Mrs. Claus and the Very Long Tuesday

Mrs. Claus knew Tuesday would be busy.

She had biscuits to bake, a story to record, and a new winter quilt to finish.

She did not have a goose on her schedule.

Nevertheless, at nine o'clock, there was a goose in her kitchen.

It belonged to the Village's little greenhouse garden, where it usually enjoyed watching the elves water plants.

Today it had followed a basket of greens to the bakery.

“Honk,” it said.

“Good morning,” Mrs. Claus replied. “You are not an ingredient.”

Bram arrived to fetch it.

The goose followed him willingly.

Then it noticed his shiny boot buckle and stopped.

For five minutes, Bram tried to explain that the buckle was coming with him.

At ten o'clock, Mrs. Claus began her story recording.

“Once, beneath the northern stars—”

Honk.

The goose was outside the window.

They moved the recording cushion to the sewing room.

“Once, beneath the northern stars—”

Clatter.

Pep had arrived with six spoons and an urgent question about microphone noises.

They moved to the sitting room.

“Once—”

Santa poked his head around the door.

“Have you seen my glasses?”

Mrs. Claus pointed.

They were on his head.

“Wonderful,” he said. “I found them.”

By lunchtime, she had recorded exactly one word.

Once.

She wrote it on a scrap of paper so she wouldn't lose her place.

Then the quilt needed its final patch.

Mrs. Claus chose a square of blue cloth.

Her needle vanished.

She searched the sewing basket, checked beneath the cushion, and finally found it safely tucked into the pincushion where she had put it.

“Excellent hiding place,” she told it.

At two o'clock, Tansy arrived with a tray of biscuits shaped like reindeer.

One looked more like a chair.

“That one is experimental,” Tansy explained.

Mrs. Claus sampled it.

“A delicious chair.”

At three o'clock, Mabel delivered a letter asking whether Mrs. Claus ever had a day when nothing went according to plan.

Mrs. Claus looked at the unfinished quilt.

The recording cushion.

The biscuit crumbs.

Outside, the goose was now investigating a snowman.

She began her reply.

Dear friend,

Yes.

Then she laughed and wrote a little more.

At four o'clock, she hung a sign on her door:

STORY RECORDING. PLEASE COME BACK SOON.

She settled into her chair.

The room was quiet.

The microphone was ready.

She took a sip of tea.

“Once, beneath the northern stars, there lived a goose who had very strong opinions about Tuesdays.”

Mrs. Claus stopped.

That wasn't the story she had planned.

But she rather liked it.

She told a story about a goose who wanted a shiny buckle, interrupted a royal speech, and mistook a snowman for a very chilly cousin.

From outside the door came a muffled giggle.

Then another.

When she finished, she opened the door.

Pep, Bram, Tansy, and Santa were sitting in the hallway.

“We came back soon,” Pep explained. “Then we heard the goose part.”

Santa was holding a tray.

On it sat fresh tea and the last chair-shaped biscuit.

That evening, Mrs. Claus stitched the final blue patch into the quilt.

Tuesday had been very long.

It had also produced a story she hadn't expected, a peculiar biscuit, and an audience in slippers.

She folded the quilt across her knees.

At the window, a familiar shape waddled past.

“Honk.”

Mrs. Claus raised her cup.

“And a very good evening to you, too.”