Page 6 of The Christmas Book Flood

THREE

Tatiana checked her watch and dashed back over to the warehouse space for another box of Sagas for Children .

She was running behind for the day already, through no fault of her own.

The orders she’d been filling had more books in them than the ones she’d done thus far, which meant more time was required to fill each one.

A good problem. But still a problem. She and the regular mail room workers had done their best to organize everything, but they were all running about today with mounting panic.

Her own redoubled as she stopped in front of the spot suspiciously empty of boxes.

“No. Where are the newest sagas?” She directed the question to the nearest mail room worker.

Bjarni shook his head. “Out. I sent Jon to the warehouse for more, and of Tandri’s too. Ran out of both half an hour ago.”

Tatiana’s scalp prickled. Hers? Her book had enough orders that they’d run out of the supply here too?

She’d seen the pile of boxes that had been delivered a week ago, she knew how many were in each one.

That they’d needed more of Anders’s titles was no surprise, but he was a known quantity. She—or her pen name, anyway—were not.

“Post is here,” someone shouted from the front of the room.

Tatiana scurried back out of the cave of boxes.

When the first orders had begun to arrive, she’d scarcely believed that the idea Valdi had run by her back in the summer was actually coming to fruition.

She’d been the one to suggest the method of fulfillment all the companies had decided on, so she’d taken responsibility for the logistics of it as well.

Each Book Bulletin had order forms for each of the companies represented inside it, so they were each responsible for filling only their own titles.

She knew that Valdi and the other publishers had considered shipping books to a central warehouse and hiring someone to fill all the orders, but without knowing what the response would be, it had seemed an unnecessary risk and expense.

Easier by far was to create multiple forms for inclusion.

And to see their dream working? Orders coming in daily? That was enough to make her push aside how far behind she already was today and hurry to see how many more forms she’d need to process this afternoon.

But she paused when she caught the look on the postman’s face. He held a large canvas sack, which was nothing out of the ordinary—he usually gave her a smile and reached inside for the portion of it that was for the Story Society. Today, however, he lifted his brows and set the whole bag down.

Tatiana followed its descent with her gaze. “It’s not... all of that, is it?”

The postman huffed. “And more besides. I’ll bring the other one in next.”

No. He must be joking. Or perhaps someone had made a mistake and put some of the other publishers’ forms into the bag for them. She darted forward and unzipped the bag, fully expecting to pull out a handful of envelopes addressed to another company.

But no. All the same, and all correct. All to them . Dozens... scores... hundreds of forms. For a moment, just one, excitement still surged through her. Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined the Bulletin would be such a success!

Then reality crashed in. Christmas was thirteen days away, and not all of those could be used for mailing out orders, which of course had to arrive before that holy day.

That meant that she had, what, a week? A week to get all of these orders sorted, filled, boxed, weighed, and put back into the hands of the postal service?

She lifted her head, her gaze clashing with Bjarni’s.

He stood there on the other side of the little table she’d been using for her work, mouth agape and panic in his eyes that surely matched hers.

“There’s...” No way. There was no way they could get through all of these orders in such a short amount of time, just the four of them.

Especially since Jon would no doubt be constantly driving between here and the warehouse to try to keep their books in stock.

There just wasn’t enough room here to store all the ones they’d need.

Bjarni scrubbed a hand over his face. “Never once occurred to me that this could be too successful. What do we do, Tatta?”

The postman brought in the second bag, but rather than set this one down, he unzipped it. Tatiana drew in a breath, hoping that meant he’d just take out a twine-wrapped section, like he usually did.

But no. He poured them all out onto the table, shaking the stragglers loose. Then reached for the first bag and did the same, mumbling something about needing the canvas sacks back.

The mountain of envelopes turned into an avalanche, spilling off the table and into Tatiana’s lap as the postman pivoted and left again with a call of “Good luck.”

Her eyes stung. Her nose clogged. Her throat went tight.

She’d have to spend every waking hour in this mail room, and still she wouldn’t get finished in time.

And Elea! Her niece was here so that she could have a good holiday, so that she could receive the attention she deserved.

Not so that she could be ignored while her guardian feverishly shoved books into boxes.

Elea would never want to visit her again. Ari would scream at Tatiana for neglecting the child so desperate for the attention of an adult who loved her. And when she failed to get all these orders out on time—which she would—Valdi would sack her. Maybe all of them.

No. No, she had to protect the regular mail room workers.

This wasn’t their fault. She was the one who’d promised her uncle she could take care of the extra load.

She’d been the one to suggest to him that each company should fill its own orders rather than renting a warehouse and hiring all new staff.

This was her problem. Her mess. Her doing.

Her un doing.

Try as she might to hold it all together, the tears overcame her resolve and leaked out onto her cheeks. She dashed them away, tried to regulate her breathing, tried to tilt her face down so no one else would see how ridiculous she was being, but it was all too much.

This was supposed to be a celebration, this entire enterprise. A celebration of Iceland, newly independent. Of a nation somehow flourishing despite this horrible war. Of the stories they were known for, that they were producing in record numbers.

This was supposed to be a visit that her niece would remember with joy and laughter.

This was supposed to be a happy secret Tatiana could smile over to herself, as she packed up hundreds of copies of her own books and prayed over each one, that its recipient would find what they needed in the pages, something to touch their hearts and inspire them.

She heard Jon return and caught Bjarni mumbling something to him about fetching Valdi. That was enough to convince her to shove the envelopes off her legs, to push herself to her feet.

The situation didn’t look any better from the added height. Worse, if anything. Now she could see the full chaos on the table.

She wiped her cheeks again, though more tears took the place of the ones she dashed away.

Bjarni, who’d been working at the Story Society longer even than Uncle Valdi, patted her shoulder. “I don’t blame you for the tears, Tatta. Frankly, I agree. This is too much. It’s hopeless, unless your uncle hires an army to help us. We’ll never get through them all.”

“And more could still come tomorrow.” Her shoulders sagged, and she couldn’t blame it on the added weight of Bjarni’s hand. “What happens to the ones we can’t fill in time? Do we send them out late? Refund them?”

Usually the old-timer was full of smiles and optimism. Usually, he’d have said, Don’t you worry, Tatta, we’ll get them all out. Today, he just sighed and shook his head. “I don’t know.”

Though she knew she ought to get started—open all the envelopes, set the checks in a pile to be taken to the bank, make a list of all the books in the orders so they could try to get enough here from the warehouse—she couldn’t bring herself to slit open even one.

Once she started, she’d be chained to this table for the foreseeable future.

More of the stupid tears welled.

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 up until 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, in shape, 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 her own book to so many households in Iceland but to help them give innumerable other books too, books that would enrich them and touch 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 what she always 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 on location, 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.