Ivy & Frost

By H. L. Davis

“Jack!” I shove a strand of wild red hair beneath the hood of my cloak. “Come out right now!”

As I stomp through the moonlit snow to reach the lake just ahead, my thoughts swirl back to the hustle and bustle of party preparations this morning. To Jack and Holly off in the corner of the ballroom. I remember the unusual tapping of his fingers as he whispered near her ear, the sparkle in Holly’s eyes as she listened and nodded. He asked to escort her to the Yuletide Ball. I’m sure of it.

My cheeks burn, and I shake my head. I’m out here to retrieve a crown. Nothing more.

My toes start to grow numb in my boots, and I groan. You’d think, being the daughter of St. Nick, that I’d adore winter weather. But nothing could be further from the truth. The relentless cold. The lack of sunlight. The snow and ice that stubbornly blanket my world for months on end.

No, I detest winter’s chill. Because deep down, the soul of Ivy Claus is green.

I live for summer days when my family visits Mother’s kinfolk in the South, when I can bask in the glorious heat and explore emerald woods. I’ve asked Mother countless times how she could leave paradise for the harsh winters of the North. She always smiles and says, “Because your father brings endless summer to my heart.”

I frown. I guess I’ll always be the oddball of the family. At least my parents have Holly.

Possessing a gracious manner and kind heart, chestnut hair and ice blue eyes, my older sister is entirely enamored with life here at the North Pole. Holly especially loves Christmas. Since the year she turned fifteen, she has arranged every detail of the annual Yuletide Ball—a celebration that begins at midnight each December 26th when Father wakes from his long post-delivery slumber.

Holly’s planned the grandest party yet for tonight, only to discover half an hour ago that her holiday crown is missing. I spied the heart drawn in the frost on our bedroom window and instantly stormed out the door to confront the culprit.

I arrive at the lake, its frozen surface shining like glass. “Jack Frost! Come out, or I’ll never speak to you again!”

A frigid breeze brushes a finger against my cheek. I whirl around, and there he is, grinning at me.

“Hello, Ivy. You know, you really should have worn snowshoes.”

My heart skips a beat, but I glare, determined not to let it show. “Hand it over.”

Jack’s gray eyes flicker mischievously. “Hand what over?”

“Holly’s crown!” I plant mittened fists on my hips. “I know you took it. You left clear evidence at the window.”

Jack’s grin melts into a lopsided smile, and my throat tightens.

Throughout our childhood, Jack made the long days of winter easier to bear with his magic and fun. He built forts and ice palaces. Started snowball fights. Taught me how to skate across this very lake. Even on the coldest, most difficult days, his merry laugh and twinkling eyes had the power to lift my spirits.

As Jack’s skill and artistry grew, Father eventually assigned him the task of bringing frost to the South from November to February. To give the inhabitants there a taste of winter’s “beauty.” Though his work keeps him busy, Jack always manages to be back in time for the Yuletide Ball.

And now I know why.

I blink back the tears I’m furious to find stinging my eyes. “Look, Jack— if you wanted to see Holly alone before the party begins, you should’ve just asked her this morning in the ballroom. You don’t have to steal her things—make everything a silly game.”

Jack kneels and forms a giant snowball. He blows on it with an icy breath. An image of my sister appears in its center. She is welcoming early arrivals to the celebration… a wreath of scarlet berries adorning her brow.

My eyebrows scrunch together. “What—”

“It was a game, of sorts, that I planned with Holly. To get you to come find me.” The frozen orb vanishes into the air, and Jack stands and reaches behind him. “Because I wanted a moment alone to give you this.” He brings his hand forward, and my breath catches.

He holds a delicately crafted crown of ivy. Richest green, kissed with frost.

“I thought it was high time you wore a crown of your own to the Yuletide Ball. One that reflects who you truly are.” He clears his throat. “Sorry about the frost. I had to use a special magic to preserve it for the journey back.”

I pull back my hood, and Jack places the shimmering wreath on my head. A new light shines in his eyes as he gazes at me—an expression that warms me more than a hundred summer suns. Time itself freezes, and the impossible happens… I completely forget about the cold.

Still staring up at Jack, I point to the crown and tease, “You’re sure it’s not the poisonous kind?”

“On my honor.” He bows eloquently and holds out a hand. “To the ball, my lady?”

I ignore the hand and stand on tiptoes to give him a quick peck on the cheek. Making the most of Jack’s surprise, I dash toward home. “Race you!” White powder flies as my boots pound through the snow. A laughing winter wind follows close behind.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

H. L. Davis is a Christian, wife, and homeschool mom who calls the South home. She first discovered the joys of writing at ten years of age, and it is a craft she is delighted to pursue once again. When she isn’t brainstorming ideas and weaving words into stories, she enjoys reading, graphic design, and quality time with her family and friends.

---

More Stories | Instagram