“Just a bite,” Shira said, and took a small corner of the cake. “Yum. Thank you, Lecie.”
“Would your friend like a bite?” Lecie asked Shira.
“No thanks, Lecie,” Carmen said. “But it’s nice of you to offer.”
They were almost there when blue and red lights flashed in their rear view. “Shit,” Carmen said. “Sorry, Shira.”
“Are you going to pull over?” Shira asked.
“We’re not fleeing the cops, hon. Sorry.” Carmen pulled off onto the shoulder.
The police officer was a woman, Shira could see when she got out of her car; Carmen rolled down her window and surrendered her driver’s license. The police officer scrutinized it. “Iowa?” she said. “What are you doing in Texas?”
“Leaving,” Carmen said. “No, seriously, we’re actually going to Oklahoma. The fastest way was to fly to Dallas and rent a car.”
The cop nodded, took a slow look at Shira and Lecie. “Is that your little girl?” she asked Shira.
Shira swallowed. “Yes,” she said.
The cop pulled off her sunglasses, and took a long, hard look at Shira. Then at Lecie. “Step out of the car, please, ma’am.”
Shira obeyed, her hands shaking. “I have a court order,” she said. “That says I can have her. A federal court order.”
“Why don’t you get the little girl out, too,” the police officer said, so Shira unbuckled Lecie and led her around to stand next to the car, where they wouldn’t be hit by swerving highway traffic. Lecie still had the last of her cake.
“Let’s see the court order,” the police officer said, and with a sinking heart, Shira pulled it out and handed it over.
Lecie pulled on Shira’s sleeve. “Would she like some cake?” she asked softly, pointing at the police officer.
“You can ask her, if you’d like,” Shira said.
Lecie raised her voice. “Would you like some cake?” she asked.
The police officer looked up from the court order. There was only a little bit of cake left, and the police officer smiled affectionately. “Yes, thank you, I’ll have just a little bit,” she said, and took a small corner. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Lecie said.
The cop handed the court order back to Shira. “May I see some ID, please, ma’am?”
Shira showed the cop her driver’s license.
“Well.” The police officer handed it back. “Everything seems to be in order. I thought I’d better take a look, because I’d heard something about a kidnapping—but this little girl looks like she’s with the right person. Sorry to trouble you.”
“No trouble,” Shira whispered.
“Ya’ll come back to Texas,” the cop said. “Sometime when you can stay and see the sights.”
***
VI. Cookies
CONVINCE YOUR MOTHER or your Aunt Elaine that she wants to make cookies. Or at least clean up after you make cookies. Wash your hands and put on an apron. Get out the stool so that you can reach everything. Be sure to get all the hot pads down, because those aren’t something you want to have out of reach when you need one. Ask Mom or Aunt Elaine to preheat the oven to 350 degrees.
Mix in a bowl:
¾ cups white sugar
¾ cups brown sugar
1 cup butter
Gush it all together with your hands. Lick your hands clean. Wash them again when Aunt Elaine catches you. Sample some of the brown sugar straight from the bag before one of the grownups puts it away. Then add:
2 eggs
1 tsp vanilla
½ tsp water
Smell the vanilla, because it smells really good, even though it tastes terrible by itself. Ask if you can make ice cream, when you’re done with the cookies.
Get out a wooden spoon and mix everything up. Then add:
2 ½ cups unbleached flour
1 tsp baking soda
2 tsp cocoa
1 tsp cinnamon
½ tsp ginger
¼ tsp ground cloves
½ tsp salt
Gush it all together with your hands again. Then wash off your hands and open:
1 package real dark chocolate chips
Try a chip just to make sure they’re OK. Then a little handful (because you can’t really tell from just one chip) but only a little handful, because otherwise there won’t be enough for the cookies. Let Aunt Elaine sample some chips, too. Then mix in the bag.
Sample some of the dough, even though Aunt Elaine says you might get sick from the raw eggs.
Roll little balls of dough in your hand and put them onto cookie sheets, leaving each cookie plenty of space. Then pat them down a little just to be sure. Bake them in the oven until Mom or Aunt Elaine thinks it’s time for them to come out. Ask how come you aren’t allowed to take the pans out of the oven.
Eat cookies until Mom or Aunt Elaine tells you to stop, you’ll spoil your dinner. Share the cookies with others.
***
THAT’S WHERE THE story ended, when I wrote it: with Lecie home with her mother and stepmother, baking cookies. When I reread this story, though, I was struck by how dated it felt.
What it needed, I realized, was one more chapter.
***
VII. Justice Like Water, May 2009
IF YOU SEARCH, Google will find you instructions from Martha Stewart and Southern Living (to name just two) and the pictures make it look easy—complicated, of course, but not hard per se. You will find when you actually pick up a pastry bag filled with buttercream icing that decorating a cake is a lot harder than Martha makes it look.
Call your mothers and tell them that if they really want to let you do this, they should know that it will taste good but it might not be pretty. It’s okay, they will reassure you; what they want is something that was made with love. “The magic is in the baking,” Shira will say. “Throw a few flowers on top,” Elaine will say; “flowers make everything pretty. If we wanted tiers and fondant we’d have hired someone who does this for a living.”
Black Magic cake can be used to make a layer cake, but probably not the kind with tiers. You’ll want a triple batch of cake, because everyone is coming: Shira and Elaine’s friends, your friends from high school and college, Carmen who once helped kidnap you. Use parchment paper so the cakes come out easily without sticking, and don’t overfill the oven or the cakes won’t bake properly.
Frosted with delicious buttercream and decorated with flowers, the cakes don’t look like something Martha would have made, but they’re pretty enough. Carmen will bring her van to help you transport the cakes to the reception site, and then you’ll have time to get into your dress, which you have been calling your daughter-of-the-brides dress.
Since Shira is Wiccan and Elaine is agnostic, the wedding is held at a garden, officiated by a Justice of the Peace. “Let justice roll down like waters,” he says. “And righteousness like a mighty stream,” and you’re not sure if he’s quoting the Bible or Martin Luther King, Jr. Justice for your family hasn’t rolled down like water; it’s been something you’ve fought for, sacrificed for, argued for, raised funds for. Worked for. But there are no battles to fight today. The sun is shining and the flowers are beautiful, and people cry, and sing, and then they eat, and dance, and drink champagne.
You never would have imagined, when you were little, that someday you would be attending your mothers’ wedding. Not a commitment ceremony. Not a civil union ceremony. A wedding with an actual legal marriage, recognized by the State of Iowa.
“To life,” you say, toasting your mothers with the traditional Jewish toast. “To love,” you add. “To family.”
Note to readers: that's it for stories. This last page is mostly just boring copyright stuff.
Gift of the Winter King and Other Stories is copyright 2011 Naomi Kritzer
All stories are copyright 1999-2011 Naomi Kritzer
If you want to do something with one of these stories, like translate it, reprint it on a website, make a play
out of it, whatever: please ask. I will probably let you do so for free. It is very easy to find me on the Internet, just search for my name.
“Brother Mac, You are Healed!” was first published on Planet Relish in 1999.
“St. Ailbe’s Hall” was first published on Strange Horizons in 2004.
“Gift of the Winter King” was first published in Realms of Fantasy in 2000.
“Kin” was first published in Sword and Sorceress XXI.
“The Price” was first published in Tales of the Unanticipated in 2000.
“In the Witch’s Garden” was first published in Realms of Fantasy in 2002.
Special thanks go to Lyda Morehouse, Eleanor Arnason, Doug Hulick, Bill Henry, Sean Murphy, Harry LeBlanc, and Haddayr Copley-Woods.
Also to Ed, Molly, and Kiera Burke
And thank you so much as well, for buying my book, and reading it.
Gift of the Winter King and Other Stories Page 21
