The Shoemaker #3
Like all dreams, though, it came to an end with the last pair of shoes. He lined them all up neatly on the bench, cleaned the washroom and tidied the workshop, then packed up his saved food and returned to his cold and dreary life.
The next day, the eve of Solstice Day, Alvin was more beautiful than ever as he moved joyously, excitedly, around the shop.
He handed off beautifully wrapped packages, shoes certain to make their recipients ecstatic, sang and danced around.
He even left a little early, hastening off in a beautiful dark green suit with accents of red that matched the holly clips in his hair and the red on his nails.
Brandt's stomach twisted in knots, and his chest felt heavy and achy. Alvin must be off to a party or dinner with someone. It was good that he was living again, that he had time enough to do so. Maybe now he would hire a proper assistant, having remembered how much he liked living.
He hoped so, even if it meant that his role was ended. At least he'd gotten to spend some sort of time with his shoemaker. Even if he knew all too well that Alvin wasn't, and never would be, his anything.
Though he was freezing, and his feet ached something fierce, he waited until the streetlamps were lit to finally make his trek.
As tomorrow was solstice, there would not be any shoes to make, and so no food waiting, but hopefully Alvin wouldn't mind if he stayed a few hours anyway to wash his clothes and sit by a real fire for a little while.
The snow had been coming down harder than ever, and was guaranteed to be at least as high as his crate by morning, and Brandt just wanted to be safe and warm for a little while.
A small solstice gift to himself, wrong as it was to take advantage so when he had no work to do in trade.
When he stepped inside, though, it was to find the fire crackling like always.
Instead of the usual shoes waiting to be put together, the bench was covered in beautifully wrapped packages.
Solstice gifts? Was Alvin planning to come into work to give out gifts to people?
Why wouldn't they just go to his home? Maybe it was other shopkeeps?
But they wouldn't be here either. Everything would be closed.
Well, it was hardly his business.
It was only as he stepped around the bench and toward the fire that he realized the gifts had distracted him from the biggest change in the room: there was an actual table, just big enough for perhaps two people.
It was covered in food and drink. Platters of meat, cheese, bread, and more.
A pitcher of ale and one of mulled wine.
The familiar pot of tea and matching cup. An entire Solstice Cake.
And a piece of paper, folded in half and propped so Brandt would easily see it. Written in vibrant green ink were the words: To the little elf who finishes my shoes.
Brandt's face flushed. How had Alvin known it was him?
When had he noticed Brandt was an elf? His ears were always covered by an old wool hat he'd found lying on the ground one day, as though dropped by someone.
As it was unremarkable, and he had no hope of finding the owner, he'd kept it.
His ears, the pointed tips, were especially vulnerable to frostbite, so the hat was his second most valuable item after the shoes he'd lost.
Hand trembling faintly, he picked up the note and unfolded it.
Dearest little elf,
Thank you for your endless kindness. Without you, I do not know where I would be, but it would be no place good. Should you ever wish to visit me in daylight, you'd be warmly welcomed.
Please enjoy your Solstice feast and gifts.
With greatest regards,
Alvin
Blinking back tears, Brandt stared at the bench where the gifts were arrayed. They were for him? The food had been more than gift enough. He might have been helping with the shoes, but he'd also taken a great many liberties. He shouldn't even be in here tonight, and yet…
Swallowing, he focused on the food first, sitting at the table with relish after months of sitting on the ground or the edge of a fountain or a bench in the temple.
It was all so delicious, if only he could eat half this well every single day.
Even back home, he'd rarely eaten this well, always being punished for one imagined infraction or another.
Elves rarely beat their children, but there were countless other ways to abuse them.
There was still food enough for days when he finally had to stop for fear of bursting. He left it for the moment, though he'd certainly pack up everything he could before he left. With the snow to keep it frozen, he wouldn't worry about food the rest of the week. What an exciting thought.
Finally, unable to bear waiting a second longer, he turned to the gifts. There were ten of them, which seemed so ridiculously decadent, Brandt could not believe they really were all for him.
The first gift was a beautiful cloak, heavy and warm, treated to repel water, with a deep hood to keep inclement weather well off his face.
Next was several pairs of thick, warm socks, something that was always so difficult to find. His only two pairs were entirely mismatched, more patch than fabric, and summer weight. These were worth their weight in gold.
The next few gifts were two pairs of fine winter gloves, a thick, plush scarf that could be folded up nicely for a warm pillow at night, a new set of clothes that included smallclothes, which made him flush with embarrassment and shame, but it was a thoughtful detail to recall.
Gifts six through nine were a thick, warm blanket with the same water protection on one side as his cloak, a shaving kit, a beautiful hairbrush far too fine for his scraggly, neglected hair, and a purse full of coins that he dropped in shock and had to gather back up.
More money than he'd seen at one time since those evil, lying bastards had taken everything.
This might actually help him do better than a crate in an alleyway, and with the new fine clothes, he might look respectable enough to get a job.
Well, except for shoes, of course. But hopefully the temple charity boxes would have something suitable for him soon, as people donated their old shoes because Solstice had brought them new ones.
He stacked everything neatly on the bench, already planning where he would hide it all so nobody stole it while he was away from his crate. Especially the coins. He'd have to bury those until he was ready to use them.
Finally he turned to the last package, reluctant to open it because then the fun would be over. He tore the paper away, and his heart sped up as he saw the familiar wooden box and logo of the shoe shop itself.
Swallowing the rock suddenly in his throat, he removed the lid—and started crying to see the beautiful pair of boots inside.
Rich, dark brown leather, sturdy brown laces, lined and trimmed in warm fur, reinforced at the heel and toes, with a special tread to decrease the chance of slipping on ice.
Dragon leather, by the feel of it, and snow troll fur.
Even if he'd gotten the job he'd come here for, and saved all year, he never could have afforded boots of such impeccable quality. Nothing he'd done had merited these, and yet they were clearly for him.
Hands trembling, he pulled on a pair of his new socks and then the boots, which fit perfectly, as good as anything he'd ever made for himself. They would last him years, even through hard use in foul weather.
He'd thought the other gifts so fine and beautiful, but they paled in comparison to these beautiful boots.
Putting them back in the box for the moment, he poured himself another cup of the lovely mulled wine and sat sipping it by the fire. Outside, the wind howled alarmingly, and the snow continued to fall relentlessly down, until he could not see out the window at all.
Frowning, he went to the door and pulled it open—and gasped to see the snow was more than halfway up it.
He would never make it back to his crate in this, even though it wasn't far away at all.
It didn't take much distance to become disoriented and lost, to wind up frozen to death just steps away from safety.
That was why he'd come over here to begin with, but it didn't make it less disconcerting to see firsthand just how easily he would have died if coming here to hide from the weather hadn't been an option.
Closing the door, he returned to the fire and used his new blanket and scarf to make up a little bed, and used his new cloak as an additional blanket.
Surely, after showing him so much kindness, Alvin would not mind if he slept here until the snow cleared.
He could always offer to do additional work to make up for it.
Returning to the table, he enjoyed more wine and a large slice of Solstice Cake.
By the time he'd finished, he could barely keep his eyes open.
Still he could not resist one last indulgence: using the washroom to take a proper shower, filching an old bar of soap left there to clean himself thoroughly, using his new shaving kit to make himself look and feel truly himself for the first time in months.
By the time he was finished, he could barely keep his eyes open as he packed away the food, tidied everything up, and stoked the fire before finally crawling into his makeshift bed.
Maybe Alvin would be willing to let him do this every night. Stitch shoes, eat supper, sleep before the fire. If he did that well enough, he could possibly work up to being a proper clerk. Alvin had said to come see him in daylight, after all. Surely that meant it was possible.
How very fine it would be to work here every day, sing and dance with a happy Alvin, never have to worry…