Where’s Santa?

By Linda Jane Niedfeldt

Christmas morning! And there, under the tree… Nothing.

Six-year-old Joey’s hopes deflated. “I wonder why Santa didn’t bring any presents.” He rubbed his eyes and peeked through a crack in the front door. The eastern sky was streaked with orange. Along the fencerow, pink and yellow tulips danced in the sparkly snow. “Flowers in December?” he whispered. “Aren’t they supposed to bloom at Easter?”

Before he could ask his mom, Santa Claus hopped up to the white picket gate. Joey ducked behind the doorframe, holding his breath and peering out with one eye. “What’s Santa doing on the sidewalk? He must have sprinkled his magic on the snow to make the flowers pop.”

Santa checked his list and jumped over the gate onto the front walk. While he struggled to drag his bag across the top, Joey stuck his head out the door. “If it’s too heavy, why don’t you just open the gate?”

Santa spun around and slapped his skinny knee. “Oh, oh, oh! I mean, ho, ho, ho. I’m late and in a hurry. I forgot hopping doesn’t work with this sack.” He cleared his throat, unlatched the gate, and dragged his heavy load into the yard. “There! That’s better. Thanks, little man.”

Joey stared at Santa. “I’m not a little man. I’m almost as big as you.” Joey crossed his arms. “I’d say you’re only a little taller than the Tooth Fairy.”

“The Tooth Fairy? When did you see her?” Santa tugged his red fur hat lower. “And, by the way, how can you see me?”

“Mom says I have an azzagerated imagination.” Joey wiggled his eyebrows. “That means I see things other people can’t, like leprechauns and the Easter Bunny.”

Santa tucked his head into his fur collar. “You’ve seen the Easter Bunny?”

“Yeah, last year, from my bedroom window. By the time I ran downstairs, he had hopped away.”

Joey tilted his head. “But I’ve never seen Santa—until now. You look different than in my picture books.”

Santa stooped over and pulled on the bag’s cord. “Well, you can’t believe everything you see in books.”

“Where’s your reindeer?” Joey jumped off the porch and glanced down the street. “And your sleigh? I should be able to see them, too.”

“You certainly have lots of questions.” Santa stood up and glared at Joey. “My reindeer and sleigh are at the North Pole. They’re not working this season. 2020 has been challenging.”

Santa bent down with a sigh and opened his bag. Two Easter eggs—one purple, one blue—tumbled from the bag. Joey gasped as Santa scrambled to pick them up.

“I can’t do anything with these big black mittens.” Santa yanked one off, grabbed the eggs, and shoved them into his bag.

Joey whistled. “Your hand is very white, and… and… and furry!”

“No, no, no. I mean, ho, ho, ho.” Santa tugged his mitten back on. “Just frostbite,” he muttered and pawed through his bag. “Let’s see. Here’s a basket for Mary. Are you Mary?”

“Santa, you know I’m Joey. Do you have a basket for me, too?” He tapped his foot. “Wait a minute. Baskets are for Easter. Don’t you have a Christmas present for me?”

Santa stuck his head farther into his bag and rummaged around. Finally, he pulled out a shiny red firetruck. “How do you like this?”

Joey didn’t even glance at the toy. Instead, he stared at Santa’s face. His beard had slipped, revealing two buck teeth and three long whiskers poking out on each side of his bunny face.

Joey inched closer. “I know you. You’re not Santa Claus. You’re an imposter. You’re the Easter Bunny! Where’s Santa?” Joey chewed on his bottom lip and sniffled.

Santa-turned-bunny removed his fake beard, shook off his big black mittens, and knelt down. “Watch this, little man.”

Joey blinked back tears.

The Easter Bunny pulled off the red fur hat, and his ears popped up. “Wahoo, that feels wonderful. My poor ears were crunched.”

“They’re bouncing.” Joey giggled. “But where is Santa?”

The Easter Bunny scratched his head. “I’m helping Santa this year, but it’s hard to be Santa when I should be sleeping away the winter.” He glanced at the tulips and frowned. “Sometimes my springtime flowers magically appear, and I can’t stop them. Sorry.”

“That’s okay. I like your flowers.” Joey smiled. “May I give them to Mom for Christmas?”

The Easter Bunny flashed a toothy grin. “What an excellent idea!”

“But you still didn’t answer my question. Why does Santa need help?”

“One of the elves tested positive, so Santa and the reindeer are in self-quarantine.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Linda Jane Niedfeldt, known as Janie to her friends, is an outdoorsy, small-town gal. After college, marriage, and four children, she dabbled at teaching but focused on writing. Niedfeldt wrote two children’s historical fiction books, then dozens of newspaper stories and a few national magazine articles. In 1995, she and her husband Tom started a travel business, taking her simple life perspective to more than 75 countries. Now in retirement, she’s written her first memoir, Psalms in My Backpack, and two more children’s novels.

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