by Caroline Lee
Doc frowned and crossed her arms. “Not when everyone expects you to be a medical doctor.”
Snow shrugged and looked down at her hands. “My stepmother is brewing up lotions out of herbs, and water from the lake, and what she says are magic words. Personally, knowing someone who specializes in Herbology and can tell me not to rub them all over myself…? That seems useful.”
From behind her, there was a noise which might’ve been a harrumph. But it sounded pleased, somehow. Snow peeked up.
Doc was staring at her, a slight frown on her lips, which didn’t quite reach her eyes. Abruptly, she said, “Why do you wear that turban?”
Surprised, Snow lifted her hand to her head. Today, she was wearing her red tignon, and it was so much a part of her, she’d forgotten it.
“My tignon? Mama always wore one. She said all the ladies in New Orleans did. When I was born with my—with Mr. White’s pale hair, Lucinda said it was an abomination, and had Mama cover it.”
“Does she make you cover it still?”
Snow shrugged. “She can’t— Well, I always thought she couldn’t force me to do anything I didn’t want, but it just seemed easier, since she’d always get so angry if I left it uncovered.”
Doc was nodding. “In many cultures, a woman’s hair is private business between her and her husband. A metaphor for their physical relationship, if you will. It’s a shared trust. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with leaving your hair covered, if that’s what you want, and as long as you show it to Hunter.”
Snow jerked upright. “What?” How did they—Had they seen her and Hunter kiss in the courtyard among the strange apple trees?
Yes, that must’ve been it.
She slowly relaxed. “Hunter and I… I’m not ready to show him my hair.”
But wasn’t she?
If it was a ‘metaphor for their physical relationship,’ as Doc had said, then Snow had been ready yesterday. She’d already admitted she was in love with—
With a gasp, her hand dropped to her apron pocket, slipping inside and holding her breath, until her fingers curled around the lace gift she’d made for Hunter. She exhaled thankfully.
It was still there. It hadn’t fallen out in her headlong rush for safety.
It was Helga who drew their attention. “Dearie, you said you’d always thought she couldn’t force you. Does that mean something has changed?”
Something? Snow didn’t bother hiding her little snort of despair. “Everything has changed. Today…” She shook her head, still not quite believing. “Today, Lucinda told me she knew I hadn’t been using the lotions, and that I was a disgrace to her.” She’d said a lot worse things, but Snow was trying to get to the point. “She said without me, her daughter, who lived under her roof, using the lotions to show how well they worked, no one would believe her.”
“Wait, she wanted you to rub arsenic all over yourself to lighten your skin? As advertising?”
Doc’s scowl matched Grunhilda’s, as she answered Helga, “Snow’s skin color is natural. From her mother. Lotion wouldn’t work.”
“Even arsenic?” Helga asked.
Doc uncrossed her arms long enough to point at Snow’s hands, now twisted together in her lap. “Her skin is gorgeous, and it’s a sin to try to change something so perfect.”
Perfect?
Snow’s brows rose, pleased at the defense.
Helga clucked her tongue. “Villains embrace sin—you know that, Doc, dear. And why would Snow need a godmother, if not for a villain? Narrative causality, and all that, as Dorcas is fond of reminding us.”
Godmother?
“And your stepmother is the villain, isn’t she?” Helga finished gently, pity in her eyes.
Snow nodded, swallowed, and nodded again, deciding to just get it all said. “She told me I… She tried to kill me. She was going to kill me so people didn’t think her lotions were useless.”
“Well, that’s ridiculous!”
Doc wasn’t as dismissive. “She’s mad. She thinks she’s a witch, and either the fumes have caused her to go mad, or they’ve accelerated the natural process.”
“She’s right,” Helga said, nodding to Snow. “If Lucinda had shown any actual magical talent, we would’ve invited her to the Guild.”
Guild?
Godmothers?
Snow squeezed her eyes shut. This was getting odder and odder.
But Doc scoffed. “You don’t have to be a godmother or magical, to understand Herbology. I would guess that stubborn gypsy, Vadoma, has been teaching—”
This was more than Snow could stand. Abruptly, she pushed herself to her feet. “Wait, wait. Magic? Godmothers? And...what does Marina’s grandmother have to do with anything?”
“Nothing, dear,” Helga said nervously. “Vadoma is a dear old lady, who definitely didn’t refuse an invitation to the Guild, thereby irritating Doc beyond all—”
“What Guild?” Snow asked in exasperation.
Both of the older ladies froze for a moment. Then Doc sighed and pushed her spectacles further up on her nose. “I think you’d better pour some more tea, Helga. The girl has a right to know.”
“Ooh, excellent!” Helga reached for the kettle once more. “I love the big reveals!”
As Doc slid into the chair opposite where Snow had been sitting, she seemed calm. Composed. She laced her fingers together and set them on the table expectantly, as if waiting for Snow to join her.
Snow’s stockinged feet were still wet, even though Dorcas had helped her pull off her boots when she’d first arrived. She stood there in the kitchen of the strange house, listening to the kettle whistling far earlier than she would’ve expected, dripping melted snow onto the floor. She was wet, and exhausted, and more than a little scared, and irritated, and she missed Hunter.
Still, when met with that expectant look, she sat down. She wanted to know what was going on.
“We’re godmothers, Snow,” Doc began. As Snow’s eyes flicked over the older woman’s shoulder, Doc huffed in exasperation. “No, we don’t have wings. You’re thinking of fairies. Why does everyone assume that? We’re not fairies, despite certain people throwing glitter dust at poor unsuspecting men.”
“I only did it the once,” Helga murmured as she brought over three cups of tea.
This one seemed to be spirit-free, so Snow cautioned a sip, hoping understanding would come soon.
“We’re godmothers, Snow,” Doc repeated, “and this is our Guild. We’re based out of Everland, and it’s where we live.”
“Godmothers,” Snow said flatly. She didn’t disbelieve Doc, but she did believe it was possible the woman was just as mad as Lucinda. “So you…grant wishes?”
Doc shrugged. “Sometimes. Other times we just…arrange things. You see, each orphaned girl gets a godmother to look out for—”
“Rose wasn’t orphaned,” Helga interrupted. “That was young Sn—Suzy’s—first assignment, remember? She did quite well.”
“I know, Helga, I was being general. Yes, fine,” Doc huffed, turning back to Snow. “Sometimes deserving young women are assigned godmothers regardless of their parental situation, although you have to admit, Rose’s surviving parent was pretty horrib—”
“Rose?” Snow finally made her voice work, although it was squeaky with surprise. “My Rose? My sister? You people…what? Interfered with her life? How?”
“Suzy arranged for Bear to rush into town that evening.” Doc blinked. “Why, that was Christmas, two years ago, wasn’t it? My, my, isn’t that nice? How have they been doing?”
“Fine…” Snow shook her head. “They’re fine. She writes me each week, and I’ve read all her books... Wait. Look, you’re telling me you’re responsible for her marriage?”
“Oh, no, not in her case. Rose was—is—a competent young woman, who handled things on her own. Most of our assignments do these days. But sometimes, a few need a nudge one way or another. Why, all Helga really had to do to ensure Zelle and Dmitri’s happily ever
after, was to leave a ladder outside Zelle’s window. Isn’t that right?”
While Helga nodded happily, Snow’s eyes narrowed. “A ladder? That doesn’t sound very magical.”
Doc’s eyes brightened. “Exactly. We don’t need magic, do we? Not usually. For instance, for your happily ever after, all we had to do was ensure Hunter was staying here, so you’d run here when you were in danger. That is why you came here, isn’t it, Snow? Because you knew Hunter would be here?”
“…thought I’d be safe,” Snow mumbled, in a daze.
“Yes, the disappearing trick is useful, but I suspect more than a few have seen through it.”
Blinking, Snow looked up at Doc. “So you’re…you’re my godmother?”
“Yes, dear. Although in this case, all that was needed was some thick blankets and warm tea.”
“Neither of which you provided,” Helga mumbled, and they both ignored.
“I think…” Snow shook her head, then planted her palms flat on the table. “This is all a bit much.”
“Yes, it usually is,” Helga said sympathetically. “But everything will be fine, dear. Hunter will be here soon, and it’s Christmas! We have some delicious chicken and dumplings, and there will be gift exchanges, and possibly singing later!” She paused, then reconsidered. “If Grunhilda has her flask, there will definitely be singing. Grumpy singing.”
Sounds delightful.
“Thank you for… Thank you for allowing me to stay here for a bit.” Snow pushed herself to her feet. “I think I’d like to be alone, if you don’t mind?”
She needed to be alone. To think.
Godmothers? She had a godmother, who was working to—to what? To ensure her happily ever after with Hunter?
It seemed too ridiculous to contemplate.
As ridiculous as everything else which has happened today?
She shook her head, knowing she didn’t really want to be alone.
No, what she really, truly wanted, and needed right now, was to be in Hunter’s arms.
But barring that, she’d take just escaping these two strange women.
“Of course,” Doc said with a sigh. “It takes a little getting used to, I understand. I wouldn’t know, of course, having never had a godmother, fairy or otherwise.” She waved toward the door. “Well, you know where the courtyard is, and I understand you were quite enamored with our apple trees—there’s a beautiful view from the library. You’re welcome to any part of the house. Wander about and find some peace.”
Helga smiled. “I’ll fetch you a dry gown, my dear, just as soon as I finish my cup of tea! Bashful’s about your size, not that you’d want to wear any of those bohemian dresses. Maybe Dorcas could lend you something...”
She was still offering suggestions when, nodding dazedly, Snow backed away from the table and through the door.
Once in the hall, she felt herself deflate.
Godmothers? Happily ever afters? Rose?
Had her sister really been approached by these women?
She’d have to get the story about that later—the full story. Maybe she could ask Suzy.
And what about Zelle? She was happily married now…did Helga really arrange that?
Snow’s thoughts drifted to all the women she knew in town, the ones who were deliriously in love, even years later.
Was it possible the Guild of Godmothers had something to do with that?
She shook her head as she stepped into a small room by the front door. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined the room, and there was a desk and a trio of cozy chairs in the middle. This house was one of the fanciest Snow had ever been in, and that was including the White plantation back in Alabama—what she remembered of it, at least.
Each of the occupants—were there more than the seven she’d met already?—had obviously stamped her personality on the decorating in some way, to account for the eclectic design, but it was no wonder Hunter had believed this place was a boardinghouse.
Hunter.
According to Doc, Hunter was her happily ever after, and the thought made Snow’s heart pound with joy. How was it possible to love someone so completely, having just met him?
She reached into her pocket, her fingers curling around her lace gift, and she wondered if the godmothers had anything to do with that.
Were they responsible for two people falling in love so quickly? For the fierce delight, which made her long for a future with Hunter Woods?
A smile tugged at her lips as she moved to the large window along the back wall and flattened her hand against the glass as she looked out.
The apple trees were just as beautiful today as they had been yesterday. Interestingly, despite the snowfall the night before, there wasn’t anymore snow on the trees or the ground than there’d been the day before. Either someone had already been out this Christmas morning to sweep and shovel away the snow…or the courtyard held some kind of magic.
Even as she shook her head and scoffed at the idea, a part of her wondered if it would explain the late-blooming trees.
Among the deep green of the leaves, the apples glistened merrily, and Snow’s mouth watered. She remembered the taste—tart and sweet—of the apple she’d bitten into that morning.
Had it only been a few hours ago she’d bitten into Hunter’s gift, full of hope? It had been so delicious, and then Lucinda, in a fit of cruelty, had taken that feeling from her.
Snow shook her head, not wanting to think of that woman right now. She wanted to focus on what was important: Hunter.
Well, Hunter and apples.
They certainly looked delicious, didn’t they? They were round and perfect and juicy, Snow could tell even from inside. If she hadn’t been in her stocking feet, and still damp and slightly chilled from her frantic flight through the Wyoming winter, she might be tempted to go out and pluck another apple from the branches!
Maybe later, when Hunter was here, and she was warm and dry.
Just as she decided to wait, a knock came at the front door. She was closest, and she sucked in an excited breath when she realized it might be Hunter!
Oh, she had so much to tell him!
Her fingers were still curled around the lace in her pocket when she raced for the front door and pulled it open.
It wasn’t Hunter, but a lovely young woman. She stood tall and straight, her hair a pale cloud around her shoulders, and an enigmatic smile on her lips. She wasn’t dressed for winter, but that didn’t seem to bother her.
“Can I help you?” Snow asked politely. Was this another godmother?
The woman slowly shook her head, her expression never changing. It was beginning to bother Snow, but she couldn’t figure out why. There was something…strangely familiar about her. The green dress she wore, the way she held herself…they were like memories pricking at Snow’s mind, but she couldn’t get them to slow down long enough to understand them.
“Oh, no, Snow,” the woman said in a breathy, angelic voice. “I’m here to help you.”
Snow was beginning to frown in confusion—if nothing else, they shouldn’t be standing here with the door open—when the woman reached into her bag and pulled out an apple.
A bright, round, perfect apple, which she held toward Snow.
“A present, Snow. From a certain young man.”
With trembling fingers, Snow reached for the apple.
Hunter had sent her an apple?
Even in the middle of his Christmas sermon, he’d known she’d want one. He was such a thoughtful, incredible man.
No wonder she loved him.
The apple fit into her hand as perfectly as the last one he’d given her. Her eyes flicked up to meet the strange woman’s intense gaze.
Why couldn’t Snow figure out why she seemed so familiar?
“Go ahead, girl,” the woman urged, in that odd voice, “take a bite.”
Compelled now, Snow raised the fruit to her lips and took a large bite. The crisp flavors burst over her tongue, and she couldn’t stop from closing
her eyes in pleasure. She chewed and swallowed…
Or tried to.
Alarmed now, Snow’s eyes flashed open, and she saw the strange woman’s face split into an all-to-familiar grin.
Girl.
The woman had called her girl, just like Lucinda did.
The apple dropped from her fingers as Snow lifted her hand to her throat.
Why couldn’t she swallow?
Why couldn’t she breathe?
Oh God!
She couldn’t breathe!
Snow tried to suck in a lungful of air and couldn’t fit any air past the chunk of apple in her throat.
She stumbled against the door, dimly noting the woman was backing away, down the porch, and out into the street.
Was it Lucinda, disguised somehow? Snow reached for her, only to trip over the lip of the door and fall to her hands and knees on the porch.
Distant calls came from inside the house, growing nearer as the godmothers clustered around.
“Did you hear a knock? Snow, dearie, did you answer it?”
“Snow! Snow, what’s wrong?”
“Somnolena, your leaves didn’t predict this!”
“Oh dear, this wasn’t part of the plan. Oh dear. Are you alright, Snow?”
“Alright? Clearly she isn’t!”
Snow’s hands curled into fists on the porch, and her eyes focused on the clump of white—her lace gift—in one hand. Her vision was going black at the edges, her starved lungs desperate for air.
Was she dying? Was she going to die here on the porch of this strange house, murdered by her stepmother and a piece of fruit?
The blackness was creeping in. She listened to the godmothers fluttering uselessly around her, and thought of Hunter.
I’m sorry. I’m sorry I can’t have a future with you.
I love you.
“All of you, shut up! There’s only one thing that’ll help when the plan goes awry like this.”
“Oooh, yes, True’s Love’s Kiss!”
Snow closed her eyes, giving up, allowing herself to fall forward.
As the blackness claimed her, she heard Doc shout, “Go fetch Hunter, and for the love of Christmas, hurry!”
Chapter 10
His palms itched. Why?
