The Prince's Pea: an Everland Ever After Tale

by Caroline Lee

  Everland was the most amazing little town, and she didn’t deserve it. She didn’t deserve any of it—the camaraderie, the friendship, the smiles, the love…

  Oh God! The love. She’d lost Micah once again. Only this time it was because of her own stupidity, her own inability to tell him how she felt and why she was here. She should’ve told him when she’d first arrived in Everland, but now? Now that she’d seen how happy he was, how perfect his life was here?

  She couldn’t do it. Couldn’t tear him away from all of this, the way she was being torn away. His father would demand he return to New York to take over the family business, and she couldn’t do that to him.

  This is as it should be.

  Micah in Everland, and her… Where did she belong now?

  “Whoa there, dearie!” A body, soft and sudden, stepped out from between two buildings just in time for Penelope to bounce off it.

  She stumbled back, then stood gasping for breath in the middle of the street, trying to understand what just happened.

  When her mind caught up to her eyes, she gasped. It’s that woman! The one from the store with the wart...Dorcas the not-a-fairy-Godmother! Penelope would’ve snapped at her, but she just didn’t have the energy. Instead, tears gathered in her eyes once more.

  “I burned it down! I burned the orphanage…” Saying it out loud made her feel even worse. How had such an accident happened? One moment her soup was simmering happily, so she’d turned to mix up some biscuits. When she’d turned back, the curtains were on fire and the flames were greedily licking the walls. God forgive me, I burned down an orphanage! Micah’s home! The children’s home! Antonia’s home!

  But Dorcas just smiled and bobbed her head. “Yep, I know. Everything is going exactly as planned!”

  “You…” Penelope swallowed thickly, not sure if it was shock or anger making it hard for her to breathe. “You knew this would happen?”

  Maybe Dorcas saw something in her expression, because she suddenly blinked and began to frantically shake her head back and forth. “Me? No! Nononono! Of course not. Not me. Terrible accident, terrible shame. Guess you’ll be leaving town as Micah suggested now, huh? Oh, dearie, dear, dear.”

  She said all that in what seemed like one long breath, which made her sincerity suspect. Penelope narrowed her eyes at the odd woman. “What do you mean?”

  How’d she know Micah had commanded her to leave, which is what Penelope had been thinking about—dreading!—for so long?

  Dorcas shrugged not-at-all-convincingly. “Well, since you’ve decided not to complete your mission, you’ve got to report in to Mr. Prince. He’s in Denver, you know.”

  And with that, the woman held out Penelope’s valise. Where had she gotten it from? And for that matter, where had she been hiding it?

  Numbly, Penelope reached out and took the bag. This is as it should be. “Yes,” she said, her voice as empty as her heart. “I know.”

  Mr. Prince was in Denver, and she owed him more than she could express, for giving her a job and the means to be independent. She would go to Denver and return that favor the only way she could.

  “And here’s this too!”

  Dorcas held out the custom rifle case, but Penelope was too numb to be surprised, or even care. She took the case in her other hand, the weight of both dragging her shoulders into a slump.

  “Thank you,” she mumbled, though not sure if Dorcas really deserved her appreciation. Not sure of anything anymore.

  “There’s a ticket for today’s train to Denver tucked in with the rifle, dear. I didn’t think you’d make it in time, but luckily—hehehe, as if we have to rely on luck!—the train’s running late. Oh!” Theatrically, Dorcas put her hand to her ear. “Listen. There it is, now.”

  Sure enough, a whistle floated through the summer evening, along with the stench of burning hair and lost dreams. Penelope took a deep breath—she deserved that stench and more—and straightened her shoulders.

  She would get on that train. She would go to Denver. And she would tell Mr. Prince what he needed to know. And then…?

  And then she would try to figure out where she belonged.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Smoke and ashes and Pea.

  He was surrounded by her scent.

  Funny how for twelve days he’d been around her all the time, and never noticed it. It was probably just the fact it had become a part of his life, and her subtle whatever-the-hell-flower-it-was scent was now…normal. But now, trying to get comfortable in the bed she’s so recently vacated at the Inn, it was all around him, and driving him absolutely nuts.

  Sure, he’d requested another room, but by the time they’d arrived, Rip only had three available rooms—this one and two other rooms, which the kids were sharing. Of course, by the time they’d finally left the ruined orphanage, dawn had only an hour or two away, so they probably could’ve just slept in a haystack, with as exhausted as they all were.

  Right after Micah had chased Pea away, Tom had returned—running for all he was worth—at the front of a column of townsfolk. Micah would’ve been ecstatic to see them, except most of his attention was still on the fact he’d just yelled at the woman he’d loved and told her to leave.

  Fortunately, Skipper took charge, and soon had all the men throwing water from the well on the blaze. They’d managed to slow the spread long enough to run in and grab a bunch of Micah’s tools and supplies from the shop—including that last batch of pig leather he’d nearly been lynched for two weeks ago—and had also dragged the personal belongings Jack and Pea had saved further from the flames. Ella Crowne took those items home immediately to wash and dry them, and had assured the twins their dollies would be as good as new by tomorrow.

  Micah had pushed aside all thoughts of Pea and worked as hard as the other men to save what they could, but the fire moved quickly through the old wood. It blew itself out just as the stars were emerging. For a while after that, he simply kneeled on the ground with one of the girls pressed up against his side, Blue’s head on his thigh, and Antonia sleeping against his chest, and watched their home smolder.

  It had been a fitting end to what had turned out to be a crummy day.

  And now they were all tucked into Rip’s last three rooms at the Inn; the twins in one, the boys in another with Blue on a pallet on the floor, and Micah here with Antonia in what had been Pea’s room. In fact, Rip had told him his room had already been paid for through the end of the week, but “Miss Greene’s” bags had been removed earlier that evening.

  Yeah, when Micah had told her to get out of his life.

  From her bureau drawer, Antonia whimpered slightly and shifted. Micah’s eyes closed on what was fast becoming a familiar ceiling. It was so late it was almost early, and the only thing keeping him from getting up again to start his day, was the knowledge he’d wake up the baby if he did so, and the poor thing had been through enough excitement in her life lately.

  So he just stacked his hands behind his head and tried to shut down his nose. Of all the things that had happened the previous day, he certainly did not need to smell Pea’s faint perfume today. The scent was just a constant reminder of his stupidity. He wouldn’t be in this mess—feeling like his insides had been burnt up along with his home—if he hadn’t gone and fallen in love with her.

  She didn’t belong here in Everland with him, no matter how much she might’ve enjoyed taking care of the kids with him these last few weeks. She loved the children, and he’d thought maybe she’d started to love him—

  No. No, he wasn’t going to think like that.

  She’d shown up in his life again and turned him every which way but up.

  A new thought abruptly pushed thoughts of Pea aside for a moment...Rojita—Dios mio!— she was going to kill him!.

  Micah groaned and rolled over in bed, but froze when the baby whimpered. Great, something else to blame myself for. Antonia did not need to wake up screaming for another bottle, not for another few hours. No one needed that.r />
  After he’d put the other kids to bed, he’d made up a bottle for Antonia—Ian Crowne had been kind enough to open his shop so Micah could fetch a bottle; she needed to eat something—and he’d sat with Skip out on the boardwalk while she ate. They’d talked about the new orphanage King and Cole Construction would build, and Skip enthusiastically described everything he had planned for the new shop.

  As his friend talked and the baby ate, Micah thought about the money in that sack buried behind what used to be his home. He remembered how much was there the last time he and Rojita had opened it up, and listened to what Skip said about time and materials. There should be just enough money left from Abuelo to rebuild the orphanage, sturdier and bigger, which was much better than just patching up the existing building like they’d done for years.

  But if they used every last piece of gold to rebuild, and even accepted charity for the kids’ clothes, books, and other necessities…how would they survive in the future? Could his leather work support, not just the kids, but Mary Contrary in Salt Lake? How about Rojita and Hank, when they started to have children of their own? Hank already contributed most of his salary to the “family” of orphans, but would that be enough?

  Just about the time Antonia fell asleep with the tube clamped between her lips, Micah had come to a realization: it would have to be enough, because the last of Abuelo’s money was going to have to go to Skip and Rupert for the new building, which they would start construction on tomorrow morning.

  Rojita is going to kill me.

  He sighed, and flopped over once again onto his back, wondering why he couldn’t get comfortable. Thanks to the movement, he could now smell the smoke from his hair on the pillow, even over Pea’s perfume. He’d much rather smell her than himself, but he supposed it couldn’t be helped. He’d made sure all of the kids had bathed and changed into a new set of clothes—the boys were wearing some of Eddie Bellini’s hand-me-downs, and Frau Doktor had donated the rest from her own growing brood—before they’d finally climbed into bed. With luck, they’d sleep the sleep of the deeply exhausted and finally clean, and wake up without any nightmares of everything they owned being consumed by flames.

  Micah, for his part, hadn’t been so lucky. By the time Antonia was asleep in her drawer, and Skip was on his way home to his new wife, Micah’d barely had the energy to wash his hands and face in the now-black wash water. Instead of bothering to change, he’d just stripped nude and fallen into bed—her bed, complete with her scent on the pillow and her imagined warmth all around him.

  But despite—or maybe because of?—those tantalizing details, he couldn’t sleep. The mattress was like a rock, and his mind was still whirling from the night before. He was too busy thinking about the way she’d looked, her hair down for the first time he’d ever seen, and the tips of her curls already smoldering. Her face streaked with tears, her hands raw and red as she’d tried her damnedest to save his family’s beloved belongings.

  When he’d burst out that door and seen her whole—if not hale and hearty—he knew a greater relief than he could’ve ever imagined. That’s when he knew the truth: he loved her, and much more than the way he’d loved her when they were kids.

  No. He loved her the way a man loved a woman who worked and laughed beside him, who rubbed his head when it ached, who cradled a baby to her chest and hummed while she cooked. He loved her the way an ugly, scarred man loves a woman who is beautiful, inside and out, eyebrows and all.

  He loved her the way a man does when he’s willing to bare his soul, to share his secrets.

  Too bad she didn’t love him that way in return.

  Did she love him in any way? Or had the last two weeks been just… Just what? Just a lark to her? Just a chance to get out of the city and experience life in the orphanage again, while apparently not doing the job she’d been sent to do? Whatever that was.

  Even her perfume seemed to mock him. Something complex and fruity and flowery, nothing like the women in Everland would wear. Something Pea could only get from a big city. Just one more thing that proved she was meant to live there.

  She belonged in the city, where she’d worked hard to build the life she wanted. It was stupid to hope she’d be interested in working hard to build the life he wanted here in Everland.

  Dios mio! What did Rip stuff these mattresses with? Rocks?

  Micah rolled back over. It was like sleeping on rocks! Or at least, a few rocks, spread out unevenly. He jabbed an elbow into the mattress a little harder than warranted—even though he knew taking his anger out on inanimate objects rarely worked—then hissed in pain. Stupid mattress.

  It didn’t help that the whole maldita thing smelled like her. He punched his pillow. Is that why I can’t get comfortable?

  He might as well move to the floor like Blue, because he’d never slept in a bed this lumpy in his life.

  With a sigh, he gave up. He wasn’t ever going to get to sleep, not with Pea on his mind and her bed under him. Micah rolled upright, swinging his legs off the bed and wondering if he needed to bother wrapping a sheet around himself. Nah. All the kids were asleep, and he was just sitting here in the dark, his rear end already numb from this worthless mattress.

  What were these lumps?

  Whispering a curse, he felt around down by the ropes. Yeah, there was something crammed under the mattress. What…?

  He climbed out of bed and kneeled on the floor, and pulled out something Pea had obviously forgotten and left in the room.

  It was the leather satchel, the one she’d brought to the orphanage on the first day when she’d rubbed his head and banished his headache.

  Standing there in the middle of the room, holding her satchel, his heart began to pound. It was Pea’s, and he was sure it had something to do with why she’d come here. He hadn’t seen it since that first day. But she’d left it here, even though she was well on her way to Denver…so maybe it wasn’t so important after all?

  Only one way to find out. Maybe he could have Rip send it to her if it did appear to be important.

  He glanced at the bureau where Antonia lay. Surely she was now sleeping deeply enough to risk a light? And even if she did wake up, well…at least he was awake already too. Realizing he was trying to justify lighting a lamp, he gave up pretending.

  If it would explain what Pea had been doing here, he was willing to risk waking a sleeping baby.

  He turned the lamp up, and brought the papers as close as he dared. Dios mio, he hated reading! All the little letters made squiggly dark lines, which chased one another around the paper, and he had to squint to make any sense of them.

  Whereas…Sol-i-cit-or?...Estate in full…future profits… The first bundle of papers he’d pulled out seemed to be the most official ones. Some kind of will, maybe? Yes, Micah decided as he flipped through. A lot of fancy words to say this man’s son—one Michael Prince—was going to inherit everything.

  Michael Prince. The name seems familiar…

  Micah inhaled sharply and waited for the thumping pain which usually came when he tried to remember something from his childhood. But there was nothing this time. Then he realized he hadn’t had a headache at all since Pea had rubbed his head.

  But still…hadn’t his name been Michael, before she’d changed it for him? That day he’d arrived at the orphanage, and the reason called her Pea? Yes, Michael…Michael something.

  And wasn’t her employer named Prince? Of course he was, she worked for Prince Armory. Was this her employer’s will? If so, this Michael Prince stood to inherit quite a lot. He flipped through the papers, wondering what all those big numbers meant. If they represented money, it was far more money than Skip was asking to rebuild the orphanage. More money than Abuelo had ever had, in fact. More money than anyone had ever had, as far as Micah knew.

  Why was she carrying all this around? The only logical explanation, was it had something to do with the “mission” Draven had mentioned. But what does this have to do with why had she’d needed to tra
ck down a friend from twenty years ago? And then why stay in Everland for two weeks with all of this vital information just shoved under her mattress?

  Sure, he knew she was loyal to Mr. Prince. How could he not? She spoke about the man as a paragon of civility, manners, and intelligence. So he was obviously someone she really admired, and not just because by giving her the job as one of his personal clerks, he’d given her the independence she dreamed of. Hell, she’d even said she’d always wanted someone like him as a father! Is that why she was carrying his will around?

  Was Pea deranged? Obsessed with this Mr. Prince? Or was Mr. Prince—her employer—named Michael, and this was his father’s will? Maybe she was just transporting all these papers for her employer?

  Or was all this part of her “mission”? Was…was Pea looking for this Michael Prince?

  Micah tossed the will down on the now less-lumpy mattress and pulled out another bundle from the satchel, which was a series of yellowed newspaper clippings, most from twenty years ago, but some more recent. Various headlines from various papers around the northeast, but all had the same theme:

  Businessman Seeks Information…

  Nanny Dead, Son Missing…

  Andrew Prince Grieving After Horrible Carriage Accident…

  Prince Armory Still Without Heir…

  Fourth Imposter Fails to Secure Lost Fortune…

  Reward Offered For Useful Information…

  He picked the article which looked the longest, expecting it would give him the most information, and began to laboriously read. Apparently Mr. Prince’s carriage had been in an accident when the horses spooked. During the crash, the gunpowder for the antique black powder pistols—packed under the seat to be shipped home—had caught fire from an uncovered lamp. After the ensuing explosion, the only remains found had been the nanny’s, and no one knew what had happened to the little boy.

  Micah’s heart began to pound, and he picked up another article, wishing he had Rojita’s ability to read fast. Instead, he painfully picked over each word, trying to make sense of the story.