The Hatter's Wife

by Anna B. Madrise

There he was.

  My Tippery.

  The Hatter.

  The grandest of grand, of all the milliners.

  He was circling madly around a long table, dressed for tea, with a sleeping mouse sitting in one chair and that other hare sipping a cup of tea in another.

  He was as I remembered him on the day he said he was traveling to Wonderland to make hats for the Queen of Hearts—impeccably dressed and with a shock of white hair poking out every which way from underneath his top hat.

  My one true love.

  I paused at the end of the grove of trees, reached in my pocket, and took out the gold box.

  I lifted the lid. “It’s time.”

  The gold pocket watch blinked. “I was beginning to think that you had forgotten about me.”

  “Never,” I firmly replied. “I had first things, second things, and come to think of it, third things to take care of; it’s been that kind of day.”

  “Fourth time’s a charm, I always say.” The pocket watch stretched his first and second hands, spinning them in circles. “Actually, I never say that, but since I am the fourth thing, I’d like to think that I am better than all of them.”

  “I couldn’t agree more.”

  Fourth is so underrated.

  The best things happen fourth.

  I’ll prove it to you.

  “Remember what Mr. Cogs said: we only have ‘one chance to tinker with Time,’” the pocket watch reminded me. “Are you ready?”

  “Ready as rain,” I took him out of the box and wrapped the watch chain around my hand.

  For the record, rain is always ready; it knows precisely when it’s coming and what it’s going to do. It’s very reliable. But I digress.

  Carefully I took one step off of the path, past the groove of trees.

  Instantaneously I could feel that, in here, time was standing still.

  The air moved slower; I could see flecks of it pass by.

  The trees circling the tea party swayed leisurely—almost too leisurely—as if they wanted to move faster but couldn’t.

  Everything felt unhurried and dull-witted.

  “Six o’clock! Time for tea! Tehehehehe!” Tippery waltzed around the tea table, pouring imaginary cups of tea from a teapot that obviously had run out of liquefied plant dregs a long time ago.

  “Tippery?” I announced more as a question than a statement.

  Was it really him?

  Was I only dreaming?

  “Maddie? Is that you?” Tippery froze in midpour. Then, turning to me, he said, “My dear, dear Maddie.”

  I started to run towards him, but my Wellies felt like they were filled with lead. Sluggishly I plodded forward.

  Tippery dropped the teapot, and it rolled onto the grass as if even the impact of its falling had been slowed. With equal exertion he waltzed towards me.

  Oh, how I have missed his waltz.

  We met in the middle, and I scooped him into my arms, whirling him around as the grandest of grand of all of the prizes that he was to me.

  “Wheeeeeee!” the pocket watch cheeped out as he was spun in a circle with us.

  I had forgotten how much taller I was than my dearest husband as I peppered his cheeks and nose with kisses.

  He sneezed with glee over and over again.

  “Enough, my darling Maddie, tehehehehe! Enough!”

  I put him down, and he reached into his pocket, producing a handkerchief before honking his nose several times.

  It was a serenade to my ears.

  A symphony to my soul.

  A . . . What? WHAT?

  I will not have you ruin this moment for me!

  It’s taken a lifetime for me to get here, and you only get one lifetime.

  Remember that.

  Unless you’re a cat—then, you get an insane amount of “do-overs,” which is highly unfair and completely disproportionate to the rest of the animal kingdom, but there you have it.

  One. One lifetime.

  This is how I am spending mine.

  Figure yours out on your own time, thank you very much.

  “My dearest, darling Maddie”—Tippery’s eyes filled with tears— “you are stuck here with me forever, now. Tehehehehe! No way out! No way! Unless you’re the hare!”

  Tippery “marched” over to the tea table, which was more of a determined “float.” “Tell me, hare, why is a raven like an escritoire? Tehehehehe! And why is it you can travel from here to there?” Tippery pointed to the path through the grove of trees.

  “Tippery? You never thought to ask until now?”

  Tippery shrugged. “It’s hard work hosting a tea party all of the time. It takes up a good part of the day and a good part of the night, too! Tehehehehe! Though, it’s never day or night here!”

  My poor, poor, delusional husband. All this time spent entertaining ungrateful guests—the mouse was still sleeping, and the hare looked bored.

  There is nothing more insulting than a flat rabbit.

  I reached across the table, and in what felt like slow motion, grabbed the hare around his neck. “Answer him!” I screaked as I shook him.

  He kind of dangled in midair in a most unnatural kind of way.

  The mouse woke up.

  “My watch!” The hare choked out. “My watch!”

  “What are we watching?” Tippery brought his hand up to shield his eyes as he looked around. “Tehehehehe! There’s nothing to see!”

  I reached into the hare’s pocket and snatched his pocket watch. Then I released the flat rabbit to his seat again.

  He rubbed his neck and lowered his ears in shame.

  Smart bunny.

  I’ll make a pair of slippers out of you yet for lying to MY LOVE all of this time.

  I could feel a red-spell simmering in my gut.

  Holding up the hare’s watch, I compared it to my pocket watch, who was equally interested in assessing the other.

  “Well, hello there,” said the hare’s watch. “It’s been forever since I’ve seen another watch.”

  “How do you do?” my pocket watch replied. “I must say, you are excellently crafted—such attention to detail.”

  “But of course,” said the hare’s watch. “I am one of Mr. Cogs’s creations, just like you. I would recognize those gold-etched numbers anywhere. Though, if I may say, your face is far superior to mine. Why, you’re one of a kind!”

  “It warms my heart that you are getting acquainted with this acquaintance,” I said dryly to my pocket watch.

  A cup of lemonade would have been simply divine right about now.

  Tart, with a touch of bitterness—the perfect beverage.

  “But we are on a schedule”—I poked my pocket watch in his button nose— “and I aim to keep it.”

  My pocket watch sighed. “I’m sorry to do this,” he said to the other, “but we are going to need your springs.”

  “What? My springs?! Why, you wouldn’t! You couldn’t!”

  Clearly, this was the worst possible news to give to a timepiece.

  “Pop open his back and flick out the springs.” My pocket watch was eerily surgical about the entire procedure. “As the last spring is sprung, I will set my time to 6:01. Then it will be done. Time at the tea party will start up again.”

  Tippery drew close to me, as did the mouse, who had hopped across the table and was presently perched on top of another teapot.

  Even the other hare couldn’t help himself as he, too, gathered closer.

  I popped open the back of the other pocket watch.

  “This is preposterous!” the hare’s watch objected.

  With great concentration, I noticed that his springs were moving in a most unusual pattern, as if they had a hiccup. They would only rotate so far before stalling and starting over again.

  “So, that’s how he did it.” Maniacally I flicked out the first spring.

  It flew up into the air, making the most delightful “bonging” sound before landing on the ground.

  “Murde
r! They’re trying to murder me!” the hare’s watch yelled as he squirmed in my hand.

  Tippery grabbed on to him before he got loose. “Slippery like a squid crumpet! Tehehehehe!”

  “That’s right, my love, slippery and sneaky.” I glared at the hare as I popped out the second spring.

  “Oh, the pain! The pain!” the hare’s watch lamented.

  “It’s more like ‘the shame,’ ” my pocket watch corrected him. “Everyone knows that you can’t feel a thing. Besides, no self-respecting timepiece would have caused this chaos in the first place!”

  “Or the second place.” Bong went the spring.

  “Or the third place.” Bong went the fourth.

  “One more to go. It must be perfectly timed,” my pocket watch said gravely.

  Speaking in a grave tone is a very sobering affair.

  No time for jingle-juice when grave tones are concerned.

  “On my count of three.” I looked at my pocket watch and then at Tippery.

  It’s almost over, my love.

  “One.”

  “I’ll never forget this!” the hare’s watch hollered.

  “Two.”

  “You’ll never remember it, either,” replied my pocket watch.

  “Three!”

  Simultaneously, while the last spring was flicked out of the hare’s watch, my pocket watch set his hands to 6:01.

  The hare’s watch shut his eyes for the last time, and as his spring bounced to the ground, the air around us rippled and popped.

  A collective sigh could be heard all around us.

  I spun in a clockwise direction as the grove of trees were clapping and cheering.

  “Oh, I can breathe again,” said a birch.

  “I can grow again,” said an elm.

  “Well done, madam,” said an oak.

  “Is it over?” the dormouse squeaked out. “Really and truly? Truly and really?”

  I looked down at my pocket watch, who winked at me as he ticked away.

  His hands now read 6:01.

  I handed my pocket watch over to the hare. “There, as it should be.”

  I set the broken watch on the tea table.

  Tippery laughed, grabbed me by the hands, and began dancing us around the tea table. “It’s ooovvveerrr! It’s ooovvveerrr! Tehehehehe!”

  The hare, whom I had promptly stopped paying attention to for obvious reasons, thumped his hind legs on the ground. “Time will never stand for this! He’ll know what you have done! You will never escape from Wonderland. Never! We are all doomed!”

  Tippery and I ceased in our celebrations as the white hare ran down the path and through the grove of trees.

  I looked at Tippery.

  Tippery looked at me.

  Together we shrugged.

  “It’s ooovvveerrr! It’s ooovvveerrr!” we sang together as we continued to waltz around the tea table.

  The dormouse waved her paws around in rhythm with our dancing.

  I had my husband back.

  I had killed the Queen of Hearts, battled the Queen of Diamonds, and made an ally of the Queen of Clubs, who technically could be considered the Queen of Spades since I had endowed my entire kingdom of subjects to her.

  I was Mad Maddie Milner again, wife of Tippery Milner, the maddest of all of the hatters, in all of the lands.

  How hard could it be to get out of Wonderland?

  All things being relative, I did not have to wait very long to find out the answer to that question.

  Just as we were beginning to enjoy ourselves—the dancing, the singing, the trees growing and swaying in the breeze—our festivities were brought to a screeching halt.

  Literally.

  “Off with their heads!”

  Tippery shuddered.

  The dormouse toppled over a teacup.

  I closed my eyes. It couldn’t be; I distinctly remembered suffocating that voice on a plate of pastries.

  I turned around.

  There stood the Queen of Diamonds with the King of Hearts and an entire entourage of playing cards with their spears pointed at us.

  I heaved another sigh, but this one was in relief. It landed squarely at their feet.

  The Queen of Hearts was still dead.

  I couldn’t help but smile.

  The Queen of Diamonds kicked away my sigh, which groaned as it landed in the bushes. “Off with their heads!”

  “No one is taking anyone’s head!” I balled my hands into fists and marched over to her. “We had a deal—I’d let you live, and I gave you my blessing to conquer the Castle of Hearts.”

  “I’ve changed my mind,” the Queen of Diamonds replied shrilly.

  Tippery began shoving the dormouse inside a teapot. “Why is a raven like . . .?”

  “Not now, my darling,” I replied. “Can’t you see that I am having a tiff?”

  “My apologies! Tehehehehe!” Tippery kept shoving that poor mouse into the pot.

  Why was he doing that?

  “I’m going to take your head if I choose to take your head!” The Queen of Diamonds was determined.

  “What time are we going to bed?” The King of Hearts hadn’t improved much since the last time I had seen him.

  The rest of the deck of cards—hearts and diamonds—were poised for battle.

  Sugar and Spice peeked out from the side of two cards.

  Spice opened his paw, revealing two red pills, while Sugar pointed at the teapot.

  Then the point of illumination hit me.

  I snapped my fingers, and everyone froze in place.

  When the point of illumination strikes, you only get a moment to put all the pieces together before the moment is up.

  I had to move quickly.

  My darling husband knew the way out—the teapot.

  The teapot was the portal to Topside, but we—Tippery and I—were too big; though, I gathered that Tippery already knew that.

  But the dormouse wasn’t; just barely would she fit.

  Poor Tippery. How many times had he tried to send her home?

  I snatched the pills from Spice’s open paw, ran back to the table, and climbed on top. Grabbing Tippery around the waist I pulled him up with me.

  My word, a body is so heavy to move when stuck in the point of illumination.

  It’s like moving dead weight.

  And believe me, dead weight is heavy.

  I popped a pill into Tippery’s open mouth and one into my own with only seconds to spare.

  In a flash everyone began moving again.

  The Queen of Diamonds was shocked to find that I was no longer in front of her but rather standing on the tea table. “What are you doing up there?!”

  “Swallow the pill, Tippery,” I ordered my husband as I swallowed my own.

  I winked at Sugar and Spice.

  I wished I could have taken them with me.

  “No! No! NO!” the Queen of Diamonds screamed out, and all of the trees around us bent over, blown in one direction. “GET THEM! I WANT THEIR HEADS!”

  Tippery and I shrunk and shrunk as we fell on top of the dormouse; the force of our weight and the brilliance of gravity pulling all of us into the teapot with a thud.

  “The lid! Tehehehehe!” Tippery squeaked, pointing to the top.

  With all of my might, I jumped up and tipped the lid in our favor.

  “NOOOOOOOOO!” I heard the Queen of Diamonds wail out, but it was getting further and further away.

  Whether she hurled the teapot into the air or we were spinning by our own accord, I will never know, but it didn’t matter anymore.

  Wonderland, that wretched, horrible, loathsome place that had stolen my husband away from me ages ago, was soon going to be nothing more than a memory.

  A very dusty, old memory.

  We were going home.

  There was left but one more score to settle.

  I couldn’t wait to get to it.

  Unceremoniously we landed in Topside as the teapot cracked in two, expelling the
three of us in three different directions.

  In an instant, we were returned to our full height—well, except for the dormouse, who was already at her full height and apparently quite rattled from our trip.

  I gathered my bearings, tucking them into my pockets as I ran over to Tippery. My darling love had landed over near Old Man Teether’s gravestone and was staring out at the world in awe.

  “Maddie, my love, we’re here, which is to say we are not there.”

  “Topside,” I confirmed, glancing up at the old church. “I never forgot you, my dearest, and I never will. Welcome back.”

  Tippery stood up and brushed himself off. “I never did figure out why a raven was like an escritoire, and do you know what, Maddie?”

  “What, my love?”

  “I don’t care! Tehehehehe!” He threw his hat up into the air, revealing all of the tufts of his white hair. “Can we go home?” His hat landed back on his head with a slight tilt.

  “Almost,” I replied, rolling my sleeves. “Fifth things fifth, and I dare say, long overdue.”

  I traipsed over to the old yew tree and rapped on his nose several times—hard.

  “What?! Who do you think you are, waking me up like that?!” Time bellowed.

  “I’ll tell you who I am,” I shouted, simply because I could. “I’m Mad Maddie Milner, the Hatter’s wife, and I’m here to tell you that if you ever try to trap my husband or any other person, creature, or otherwise in Wonderland again, I will chop you down and burn you for firewood!”

  “You wouldn’t,” Time balked. “That would upset the balance of everything! The world would be thrown off its axis, the universe would cease to exist as we know it, the. . .”

  “I don’t care.” I grabbed him by his gnarled nose. “I will end it all, and dance on your grave if you ever go near my Tippery again. Now, apologize.”

  “Ouch! Okay, all right! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

  I released his nose, and he rubbed it with one of his branches.

  “Apology accepted!” Tippery sang out but still kicked the tree for good measure.

  He always was very proportional in his decision making.

  “Who knew that Time was a yew?” Tippery questioned as he turned and started for home.

  “I knew that Time was a yew,” I replied smugly.

  I had earned every bit of my smugness.

  The dormouse ran up Tippery’s pant leg and jumped into his pocket.