rom
cluttered the dresser detailing fun-filled family events. Spelling bee ribbons decorated a messy bulletin board above her desk.
She thought about taking her diary but decided against it.
When would she have time to write in it? Anyway, she figured
she could catch up when she returned home from visiting with
Santa Claus. She hid it between the mattress and box springs.
Ellie fought her emotions as a salty tear trickled down her cheek.
No time for crying now. Plenty of time to cry later . . .
After all, crying was for sissies. She stuffed her birthday
money into her shirt pocket and buttoned it. She pushed her
cell phone into her vest and zipped the pocket.
She stood. In the act of swinging the backpack on her shoul-
der, she brushed against the lamp on her nightstand. It teetered
back and forth, and she rescued it just a split second before it
crashed to the floor. She stood in quiet desperation, fearing she had awakened one of the adults. Luck was on her side.
Sometimes it is better to be lucky than skillful . . . She had heard or read that somewhere.
She crept to the bedroom door, only to see the pencil notches
marking her physical growth beginning at age four and the cor-
responding birthdates. She counted four marks as she rubbed
her right hand over each one. She had to be back for the next
measurement on January 1. Will and Ellie would celebrate their
ninth birthdays. Then it was only four more years until they
would be teenagers. Becoming teenagers was important to the
twins. Mom and Dad had promised they could get their learner’s
permits and begin driving when they turned fifteen, provided
they kept up their grades in school. Up to now, they were
allowed to drive the snowmobiles in the country if accompanied
: 64:
s a n ta' s n e w e s t r e i n Deer
by adults. It was a long wait, but each year was one step closer.
Ellie switched off the light and stepped into the hallway,
nearly colliding with Will. He caught her and put his index
finger to her mouth before she could scream. He directed her
down the stairs, motioning her to the kitchen.
“What are you doing?” she whispered as she eyed his bulging
backpack. She surveyed his red-and-black snowmobile suit and
his Sorel Caribous. Will returned the ogle by looking at her
Joan-of-Arctic boots and white snowmobile suit.
“You look more like an Easter bunny than a cross-country
skier,” he kidded.
“What are you doing? Why are you dressed like that, and
what’s in your backpack?” she stuttered, trying to change the
subject.
“You can’t go alone. You shouldn’t even go at all,” he
demanded.
“I can too. I’m old enough to be responsible for my actions.
We’re . . . I’m gonna be nine next month.”
Will pulled the folded map from his pocket and placed it on
the table. “Look. It’s 2,835 miles to North Pole, Alaska. That’s
about one hundred hours by car. That’s ninety-six hours divided
by twenty-four hours in a day, and that equals four full days.
Today is December 20, right? If we get there in four days, we
will never get back before Christmas Eve,” he argued. He was
good with numbers and logic, but Ellie couldn’t care less: she
was strong willed, a bit stubborn, and that was that!
“I’m going with you,” he demanded, as he shook his fist in
her face. Although he had the route planned as she’d told him
to do, she never asked to see it.
“Do you have money?” he quizzed.
: 65:
De n is t rom
“Enough,” she retorted.
“Do you know how you are going to get there?” he coyly
inquired.
“Nope. That’s your job, and I know you have the map. I
saw you pull it from your pocket.” She tightened her lips and
wrinkled her nose at him.
“Let’s go before you wake the whole house,” Will huffed.
They made their way to the back door, unlocked it, sneaked
out, and closed it behind them. The coldness seized their lungs
and nipped their earlobes. The moon’s beam caught
cluttered the dresser detailing fun-filled family events. Spelling bee ribbons decorated a messy bulletin board above her desk.
She thought about taking her diary but decided against it.
When would she have time to write in it? Anyway, she figured
she could catch up when she returned home from visiting with
Santa Claus. She hid it between the mattress and box springs.
Ellie fought her emotions as a salty tear trickled down her cheek.
No time for crying now. Plenty of time to cry later . . .
After all, crying was for sissies. She stuffed her birthday
money into her shirt pocket and buttoned it. She pushed her
cell phone into her vest and zipped the pocket.
She stood. In the act of swinging the backpack on her shoul-
der, she brushed against the lamp on her nightstand. It teetered
back and forth, and she rescued it just a split second before it
crashed to the floor. She stood in quiet desperation, fearing she had awakened one of the adults. Luck was on her side.
Sometimes it is better to be lucky than skillful . . . She had heard or read that somewhere.
She crept to the bedroom door, only to see the pencil notches
marking her physical growth beginning at age four and the cor-
responding birthdates. She counted four marks as she rubbed
her right hand over each one. She had to be back for the next
measurement on January 1. Will and Ellie would celebrate their
ninth birthdays. Then it was only four more years until they
would be teenagers. Becoming teenagers was important to the
twins. Mom and Dad had promised they could get their learner’s
permits and begin driving when they turned fifteen, provided
they kept up their grades in school. Up to now, they were
allowed to drive the snowmobiles in the country if accompanied
: 64:
s a n ta' s n e w e s t r e i n Deer
by adults. It was a long wait, but each year was one step closer.
Ellie switched off the light and stepped into the hallway,
nearly colliding with Will. He caught her and put his index
finger to her mouth before she could scream. He directed her
down the stairs, motioning her to the kitchen.
“What are you doing?” she whispered as she eyed his bulging
backpack. She surveyed his red-and-black snowmobile suit and
his Sorel Caribous. Will returned the ogle by looking at her
Joan-of-Arctic boots and white snowmobile suit.
“You look more like an Easter bunny than a cross-country
skier,” he kidded.
“What are you doing? Why are you dressed like that, and
what’s in your backpack?” she stuttered, trying to change the
subject.
“You can’t go alone. You shouldn’t even go at all,” he
demanded.
“I can too. I’m old enough to be responsible for my actions.
We’re . . . I’m gonna be nine next month.”
Will pulled the folded map from his pocket and placed it on
the table. “Look. It’s 2,835 miles to North Pole, Alaska. That’s
about one hundred hours by car. That’s ninety-six hours divided
by twenty-four hours in a day, and that equals four full days.
Today is December 20, right? If we get there in four days, we
will never get back before Christmas Eve,” he argued. He was
good with numbers and logic, but Ellie couldn’t care less: she
was strong willed, a bit stubborn, and that was that!
“I’m going with you,” he demanded, as he shook his fist in
her face. Although he had the route planned as she’d told him
to do, she never asked to see it.
“Do you have money?” he quizzed.
: 65:
De n is t rom
“Enough,” she retorted.
“Do you know how you are going to get there?” he coyly
inquired.
“Nope. That’s your job, and I know you have the map. I
saw you pull it from your pocket.” She tightened her lips and
wrinkled her nose at him.
“Let’s go before you wake the whole house,” Will huffed.
They made their way to the back door, unlocked it, sneaked
out, and closed it behind them. The coldness seized their lungs
and nipped their earlobes. The moon’s beam caught
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