The Mrs. Claus Chronicles
Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Greenhouse Letters Important Delivery Inn for All Seasons Bells First Lady
The Girl from the Greenhouse
Chapter 1 of the Mrs. Claus Chronicles
December 24-25, 1931
Chris Kringle had been delivering gifts for over a century, and by now, most nights ran like clockwork. The sleigh was smoother than ever, the Red Fairy Dust more refined, the Portal Sacks reliable. Yet, for all the marvels of magic and invention, he still loved the moments between—the quiet glides over rooftops, the candlelight in windows, the occasional echo of a carol sung off-key by a half-asleep child.
This particular Christmas Eve, however, held something different.
He was midway through the Midwest of the United States, a region blanketed in snow and soft with stillness. The town wasn’t even marked on most maps: Winslow Junction, Illinois. Just a cluster of homes, a general store, and—oddly—a large glass-paneled greenhouse tucked behind a narrow brick schoolhouse.
It was nearly midnight local time when Santa landed the sleigh atop a weathered farmhouse roof on the town’s edge. He worked quickly, placing toys into stockings, adjusting a small music box so it would start with sunrise, and leaving a handwritten note for a child who had asked if reindeer could sing (answer: they hum, mostly in the key of D).
As he returned to the sleigh, a flicker of light caught his eye from the greenhouse across the field.
That was unusual. Greenhouses, if tended in the winter, were usually sealed tight and dark by now. Curious—and not one to ignore a hunch—Chris nudged Glimmer and Comet softly and turned the sleigh in a slow descent toward the glass structure.
It was warm inside, not just from the lanterns, but from the life bursting within. Tropical ferns, winter-blooming camellias, and strings of ivy danced in the humid air. And in the center of it all stood a young woman in an apron smudged with soil, gently misting a sprig of holly that had just begun to fruit.
She didn’t notice him at first. Santa was surprisingly good at that—being unnoticed—but something in her manner made him hesitate. She wasn’t startled. In fact, she smiled as she turned, almost expecting him.
“You’re a little early,” she said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
“I… beg your pardon?”
“The deliveries,” she added, without missing a beat. “Most Santas don’t show up until well after midnight.”
He blinked. “Most Santas?”
She tilted her head. “Well, there’s always someone playing the part. But I’ve never seen one come in on a sleigh that hovered over the rhododendrons.”
Santa stood straighter. “I assure you, Miss…”
“Jensen,” she said. “Merry Lou Jensen. And I believe you. I’ve been waiting.”
That stopped him. “Waiting? For… me?”
She nodded and picked up a wrapped bundle near a potting bench. Inside was a small loaf of cranberry-orange bread, wrapped in cloth and tied with a sprig of pine.
“I don’t know why, but I’ve always left something out. Not cookies. Not milk. Just something real. My mother used to say, ‘The world is wider than we think,’ and I guess I hoped someone would notice.”
Santa took the bundle gently. He looked at her—really looked—and saw someone remarkably grounded. Not awestruck. Not dreamy. Just… quietly certain. A rare kind of person who could tend to both flowers and mysteries.
“I do notice,” he said softly. “More than you know.”
They stood there for a few seconds in the warmth of the greenhouse, the snow tapping lightly on the glass above.
“I suppose you’ll be off then,” Merry Lou said, stepping back with a smile that made her eyes crinkle.
“I still have quite a few stops to make,” he admitted. “But… would you mind if I came by again? Another time. Daylight, perhaps.”
She grinned. “I’d like that. Bring a fiddleleaf fig if you’ve got one. Mine caught a chill last week.”
He tipped his hat. “I’ll see what I can do.”
With that, Chris Kringle stepped back out into the night, a little lighter in heart, and resumed his route.
From the sleigh, he glanced back just once. She was still there, trimming a bit of ivy, as if meeting a real Santa was something that could happen to anyone—on any ordinary, extraordinary night.
And far above, the stars over Winslow Junction twinkled just a bit brighter.
Aboard the Sleigh, 4:00 a.m.
Somewhere above the Canadian wilderness, Chris guided the sleigh between cloud layers, letting the wind carry them forward for a stretch.
The loaf still sat beside him, untouched. He wasn’t ready to eat it yet.
He rubbed his gloved fingers together. They tingled—not from cold, but from something less familiar. Anticipation? Delight? Hope?
“Why does it feel,” he murmured aloud, “like I just delivered something to me tonight?”
Glimmer snorted in response. Twill craned his neck and blinked back at him, half-asleep. The sky ahead lightened with pre-dawn.
Chris smiled to himself and leaned back in the sleigh.
“Her name is Merry Lou,” he whispered, letting the name hover in the quiet. “Merry Lou Jensen.”
North Pole, Later That Morning
The bells above the Toyworks rang merrily as the sleigh glided in for landing, trailing a ribbon of red shimmer. Elves rushed out to greet him—some cheering, others with clipboards, and Bernard with a hot mug of spiced cider already in hand.
“Welcome back, sir,” Bernard called, beaming as he passed over the mug. “Another one for the records. Smooth trip?”
Chris took the cup but didn’t drink. He stared into the steam, as if the cider held a secret.
Bernard tilted his head. “You look… different.”
Chris looked up, slowly.
“I met someone.”
Bernard’s ears perked. “Someone special?”
Chris nodded, a bit of wonder in his eyes. “A girl from a greenhouse.”
There was a pause. Bernard didn’t press—he never did—but he allowed himself the tiniest smirk.
“Well then,” Bernard said, “we might need to build a second guest room.”
Chris laughed, and for the first time in decades, he didn’t feel tired after Christmas.