The Fat Man (22 page)

“Sure, sure, sure,” I heard George say behind me. “You run along now, I’ll tend to him. Oh golly, look! His mouth’s bleeding!”

CHAPTER 25

S
LAP!

Rosebud was still mad.

I met her racing down the bridge road on the Kringle Town side. When she saw me, my little tomato hauled off and rung my kisser like a heavyweight. “That’s for going to Pottersville!” she said. Then she kicked me in the shin. “And that’s for making me worry!”

There wasn’t time to explain. I had to get to Santa.

Rosebud took off her boxing gloves and put on her reporter’s hat. “What gives with the moon back there? Talk while you still have some teeth!”

There was no way I was telling Rosebud about George. He was Santa’s top helper, a spy who went into the darkest places and gave folks a second chance. Sent by Santa, George is a friend to everybody, especially if you are at your lowest, and he had been helping the desperate across the bridge. When Dingleberry would go on and on about the comic book George in front of Santa, the twinkle in Santa’s eye told me the wise old elf had something like George up his sleeve. When I asked Butter if George was the real McCoy, she trusted me and got a message to George. Together, they helped hatch the escape. But George was top secret. Ratting him out would put him in danger and his work was too important.

“A cow jumped over the moon,” I lied to Rosebud. “Except she couldn’t jump that high.”

Rosebud was about to paste me again when Butter, Ginger and the rest of the milkmaids and heifers showed up. Rosebud arched an eyebrow at the cowgirl, but Butter ignored her and gave me a big old kiss on what I was sure was going to be my future fat lip.

“Thank you for everything, sugar,” Butter said after giving me what I knew was the kiss of death. “I think our little adventure in the moonlight was plumb perfect!”

If Frosty would have been standing beside Rosebud right then, he wouldn’t just be melted, you could use him to deliver a baby. “Butter here has got a good story for you, Rosebud,” I said. “About milk.”

“And honey?” Rosebud hissed.

By the time I got moving, I had a black eye.

I flew to Misfit Isle. It was the fastest form of giddyup, and there was no more Tiny Tim to run the ferry. I didn’t have time to worry about not having the Cratchit cherub around anymore because there was something fishy going on. The streets of Misfit Isle were deader than Marley’s doornail. There were no Misfits milling about or even peeking from behind the shabby curtains in the windows. In fact, there weren’t even any curtains in the windows. Windows and doors were boarded up and the streets were littered with Misfit junk that suggested that the whole place packed and left in a hurry. It was quiet. Too quiet. Of course, you have to say things like that in a yarn like this, but in this case, Misfit Isle really was too quiet. Fortunately, it didn’t last too long.

“Hello, Gumdrop.”

Santa! Beautiful Santa! Though he still looked tired and wasn’t quite up to fighting weight, Santa was in front of me, dressed in red, with a white beard and a twinkle in his eye that was as warm and bright as Heaven’s porch light. He was OK and I lost about a thousand pounds off my shoulders. “Looks like they canceled the party on us, my lad,” Santa said. “I’ve wandered the whole island and there’s not a soul to be found.”

“You don’t know how glad I am to see you, boss,” I said. “There’s a lot to tell you, but I think the smartest thing we can do is get you off this ice block as fast as we can.” The place did look empty, but I had a feeling that all the Misfits were hiding somewhere. Waiting. It gave me the creeps.

“They’re all gone, Gumdrop,” Santa said. “Seems they had an idea that you were going to spoil their plans. I found this.” Santa handed me a note.

I had to read Zsa Zsa’s note a couple of times to try and sort everything out. Her confession would end up in the paper and I would be in the clear, but somehow I didn’t feel so free. Her words about hating the Misfits and being just like them gnawed at me and kept me from being happy because I wondered if she was right. It had always made sense to forget about the Misfits. The good girls and boys deserved the best toys. The bad kids got a lump of coal. That seemed like justice. But now I reckoned the Misfits were kind of in the same boat as naughty tykes. Maybe it wasn’t their fault that they were messed up, but the bad kids could say the same thing about their parents. If my trying to teach Raymond Hall how to be a better parent was so swell, could I ignore how we failed the Misfits? Nothing seemed as simple as naughty and nice anymore.

“Gumdrop, I’m afraid I owe you an apology,” Santa said. “I believe what Zsa Zsa said in her note to me is true and I am sorry that I ever allowed myself to think that you could have been capable of hurting a child, even a child that has grown up. Raymond Hall was, for the most part, a despicable boy and while it pained me to let you deliver coal to him, I only agreed because I believed it would help him learn. I think it did, in its way. Raymond grew up, became a father. He loved his children. That was his goodness.”

“Santa, what would you say if I told you that when I delivered coal to the kids, and even when I started roughing up those bad parents, that I enjoyed it a little bit?”

The twinkle never left Santa’s eye. “I would say you enjoyed it because you knew you were giving them a very special gift—the ability to learn and change. I believe that’s why you enjoyed it, Gumdrop. It wasn’t really the wielding of justice. That’s just what you thought. Deep down, I don’t think you enjoyed the violence; I think you took pleasure in sharing a lesson. Teaching someone how to learn from their mistakes—that’s your gift, my boy.”

I didn’t think Santa was completely right. Part of me liked knowing the kids were disappointed Christmas morning, that I was able to get in their face with the lesson. When they sobbed and promised to do better next year, I scoffed. I thought telling Santa that might make me feel better, but I was sure it would make him feel worse and I just couldn’t face letting anyone else down right then.

“Come along now, my boy,” Santa said. “Let’s give the Misfits’ confession to that lady friend of yours to write in the paper and get ready. It’s almost time for the Loading of the Sleigh Parade!”

CHAPTER 26

D
ingleberry had read Butternut Snitch’s gossip because he was staring at me like I had three heads. We were sitting in the Blue Christmas having a cup of cheer, trying to relax after all my adventures, but the notion that I might settle down with Rosebud baffled sweet, simple Dingleberry. Dingleberry was really the only other elf I had ever let get close to me, so I guess he couldn’t figure me for getting hitched. I don’t know where Butternut got her information, but I imagine Rosebud fed it to her to needle me. She had forgiven me for thinking she was in cahoots with Cane, but wasn’t through making me pay for it. I figured getting my name in the gossip column was just another trick. Mind you, I wasn’t opposed to the idea of Rosebud being my better half, but I hadn’t really had time to think about it. I was thinking about it now and I suppose Dingleberry could tell. “Ding, you stare at me much longer, you’re going to hurt your eyes,” I told him. “The past few days roughed me up a bit, and I haven’t gotten all my beauty sleep yet.”

“I just can’t believe it,” Dingleberry said.

“Believe what?”

“That you would get married and not tell me. I’m your best friend, Gumdrop!”

Now I got it. Dingleberry’s feelings were hurt.

“That’s because there’s nothing to tell, Ding,” I said. “That story is all made up. Snitch is fishing or just putting things in her column to make people read it. Butternut Snitch lies like a rug.”

“But you love Rosebud,” Dingleberry said. “I can tell.”

“Can you now?”

“Yep, you’re different, Gumdrop,” Dingleberry said. “Something is. I figured it was her.”

Dingleberry was right about one thing—I was different, but I wasn’t sure what it was. I was all mixed up inside. I used to think I knew what time it was. I checked the list, found the naughty kids and delivered coal. My life was that simple. But my world wasn’t simple anymore. Coal wasn’t the answer, neither was giving kids everything they wanted. Raymond Hall grew up and eventually got better. Tiny Tim grew up into a monster. It all depended on which direction they were shoved, when and who shoved them. I started out wanting to make a difference, but now I was all tied up in knots and I had nothing but thumbs. But there was no use dragging sweet, pure, wonderful Dingleberry into all of that, so I kept it light.

“I am kind of partial to Miss Jubilee,” I told him. “And maybe someday there will be something to tell. And when there is, my friend, you’ll be the first to know.”

This seemed to cheer Dingleberry up a bit. “Good,” he said. “It’s not good for you to keep secrets and stuff inside of you. Even good ones.”

“In that case, can you keep a secret, Dingleberry?” I asked. “It’s a big one, between you and me. You’ll want to blabber about it, but you can’t tell a soul.”

Dingleberry’s face got as solemn as a sermon and he nodded his head in the affirmative as seriously as he could. So I made his day.

“By George is real. He’s alive,” I said. “I’ve met him. He saved my life when I was on the other side of the bridge.”

Tears welled up in Dingleberry’s eyes and his mouth didn’t know whether to gape or smile. “All that stuff you read in your comic books about Bailey being a hero is bona fide, and don’t ever let anyone tell you different. He and his lasso are doing good things out there in the world. He’s helping his neighbors and teaching the neighbors to do the same. Just like you do, Ding, just like you.”

“Did you talk to him?” Dingleberry asked in a whisper, as if saying it any louder would shatter such a perfect notion.

“Just for a second,” I said. “We didn’t have much time in all the hubbub of the escape, but you know what he told me? He said, ‘Gumdrop, please tell my old pal Dingleberry thank you. Thank you for making toys, for the
By George
fan club, everything.’ That’s what he said. You, Dingleberry Fizz, make Bailey proud, by George.”