Winterdream

by Chantal Gadoury

  “Perhaps I’ll ask Boris Pavlychev for a glass of sbiten,” I mumbled. “I’m parched.”

  As I turned on my heel, I heard Masha choke on a sip of her wine, and I felt a moment of satisfaction at shocking her. In truth, I had hoped Viscount Yakov Petryaev would choke on his wine, but it seemed he was not bothered by my announcement.

  As I rounded the corner, entering the dancing room, I found Lord Boris dancing with a younger guest; both of them were laughing and seemingly enjoying each other’s company. She was short, with ringlets of red curls piled upon her head. Her dress was flowy and green, reminding me of an open field in the summer. I felt a slight annoyance.

  Boris Pavlychev was happy. And I was still without a drink.

  The last of the melody ended, causing the dancers to bow and disperse. Just as I turned again, I found Anton and Uncle Drosselmeyer at the staircase, bidding goodnight to my mama and papa. My papa’s valet, Albert, had most of their bags in his hands.

  “If you need anything, do not hesitate to ask,” Papa said, shaking my uncle’s hand. Anton peered at me; a small, gentle smile grew on his lips as he nodded.

  “Clara, Fritz, come say goodnight to your Uncle Drosselmeyer,” Papa beckoned.

  Naturally, Fritz was the first to arrive, leaving his squire of friends behind him as they threw paper balls at each other. I waited patiently behind my father, keeping my eyes fixated on Anton. His eyes were so familiar, so blue. There was something about the way he smiled; the way he had held my hand as we danced. I felt as though I had known him my whole life.

  “Clara,” Uncle Drosselmeyer murmured, pulling me from my deep thoughts.

  His arms were outstretched, waiting for me to take his hands. I moved to him, wrapping my arms around him tightly. Each time I parted from my uncle, I felt as though a piece of me was leaving with him—the piece of me which wanted to be rid of expectations and frivolous marriages.

  I wanted nothing more than to be just like him—inventive, magical, and free.

  “Thank you for my Nutcracker,” I whispered in his ear and pressed a kiss to his cheek. As I pulled away, Uncle Drosselmeyer smiled.

  “Christmas is a time for magic and miracles, moya devushka… you are no exception.” He lifted his hand, covering his mouth with a yawn. “It’s been a long night. I’ll see you all in the morning. Merry Christmas!”

  Grabbing an additional bag from Sasha, our maid, Uncle Drosselmeyer turned toward the staircase and began to climb to the next floor. I watched until he disappeared around the corner.

  “Rest well,” Papa called after him.

  My parents turned their attention back to their guests, who were also beginning to retire. I noticed Anton take a step toward the staircase, following after my uncle.

  “Goodnight!” I called out to him.

  Anton peered over his shoulder and looked at me with a smile. Turning on his heel, he descended back down the stair and paused before me. My breath caught in my throat, wondering what he was doing. Curiously, I watched as he carefully lifted my hand with his. His lips brushed over my knuckles ever so gently. Slowly, as he lifted his chin, his vibrant blue gaze met mine.

  “Goodnight, Clara,” he murmured warmly.

  My entire body hummed to life. My cheeks warmed, as I was sure everyone was watching.

  The corner of his lips turned into a warm smile as he slid his hand away. I fought the urge to give him my hand again. Only a wanton woman would behave in such a way. He only dared to glance at me one more time before he turned on his heel and swiftly began climb up the staircase, disappearing from view, just like Uncle Drosselmeyer had. Once again, I was left to feel empty.

  I glanced over my shoulder, eyeing my mother’s cabinet. But my Nutcracker . . . at least he had returned to me. At least, I wouldn’t be as alone as I had been. As I turned my attention back to Masha and Andrei, he began to escort her to the door.

  “Leaving already?” I asked, doing my best to conceal my disappointment.

  Masha tucked a small curl behind her ear and smiled gently.

  “As it would seem. It is midnight, after all. Lord Andrei just offered me the use of his coach! Can you imagine, Clara? A beautiful, furnished coach!”

  “But what about your mama and—”

  “Don’t be silly,” she cooed. “I am, after all, his fiancée. Things change once you’re engaged, Clara. I’m not required to be chaperoned all the time.”

  We both knew that was a lie.

  But things were different for the Viscount; no one would ever dare say anything against him or his bride-to-be. Lord Andrei returned to her side with her coat draped over his arm. The soft, pink cloak still looked as radiant as the first day he had gifted her with the beautiful fabric. I had envied her for that, too.

  He helped her to slip into the coat, and only after her arms were within the warmth of the sleeves, did he reach out for his own fur-lined coat.

  “Dobroy nochi.” Lord Andrei said his farewells as he tipped his silk top hat to my father, and then offered his arm to Masha. With a smile, she took it and winked at me.

  “Do svidaniya, Clara!”

  I watched through the window as they scurried out to his fine coach. The Viscount offered his hand and helped her inside. Masha appeared to be so happy. Her eyes were locked on Lord Andrei as he followed and closed the coach door behind him. It was only as I turned around again that I saw Lord Yakov standing by the door. He too was gathering his coat and hat from Sasha and the other servants. Papa’s features seemed to be cross as he began to urgently speak with him. From the knot in my stomach, I knew it was about me. I was sure I hadn’t made quite the right impression for which I was sure Papa had hoped.

  “You are always welcome to our home, Lord Yakov,” I heard Papa say as I carefully began to step away from the window.

  “It would please me to call upon Lady Clara,” he murmured as he slid his coat over his shoulders. “I am also willing to overlook many—many faults.”

  By the redness of my papa’s face, I could tell Lord Yakov’s words had offended even him.

  “We’d be honored to have you at our table for a Christmas feast tomorrow,” Papa continued; his tone was cordial, but lacked warmth. “We can discuss such matters then. For now, I wish you safe travels back to your home.”

  As he turned, I found the two of them staring at me. Lord Yakov clicked his heels together as he bowed before me and took my hand. His lips were cold and hard on my skin. I grimaced as I gingerly tugged my hand away, slipping it behind my skirts. I tried my best to discreetly wipe away the forced kiss. It was all I could do to refrain from displaying the shiver that slid down my spine. Yakov disappeared into the snowy night as he slipped his hat upon his head. Several other guests gathered their coats and trailed from my Papa and Mama to the door; there were so many faces and well-wishes I barely heard. I wanted nothing more than to slip out of my gown and into my night clothes. I wanted to slide between my bed sheets and hide away in my dreams.

  “Christmas is a time for magic and miracles… you are no exception.”

  Uncle Drosselmeyer’s words echoed in my ears. Perhaps, if I wished hard enough, prayed hard enough, Viscount Yakov Petryaev would only find himself disinterested in me over our Christmas feast. There would be no possible talk of an arrangement between him and I. Perhaps there was some hope that tomorrow’s unhappiness could be avoided altogether. A hand fluttered to my forehead, causing my deep thoughts to break and invite reality back in.

  “Clara, moya lyubov… are you feeling alright?” My mama’s features wrinkled with concern as her eyes scanned over me.

  Her green eyes looked almost brown in the dim candlelight.

  “I’m just tired,” I managed, pressing a finger against my temple.

  “Go on to bed,” she murmured, her hand drifting over my brow and smoothing back my hair. “It is rather late.”

  I did my best to force a smile. How would I ever smile again if I were forced to marry Yakov?

  I ease
d away from the front foyer and mindlessly made my way up the main staircase to my room. I paused only a moment in front of the guest bedroom, my palm pressed to the closed door. It was there, just beyond a layer of wood and walls; my heart was safely guarded by an old man and his mysterious apprentice.

  Chapter 6

  “Will you be needing anything else, Miss Clara?” Yana asked.

  “No, thank you,” I yawned sleepily. “Please, tend to Fritz and find your bed soon after. I’m sure you’re exhausted.”

  Yana bowed her head and scurried out of my room. She was a little younger than I was, and fairly new to our household. This was her first Christmas with us for the famous Stahlbaum party, so I was sure she would need a good night's rest after the celebration.

  I only hoped that Fritz took it easy on her.

  The rooms below were finally beginning to quiet. The last of the carriages rolled away through our main entrance, the sounds of their large wheels crunching against the building snow outside. Moving to my window, I slid my warm hand against the frosted glass. Tomorrow would bring anything but happy Christmas tidings to our household. I could almost imagine the tense breakfast table, with Lord Yakov sitting proudly at the far end. What did he hope to achieve? How could he possibly have any sort of interest in me, when I hadn’t shown a speck in return?

  He had not said a kind word about me in passing, especially as he was leaving.

  If only Uncle Drosselmeyer had been waiting and listening. What would he have said? What would Anton have thought of that?

  I could tell him on our walk tomorrow. He would be amused, I thought.

  I turned and glanced at my kempt bed. The white lace blanket was folded back, nearly perfectly. The white sheets were clean and inviting; Yana had even placed a bed warmer underneath my covers for the brisk chill in the evening air. Despite the comforts provided, I couldn’t shake away the thoughts of Lord Yakov and what the morning could possibly bring. I felt my cheeks burn at the thought of Anton witnessing such a fiasco.

  Anton. I simply could not shake him from my mind.

  The memory of our shared moment in the servant’s hall sent another sliver of pleasure down the length of my back. He had been so kind, so understanding and gentle. And the Nutcracker . . . my protector.

  I peered around the room, realizing I had left the Nutcracker downstairs in my mother’s cabinet. Despite my silent vow to return for him, I had forgotten. It was probably best to bring him to my room before Fritz got his hands on him and made him the next leader of his infantry. No doubt he would be beyond ruin then, for Fritz was twice as reckless as I was with his belongings.

  “Nutcracker,” I whispered softly as I donned a warm dress-robe over my chemise and fur slippers.

  As I walked to my bedroom door, the wooden floors creaked beneath my feet. I tried my best to walk slowly and carefully, so as not to wake the rest of the household. Papa would surely scold me for disturbing them all to fetch ‘a doll.’

  Taking the nearby candle Yana had left on my washing table, I turned the doorknob and found the house in almost complete darkness. A few oil lamps were left lit, their flames low near the staircase. But as the last of the servants were heading to bed, the light in the house began to slowly disappear.

  Tiptoeing across the long hallway, I managed to arrive at the edge of the first step. My way was guided by the candle, and what little light the moon reflected on the snow outside our windows. Everything was still and quiet at the bottom of the stairs—all except for the gentle clicking of the grandfather clock in the parlor.

  I held my breath as I carefully descended the stairs, focused on remembering which steps creaked the loudest. I could see the faint, white paint of the cabinet in the distance. As I reached the last step, without second thought, I dashed to it, drawing open the doors and reaching for my Nutcracker. He was just as fine as I had left him. His smiling features gleamed in the dim candlelight.

  “I sincerely apologize, Nutcracker; I forgot about you,” I whispered as I held him out for another brief inspection. I felt slightly foolish for talking to a wooden nutcracker, but there was something about him that made me believe that he could hear me. He was so familiar, though I was sure that was simply because of the story I had recited earlier that very evening.

  “Come,” I continued, “I’ll take you to my room. Perhaps together, we can both rest.”

  As I turned on my heel, I saw the Christmas tree in the corner of the parlor room. Even in the darkness, it was beautiful. The candles had been long extinguished by the servants, but the tree still glittered in the dim glow of my candlelight. Our tree was always magical; each year, Mama and Papa always managed to purchase the best tree in our village, large enough to make me feel like a doll as small as my Nutcracker.

  I took a step closer, suddenly struck by the memory of that long-ago dream; the boy who had worn a bright crimson jacket, inviting me to a land I could no longer name. I reached out with my free hand and brushed a fingertip over the needles of the tree. The crisp, piney scent filled my nose as I closed my eyes and smiled. I wanted nothing more than to remember this night… always. Another magical Christmas Eve at my home.

  The sound of the clock ringing from the other room startled me, bringing me back to the darkened room and the dripping candle in my hand. Three soft tolls of the clock.

  Ding.

  Ding.

  Ding.

  As I turned to glance at the grandfather clock, I could have sworn I saw the faint image of Uncle Drosselmeyer beside it. The long, wooden columns of the clock appeared to impersonate his form. On top of the clock, a wooden owl hovered, and with each toll of the clock, the automation flapped its wings, indicating the time. Then, in the blink of an eye, Uncle Drosselmeyer perched himself atop the clock, lingering behind the owl.

  “Uncle Drosselmeyer?” I whispered softly, taking a step away from the Christmas tree.

  I strained to see through the darkness, hoping to make out a clearer picture of him; my mind scrambled to make sense of what I was seeing.

  He lifted a finger to his lips as if to quiet me and eagerly began to flap the edges of his midnight black cape, imitating the movement of the owl’s wings. A slight wind blew the flame of my candle out, leaving me in the darkness with him. The same sort of sparkling dust Uncle Drosselmeyer had used at the party erupted from the pockets of his cape, covering the floor around him.

  “Uncle Drosselmeyer? What are you doing?” I called up to him more urgently. How had he gotten up there? More importantly, why was he there?

  Suddenly, the clock began to toll again. The hands on its face began to twist back—round and round—until the two golden arrows were pointing to midnight. As I looked back to my uncle, I realized he was gone.

  “Clara.” His voice echoed around the room, causing me to turn in circles. My extinguished candle fell to the floor with a clatter by my feet. Uncle Drosselmeyer was standing just behind me. I took a step back as I came face to face with him.

  “The Nutcracker,” he said as his hand reached for the figure in my arms. His fingers were quick, tugging it out of my grasp.

  Before I could protest, Uncle Drosselmeyer pushed against my shoulder. The strange force from his hand sent me reeling back into the sofa beside the decorated tree.

  “Uncle Drosselmeyer!” I cried out, alarmed. What was he doing? A surge of conflicted tears formed in my eyes as I sat up.

  “You must break the spell, Clara,” he said as he lifted his hand to the tree. “You must release the Nutcracker from his spell. Only you have the power of a pure and loving heart. . .”

  I felt the sofa beneath me begin to tremble. Beside me, the tree rumbled, as if brought to life by the bizarre hour. The ground shook—the walls moved too—threatening to drop the many frames to the hardwood floor, and I was helpless to stop it. My heart raced, sure to burst from my chest if the house did right itself.

  I wanted to scream.

  My eyes caught sight again of Uncle Drosselmeyer. He wa
s waving his hands wildly, stirring his fingers in the air, as if instructing an orchestra to reach a crescendo. The strangeness did not end there, for the tree had suddenly grown taller. I jumped up from the sofa and ran toward my uncle. But as I reached for the lapels of his jacket, to insist he explain himself, he dissolved into nothing.

  He was gone.

  “Clara…” My name came from the other side of the room. I turned, finding my uncle was now beside the large fireplace. In his hands was the Nutcracker. He lowered the wooden soldier onto the floor, beside the glowing, dying embers of the hearth.

  “You must break the spell, Clara.”

  Break the spell? Was he speaking of the story he had once told me as a child? The very story Anton and I had spoken of earlier in the hallway? I took a step back, easing away from him. Perhaps if I made it back to the stairwell, I would turn to find it had all been a part of my imagination. If only I could reach the staircase. As I tried to turn my feet back to where I had come from, I realized I was frozen in place.

  I squeezed my eyes shut. Perhaps I was dreaming. Perhaps, if I willed myself to awaken, then it would have all been a terrible dream.

  But this dream appeared to have no end. As I opened my eyes again, the room had actually grown larger all around me. I raced to the sofa again, digging my fingers into the plush fabric. My stomach twisted into what felt like knots as I shrank down; it felt like I was falling down further and further into the dream. Could this truly be happening? I pinched myself—again, and again, but it was useless.

  Wake up, Clara. Wake up.

  “Uncle Drosselmeyer!” I called out loudly, hoping I would awaken the house as I wrapped my arms around my head. I hoped that either Mama or Papa would hear me and come down to the parlor to find me. I wanted nothing more than to awaken from this strange nightmare.

  “Please, Uncle Drosselmeyer! I’m afraid!”

  And then, suddenly, the room came to an abrupt halt. All was quiet. I could hear the soft, steady ticking of the grandfather clock again. I eased my arms away, glancing around the space I recognized. But everything was different. I was different. The sofa loomed far over me, and the tree in the corner of the room; large and foreboding.