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Elizabeth Bevarly

Copyright Elizabeth Bevarly

All Rights Reserved

Smashwords Edition


Christmas Eve 1946

Nicholas Frost ran a quick brush through his snowy white beard and perched his reading glasses on his cherry red nose. He bypassed the array of rouge, wigs, fake beads and glue that all the part-time Santas at Lauderdale’s Department Store had to use when they worked and made his way to his locker in the break room. Being overweight might have its health concerns, he thought, recalling his doctor’s most recent warnings about his heart, but it sure did make him a convincing Santa Claus.

He buttoned his massive red coat, popped a peppermint candy into his mouth and cinched his wide, bell-laden belt with a merry jingle. Then he practiced a few perfunctory “Ho-ho-hos,” an action that was simply habit by now, because Nicholas Frost was the epitome of Christmas spirit. He was by far the best Santa Claus Lauderdale’s had ever employed, and everyone in Chicago knew it.

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