to the letter to the editor that he found.
“Let’s see now…” I said as I studied the newspaper.
“Dear, you should be wearing your reading glasses.” Tikki reminded.
“The print is bigger than my eye, I’ll be fine this once, Tikki.” I smirked.
“Fine! Don’t blame me if you don’t treat your eyes properly and end up with cataracts!” Tikki huffed.
“Whoever heard of a mouse getting cat aracts!” I teased my wife--an opportunity I would have been loath to miss, no matter the circumstances.
“Oh! Just read the thing aloud!” Tikki hurried me on.
“Alright, let’s see here…” I found the start of the letter. “‘Dear Editor, Santa Claus is a fraudulent myth, rooted in unconscious fantasies and emerging as a deceitful lie.’”
“P.S.’” Tikki continued. “‘The reindeer are phony, too.’”
Together, we read the line that sealed the fate for the entire town: “‘Signed, all of us.’”
“No wonder Ole Santa Claus is angry with us.” I frowned.
“Who would send a letter like that to the paper?” Tikki wondered.
“They used a lot of big words,” Nooroo quietly commented.
“Superfluous and flowery,” Pollen sniffed disdainfully. “Really! As though one’s vocabulary could make up for such a heinous insult.”
“Maybe it was the Mayor?” Trixx suggested. “He likes to use long words!”
“Couldn’t be, this writer seems to know what these words mean.” Tikki said in irritation. “Whereas the Mayor seems to be ignorant of what he speaks, even when he uses his vocabulary successfully.
“Long words…” I muttered, something bothering me but the reason why eluding me. “Long words…” I gasped as I realized it. “Long words!”
Tikki seemed to follow my line of thinking and gasped. “No! He wouldn’t do this!” she suddenly looked less confident. “Would he?”
“We’re going to soon find out.” I said as I stomped my way back upstairs and searched the house for my objective. Tikki and the kids followed behind me, starting to understand my hypothesis.
I found him in his room, hidden behind a small mountain of books and seemingly uncaring that his entire family was converging on him. My and Tikki’s eldest son, the apple of my eye, and the instigator of many of my headaches: Wayzz.
“Wayzz, I need to talk to you.” Plagg announced.
“Yes, Father.” Wayzz said, not looking up from his book.
“Some serious suspicions have entered my mind and I’d like to get your word on it before--”
“I said, yes, Father.” Wayzz interrupted me, looking up from his book this time. “I wrote the letter. My friends and I did--ergo, ‘All of us.’”
I felt another headache coming on.
Tikki’s face fell. “You didn’t! Wayzz?”
Wayzz didn’t look repentant and began to recite, “‘Dear Editor, Santa Claus is a fraudulent myth, rooted in--”
“We get the point, son.” I stopped him.
“Young man, that was very rude and hurt a great many people.” Tikki sternly lectured. “Write another letter--right away--to apologize.”
“Oh, I can’t do that, Mother.” Wayzz replied.
“And why is that?” I asked.
“Because, those words were true!” Wayzz said. “Santa Claus isn’t real and it’s ridiculous to carry on so.”
“You don’t know as much as you think because you only think with your head .” I reprimanded. “So you have a lot of trouble believing in things you can’t see or touch.”
Wayzz seemed slightly put out by his statement. “You’re not thinking logically, Father. If science cannot prove something, how can you say it exists.”
“Truth and reality cannot always be explained by scientific principles, son.” Plagg argued. “Look at your mother and I and our love for you children. There’s nothing to see or feel to know we love you. Our hearts don’t open up and show who resides within them. Yet, we have no doubt that we love you. Do you doubt that?”
“No, Father, but one could argue that your love can be measured in the byproducts of your actions such as your care for each other and your children and, while admittedly conjecture, that could be taken as proof.”
“Regardless, young mouse.” Tikki said firmly while I attempted to follow my smart son’s argument. “We did not raise you to defend your beliefs by debasing or insulting another’s beliefs. You cannot tell me that you did not word that statement to make belief in Santa Claus out to be stupid and a scam.”
Wayzz shifted slightly under his mother’s reprimand. “I still persist that my friends and I cause no harm in criticizing a defunct myth.”
I hummed. “Son, come with me. Let’s see how ‘defunct’ this myth is and just what harm may have resulted.”
~Give Your Heart a Try~
“Why are we here, Father?” Wayzz asked.
I stifled a sigh, wishing he would ease on the formality for once, but giving up that battle.
“This is the hospital, Wayzz. Specifically, the Children’s Ward.” I answered.
“Yes, I understand where we are,” Wayzz frowned. “But why are we here?”
“Well, son…” I paused before we got to the ward’s threshold. “I understand you feel strongly about your beliefs. Though we may disagree, I’m not going to force you to see things my way. However, you seem to be in need of a lesson on the consequences of your actions.
“Now, you are free to express your opinions, but whether you like it or not your actions will have consequences that you won’t always intend.” I went on. “When you wrote that letter, what was your purpose?”
“My friends and I wanted to bring attention to a misbelief.” Wayzz said. “Rectify the situation.”
Plagg nodded. “And did you think of the way you worded it? As your mother said earlier, did you consider that your wording would put down the intelligence of your opposition while elevating your own? Implying that opposing you was supporting a ‘fraudulence?’ A lie?
“Now, I know you don’t believe Santa is real, but think for a moment how he would feel if he was real and read that you--or, as he would perceive, a whole town--was accusing him of being a fraud, essentially a con man.”
Wayzz frowned.
“Follow me, son.” I took Wayzz’s hand and led him quietly into the Children’s Ward.
The sound of children crying brought us both up short, though I was expecting it. Despite the sunshine outside, the atmosphere seemed grey and there was little noise other than the morose sounds of heartbroken children.
“This hospital once knew laughter--the best medicine there is!” I explained. “But not anymore.”
Wayzz looked thoughtful for a moment. “But, Father, even if my letter to the editor led Santa to believe that our town was hostile to him, the letters of all these children should have convinced him otherwise. Surely he would not deprive a child, sick in the hospital, a present.”
“I’m afraid I can only suppose that Santa read the letter in the paper and thought the whole town not only meant your words, but that they were scorning him personally while still expecting his generosity.” I said thoughtfully. “Remember, Santa and his helpers go through all the work of supplying all the toys he gives away each Christmas. They work all year round and never really get a thank you, except for a few cookies and some milk. I don’t think I would want to receive any further letters from a person or group of people I thought was hurting me and taking advantage of me, either.”
Wayzz didn’t comment, but he did seem thoughtful after my words.
“There’s more.” I told him and gently led him away.
Next, I took my son to the poor house. Yes, Junctionville is a swell place to live, but we’re not perfect. People struggle here, too. Here I showed him a similar scene to what we had just witnessed at the hospital, where children and adults were lamenting that someone who had once shown them kindness and care when they had so little now seemed to abandon them.
It took a bit of a search to find my final quarry, but I tracked him down. Davey Lahiffe, the son of close friends of Adrien and Marinette, sat lonely at the seaside cliffs as the sun set. He only had eyes for a piece of paper in his hands.
“Davey Lahiffe, best artist in his class.” I reminded Wayzz. “He drew that picture of Santa Claus when he thought that Santa cared. Now, he’s one of the many children facing a sense of rejection.”
Davey stood up from his perch on the rocks and let his paper drop into the waves below. The drawing fluttered down to the sea and was quickly snatched up by the waves while Davey turned and began his sad trudge back home.
“Santa gave him an art set last year.” I recalled. “In a world where that child knows he will face unfair bigotry and challenges because of something as stupid as the color of his skin, that gift lit a hope in him that he could pursue his dreams and create something to make the world a little more beautiful.”
“I wish he hadn’t thrown away that drawing.” Wayzz said.
I set my hand on his shoulder. “Me too, son.”
“Still,” Wayzz said after a moment. “Davey doesn’t need Santa to fulfill that hope. Besides, he’s a child. Adults never believe in Santa.”
I raised an eyebrow to him. “Oh?”
Later that night, I snuck Wayzz out of our home and into the home of the Agrestes. The hour was late, and it seemed that Marinette and Adrien had managed to pry each other away from their respective workstations and get some rest rather than burn the midnight oil. Adrien’s workshop was empty when we entered it and I led Wayzz up chairs and across shelves until we were before the model clock that Adrien might as well consider his masterpiece.
“Remember, everyone’s asleep,” I whispered, “so stay as quiet as a mouse.”
I snickered at Wayzz’s huff of exasperation and roll of his eyes.
“Adrien’s been working on this clock for a while and now he’s practically feverish in his determination to see it succeed.”
“A clock?” Wayzz looked interested.
“A special clock.” I nodded. “On midnight on Christmas Eve, it will play a song welcoming Santa.
“You may think adults never believe in Santa,” I said. “But you know Adrien. He doesn't put his heart and soul into something for naught. Does that sound like a man who doesn’t believe?”
“A song?” Wayzz asked in awe. “When the hands come together like this?”
Before I could stop him, Wayzz jumped up and turned the clock hands to twelve. I jumped as the music cut through the stillness of the workshop and the Agreste home.
I leapt up beside my son and cranked the hands away from the twelve, ending the song.
“What did I just say about being quiet ?!” I asked him with sarcasm dripping from my tone.
My son didn’t notice.
“That’s neat, father!” if Wayzz had gears in his head they would be churning. “Does it work on the Gear-and-Pinion Principle? Or the AC Synchronous Motor?”
“Well, it-it...ah…” I shook my head. “Was that English?”
“Ever since Copernicus, Dad, it was known--” Wayzz was off on his own train of thought.
I had to smile slightly that he dropped the ‘Father’ and was back to calling me ‘Dad.’ Of course I would have enjoyed it a lot more if I could keep up with what he was saying, but my son’s intellect was something I couldn’t hope to compete with.
“Slow down there, Coperni-mouse.” I interrupted. “I’m glad you’re interested in the mechanics of this here contraption, but I don’t want you to miss the important part of my well-aged wisdom. This isn’t just a piece of machinery, it’s what the whole town is relying on for a rescue. All the town’s hope for reconciliation with Santa depends on its success. The whole town is counting on it.
“As fine a piece of tinkering as this is, that’s not why this clock is important. It’s important because of the good it can do for the people.” I said.
I turned us around and started us on our way back to our mouse hole.
“There’s more to the world than meets the eye, son.” I told him gently. “When doubt’s in your mind give your heart a try.”
~Christmas Chimes Are Calling~
Well, the weeks passed and the brilliant leaves on the treas steadily disappeared. The day finally came for the clock to be unveiled at the Village Hall. The sky was clear and sunny but the wind was brisk with the promise of an early snow, and with the snow’s arrival the reminder that Christmas was just around the corner.
The town was gathered on the lawn below the Hall and everyone was in better spirits than they had been since the day the letters to Santa were returned.
Adrien and his family stood in a place of honor on the balcony of the Hall, beside Mayor Damocles and a few council members. The kids were bouncing with glee, gleaning their father’s nervous energy. Marinette kept a steadying hand amongst her children and on her husband, but it was plain she was just as excited and proud as they were. Even us mice got in on the fun, sitting on the banister with a prime seat for the clock’s dedication. Every last one of us wore new clothing lovingly prepared by Marinette.
The only certain someone who was missing was my oldest boy. I’d asked him to come with me but I guessed that he’d rather be with his fellow smartiepants friends.
“My dear voters--I-I mean fellow citizens!” Mayor Damocles greeted over the sounds of the town brass band. “We are gathered on this auspicious occasion to honor a distinguished gentleman.”
Louis, Emma, and Hugo stared at their father in wide-eyed awe.
“His inspired and consummate excellence in the craft of chronomatic creation has, uh…” Mayor Damocles faltered and cleared his throat but then seemed to run out of grand words. “Oh bother! He made one whale of a clock! Mr. Adrien Agreste.”
We all clapped and cheered along with the crowd and Adrien offered me his hand so that I could sit on his shoulder and share the applause as his business partner.
“And now, Mr. Agreste,” Mayor Damocles presented Adrien with a theatrically large pair of scissors. “If you will start your magnificent clock and its song that will make Santa love us again.”
Adrien took the scissors and gave a nod to the mayor and the crowd. “It would be my honor.”
The crowd grew silent in anticipation as Adrien cut through the ceremonial ribbon and the clock was started.
Everything was going well and the first two notes of Adrien's song began to play. Then the third bell in the tower stuck a dissonant tone and the crowd cringed.
After that, it all happened so awfully quickly. The sweet tones of the bells were replaced with the teeth-clenching sound of grinding gears and the springs and zoings of things going horribly wrong.
Adrien cringed back and I stared in shock. Marinette pulled the children aside as a few cogs flew straight out of a popped seam in the clock’s face.
The hands of the clock spun haphazardly in wild circles around the clock face until, at last, with a final winding groan, the clock stopped and the hands dropped limply to the six.
The silence that fell over the crowd was no longer filled with anticipation.
~Think About a Christmas With No Christmas Cheer~
Would you believe me if I told you that there were no hard feelings about the clock being a bust? That the town and all its people handled their dashed hopes with grace and aplomb?
Yeah, I wouldn’t believe me either.
The town was crushed after the clock went kerplooey. Adrien was suddenly persona non grata and even that pompous mayor wouldn’t even trust him to fix the clock Adrien, himself, built. I remember the day after the clock busted and Adrien went back to the Village Hall to find out what went wrong and fix it.
Officer Raincomprix was stationed at the door as security and wouldn’t let him pass.
“Please,” Adrien said. “I made that clock, for the town, for Santa. It’s got to work by Christmas Eve and I can make it work.”
“W-what’s this?” Mayor Damocles blustered to the door.
“This joker wants to get in to fix the clock.” Officer Raincomprix explained.
“Oh is that so?” Mayor Damocles glowered. “Well, let me tell you something, Agreste! Of all the incompetent, insolent purveyors of chicanery that I have ever--”
Even Raincomprix couldn’t pretend to not be exasperated with the mayor’s blubbering.
Again depleting himself of his vocabulary, the mayor growled and snapped, “Oh, heck! Go home!”
It was a sad day. Adrien wouldn’t even let me bite Damocles’ ear or anything.
All of the regular customers that came to Adrien to fix their odds and ends picked up all their belongings that Adrien had been working on and departed without any payment or promise of further business. No one trusted in his skills anymore, despite the fact that he’d grown up amongst these people and had been a staple and dependable businessman in their community.
Belts were being tightened and Adrien and Marinette were becoming concerned whether they could outlast and survive the town’s ire or if they needed to turn to other options to make it through. Not that either could think of any other options, mind you, just that they were thinking of them in a we-wish-we-knew-what-to-do sort of manner.
Of course, not everyone shunned them. The kindness of their friends was a blessing, though such generosity was in the minority.
“Nino,” Adrien said with a knowing smile, “this is the eighth time this week you or Alya have brought in something for me to fix. And the third time you’ve brought in this toaster, specifically.”
“What can I say? You’ve met my kids, they’re forces of nature!” Nino said with a too wide smile.
“Nino,” Adrien said softly, “I know what you’re doing. It’s very kind and you’re the best friend a fellow could ask for...” Adrien sighed. “...but you can’t keep my business afloat all by yourself.”
Nino sighed. “Hasn’t anyone else come in?”
Adrien shook his head. “After the mess with the clock tower? You’re the only one that would trust me with so much as even winding a clock let alone fixing anything. It’s affecting Marinette too. People stopped coming to her for their clothes just because she’s got the misfortune of being my wife. Apparently they think being a cataclysmic disaster is contagious.”
“Don’t say that.” Nino reprimanded gently.
“Grandma Sabine and Grandpa Tom are helping where they can.” Adrien shrugged. “If it weren’t for them we’d probably be...well, um...” Adrien cleared his throat and blinked heavily. “Anyway, they’re giving us as much food as possible. Thankfully, people aren’t willing to shun the best bakers in town.”
“Have you...” Nino hesitated. “Have you tried asking...”
“Old Miser Gabriel Agreste, my father, for help?” Adrien finished for him, somewhat bitterly. “He disowned me for marrying Marinette, Nino.”
Nino sighed. “I know. And I’m not a fan of his, but with times as they are...”
Adrien sighed. “I’m not one to let pride stand in the way of helping my family, Nino. I went to see him.”
“And?” Nino asked with dread.
“Said he’d take me back if I came back to work for him.” Adrien said grimly.
Nino frowned. “That’s not ideal, but at least it’s something until you get back on your—”
“And if I leave Marinette.” Adrien added, fury clearly underlining the words as he bit them out.
Nino looked horror stricken.
“Needless to say, I left that happy family reunion with some choice words and nothing more.” Adrien seethed.
“I...” Nino shook his head. “I can’t believe that after all these years that man can still surprise me with how cruel and...and awful he can be.”
“Took the words right out of my mouth.” Adrien said. “Make no mistake, I would do just about anything for my family. But I will not abandon them, leave them with a pretty alimony settlement, and sell my soul.”
“Amen to that.” Nino numbly said.
~Every Heart Recalling~
Christmas Eve was upon us before any of us were ready. Food was getting scarcer and scarcer despite the support of Marinette’s parents and the charity of their friends.
And don’t think for a moment that being a family of mice in a struggling household is any walk in the park. Tikki and me kept going on as best we could and Adrien and Marinette never forgot us, but we would have swapped our whiskers for a good slice of cheddar. I was having recurring dreams of feasts of camembert…
Adrien still took the kids out to the forest and they cut down a small tree and decorated it with the treasured ornaments that had been carefully stored away after last Christmas. The house was a little more barren than usual, but the family and we mice kept it clean and orderly.
We all went to Christmas Eve church services and sat with the Lahiffes and Marinette’s parents and a few other friendly mice families. We were charitably ignored by the rest.
After sharing a meal with Tom and Sabine, the family came home and ignored the closed workshop and sewing room doors. Adrien and Marinette gathered their family around the small fire and sat together on the settee.
“I’m sorry, kids.” Adrien said.
He and Marriette had their children perched across their knees. Adrien was looking rather defeated.
“I...don’t suppose we’ll ever know the whole story about that letter and...” Adrien sighed. “And we all know that this clock disaster has...well. What I’m trying to say is that this Christmas may not be like the ones we’re all used to.”
“It’s okay, Papa.” Little Hugo said, nuzzling into his chest as he hugged him.
Adrien’s throat constricted. “I love you all so much.”
“We both do.” Marinette added.
Adrien nodded. “We both do. And just because there may not be presents under the tree this year, doesn’t mean we can’t still have a jolly holiday. Let us try to remember what those gifts are meant to remind us of.”
“God’s gift of love to us, in His Son Jesus.” Marinette continued where he left off. “God loves us so much that He gave His only begotten son to save us from our sins.”
“‘For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.’” Adrien quoted John 3:16. “On Christmas, we celebrate the birth of the Savior and that miraculous gift of love. Usually, we give gifts to remind each other of that love. Can you think of other ways to celebrate and remember it?”
“When Mama sings to us at bedtime,” Emma said shyly. “That’s love, right?”
That caused a watery smile from Marinette.
“It sure is, Princess.” Adrien kissed his daughter’s forehead.
Louis scrunched his nose and forehead in concentration. “And...when you and Mama pretend you’re not hungry and split the extra pastry Grandpa and Grandma send between us kids?”
Adrien and Marinette looked a little startled that the kids noticed.
“And when Auntie Alya whalops Uncle Nino with snowballs when his music’s give’n him fits?” Hugo added.
Then the children were off.
“Eat’n dinner together!”
“Seeing who can make the most noise on the squeaky stair!”
“Louis helped me with my spelling!”
“Emma punched that meanie from the school yard in the nose for me!”
“Do’n the chores without being asked!”
“Putting scraps out for the birds!”
“Making sure the Mouse family gets all of Mama’s scrap fabric!”
“Sweeping out the wood shavings from Papa’s workshop!”
“Playing with Trixx!”
“Putting frogs in Emma’s bed!”
“That’s not love, Hugo!” Emma said crossly.
Hugo blinked. “But I thought you liked frogs?!”
Marinette bit back a laugh and was trying to muster a stern comment but her effort was for not when Adrien threw his head back and laughed.
“See, we’ve got a lot of love here, don’t we, my dears?” Adrien smiled.
His children smiled back and nodded and bounced in their places.
“So, whatever Christmas morn brings tomorrow,” Marinette said, “let's all hold onto the warm reminder of all the love we have been blessed with.”
“And keep the hope alive,” Adrien finished. “Miracles happen everyday, to people like you and me. But don’t expect a miracle unless you help make it to be. After all, God is not a genie. He doesn’t just take our wishes and grant them. He hears all our prayers and sometimes will answer yes, sometimes will answer no, or sometimes will answer with something else. So keep praying and planning and working. And when God gives us a miracle we’ll be ready to give it a hand.”
There were hugs and some merrymaking as the children jumped off their parent’s laps and everyone began to make their way towards their beds. No one noticed the lone, small shape of a single mouse, tears falling on his glasses as he cried into his arms.
~Even a Miracle Needs a Hand~
“Wayzz?” I asked, surprised to find the boy huddled on our couch in our family room. “What is it, son? I thought you were bed?”
“It’s my fault,” Wayzz brokenly admitted. “All my fault. I ruined everyone’s Christmas.”
I sighed and sat beside him. “I know you wrote the letter, Wayzz, but like you said, it was your opinion. You had no way of knowing this would be the result.”
“No…” Wayzz said miserably. “Mr. Agreste’s clock in the Village Hall. I wanted to see how the clock worked so I climbed into it and…”
I felt a pit of dread and understanding hit me right in the gut. “Kerplunk?”
“Kerplooey!” Wayzz sobbed.
I sighed heavily. “You broke the clock.”
“I didn’t mean to, Father! I’m sorry!” Wayzz cried.
I slipped down into my seat. I could already feel another headache brewing.
“It’s good that you regret your mistake and you’re being honest about it.” I said finally. “But you know, kid, when you do something wrong, it’s not enough to say you’re sorry. You have to try to correct your mistake.”
I was thinking about going with Wayzz to see the mayor when the government offices were open again after the holidays. It was a bit late, but perhaps with this admission Mayor Damocles would relent and finally allow Adrien to fix the clock. In time, Adrien’s reputation might rebuild and business would pick up again.
Wayzz had an altogether different idea.
“That’s it, Father!” Wayzz exclaimed, shooting to his feet and grabbing some of my tools and picking books off the bookshelf.
“What’s it?” I asked. “What’d I do? What’s going on and how mad will your mother be with me?”
“I’ll fix it, Father!” Wayzz declared. “I’ll fix the clock by midnight and then Santa will--”
“You believe in Santa?” I asked in surprise.
“I don’t know.” Wayzz shook his head. “I really don’t know. But I’ve learned I’ve got a lot to learn. You taught me that, Father.”
“Well, I am pretty smart…” I said offhandedly. “Wait, you can’t fix the clock by yourself! I am a clockmaking mouse and your father, I’ll go with you.”
“No, Father, please!” Wayzz pleaded. “This was my fault, my mistake and I want to fix it.”
“That may be so--”
“Besides, the area I damaged is too small for both of us to work at the same time.”
“I can find--”
“Let me fix this, Father, please?”
I made the mistake of looking into his big, pleading eyes. I swear, all these kids take after Tikki! Can’t say no to a blessed one of them…
“You’ve got until midnight and then I’m coming after you.”
“Thank you, Father!” Wayzz jumped in jubilation and gave me a quick hug before racing back to his task. “You pray and I’ll plan, Father, we’ll do what’s necessary because even a miracle needs a hand!”
He was out the door before I could do much more than blink.
“Tikki’s gonna kill me for this.”
~'Twas the Night Before Christmas~
Adrien was pretty understanding when I went to explain things to him earlier. Not many men would stay calm when their friend and business partner reveals that his son is the reason why his career is in the toilet and his family is struggling to get by. He’s a good egg.
But, anyway, now you’re caught up. And now it’s three minutes... three seconds till Christmas! How did the time pass so quickly?! Did Wayzz--
My bedside clock struck twelve. It was midnight. Christmas. And the only sound that broke through the night was the sound of caroler’s singing “Silent Night” in the distance.
I sighed and bowed my head. My boots were by the door and I thought I might just put my coat over my pajamas instead of getting fully dressed before I went after Wayzz. Hopefully he was already on his way home and we would cross paths.
I froze, unsure why until I realized the carolers had stopped and there was a trill of a different music.
“ Christmas snow is falling,
Carols fill the air,
But it won’t be Christmas
Till Santa Claus is here.”
“He did it.” I whispered.
“Everybody get up!” I yelled. “He did it!”
Tikki startled but I didn’t let up until she and all the younger kids were crowded around the window and we could all hear the clock tower sing. The windows above us were slammed open and Adrien and his family were listening with rapt attention.
“Christmas Chimes are calling,
Santa! Santa!
Every heart recalling,
Santa, Santa! "
Tears rolled unabashedly down Adrien’s cheeks as he heard the almost angelic tones of his clock ring out across the sleeping town. Lights were appearing in the houses everywhere and people jumped out of bed in astonishment. Marinette squeezed her husband close and planted a kiss on his cheek as he stared out over the world in a daze.
“Come on Old Kris Kringle,
Down the Milky Way!
Christmas chimes are calling,
Santa, we need you today!”
The children in the hospital were awake and celebrating. Those that could were jumping up and down and gleeful laughter and squeals echoed through the halls.
If you don’t believe in,
Santa! Santa!
Think that he’s deceiving,
Santa! Santa!
Nino and Alya had run out to the yard when they heard the clock. Their children were jumping and dancing in the snow while their own eyes were moist in grateful awe. Tom and Sabine threw open their own window and almost fell out as they leaned as far out as they could to see the clock tower.
Think about a Christmas
With no Christmas cheer!
Christmas chimes are calling,
Santa and his eight reindeer!
The carolers I heard earlier had abandoned their own performance and were dancing around the lawn in front of the Village Hall. My boy Wayzz came running up the walk to the house and scampered through the door only to be swarmed by a gaggle of warm hugs. No matter what Tikki says to the contrary, I was not crying.
We love his laugher,
His jing-a-ling-a-ling!
Forever after, the bells will ring!
I think everyone in Junctionville collectively caught their breath and stared in gobsmacked delight when a bright streak in the sky paused and revealed nothing less than a sleigh being pulled by eight tiny reindeer.
Christmas Chimes are calling,
Santa! Santa!
Every heart recalling,
Santa, Santa!
And it didn’t just pause , but it changed directions and was headed straight to town!
Come on Old Kris Kringle,
Down the Milky Way!
Christmas chimes are calling,
Santa, we need you today!”
That old coot wasn’t just headed straight for town, but straight for us!
When out on the lawn, there arose such a clatter, I sprang to the window to see what was the matter. Away to the window, I flew like a flash, tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
By this point, the Agreste family and us mice were all gathered upstairs by the big window or on it’s sill and we all watched in amazement as Santa Claus flew over the town.
The moon on the breast of the new fallen snow gave the luster of midday to objects below. When what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer. With a little old driver, so lively and quick, I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
It really was the old guy in red himself! I had never seen him before--you weren’t really supposed to see him. Judging by Wayzz’s stunned, wondrous look I’d say he’d found the proof to disprove a couple of his opinions. Somehow, I was kinda glad he’d already started to question them earlier in the night, before he saw a geriatric man flying a bright red sleigh pulled by reindeer through the sky.
More rapid than eagles, his coursers they came, and he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name. “Now Dasher, now Dancer, now Prancer, and Vixen, on Comet, on Cupid, on Donder and Blitzen! To the top of the porch, to the top of the wall! Now dashaway, dashaway, dashaway all!”
His voice boomed over the town and we could even hear the jingle bells on his sleigh!
As dry leaves before the wild hurricane fly, when they meet with an obstacle mount to the sky. So up to the housetop, the coursers they flew, with a sleigh full of toys and St. Nicholas, too.
Nino and Alya joined their children in bouncing around their yard and waving and laughing. I couldn’t see it, of course, but I could imagine the elated looks on the kids at the hospital and at the poor house and all the happy tears.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof the prancing and pawing of each little hoof. As I drew in my head and was turning around, down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.
Of all the things that I’d already experienced in a few short moments, it still surprised me when Santa finished circling the town and landed on our rooftop. I thought that he was flying our way before, but it was incredible that of all the houses Santa would visit first, he chose the home that housed both the young mouse that started this mess in the first place and the man that tried so hard to fix it. I pettily entertained the hope that Mayor Damocles took note of this.
He was dressed in all fur, from his head to his foot, and his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot. A bundle of toys he had flung on his back and he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.
We all scampered to the living room and stared with open awe at the threshold, just in time for Santa to appear at the fireplace. Marinette and Tikki were quietly squealing, as were Emma, Hugo, Duusu and Trixx.
His eyes, how they twinkled! His dimples, how merry! His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry. His droll, little mouth was drawn up like a bow and the beard on his chin was as white as the snow.
If I knew my human friends as much as I thought I did--and believe me, I do--I’m sure Marinette was taking in every square inch of Santa’s legendary red and white suit. If we could see into her mind, it’d probably either be alive with possible improvements to the suit’s design or overflowing with ideas for new clothes inspired by it.
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth and the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath. He had a broad face and a round little belly that shook when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly. He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf, and I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself.
To be honest, I didn’t really try hard not to laugh. But Tikki’s elbow in my ribs caused me to think I ought to try harder.
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head, soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.
The kids were laughing in mirth and in awe of every last bit of their visit from Santa Claus, himself. Even Wayzz looked more carefree, while his intelligent eyes were still focused keenly on the phenomenon before him. I don’t know when I’d last seen Adrien this happy, but it was a welcome gift all of its own to watch him as he smiled radiantly at his family and the sight before him, drawing his kids into a hug.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work and filled all the stockings then turned with a jerk. And laying a finger aside of his nose, and giving a nod, up the chimney he rose.
A mouse elf nipped down the chimney and, by the way he waved at us, I assumed he was Mullo. Santa handed him a much smaller version of his sack to his helper and Mullo darted into our mouse hole for a brief moment, only to directly return with an empty sack, apparently having placed the contents under our tree. Then both Santa and his helper were gone.
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle, and away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
We all ran back to the window and my family and I climbed the drapes to get a better view.
Similar visits occurred in every home across the town--well, except maybe for Old Miser Agreste, but as I said earlier, I’m hoping he was visited by some wise, Christmassy ghosts instead. All too quickly, the last present had been delivered and we all watched with glassy eyes as our living tale of wonder came to an end.
But I heard him exclaim ere he drove out of sight:
“Happy Christmas to all and to all a goodnight!”
Praise be to the Lord, the God of Israel, because He has come to His people and redeemed them. He has raised up a horn of salvation for us in the house of His servant David (as He said through His holy prophets of long ago).
Luke 1:68-70
New International Version