The Prince's Pea

by Caroline Lee

  It was Grumpy who answered, to her surprise. “Godmothers with a capital G.”

  “Uh-huh. What’s that mean?” She craned her neck to peer over the shelves. What had they said about Micah and Ian not being able to see them? Because the two men were still chatting up front and hadn’t seemed to notice Penelope’s accosters.

  “We’re Godmothers in the sense of fairy Godmothers.”

  Dorcas’ proud, though casual, statement had Penelope’s attention whipping back to the pair. What? “Where are your wings?”

  Grumpy sneered. “She didn’t say we are fairies. We don’t have wings. That would be dumb.”

  Well, she wasn’t wrong.

  Dorcas spoke up again, gesturing wildly in what was either an attempt to make Penelope understand, or to slap the baby. “Grumpy here was Rojita’s—that’s Micah’s sister, you know—Godmother. She was instrumental in getting Hank to realize how he could help the entire Zapato family.” The pride in Dorcas’s voice when she spoke of her companion was sort of touching. “See, all little orphan girls get a Godmother. Doc says it’s narrative causality. We keep a close eye on the orphanage’s rosters, you understand.” She nodded, wide-eyed and serious.

  “Uh-huh.” These ladies were completely batty. “And you’re here because of Antonia?” The little one was doing her best to pull down Penelope’s careful coiffure of curls, and she shifted the baby to the other shoulder, her arms beginning to ache. “You think you’re going to be her Godmother?”

  Well, once Penelope was gone, maybe it would be good to have another set of eyes on the baby. Even if they did belong to…this silly woman.

  But that silly woman just laughed a tinkling laugh—Even her laugh sounds dumb!—and shook her head. “Heavens, no. No, no, no. Antonia? No.” Another laugh.

  Oh. Well, maybe they weren’t as crazy as they’d first sounded—though they were still quite crazy.

  Dorcas ruined that favorable impression when she continued, “Somnolena—in between her naps—has already called dibs on Antonia. I’m your Godmother, Penelope.”

  Swell.

  Penelope exchanged a look with the baby—skeptical on her part, gummy and full of spit on Antonia’s part—which seemed to say it all. Then she cleared her throat and resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of her own nose in exasperation.

  “Excuse me?”

  Her tone didn’t seem to dissuade Dorcas. “I’m your Godmother, Penelope,” she repeated, as if her audience was just hard-of-hearing and not incredulous.

  Her audience, however, had had just about enough, and the baby was getting really heavy. “I’m not sure why I should believe I have a Godmother, but—“

  “Of course you have a Godmother, dear. Me. How do you think you got that wonderful job at Prince’s Armory and gained Mr. Prince’s trust so easily, hmmmm? You needed access to that file, because you’re the only one who could find Micah again. You think all of that happened randomly? Oh, no, no, nononono.”

  The strange woman clucked dismissively and shook her head.

  “Listen—” Pea shifted the baby again, irritated at the intimation she hadn’t gained her job on her own skills and experience, but the “Godmother” cut her off before she could start her rant.

  “Just make pea soup.”

  That was unexpected. “What?”

  “What?”

  “Not this again.” Grumpy rolled her eyes—was this the third time or the fourth time? Surely she must have a headache by now; Penelope certainly did.

  Dorcas looked flustered for a moment, but then she reached into her jacket-bodice and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. A pair of pince-nez followed—where had she hidden those?—which she tucked onto her nose while smoothing out the paper.

  Penelope listened to her mumble under her breath.

  “Godmothers…wings…Antonia… No, did that, did that. Ghosts? Why is that scratched out? Oh! Orphanage, that’s important. Let’s see…pea soup, hmm.”

  She straightened, tucked her pince-nez back into her bodice, and smiled as she folded the paper again. “Yep. Pea soup.”

  “Pea soup,” Penelope repeated blandly.

  “Yes, go back to the orphanage and make pea soup.”

  Penelope glanced at Grumpy, who was actually eyeing Dorcas a little worriedly. “I was…I was planning on doing that already.”

  “Oh, were you?” Dorcas asked brightly. “Good, good. Excellent, in fact. Isn’t that excellent, Grumpy?”

  Grumpy looked less sure. “Excellent, yeah. You’re sure about this plan?”

  Dorcas flapped her hand in Grumpy’s face. “Shush, shush. It’ll be wonderful.” She nodded enthusiastically to Penelope. “Babies love pea soup, don’t they?”

  How should I know? “I certainly hope so.”

  “Good, good.”

  So these women had popped out of nowhere, accosting her when she just needed a moment alone, and for what? To tell her to do something she’d already been planning to do? The entire encounter was a complete waste of time!

  “So, we’ll just, ah…” Dorcas looked at her companion. “We’ll just be going then. Won’t we, Grumpy?”

  That’s when Antonia began to laugh. And laugh and laugh and laugh.

  And Penelope’s heart broke at the precious sound, all of the hopelessness crashing back again. Crazy would-be-Godmothers and all, she was going to miss Everland more than she could’ve ever imagined.

  CHAPTER SIX

  What in the hell was she in Everland for? Why had she tracked him down? Why had she saved his life? What was Pea doing here?

  There were times Micah envied Herr Doktor, the town’s burly blacksmith. When he was angry or frustrated, he had a perfect excuse for hitting something with a hammer. Micah was stuck tacking the last of the pig leather on Dmitri’s new saddle. He wanted to pound something, and the third time his punch slipped because his hand was shaking so hard, he threw the thing across his workbench.

  Dammit. What did she want?

  He’d asked her that, maybe not in as many words, but close enough, several times over the last week. She’d shown up in his life—saved it, in fact—and just seemed to…fit. She fit in. She laughed with the kids, she shouldered more responsibility than he would’ve expected from someone he hadn’t seen in two decades.

  And the baby? She loved Antonia in a way Micah had never seen in an orphanage. Every morning Pea showed up at the orphanage full of joy and excitement to spend time with the baby. He wouldn’t have been able to complete Dmitri’s saddle in time if it hadn’t been for her help with Antonia.

  Even now, Pea was in the kitchen making soup for him, the kids, and even the baby. Maybe she was right and Antonia just wanted something better-tasting than mashed peas. Her making dinner meant Micah had the time to come out in the shop and finish this maldita saddle. But he couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t think about anything other than her.

  Why is she here?

  He should’ve pushed her, should’ve asked her again and again until she gave him a good answer. Instead, he just let it be, because he was afraid she’d tell him something he didn’t want to hear. He pretended she was here just because she wanted to be here, with him. Wanted to be part of his life, the life he’d built and was proud of here in Everland.

  But the confrontation in the street today—the one which had taken at least five years off his life!—proved otherwise. Draven—Dios mio! Draven in Everland!—had proved she was here for some other reason. Some reason Micah couldn’t begin to guess, and wasn’t sure he wanted to know. A mission, Draven had said. What mission? And who was it she had to tell what?

  Why did she come?

  He wanted her in his life, and had loved every moment of their time together here in Everland, but he was beginning to suspect she didn’t want him in hers.

  Otherwise, she would’ve been honest and upfront with him from the beginning.

  Micah sighed and reached for a different-sized punch. Obsessing over it wasn’t going to help. He needed to fo
cus on his work. At least until he had to go inside for dinner to face her and the—

  “Fire!” Tom burst into the shop, panting. “Fire in the kitchen, and it’s spreading!”

  Fire! Micah acted on instinct, remember Abuelo’s repeated instructions, “These oils are very flammable, mi hijo.” He slung the saddle up onto his shoulder and pushed Tom out the door ahead of him. If he was able, he’d come back to save the remainder of the leather shipment and his tools, but the children were much more important.

  There was smoke creeping out the front door already, but the kitchen was along the back of the house. What happened? Had the fire started from dinner?

  Thank God most of the little ones were already outside, standing near the scraggly bush Abuela had long ago designated the fire-safe gathering spot. One of the girls—Micah could barely tell them apart up close, much less from this distances—was bouncing the wailing baby in her arms, and the other was struggling to keep little Blue from running back inside.

  Micah dropped the saddle and grabbed Tom by the shoulder, spinning him around. “You go check on the girls, then go into town.”

  “I can help!”

  He was used to the ten-year-old’s attempts to do a man’s work before his time, but Micah didn’t have patience right then. “No!” He shook the boy once for good measure. “Do as I tell you. You can help by fetching Skip and Sheriff Nottingham and anyone else you see.” He softened his voice. “Alright?”

  To his relief, the boy nodded. “Alright, Micah.”

  When he turned to jog towards the twins and their charges, Micah inhaled sharply to prepare himself for what he had to do. Pea and Jack were still inside, unless the boy hadn’t come home from Herr Doktor’s smithy yet. Micah had to go in and see what could be done, if anything.

  Growling under his breath, he pushed his way into the home he’d grown up in, but stopped and immediately pulled out his handkerchief and tied it around his face. The entire back of the house was on fire, flames crawling up the wall behind the stove.

  And there was Pea, standing in front of one of the broken side windows under the stairs, hurling stuff out. It wasn’t until he got closer, his mouth pressed tight to keep from coughing, that he saw she had a pile in front of her and was tossing things out as fast as she could bend down to pick them up.

  He didn’t understand what was happening until Blue’s beloved leather horse—the one Abuelo had made three years ago, and Micah himself had re-stuffed more than once—smacked him in the head and dropped into the pile. Pea didn’t even notice him—she just grabbed the horse and tossed it out the broken window too.

  Micah looked up into the stairwell, to catch the bundle of fabric which was tumbling down. He didn’t look at it, but tossed it out too. What was going on?

  It had to be—

  “Jack!” he bellowed, as loudly as he could in all of the smoke.

  Pea whirled around just as Micah gave into the urge to cough. She was also wearing a handkerchief, and her face was streaked with soot and tears. “Micah! I don’t know what happened!” She wheezed. “The stove just…the flames came out and I don’t know! I’ve never seen—”

  He didn’t have time for her explanation right now. He pointed up the stairs. “Is Jack up there?” When she flinched away from him, he knew he’d sounded harsh, but dammit, there wasn’t time.

  To his relief, she nodded, more tears spilling down her cheeks. He didn’t know if it was from the smoke or her fear, and he wished he had the time to comfort her.

  “He said he could find the valuables better than I could. We’ve already gotten out most of the—“

  He cut her off, shouting, “Get outside, Pea! This whole place is a deathtrap!”

  It was. It was the ricketiest building in town, and wasn’t going to last much longer against these flames. Cursing under his breath, he took the stairs three at a time, praying they’d hold. He had to find Jack and get him out of there.

  Luckily, the boy had finished the kids’ rooms on the second floor and was heading up the second set of stairs to Micah and Rojita and Hank’s rooms on the third floor. Rojita had taken everything of value to San Francisco with her, except her winter wardrobe. It’d be a shame to lose her red cloak, but Micah would buy her a new one if they all lived.

  His own room held nothing worth dying over, so without wasting breath on arguing with Jack, he threw the twelve-year-old over one shoulder and half-leapt, half-slid down the stairs once more.

  There were already flames licking across the dining table, but he didn’t let that stop him—he just jumped, and when he and Jack hit the front porch, they rolled.

  Before he’d made it to his feet, a loud crunching noise sounded behind them, and he yanked Jack out of the way of a falling timber. He stumbled upright and watched as his home began the slow process of crumbling in on itself.

  “Oh, God, Micah!”

  He turned in time to see Pea hurtling towards him. The band around his chest loosened a little, seeing her safe, and he was able to take a real breath for the first time since he’d entered the house.

  She’s safe. He looked over her shoulder at the rest of the kids—minus Jack and Tom—still huddled together by the tree. They’re all safe. Safe.

  Once the terror began to ebb slightly, anger slowly crept in. Not anger at anyone in specific—although he might start at Pea and Jack for doing something so damn-fool as to stay inside a burning building just to save a few mementos—but in general. He was angry at fate, for robbing them of their home, and angry at—angry at—at—

  Angry at her for not telling him the truth. At showing up and making him believe he could have a wonderful life with a wonderful woman, only to find out she’d been lying to him. She was here for a reason which sure as hell didn’t involve playing “family” with him, and he didn’t know why.

  “Micah!” She reached him, and he watched her hands flutter towards him and back down a few times, like she didn’t know if she could touch him or not. “I’m so sorry! I don’t know what happened! I was cooking, everything was normal. But the fire just got out of hand, and the next thing I knew— I didn’t mean—”

  “Are you sure?” he snapped, interrupting her. “You didn’t mean to burn down our home? Dios mio, Pea!” He pulled off his bandana, taking a deep breath of the blessedly cool air in an attempt to cool off himself.

  “You’ve caused nothing but chaos since you arrived!” Beautiful, blissful chaos. “You sauntered back into my life, saving me like some stupid princess in a fairy tale, and why? Why, Pea? You couldn’t even be bothered to tell me the truth, could you? Couldn’t tell your oldest friend why you’d come?”

  He knew he was shouting now, but couldn’t make himself stop. His home was burning behind them, the smell of ashes thick on the wind, and he couldn’t stop himself from pouring out all of the frustration and confusion that had been building in his chest all day.

  “You don’t belong here, Pea.” He threw out the challenge like a gauntlet, half-hoping she’d pick it up, half-dreading he was about to kill off the thing which had come to mean the most to him. “You never belonged here.”

  And despite the anger blazing through him—at her secrets, and the fire behind him—part of him shriveled when her expression closed off. Gone was the genuine concern in her eyes, replaced by that aloof, urbane coolness. Her expressive eyebrows smoothed flat, and she lifted her chin.

  It wasn’t until that moment he knew he’d lost her. Before his eyes, she changed, and he realized in the last days, she’d become someone else, someone better. Now, though, she was the same woman who’d gotten off that train with him. The one who hadn’t yet rubbed his head, the one who hadn’t rolled up her sleeves to keep baby spit-up off of them. The one who hadn’t yet sung little Blue to sleep, or helped the girls with their hair, or Tom with his sums. The one who hadn’t yet stolen his heart.

  She looked like someone who didn’t belong here, and Micah’s heart hardened at the thought.

  He wanted t
o curse himself.

  “You’re right,” she agreed coldly. He tried to ignore how her curls had come out of their usually elegant coiffure to fall, regally disheveled, around her face. The smell of burned hair was almost overpowering. “I never belonged here. For a short while, perhaps, I pretended…”

  He dragged a hand through his hair, not caring that it came back covered in soot—like everything else in his life at that moment. “So why don’t you go back to the city? Go back to your precious Mr. Prince you’re always going on about? Go back to your fancy job and your important business.”

  As he turned his back to her, he said, “We’ll be fine here without you.”

  But watching his home burn, and knowing that the woman he’d thought he loved was leaving behind him, Micah knew it was a lie. He’d never be “fine” again.

  It’s as it should be. As it should be. As it should be.

  The refrain pounded inside Penelope’s head as she ran through town. Her hair was singed from her efforts inside the orphanage, her skin covered in ash and soot, and she held her skirt up around her calves to run. She knew she looked a fright, but she didn’t care one whit.

  All she could think was, This is as it should be.

  The filthy and terrified children had all met her gaze when she’d turned to them, and the sight had broken her heart. How could she leave them? Blue and the twins and—oh God!—baby Antonia? Her heart climbed up into her throat and lodged there, until she couldn’t think of a single thing to say to them, so she’d just lifted her skirts and ran, already half-blinded by tears.

  She hadn’t acknowledged all of the townspeople running towards the orphanage, just as they hadn’t stopped for her. No, they were too busy running to help their friend and neighbor.

  As it should be.

  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…