She heard her uncle’s footsteps as he approached, heard his sharp intake of breath when he spotted Mount Envelope. He came up on Tatiana’s other side and let out a low whistle. “All of these came today? And they’re all for us?”
A nod was all she could manage.
Bjarni spoke up. “That’s more in one day than everything we’ve gotten up until now combined.” He gave her shoulder one last squeeze and dropped his hand. “No way we can handle this, boss. Not the four of us in the time we have, even though Tatiana’s an organizational whiz.”
Was she? She’d been pretty proud of her system upuntil now, but this inundation quickly overwhelmed her careful dikes.
Silence pulsed for several heartbeats. Then Valdi motioned with a hand, catching Jon’s eye. “Bring the carts. Let’s load them up with as many of these as they’ll hold.”
Tatiana’s brows drew together. “Why?”
Her uncle’s smile was just as it always was—calm, wise, gentle, but firm. “Because we need to make an appeal to the staff, and I think a visual will help us. We need volunteers, as many of them as we can get. If we have to push back editorial deadlines by a week, then we’ll do it. This takes precedence.”
She could only blink. Never, in her five years at the Story Society, had her uncle ever prioritized anything above the editorial and publication schedule. It was the heart and soul of the company, he’d always said. Anyone could learn the mailroom—though Bjarni had been running it with particular skill for decades. Editors were another case entirely. “You’re going to pull editorial staff down here?”
“The ones who volunteer. And tell them to recruit family members too.” Her uncle reached out and grabbed a handful of envelopes. All identical in size, inshape, but inside, all would be unique. “These aren’t just orders for books. They’re how our people will celebrate Christmas this year. They’re the stories through which we’ll remember the coming of Jesus. They’re gifts, carefully chosen by people who have little other options for things to give as long as the war is raging. And we...” He turned back to her, to Bjarni, and grinned. “We all get to play St. Nicholas, as the Americans would say. Yule Lads. We get to deliver these gifts to each family so that they can brighten someone’s life with a story. That’s not just a noble call—it’s a sacred one.”
Hope elbowed its way past the overwhelm. Though his words recalled the idea behind this Book Bulletin, Tatiana had lost sight of it in the pure logistics of the thing. But he was right. They weren’t just packing up books, like the mailroom did all year. They were delivering gifts meant to remind each person of the reason they celebrated, the ultimate Gift to humankind.
Perhaps, if she focused only on those logistics, it was a burden. Overwhelming. Impossible, even.
But if she focused on the purpose? The fact that she not only got to send herownbook to so many households in Iceland but to help them give innumerable other books too, books that would enrich them andtouch their hearts? This wasn’t a chore. It was an honor. It was the privilege of participating in something that could go on for years, something that could become a new tradition, if they did it well this year.
The thought of all the families that would wrapping these books and exchanging them on Christmas Eve was enough to make the tears ebb. How many would do exactly whatshealways did when someone gave her a book for Christmas? Sit there beside their tree and start reading it before midnight Mass?
All they had to do was get the books to them in time. A challenge, yes. But one worth the effort it would take.
She turned to her uncle as Jon rolled a few carts over. “We’ll have to divide and conquer, let those who know the mail systems take on the key roles but delegate anything else to the volunteers.”
“Tatiana can focus on the order processing, like she’s been doing,” Bjarni said, “but then leave the fulfillment up to others. Her lists and spreadsheets have already been helpful in telling us what we’ll need each day. We need her to focus solely on that, so we can hit the ground running each morning.”
Jon began making neat stacks of envelopes to load onto the carts. “And we’ll have to prioritize based onlocation, at this point. Those going farther need to be filled and sent out first. Local orders can go later and still arrive on time.”
Valdi pointed a finger at Jon. “Smart thinking. We need to get a map in here and create zones. Check with the post office about normal delivery times within each one. That will tell us how long we have for the different regions’ orders.”
Mind whirling, Tatiana reached to shuffle envelopes into stacks as well. “So region first, then we’ll break the orders down by contents and number of books, which will tell us how many of each size box or envelope we need, as well as the numbers of each title we’ll have to fetch from the warehouse.”
“Jon, you’ll likely be making constant trips back and forth. If you need help to hurry the process along, let me know. We’ll recruit someone.” Valdi turned then to Bjarni. “While Tatiana is handling breaking down the orders themselves, I think your first step will be organizing the space down here to accommodate more people.”
Calculations already spun through the man’s eyes. “We’ll need more tables. But I think I know where we can borrow some. I can have them here this evening.”
“Perfect.” Her uncle gave them all another confident smile. “Let’s load up and go rally our rescuers, shall we?”
Tatiana gave her cheeks one more swipe and nodded.
FOUR
ANDERS FLEXED HIS FINGERS TOshake out the stiffness from too many hours with his pen in hand, looking up from the page to the clock on the wall and frowning. It was thirty minutes past when Tatiana had said she’d be back up from the warehouse and the shipping department, and it wasn’t like her to be late.
His gaze drifted out the door into the outer office, where he’d set up a small desk for Elea—one he’d intended to give to his nephew for Christmas last year, but which Dalmar had nixed when he’d mentioned it to him. A veritable thundercloud had descended upon his brother’s face too, as he’d said,You’ll not encouragethe boy to spend any more time indoors at a desk. He’ll be taking over the boat when he grows up. End of story.
Though Anders had felt sympathy for ten-year-old Garri, who took after Anders more than his family would like, he hadn’t dared cross Dalmar on the matter. There was no point. Had he given the desk, it just would have ended up tossed out anyway. So he’d kept it, thinking maybe his brother would eventually relent. Perhaps he could argue that it would be useful for Garri’s schoolwork.
The battle had yet to be won, so Anders had hauled it in here yesterday and situated it across from Helga’s desk. It was good to see some child putting it to use, anyway. Elea had been busy at it all day, working first on her homework from school and then on some drawing. She’d been so quiet that he’d forgotten she was there for much of the day, other than when Helga directed a question her way and he’d jolted to hear a young voice answer.
Now, he stretched, stood, and wandered to the doorway to give his neck and back a break from hunching over his own desk. He exchanged a smile with Helga and then sent it in Elea’s direction and said, “Are you looking forward to Giljagaur coming tonight?”
She sent him a look that was part amusement, part disbelief. “You too? I thought only Aunt Tatta was so stuck on the idea of the Yule Lads still.”
