Winterdream

by Chantal Gadoury

  I didn’t wait. I pulled open my door, only to find the hallway empty. Releasing a breath of relief, I darted back down the steps, only to find Papa and Lord Yakov were gone. Lord Yakov had probably departed. I imagined Papa was in his study, going over all that he would say to me. I grabbed my coat hanging by the door and slipped out of the house, undetected. As I ventured toward our wrought iron gate, I saw Anton standing; his hands deep inside the warmth of his pockets.

  “Anton,” I breathed as I approached. He turned slowly, the corners of his lips curling into a smile as he saw me.

  “Clara.”

  He held out his hand to me and tilted his chin toward the street.

  “Join me? At least before I’m forced to leave.”

  I nodded, taking his warm hand. It was strange to feel his skin, and not the wooden-like fingers I had come to know so well. I darted my eyes back to the house, anxiously anticipating my papa to call me back in. But no one came.

  Turning my attention back to Anton, I asked the first question that came to mind.

  “A-Are you going back to Winter Dream?” I needed to know. Would he and my uncle return to the village? Or would they return back to the gold and marble palace? Would they see Marzipan and Rumptof again? What of Mother Ginger and her daughter, Lotte?

  “Eventually,” he said with a nod as we walked alongside the iron gate. “With Lady Irina…” But his voice slowly eased into silence as his blue gaze lifted to mine.

  “I must thank you for all that you did that night, Clara.”

  His thanks felt odd, as we both had done so much to save each other. But I. . . I had plunged the king’s dagger into his chest. The ache of regret filled me as I shook my head, biting my bottom lip.

  “But I…” I began. “I stabbed you.”

  Anton smiled warmly and sighed.

  “You saved me, Clara, and you saved Winter Dream,” he said. “You faced the Mouse King all on your own.”

  “And what happened to you? You transformed—”

  “I transformed into the wooden being I had been cursed to be. But as soon as you claimed your love for me aloud. . . as soon as you returned back to this world…” Anton exhaled. “The spell was broken. I was released from the wooden shell of the nutcracker, and”—he patted his chest and torso—“now I am what I was once.”

  Anton was human, like me.

  “I’m so sorry,” I whispered.

  “There’s no need for your apologies, Clara,” Anton reasoned.

  “Then will you stay? Will you stay here in Russia?” I asked, eager to know where he was going. Eager to know where I might follow.

  As we reached the end of the gate, Anton turned away from the path and toward my mama’s summer garden, which lay covered under thick layer snow.

  I gazed at him curiously with a smile as our shoes crunched into the ice.

  “Where are we going? The path is over there.” I gestured to an open space leading to a street with another grand home on the corner.

  “I prefer paths undiscovered,” he said with a smirk. “Would you prefer I carry you?”

  I recalled our shared time spent in the Sugarland Forest, with him carrying me on his back. I flushed and shook my head quickly.

  “If someone saw us,” I explained quickly. Anton chuckled.

  “Of course, formalities.”

  He extended his hand out for mine and waited until I laced my fingers with his. It was such a small act of intimacy, but I felt at ease the moment our hands touched. We walked together in silence, trampling through the snow just as we had done so before. But everything around us was less magical. This was my world now.

  “So you and Uncle Drosselmeyer will return to his shop?”

  Anton smiled again.

  “Will you miss me if I do?” he asked, raising a brow.

  “I will,” I said shyly. “And you? Will you miss me?”

  I could not imagine that this was how it would all end. Our time together could not have been without purpose.

  “Do you remember,” Anton said as he pressed his lips to my knuckles, “when I once asked if you would consider staying in Winter Dream with me?”

  How could I forget? It had not been so long ago. We were sitting beside the frozen lake—a secret and intimate moment—and he had amked if I would stay.

  With a nod, I murmured, “Yes, I remember.”

  “If I were to ask again, Clara. . . if I were to offer you myself and all of Winter Dream, would you come with me again? Would you stay this time?”

  “Return with you?” I asked, surprised.

  He nodded, squeezing my hand gently in his. I peered around me, taking in the sight of the house and grounds. I knew if I agreed, I would never return. I had spent my whole life within the walls of our house—the world of Russia. And yet, there had never been a place more like home to me than Winter Dream. The mere thought of seeing Marzipan, Rumtopf, and Hyacinth sent a surge of happiness through me. And I would be with my Nutcracker—forever.

  “Yes,” I repeated as the smile grew on my face. “Yes. I will go with you.”

  Anton leaned forward and pressed a tender kiss against my lips. His hand moved to the small of my back and held me tightly against him. As he pulled away, his gaze moved to a gathering of trees just along the end of my mama’s garden and tilted his head.

  “Come with me.”

  “But what about—” I gestured back to the house. Weren’t we going to go back to Winter Dream? Didn’t we need my uncle’s magic to return? Anton’s hand didn’t release mine as he pointed to the grove of pine trees silently. I willed my feet to follow.

  He paused only as we came to the trees and he silently guided me through them. The scent of pine filled my senses, and I quickly began to bat away the branches.

  “Anton!” I called out, unsure of where he was taking me. Within a moment, we emerged into a familiar-looking forest, covered in a soft layer of snow, and a wide open, blue sky. Icicles rained down from the branches, glittering like jewels. Sugarland. This was the Sugarland Forest.

  “How?” My eyes grew wide with surprise. Anton pulled me into his arms again and watched as I took everything in all around me. We had returned, and I knew it had to be magic.

  As he leaned forward to kiss me again, I heard him whisper, “Welcome home, Clara.”

  Finale

  Tonight, Winter Dream came to life.

  It was not just a celebration for the anniversary of Prince Anton’s return, the defeat of the Mouse King, and Irina’s death—but the joy of a marriage. Some time after I had come back to the palace and settled into my new role as a princess to Winter Dream, my dear friend, Marzipan, had been proposed to by the head cook, Rumtopf. Despite Hyacinth’s belief, Marzipan had been utterly overjoyed and accepted right away.

  And tonight, on the eve of its anniversary, Marzipan and Rumtopf had been joined in marriage. We had given them the palace for their nuptials, and all of Winter Dream had been invited. It was, perhaps, the greatest night. I had never felt so at ease before; so welcomed and at home.

  “Princess Clara,” Anton’s voice stirred me. I still was not used to my title. I had been Lady Clara for so long. But each time Anton murmured it in my ear, butterflies filled my stomach and I couldn’t stop myself blushing. Blushing like the young girl I had once been, not so long ago at my family’s Christmas party.

  Anton came into view as I turned my attention away from Marzipan and Rumtopf; they had just started their first dance. The happiness on Marzipan’s face filled me with joy. The smile she wore on her face as Rumtopf held her close spoke volumes to her happiness. Despite all she had endured in the loss of her brother, she had managed to find peace, just as I had hoped.

  “Prince Anton,” I teased as I curtsied. Each time I saw Anton, my heart began to beat wildly in my chest. He was so handsome. So kind. Mine.

  For the wedding, Anton was dressed in one of his finest jackets—a crisp blue with gold embellishments and a deep red sash. He played his royal p
art well.

  “You are a vision, my dear,” he said as he took my gloved hand and pressed a kiss against my fingers. And my ring. A beautiful diamond with a snowflake frozen inside. It was the ring he had given during his proposal to me, after the quietness of our first night together back in Winter Dream.

  “I should thank the lady of the Isle of Icicles for the gown,” I said, lifting the light blue skirt. It sparkled in the light, adorned with a thousand little snowflakes and jewels. It was more than I could have asked for, but I wore it proudly. It was the perfect dress to wear with my tiara; the same one I had worn many nights ago at another gala.

  “And I should thank you for all of this.”

  He smiled, his eyes twinkling as bright as ever. “You can thank me with a dance.”

  I took his hand gingerly, and he led us out onto the floor. Other courtiers had joined themselves, eager to follow the bride and groom. Anton held me close, twirling us around the room to the melody. My mind drifted to the night before, when Uncle Drosselmeyer had come to the palace with news of my family. It still brought me the same joy to see his face. After unwrapping the wedding gift he brought to Anton and I, he told me of my mama and papa, and the magic spell he had placed on them. Uncle Drosselmeyer had weaved his magic, causing my parents to believe I was living in Moscow happily with my husband.

  “We can return anytime you wish,” Anton had promised me as he had pressed a kiss against my temple. Just before Uncle Drosselmeyer left, he slipped a round music box into my hand with a smile. The lid was gilded in gold, while the rest of the music box was painted in red. Opening it, I found a small painting on the bottom of the lid of a young woman, holding a nutcracker in her hand. Beside her, an older man with long, white hair and an eye patch stood. He was dressed in a familiar-looking purple suit. And behind the two of them was a large, decorated Christmas tree. Tears sprung to life as I placed a kiss against Uncle Drosselmeyer’s cheek.

  The memory brought me to press my face into the crook of Anton's neck, deliriously happy. I couldn't help but smile, my lips kissing his warm skin. This wasn’t a dream. He was real, and I was really here.

  He tucked his head down, brushing his lips against the top of my head and whispered, “What are you smiling about?”

  “I was thinking that you smell the same, like snow and spruce.”

  “Really? I haven't changed?”

  “No,” I laughed softly. “You're the same as I remember you. The way I want to always remember you.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because it reminds me of a time when I was sitting with a handsome young man in a quiet hallway.” I felt his arms move around my waist, and we stopped our dance.

  I looked up into his eyes, the celebration forgotten for only a moment. An intimate understanding between the two of us; the knowledge that our adventure had ended where it started. Together.

  “I love you, Clara,” he said, his voice warm as his smile reached his blue eyes. I couldn’t stop myself from smiling in return.

  “And I love you.”

  Acknowledgments

  “Magic is believing in yourself, if you can do that, you can make anything happen”

  - Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

  * * *

  I can’t believe that I’m once again here – writing my acknowledgements for my sixth book. If I had the ability to go back in time, to my younger self and tell her that I will have written six books by the time I was thirty – I would. As a child and young adult, the library was a home for my imagination. When I had study halls in high school, I would flock to the library to discover a new read; a new world to get lost in. I would tuck myself in-between the row of books and just be. Books served as a means of escape. Escape from all the struggles I faced in high school: mean girls, too much homework and a heart-wrenching crush. And I can remember each time I pulled a book from a shelf, I wondered what it would be like to have my own name on a cover. What would that feeling be like? Could I really achieve such a dream? To know I have done so, with a lot of determination and hard work – years later, is a dream come true. My last dream is for a reader to find my book, to get lost in it’s pages and come away loving the characters, loving the world, and feeling as though they’ve made a new friend. I hope my words can bring comfort and hope – just as so many books did for me.

  * * *

  I know that “WinterDream” would not be here without many, many helping hands. My publisher – the Parliament House Press – took this book without knowing just how much help it needed. I must thank my editor Samantha Shrider for taking this project and working magic back into it’s pages. To Shayne Leighton, who too – helped in the creation of what is now the version that you read. And also, to Amanda Wright, who gave so much support to this book. Thank you for being another set of eyes, ears, and thoughts. I also want to thank Kathryn Thompson, who drew the beautiful artwork to this book.

  * * *

  I have some really fond memories of my mom taking me to see the Nutcracker ballet as a child. We would go to the local community arts center, and nestle down into our seats, and watch the magic take place on stage. I was so transfixed with the show, that I too wanted to take ballet lessons. I remember dancing in our house to the Nutcracker songs, carrying one of my mom’s nutcrackers from Germany. I had always wanted to be Clara – always wished for an experience of being whisked away by some handsome Prince on a magical Christmas evening.

  When it came time to write another retelling, it only seemed right to attempt my hand at a story that I personally treasured so dearly. And I’m so grateful that I was given the opportunity to share this story with all of you through the Parliament House Press.

  * * *

  Thank you to my mom. Because without her – I wouldn’t have discovered my love for books, or my love for writing (or the Nutcracker.) My mom, while she knew it or not, shaped my love for Disney, or fairytales, for reading and writing and discovering new worlds. Thank you for this gift, Mom. This book is for you. I’d like to thank Carrine, my sister, for always being constant and supportive. Taran – just for being so darn cute. And to my Dad – because I still believe, even six books later, without having my cheerleader up in heaven, none of this would be happening. You are in my thoughts all day, every day.

  * * *

  If life is a stage, then I know there’s an audience – and for those who are in my front row seat, you know who you are, and know that I’m thankful and grateful to you all.

  * * *

  I hope this book brings fun, love, and laughter to you, dearest readers. May it bring joy to your hearts this holiday, and for all the years to come.

  * * *

  Until next time,

  Chantal Gadoury

  About the Author

  Amazon Best Selling Author, Chantal Gadoury is a 2011 graduate from Susquehanna University with a Bachelor’s Degree in Creative Writing. Since graduation, she has published The Songs in Our Hearts, and The Songs We Remember, with 48fourteen Publishing, and Allerleirauh, Between the Sea and Stars, and Blinding Night, with Parliament House Press, with future titles to follow. Chantal first started writing stories at the age of seven and continues with that love of writing today. For Chantal, writing novels has become a lifelong dream come true! When she’s not typing away at her next project, she enjoys painting, drinking lots of DD Iced Coffee, and watching Disney classics. Chantal lives in Muncy, Pennsylvania with her Mom, Sister and furry-‘brother’ (aka, puppy) Taran.

  For more information:

  www.chantalgadoury.com

  Also by Chantal Gadoury

  Allerleirauh

  Between the Sea and Stars

  Blinding Night

  The Parliament House

  THE PARLIAMENT HOUSE

  WWW.PARLIAMENTHOUSEPRESS.COM

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