Finding Ever After: four fairytale-ish novellas

by Pepper Basham

  “Don’t worry, tot. If you won’t share the news with stepmother, I can tell you the story of Cinderella and even make all the voices.”

  Stella rocked back on her heels, catching her grin in her palm. James didn’t put on pretense. He seemed so authentic and there was such…life about him. And being willing to tell his little sister a fairytale…with the voices? The idea pushed in on her heart, reminding her of the childlike wonder and playfulness with which her father had lit her world. Always ready with a story. Forever optimistic. Stella’s fingers found the bracelet at her wrist. Her father used to make the voices too. The same ache that always accompanied tender thoughts of him paused her forward motion.

  “You can’t make a princess voice, Jamie.”

  “What do you mean?” His pitch rose into such a frightful attempt that Stella couldn’t rein in her laugh. “My name is Cinderella, and I have a fondness for unique footwear.”

  Alice’s giggle reached through the veil of trees and snagged Stella’s heart. Oh, the freedom of such unfettered joy. It beckoned the dormant dreamer within her to return from the shadows of long-held grief and loneliness. To embrace joy again.

  The little girl looked up at the cloudy sky, and a sigh as big as her shoulders sounded from her. “I do hope she comes.”

  “She didn’t seem the sort to forget, did she?”

  The tinge of doubt in James’s voice pulled Stella out of the forest and into the clearing without another hesitation. Something about him thinking ill of her twisted her stomach into a knot. “I’m so sorry to keep you waiting.”

  Alice spun around, her braids bounding around her, and let out a welcome squeal. “Oh, Miss Faye. I knew you’d come.”

  Stella’s grin spread at the sweet welcome, but it was James’s reaction that left some indefinable warm internal glow behind. His eyes widened with surprise at her sudden entrance and then his lips unfurled into a smile she felt all the way to her toes. What was this type of…magic?

  “We haven’t been waiting long.” James took a few steps closer. “I’m glad you’re here.” A faint pink rose onto his face, and he cleared his throat, gesturing toward his sister. “I…I mean Alice could hardly wait to hear the story of Cinderella, of course.”

  Stella smoothed her palms over her shirtwaist and turned to Alice. “Well, let’s not hesitate any longer, shall we? I don’t know if the rain will hold off until the end of the story.”

  “Oh, I hope so.” Alice blinked up at the sky, her bottom lip pulling forward into a pitiful pout. “I’m desperately in need of learning about magic today.”

  Stella clamped down on her desire to laugh at Alice’s dramatic flair and knelt down to her level. “What about this? If it begins to rain, I promise to meet you on another day to finish the story.” She raised a brow to James, who tossed a grin as he drew a blanket from a large basket at his feet—one she’d failed to notice in her approach.

  “Since my ability to voice a princess is in question, I can only hope you’ll return and relieve poor Alice’s mind.”

  He spread the blanket out before them, and Stella couldn’t hold back her grin any longer. “If you feel left out, I’ll let you be the prince in the story. Will that help?”

  Without hesitation, he offered a very princely bow. “Immensely.”

  Alice’s laugh rang out again, and she bounced forward, plopping down on the blanket so that her green dress fluffed around her in a wide circle. She patted the space to her left and looked up to Stella. “Will you sit here so I can see your charms while you tell the story?”

  Stella settled down as directed, and James joined them on the other side of Alice. The scene nestled into place around Stella’s wounded heart like a bandage. The only place she’d felt as if she’d belonged since her father’s death was by her granny’s side, but here, in this unusual meeting, with Biltmore perched behind them as a castle-like backdrop on the hill, she welcomed the sweet sense of…home.

  “Are fairytales stories told by fairies?”

  Alice’s question drew Stella from her musings with a grin. “No. They’re tales that may have fairies in them, though.

  “Like a fairy godmother?”

  “Yes, like a fairy godmother.” She touched Alice’s nose. “Most all of them have certain things you can count on, like heartache, a little magic, and a happily-ever-after.”

  “Heartache?” Alice’s brow wrinkled.

  “The hurts that happen in life sometimes. Somehow the heartaches make the happily-ever-after shine brighter.”

  Alice tilted her head, her braid flopping against her cherub cheek. “But what is a happily-ever-after?”

  Stella glanced up at James long enough to get caught in James’s eyes. Various shades of blue mingled in his eyes. Did she have the paints to emulate such hues? A swell of warmth rose into her cheeks, and she flipped her attention back to Alice. “It means a forever type happiness.”

  “A forever happiness?” Alice sighed, her eyes taking on a starry daze. “So fairytales are about people finding their ever-afters?”

  The question caught. Finding their ever-afters? Stella’s attention shot back to Alice, the words slowly clinking against creativity. “Yes. Exactly. Finding Ever After.” The words fixed themselves to the illustrations on display in her room and bloomed into an answer: Her title. Finding Ever After.

  “Faye?”

  Stella blinked back to the moment and pushed up the sleeve of her blouse, revealing the most precious gift she possessed. Her fingers smoothed over the charm of a heart—a habit, she supposed, born out of time and missing her father. “My father gave me this bracelet because the story of Cinderella was my favorite fairytale. Each charm represents another piece of the story until we reach”—Stella tapped the heart charm— “the happily-ever-after at the end.”

  “Oh, how wonderful. They’re like pictures then?” Alice leaned closer.

  “Somewhat. More symbols, I suppose.” Stella’s attention flipped back to James, who’d leaned in to see the bracelet too. His gaze lifted to hers. Something about him, his gentle way, inspired thoughts of romance and fairytales much too easily.

  “So, which symbol is the Once Upon a Time?” James whispered, still holding her attention within a swath of sapphire hues.

  She drew back, her breath squeezed through her dry throat. Fairytales hadn’t seemed real in a long time…not until now. Since her father’s death, they’d stayed safely within the pages of books or in the recesses of her imagination, but now? Somewhere between the previous week and this one, the fringes of those possibilities began to bleed into the present, beyond the paints…beyond the books.

  Stella sat back and drew in a deep breath, biding her time to locate her voice as she turned the bracelet to the little cottage charm. “Once upon a time there was a little girl who lived with her mother and father in a lovely house in the country. They weren’t rich, but they had everything they needed and many things they wanted. Most importantly, they shared lots of love.”

  “That sounds like me,” Alice called out. “Except I have three oooolder brothers.” She drew out the word.

  “Who take fairly good care of you.” James narrowed his eyes at his sister. “When they’re not allowing you to nearly drown.”

  “That was an accident.” Stella shook her head with a laugh. “You’re a very good older brother from all I can see.”

  His gaze softened at the compliment, holding her attention for a half-second too long before she turned back to Alice. She fidgeted with the bracelet, finding her next story marker. The broken heart. Her thumb smoothed over it. Oh, to smudge away the wounds. “But unfortunately, as many stories go, heartbreak found the little girl. First, her mother died, leaving her father grief-stricken.”

  “Like when Mama died, James. When I was born,” Alice added. “And Father was so sad.”

  James nodded, the remnant of loss making its way into his expression. “Yes.”

  Oh yes, he knew a mother’s loss. She saw it in his eyes, a
lmost felt it in the way the world quieted around them.

  “But Father found Stepmother to help heal his heart,” Alice added, blinking those blue eyes to Stella. “Did this girl’s father find someone too?”

  “He did,” Stella continued. “But I’m afraid to say the match wasn’t as sweet as your father’s. The woman brought with her two naughty girls of her own who took over the house. Not long after the marriage, the girl’s father died too, leaving the little girl alone.”

  The words pulsed a familiar ache.

  Alice gasped, her hand covering her heart. “How horrible for her.”

  “It was, because the stepmother and stepsisters made the little girl’s life very hard. As she grew up, she became a servant in her own house and, to keep warm, even slept by the fire she tended sometimes.” Stella touched the fireplace charm. “So her stepsisters began calling her Cinderella for the cinders they found on her dress.”

  Alice’s fists balled in her lap. “Did Cinderella box their ears for their meanness?”

  Stella’s laugh burst out, and she sent a glance to James, who offered an apologetic grimace. “She does have three older brothers.”

  “Which may have helped Cinderella a great deal, I’m sure.” Stella turned back to Alice. “But Cinderella remained kind and hoped in her heart for an opportunity that would rescue her from her circumstances.”

  “I don’t know about this story.” Alice lips scrunched crooked. “Why does she have to wait for something to happen? She should run away and find her own adventure.”

  “You have an excellent imagination. And perhaps, if Cinderella had known the kindness of a loving older brother, like you do, then she may have done that very thing. However, in this story, Cinderella had no way to seek an adventure.” Stella touched a crown charm next. “Until a surprising opportunity came to her. The king of the land was looking for a bride for his son, so he decided to have a ball at his castle, and all of the maidens of the land were invited to come.”

  “A ball?” Alice’s nose scrunched into a dozen crinkles.

  “It’s like one of the Vanderbilts’ grand house parties, Alice,” James added, his own nose crinkling to match his sister’s. “Only there’s much more dancing.”

  “Are you not fond of dancing, Mr. James?”

  “Oh, I’m quite fond of dancing.” He winked, inciting a rush of heat in Stella’s face. “It’s the crippled ladies I leave in my wake who have complaints.”

  And she lost control of her laugh again. “I don’t believe that at all.”

  “Then your imagination is even better than Alice’s.”

  Stella shook her head, attempting to rein in her underused chuckle. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed so often. The Collinses’ house wore dreary like a cloak and pretense like perfume. Stella had lived in it for so long that she’d forgotten the freedom of agreeable conversation and easy mirth. James’s authenticity offered both with the same pleasing draw as Mrs. Bertram’s, Edith Vanderbilt’s, and Granny’s. Oh, she’d missed being surrounded by genuinely kind people.

  “Did Cinderella go to the ball?” Alice scooted closer, rubbing a finger over the next charm, a magic wand.

  “She wanted to, but her stepmother wouldn’t allow her to go and made certain Cinderella stayed so busy helping her stepsisters prepare for the ball that she had no time to get her own gown ready.”

  “I don’t like her stepmother at all.” Alice pressed her fists against her hips. “Will Cinderella miss the ball?” Alice turned to James. “Maybe she’ll be a horse thief like cousin Martin and make her own way to the castle.”

  Stella nearly snorted to catch her giggle.

  “Only imagine what she’ll be like in eight years.” James’s wide eyes of mock horror encouraged another round of giggles from Stella.

  “I’m afraid Cinderella was no horse thief, Alice. She wanted to do the right and good thing first.”

  A rumble in the distance interrupted Stella’s response, followed by a drop of rain landing on her cheek. “It looks as though we’ll have to finish the story another day.” Stella nodded toward the dark clouds closing in. “The sky is promising a storm, and the thunder is answering the call.”

  “Oh no!” Alice stood and stared up at the sky. “Can’t you wait a little longer?”

  “And leave you to get drenched before you make it home?” Stella pulled her sleeve over her bracelet and raised a brow to Alice. “I wouldn’t be a very good friend at all if I did that.”

  “And I imagine our new friend won’t leave us wondering for long.” James stood and offered Stella his hands, tilting his head toward her as if beckoning a reply. With a slight hesitation, she slipped her fingers into his, and something clicked into place within her like the perfect pigment to finalize an illustration.

  He pulled her to a stand, his gaze expectant.

  Had he asked her a question? What had he said? Waiting? Story? A few more cold drops fell against her head. Oh, she’d forgotten her hat!

  “No, that…that wouldn’t be very friendly of me either, would it?”

  His lips curled up on one side, snagging her attention long enough that she had to force her eyes back to his. “Um...I can meet you here Saturday?”

  His brows rose. “You won’t be back on Thursday?”

  She blinked up at him, her hands still in his warm ones. What a sweet feeling. “I…I’ll be away visiting my granny that day.”

  “Saturday is—” Alice counted out on her fingers and then blinked wide eyes to Stella. “Four whole days away.”

  Stella slipped her hands from James’s and ran a palm over one of the girl’s braids. “Then I want you to see if you can sort out what will happen next while we wait.”

  “But without horse thievery and boxing, you’ve left me little to work with.” Alice pouted and then sighed. “And she’s supposed to be so good that I imagine she didn’t stick mice in her stepsister’s gowns either.”

  “Please tell me she didn’t get her ideas from you.” Stella narrowed her eyes in James’s direction.

  Both of his palms raised in display of his innocence. “How could you even suspect such a thing.”

  How indeed? The man wore playful mischief in every tilt of his lips. She exaggerated her sigh for his benefit and turned back to Alice. “The stepmother will not let Cinderella go, so the poor girl is left all alone at her home with nothing but the animals. How will she get to the ball wearing a dirty work dress and without one piece of transportation? The horse at her house was a very old horse.” Stella clarified, in hopes to deter Alice’s story derailment.

  More drops fell as James gathered up the blanket.

  “Then it won’t help to steal him at all.” Alice moaned.

  Stella bent close, giving her brows a playful shimmy to take a bit of the disappointment out of the story detour. “Perhaps she’ll need a teensy bit of magic.”

  “Magic?” Alice’s eyes brightened. “Like from a fairy godmother?”

  Stella nodded, her hair dampening more as the rain increased. She shot a look to the castle on the hill. Oh dear. She had a good half hour walk back. She’d be drenched for certain. No hat. No um—

  “Take this.”

  Stella looked from the sudden umbrella in her hand back to James. “But…but this is yours.”

  He tugged Alice close under his umbrella and tossed a wink over his shoulder. “Then you’ll have to make sure you show up on Saturday to return it to me, won’t you?” He dipped his head and guided a waving Alice toward their horse. “Until next time, Faye.”

  And with the mention of her middle name, the warmth spreading throughout Stella’s body stalled on the truth. Her reputation remained stained until proven otherwise. She shouldn’t involve anyone too closely in her life until it cleared.

  She paused in her walk to watch James and Alice ride away up the forest path.

  But a servant and his sister should be safe. No worries for high society and nasty rumors.

  4r />
  Magic Wand

  After handing Alice over to her maid Collette, James took to his own room in the bachelor’s wing of Biltmore to bathe and dress for dinner. He preferred the smaller space of the Billiard Room, with its dark wood and rich-colored wallpaper, rather than the massive expanse of the dining room. But of course, he’d grown up with large rooms and social gatherings.

  His father’s townhome in Richmond and the house his father had sold in Boston to move to North Carolina were both expansive. Too big to really feel as if one could etch out a spot of his own. James supposed that’s why he’d requested The Cottage once Father had finished building Cravenwood. Somehow the brick colonial, with its sweeping views of Orchard Falls and the cozy spaces tucked away and filled with books and comfortable seating, fit him more than the lavish rooms his stepmother enjoyed at the main house.

  James heard voices in the second-floor parlor before he topped the grand staircase and entered the room. Several of the guests had already gathered there, waiting for the dinner bell to ring. Mr. Vanderbilt reclined in one of the chairs, glass in hand, observing the room as he often seemed inclined to do. He made a stately figure in his dark suit, which enhanced the thick black of his hair and moustache. Considerate. That was how James always thought of the man. Considerate and observant.

  “I can’t thank you enough for allowing me to shadow Mr. Finch,” James said as he took a seat next to his host. “He’s allayed many of my concerns about my trees at Cravenwood.”

  Mr. Vanderbilt lowered his glass, a smile tilting his moustache slightly. “Finch is as excellent a man as there is. Knowledgeable beyond fault.” He tipped his glass in gesture. “And don’t forget my offer to take Finch with you to Cravenwood to examine your growing orchard. He’d set you right.”

  “I appreciate it more than I can say.” James took a glass from the tray offered by the footman. “It’s an odd fascination, if you ask my father or brothers, but I prefer it to the business.”