Winterdream

by Chantal Gadoury

  “Would you like to wash up? I think there’s a washroom down the hall.”

  A bath? The very idea of sinking into a tub full of warm, steaming water made my skin prickle. A good cleaning would make me feel better. It always did. And I had new clothes! I was eager to wear the dress Mother Ginger had brought me last night.

  “That would be heavenly,” I sighed.

  “It’s just that way, then; straight across and to your left,” he offered, gesturing toward the door. “I saw it as we came this way last night.”

  “Thank you.” I gathered the new gown and stumbled toward the door.

  “Then I shall see you downstairs, Lady Clara.”

  Closing the door behind me, I let out a sigh and began down the hallway to find the hidden washroom. After opening a few doors to rooms filled with old tapestries and paintings, I was relieved to finally stumble upon the right room. The door had been parted, and I could see candles had already been lit. They flickered, burning brightly, and I could see them reflecting against the golden frame of a large, standing mirror.

  The sight of my own reflection was shocking.

  On my cheek, the red wound was still bright. I pressed a finger to the cut and winced. It was slightly sore, having struck a tender part of my cheek. Aside from a minor casualty, my hair was disheveled from sleep, and my clothes were wrinkly. Though I had slept soundly and deeply, I could see that the skin beneath my eyes had swollen a bit. My body did not look well-rested—and I did not feel it, either.

  “The bath will wake me up,” I assured the messy girl in the mirror confidently.

  I gazed around the small room, spotting a large white tub with silver claws underneath. A silk curtain had been wrapped around the sides, and a large brass circle with tiny holes loomed over it. Curiously, I stepped toward the bathtub and slid a finger over the knobs.

  As I turned one, a spray of water fell from the large brass circle. It reminded me of rain. And as I slid my hand under the water, I realized it was warm. I shivered.

  I peeled away my dressing gown and chemise and climbed into the tub as quickly as I could undress. As I stood under the shower of water, I could not help but enjoy the steady trickle of warmth as it cascaded over my skin. This was certainly a different way of washing, but it was much better than a large copper basin filled with lukewarm water brought by the servants.

  I found a bar of rose soap sitting on the corner of the tub and scrubbed my skin and scalp until I no longer felt the layer of grime on my body. Turning the knobs, I watched as the water stopped, leaving me in the cool air. Grabbing one of the fresh linen cloths folded by the bath, I began to dry myself.

  I rolled the length of my hair into a tight bun and folded it in on itself, creating a temporary hold until I was dressed. The dress was easy to pull over myself; it felt like silk as it pooled around me. I tied the back of the gown the best I could on my own.

  Just as I was brushing the loose strands of my hair away from my face with my fingers, there was a knock at the door. Before I could answer, Lotte entered the washroom with a curious smile and an armful of linen.

  “I couldn’t remember if there were enough,” she said, gesturing toward the pile beside the bath.

  “Oh,” I said softly, nodding. “I had enough, thank you.”

  “Of course,” she replied as she lifted her hands slowly toward my dress. “It looks as though you need help with the ties. May I help you?”

  With a nod, I moved and pulled my hair over my shoulder. She left the extra linens by the bath and turned to me. Her nimble fingers moved quickly, tightening and tying the strings of the dress until everything felt much more secure than before.

  “Would you like me to tie up your hair, too?” she asked, pulling the makeshift bun free.

  “You wouldn’t happen to have a pin or two, would you?” I asked, peering over my shoulder at her. She gave me a small, curt smile and nodded.

  “Yes,” she said as she tugged a few pins from her apron pocket. “I thought you might have a need.”

  She lifted her forefinger and twirled it round in the air, gesturing for me to turn around once again. I was happy to oblige if it meant I did not have to put my own hair up. I was terrible at it, even though Mama had showed me countless times. Still, I was hopeless. Lotte pulled my hair up, away from my neck and twisted it round and round, creating a bun on the top of my head. Then I felt her jam the pins into my scalp. Jumping forward, I lifted my hand to my hair and glanced at her with wide, watery eyes.

  Her lips curled into an amused smile, “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

  Did she find this sort of thing funny? Rubbing the sore spot on my head, I glared at her.

  “You most certainly did!”

  “It was simply an accident,” she said as she pushed her hand to her side.

  I had a hard time believing it was only an accident. But what had I done to deserve her aggression?

  “Don’t you want the pins?” Lotte continued as she lifted the objects to me.

  I glanced briefly to the door. How could I walk past her without her trying to jab another pin into my head? I shook my head as I continued to rub the sore spot.

  “I think I’ve changed my mind,” I replied, trying to keep my voice polite.

  “You know,” Lotte murmured as she strolled back to the side of the bath and picked up the linen I had used, “His highness is loved by all. Some of us have aspired to win his eye. But none of us ever dreamed that he’d . . . prefer” —she gestured to me with one hand—“an outsider.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I managed to say as I took a step toward the door. Lotte giggled, almost child-like. It sent a shiver down my spine.

  “Evil may be strong, but love—love breaks any curse, any spell—any sort of magic. It seemed foolish, even unfair, that he would have to obtain the love of a stranger when, well…” She grinned. “There are plenty of us here in Winter Dream who prefer him as he is.”

  “A stranger? What does that even mean?” I echoed, trying to understand her better. What other missing pieces of information hadn’t he shared? Or rather—couldn’t share?

  “You are as ignorant as you appear, aren’t you?” she said, clicking her tongue. “Such a shame. It’s silly of him to think you’d be the one to help him defeat the Mouse King. With you, he’s only going to fail.”

  “I won’t let him fail,” I argued. “I will help him.”

  “You can’t even dress yourself properly,” she scoffed.

  I could feel my cheeks begin to burn with a sort of rage I had never felt before. How dare she speak to me in such a way! I glared at her and began to march to the door, pins or no pins.

  “Then you are no better,” I retorted. “...for you can’t even place mere hair pins correctly.”

  I slipped past the door, leaving it ajar behind me and descended until I reached the lower level of the inn. My body trembled with rage and shock and I tried to remember my way back to the kitchens. Why had Lotte behaved the way she had? I didn’t understand her words or her tone. I had done nothing to earn her ire since we arrived.

  But then, perhaps it was the way in which we arrived. Me at Nutcracker’s side.

  And what was all this talk of being a stranger? She had implied that he needed me. Or rather, he needed to obtain the love of a stranger. If that were true, then why hadn’t Nutcracker told me so in the first place? He had to be loved by someone not of his own world—not from Winter Dream.

  The scent of bread wafted through the rooms, guiding me through the hallway to the kitchen. I was pleasantly surprised to find the floors warm against my bare feet as I wandered through the halls. The gentle hum of the Nutcracker’s voice and the sweet melody of Mother Ginger’s replies filled the air as I drew closer and closer. Did she know how truly ill-natured her daughter was? Did he? I marched through the kitchen door, and Nutcracker’s blue eyes met mine with a look of concern. He must have noticed the strain in my face.

  But Mother Gi
nger greeted me with a warm, “Good morning, Clara!”

  She pulled a stool away from the counter for me to sit before he could open his mouth to question my mood.

  “Come, join us,” she continued. “I was just baking some cinnamon buns.”

  My mouth watered at the mention of the sweet concoction. Mother Ginger squeezed my shoulder as I crossed the room and took the offered seat.

  “Merry Christmas,” I murmured as I sat down. Mother Ginger’s face lifted into a large smile and began to giggle as the Nutcracker turned to face me. I raised my brow curiously. What was she laughing at?

  “Remember what I told you, Clara? About Winter Dream?” Nutcracker asked sincerely.

  Days can pass here, and mere minutes can go by in your own.

  “Oh, of course,” I laughed, feeling a little foolish having forgotten already. “So it’s not Christmas day, then?”

  “Not exactly,” Mother Ginger wiped her hands on her apron.

  “Winter Dream works differently than your world,” the Nutcracker interjected with a thoughtful nod. “Remember?”

  “I do, but. . .” I glanced around the room, taking in the sight of all the clocks around us. “If it’s not Christmas day, what. . . day is it?”

  “It’s not truly any sort of day, Clara,” the Nutcracker continued. “We exist in the time between hours, between days and minutes. We don’t exactly follow the same sort of time as you do.”

  “What about the clocks, then?” I asked, gesturing to the vast collection that lingered on the walls of the inn.

  “My husband once knew a talented man who made what you see on the wall. Cuckoo clocks, dolls, toys, nutcrackers,” Mother Ginger explained. “It’s more like a treasured collection.”

  A treasured collection? The man she described—a man who made clocks and toys—sounded an awful lot like Uncle Drosselmeyer.

  “What was the man’s name?”

  “Oh, something to do with Drossel? Droodle? Dradle?”

  “Drosselmeyer?” I asked, doing what I could to keep the hope from my voice.

  She turned her chin toward me with a large smile.

  “Yes! That’s what it was. Drosselmeyer.”

  Uncle Drosselmeyer had been here. He knew these people. He knew Mother Ginger. That must have meant he knew about the spell. He had to know about everything!

  Had Uncle Drosselmeyer knowingly given me the Nutcracker with the hopes that I would break the spell?

  He wanted me to save the Nutcracker and to save all of Winter Dream! But how could I? How could I go about saving an entire world when I couldn’t save myself from the expectations of my own world? I wasn’t brave. Not at all. I was Clara, just Clara.

  I pressed my forefinger against my temple as I tried to work through my thoughts.

  “She looks a little warm.” Mother Ginger sounded a little concerned. “Would you like some tea, Clara, dear?”

  I nodded dismally, doing what I could to focus on something else entirely. A surge of guilt filled me as I watched Mother Ginger prep a cup of tea.

  “Clara?” the Nutcracker asked gently. I shook my head, biting the inside of my cheek.

  “He knew and did nothing to help you except give you to a silly little girl,” I hissed softly.

  I could see my uncle’s face in my mind, appearing in the darkened parlor. I could still hear his voice echoing in my ears as the entire room began to grow around me: “Break the spell, Clara…”

  “He did more than you know, Clara,” the Nutcracker replied as he leaned closer to my ear. As I peeked up at him he gave a nod of his chin. But how did he know my uncle? Mother Ginger soon returned to my side, offering me a steaming cup of warm tea. It smelled wonderful, like vanilla and lavender. I was grateful for the momentary distraction.

  “It’s my special recipe,” she said, smiling. I took the cup carefully and lifted it to my lips. The flavor was rich and smooth.

  “Thank you,” I said, wiping a bit of the thick cream from the corner of my mouth.

  Suddenly, Lotte appeared with the basin and pitcher she had brought to my room. Her cheeks were the same color as her hair as she glared at me and the Nutcracker together.

  “Oh, Lotte, dear,” Mother Ginger beckoned. “The rolls are ready!”

  Lifting her finger, she gestured to the trays of the warm cinnamon buns. Lotte gave a curt, silent nod and strolled by us quietly. I could understand her earlier irritation. Now that I knew Uncle Drosselmeyer had left me to here to help, without a clue or an inkling of an idea, I was irritated, too.

  “Clara and I will be riding onward to the castle,” the Nutcracker said, turning his attention to Mother Ginger again. “Could we borrow a horse and a sleigh from you?”

  She lifted her brow as she began to wring her hands in her apron. There was panic lingering in her eyes as she glanced between the two of us.

  “I think, sire, you should stay here. It’s not safe at the castle. Spies are everywhere, and the Mouse King will know you’ve returned.”

  “He already does,” he explained. “Clara and I have already encountered him.”

  “What?” Her eyes grew wide.

  “We fought him in Clara’s parlor room,” he replied. Mother Ginger’s eyes grew even wider, if it was possible.

  “It was awful.” I frowned.

  Mother Ginger’s face paled, almost as though she were about to faint.

  “Clara was brilliant. She fought just as any brave soldier would,” he explained. “He’s gotten quite large. A little rounder in the middle perhaps, more than I remember.”

  I knew he was teasing, trying to make light of the situation to calm the worry on Mother Ginger’s face. But I knew no matter how he teased, he was fearful and they were, too. No words could eliminate the threat the Mouse King posed.

  “So…” he sighed, shaking his head. “He already knows that I’ve returned. I need to get to the castle. Before it’s too late.”

  “But—” Lotte interrupted. “We only have one sleigh!”

  Mother Ginger frowned. “He’ll have ours, then.”

  “But Mama—”

  “No, I couldn’t,” the Nutcracker insisted. Lotte looked at the Nutcracker and then back to her mother.

  “He’ll have ours,” she pressed.

  I took another sip of tea, watching the three of them.

  “Thank you,” he said with a grateful nod.

  “After you finish,” Mother Ginger continued, “I will gather Clara some shoes, and then you’ll depart for the castle.” Her words felt like more of a command than an offer.

  I tried my best to ignore the heat of Lotte’s glare burning me from across the room.

  Chapter 13

  I was given warm, wool stockings to wear underneath my new pink dress and two pairs of shoes: a fur-lined pair of black boots, and a silky pair of soft, pink shoes. Mother Ginger insisted they were for my time in the castle. She had wrapped me in a thick cloak, an ivory, knitted scarf, and a dark blue pair of mittens that felt a little too large for my hands.

  I suspected they might have been hers at one time. I thanked her one too many times for her kindness, though I was sure she didn’t mind helping at all. In a way, I think it made her very happy to be of service. Especially since we had been her first guests in a long while.

  “You must come back soon,” she had said while waving them off.

  “I will.” Clara had every hope that she would, especially if it meant tea and a cinnamon bun.

  “Then I wish you luck! Safe travels.”

  I only watched her for a moment as we left, but it was enough to make me feel sad that we weren’t staying. As we slipped further away from the warm house, the Nutcracker paused at the sleigh and held my shoulders.

  “Everything alright?” I asked, tilting my head.

  “Clara, listen,” he started, “I know some things don’t make sense yet. I’m sure it’s a little overwhelming, but I promise I’ll protect you.”

  “Goodness, wherever is this comi
ng from?” I teased.

  “Your safety is my priority. I don’t know what to expect when we reach the castle, but…” He sighed, casting his eyes to the side. “I’ll explain what I can to you, just as I promised. Whatever it is you wish to ask me, I’ll do my best to answer.”

  As I studied him, I saw the determination and resolve etched into the features of his face. I knew there was truth in what he said. He would do his best to protect me, and I would try to break the spell—the curse—and free him. I would help him defeat the Mouse King once and for all. He deserved to have his own happy ending, even if I could not be sure of what my own future would hold. After all, Viscount Yakov Petryaev awaited me in my own world, along with Masha and her Lord Andrei.

  His hands smoothed down and away from my arms, resting gently by my waist. It was shocking and quick, because he moved again to help me up into the sleigh. After he let go, I could feel the pressure from his hands lift. The ghost of his solemn touch would haunt me.

  “Thank you,” I muttered shyly.

  I noticed this sleigh was very different than the fine one given to us from the Snow King and Queen. It was older, patched up with new pieces, and harder than its predecessor. It was not made for any grand family, but rather for work and hard labor. The wood was old, and the black paint was beginning to chip away. The cushions beneath us were worn. It was certainly sturdier than the one before, and I was fairly confident this one would not disappear without magic to hold it together.

  I was pleased to find our snow-white horse from the day before was hitched to the sleigh.

  As the Nutcracker clambered in beside me, we both turned at the sound of our names being called from afar. Mother Ginger came rushing down from the house to our side. She wheezed heavily, trying to catch her breath as she presented a basket to Nutcracker. I could already smell the freshly-baked goods she had packed inside. On top of the basket were two folded fur blankets.

  “This is too much. Please, you’ve done enough,” Nutcracker pleaded.