Chapter 13: The Doll Maker's Daughter at Christmas

If you're following along, you know I am posting this book chapter by chapter as I finish. You can start from the beginning by clicking here. This is all editor free at this point! Please let me know your thoughts on the story so far. Here's Chapter 13!

Chapter Thirteen

A Favor

The Snow Queen’s fortress was high atop Mt. Menzelfrap, still within the protective dome put in place centuries ago when St. Nicholas first moved his operations to this secret location, but what could be several days walk through treacherous territory in inclement weather if one chose to travel by foot. Luckily, Corey had the ability to teleport himself magically and found himself standing outside her castle door only a few moments after ending his discussion with the man in charge.

While he could have easily positioned himself within the fortress itself had he chosen to do so, he rarely made the decision to disturb others so abruptly, particularly in a situation where he was in need of some assistance, and so with the bitterly cold wind whipping around, blowing the snow into his face and wreaking havoc on his carefully knotted scarf, Corey knocked on the nine-foot high silver encased ice door and waited for someone to let him inside.

In reality only a few moments had passed, and even though Corey was used to the cold, it seemed like an eternity before he finally heard the creaking of ice against ice as the door was pushed open just a sliver and an ethereal voice called out through the song of the wind, “What is the password?”

Stammering a bit as his mouth began to lubricate, Corey finally muttered, “Borealis,” and the door swung open, revealing a long winding hallway that appeared to be made of glass, though Corey knew the surface was actually polished ice, and the welcoming gesture of the two-foot tall pixie who hovered just above the door handle, her skin blue, her wings glistening in the light pouring through the translucent door. “Thank you,” he said as he brushed the snow and tiny ice chips from his shoulders and hair.  

The fairy said nothing, only began to make her way down the hall, Corey in tow, her long white dress billowing around her as she went, looking a bit like a ghost from his vantage point.  “I don’t believe Ingrid is expecting you, is she?” she asked in her heavenly voice.

“No, she’s not,” he replied.  He knew that though he had never seen this particular pixie before, she certainly knew who he was or else she would have asked him to identify himself before she allowed him into the castle.  “However, we do have a bit of business to discuss.”

They had reached the entrance to the throne room, and the fairy turned to face him for a moment, saying, “Wait here,” before she fluttered off so rapidly his eyes could hardly focus, and she became nothing but a blur. Once again, Corey found himself standing outside a large, impressive, polished silver door made mostly of ice.  Though it was still quite cold inside of the fortress, it was nothing like standing outside in the bitterly cold wind, and he was quite content to wait a few moments for Queen Ingrid to make her appearance.  He was certain it wouldn’t be too long. After all, they had been friends for many years, and she was always very prompt to answer whenever he came calling.

At this juncture, however, he must have caught her at a bad time as it seemed to be taking forever, and Corey began to pace outside of the door. Occasionally, a pixie or sprite would flutter by, and he would get his hopes up that the anguish of waiting would soon be extinguished, but almost twenty minutes--an eternity--passed before he finally heard Ingrid’s familiar feminine, alto voice cry out, “Corey, do come in.”

No one opened the door for him, so he pulled it open himself, astonished at how heavy a door made of ice and decorated with silver filigree could be. She was seated on her throne--also made of ice with silver snowflakes adorning the top, hand rests, and legs, dressed in a sparkling pink dress that reflected the lights gleaming off of the ice windows at the top of the two-story room.  She held her scepter in her right hand, the snowflake perched on top identifying her with little room for error, and her crown of snowflakes and ice cycles, which encircled her white hair and rested behind her pointed ears. She was lovely, as always, with cheeks kissed by the wind and eyes the color of sapphires. Her skin was flawless and smooth, like the surface of the floor he crossed as he approached, and he immediately remembered the first time he had laid eyes on her as a small boy and how enamored he had become with this goddess of snow.

“Corey, to what pleasure do I owe this visit?” she asked, her melodic voice echoing off of the walls and bouncing around the chamber.

Before he replied, he dropped to one knee before her throne and took her hand, the signet ring on her finger glistening as he kissed the snowflake made of and encircled by diamonds.  “Your Majesty,” he began, “you are radiant, as always.”  He pulled himself to his feet as one snow white eyebrow arched higher over her left eye, indicating she was suspicious, but then, it was Corey, and there was usually good reason to be somewhat apprehensive, especially when he arrived suddenly and unannounced.  

“How can I help you?” she asked calmly as she drew her hand back to the arm rest. “I haven’t seen you in… months.”

“Well, I wanted to give you some privacy. I wouldn’t know personally, but I can only assume that newlyweds do need a bit of time to themselves, don’t they?” he asked, burying his hands deep into the pockets of his coat and leaning back on his heels as he spoke.

Ingrid nodded sharply but said nothing, the suspicion in her eyes clearly still present.

“How is Jack anyway?” Corey asked, standing firmly on the floor again. “We are just about through his busy season, aren’t we?”

Ingrid pursed her lips a bit, as if she were thinking, before she replied, “There’s always some place on Earth in need of frosting, but he is due back any day now for some well deserved rest. I do long for him to return. It does get a little lonely up here, as you can imagine.”

“Yes, I know,” Corey nodded.  “I’m sure you be glad to have him back and  the two of you will enjoy some time together, relaxing, frolicking in the snow…”

“Corey…”

“Doing whatever frozen people like to do.”

“Corey, why are you here?” she asked, no longer willing to make small talk with her unannounced visitor who clearly wanted something.

Corey smiled at her, well aware that the purpose for his visit was known between both of them.  At long last he said, “I’m calling it in.”

Ingrid cleared her throat.  “I thought as much. What do you need?”

“Nothing too difficult,” Corey replied, turning on his heels and walking away a bit.  “It’s something quite simple, actually,” he continued, still not facing her, using the tip of his boot to chip away at the ice floor. “In fact, I’m not sure it’s even worth a whole favor.”

“You get one favor,” Ingrid reminded him, shifting in her chair.

He turned back to face her then, still poking at the whole he had created. “Really, a small favor in exchange for convincing the entire council to change a human into a legendary being just so that he could spend eternity with you?  Does that seem fair to you?”

“Corey…”

“Because it really doesn’t seem fair to me…”

“Corey,” she repeated, more sternly this time. Standing, and placing her scepter in its stand, she crossed the few steps to where he was standing, waving her hand as she did so to repair the damage to her floor.  She stood in front of him now, her face only inches from his. “What do you want?”

Clearing his voice and adjusting his tie, he looked away from her for a moment, caught her eyes, and then glanced away again.  “I need a spell, a location spell.”

Ingrid’s eyebrows furrowed.  “What do you mean?”

Once again, he could not meet her eyes. He stepped away, cleared his voice, and with a heavy sigh explained. “I need to make sure that once my new recruit arrives in the North Pole she won’t be able to leave again.”

“Won’t want to or won’t be able to?” Ingrid clarified, crossing her arms in front of her body and grasping one hand in the other.

“Won’t be able to,” Corey replied, turning to look at her. “It would be much more difficult to make it so that she didn’t want to, correct?”

“Yes.”

“I just want you to bind her to the North Pole… so that she can’t leave.”

“And what if she wants to go, refuses to stay?”

“She won’t be able to.”

Ingrid sighed now, placing one hand on her hip and scratching her head with the other.  “I’m not sure I can do that, Corey,” she finally replied just above a whisper.

He looked up at her now, his eyes almost as intense as her own. “Can’t or won’t?” he asked, narrowing his gaze.

She looked away.  “Certainly, you of all people understand my willingness to manipulate, to do whatever it takes in order to achieve one’s goals. It just… it goes against everything your people are doing here, everything St. Nicholas stands for.”

“Oh, please,” Corey huffed, crossing his arms across his chest. “Not you, too.”

“Well, it’s true…”

“Is it?” he asked, stepping towards her, his arms spread wide now in disgust. “Is that what we are really about? Making everyone in the world happy? Everyone? Or just the nice children? Or maybe it’s just the nice children who believe in Santa Claus? I forget sometimes. It all gets a little muddled together, you see, because, at the end of the day, from my perspective, what we are all really about, in my opinion, is getting the job done.  We can tell ourselves all day long how great it is that children are happy that they have presents, ones most of them probably don’t really deserve, or that parents can look lovingly at the smiles on their little cherubs faces as they sing Christmas carols and eat ham while Susie squeezes a new stuffed bear and Johnny spins a new top--it’s a crock, Ingrid. You know as well as I do, it’s a crock.  No one appreciates what we do anymore… no one.”

Ingrid’s eyes narrowed, a mischievous challenge twinkling there, and her cheeks had paled. She stared for a moment before asking, “Then why do you do it?”

Corey looked down at the floor at his own wavy reflection.  Even through the distortions of the ice, he could see that he looked tired, aged, morose, agitated.  After a thoughtful pause, he shrugged his shoulders and said simply, “It’s my job.”

“How very sad for you,” Ingrid replied, as she looked somberly at the acrimonious expression on her friend’s handsome face.  

With a loud guffaw and a smirk, Corey responded quickly with, “I didn’t come here for your pity, Ingrid. I came here because you owe me a favor.  Now, what do you say?  Will you do it?”

She turned her back to him and crossed back over to her throne.  He did not follow but waited as she opened the lid to what appeared to be a small table next to where she had been sitting. As she began to pour the contents of various vials into a small flask, he took a step forward, standing just over her shoulder. She was saying something, though he could not make out the words, and as she placed a cork in the top of the tiny flask, she squeezed her eyes closed tightly, her final words causing a spark of blue light to encase the liquid inside the container for just a moment before a ripple of magic emitted from within, sending a wave of light echoing around in all directions.

She turned back towards him sharply, looking him straight in the eyes. Holding the flask in both hands, she asked,  “Corey, are you sure want to do this?”

“Yes,” he replied assuredly, his hand held out, open, ready to receive the magic potion he had been waiting for.

“Very well, then,” she said, handing it over at long last. “But, if you choose to use it, please be aware that it is very strong, and there is very little I will be able to do to reverse its effects. The efforts I have put into making this potion are considerable, and I hope that you will keep that in mind the next time you ask me for a favor.”

As he took it in his hand, he responded, “Don’t worry, Ingrid. I know what I’m doing.”

“I fear that you don’t,” she cautioned. “Magic is very powerful and it almost always has ramifications, often ones we cannot foresee.”

“Believe me, Ingrid, we are doing this woman a favor.  You’ll see. She’ll be happy to leave her old life behind. She just doesn’t know it yet.”

Ingrid pursed her lips again, shaking her head slowly.  “My sweet Corey, what have you become?” she asked under her breath so quietly, he could barely make it out.

But he did, and squinting his eyes at the woman who used to be more than a friend, he said simply, “I could ask the same of you, Ingrid,” before disappearing in a cloud of mist and glitter.

“Oh, poor ignorant fool,” Ingrid muttered despite the fact that he could no longer hear her. “If you had any idea what you were getting yourself into…. Now, you will owe me. And, regardless of whether or not you go through with your insidious plan, I’m afraid you shall be anything but happy when it’s time to pay the piper.”

The Doll Maker's Daughter at Christmas: Chapter 12

Here is Chapter 12 for your reading enjoyment. Please keep in mind an editor has not gone over this--at all--yet. In this chapter, Santa Claus makes his first appearance.

Chapter Twelve

A Response

Mr. Waddlebug had found a comfy chair in the corner of the room near the fireplace and was dozing, the honking sound of his snoring what one might expect from an old man with a bulbous nose, as Corey sat idly at the desk, absently twirling the feather of a quill in his fingers, waiting on a response from Ms. Fizzlestitch and pondering his own existence.

It wasn’t a pleasant experience.

He tended to push away the ideas  that often popped into his head--why did he work so hard? What was he trying to prove? What did it matter if one new recruit didn’t show up? All of those questions often dwelling just below the surface until one finds himself in a quiet room, all alone save a snoring elf in the corner, and then it is difficult to push the contemplations aside.

But Corey was very talented when it came to the ability to dodge the deeper questions, and he refused now to entertain any of the truly important thoughts that dare rise to the surface of his consciousness, choosing instead to choke the life out of them and push them back down beneath the shoal.  

Instead, he began to consider his plan for retaining Ms. Fizzlestitch once she made her way north.  He was fairly certain that this scheme would be successful; after all, the Snow Queen was extremely powerful--and she owed him a favor, a huge favor.  While there was the slight moral question in the back of his mind (still floating around near the shallows of the abyss) as to whether or not what he was about to do was in good form, he was also very talented at subduing questions of this sort of turpitude.  Any ponderance of the ethics behind his calculations was pushed aside as he began to sequence the events into a specific order, one that would make the most sense and be the most beneficial to the only person who really mattered in all of this--himself.

And then, there was a clattering at the mail shoot.  A nice, clean white envelope landed quietly on the desk. At first, he thought it must be from some child as the last correspondence Ms. Fizzlestitch had sent was such a mess, but this was most certainly from her--or her caretaker--as his name was written in nice, neat print in bold black letters on the back of the envelope. Something else was different; this time his name was spelled correctly.  He picked it up and turned it over in his hands before studying the seal, a nice red wax with the initials “RVF” in overly ornate calligraphy. “Rudolph Valentine Fizzlestitch,” he remembered aloud as he broke the  seal.  The noise of the envelope coming to life awoke his companion, and Mr. Waddlebug was soon standing at his side as Corey slid a nimble finger into the envelope and extracted a crisp sheet of stationery (with the same initials at the top) which had been folded in half before being tucked away inside the matching sleeve.

“Is it from her?” Waddlebug asked impatiently, rubbing his sleepy eyes with a stumpy fist.

Corey did not answer, only looked at him sharply, as if to say, “Of course it is, you buffoon,” before he unfolded the letter and began to read.

Dear Mr. Cane,

I am happy to accompany you to the North Pole for the sole purpose of retrieving my friend, the mouse, Pozzletot.  Upon doing so, I should like to return to my home as quickly as possible.  If you are in agreement with these conditions, please fetch me from my residents as quickly as possible.

Yours truly,

Ms. Serendipity Fizzlestitch

Immediately, Corey noticed that none of the words were misspelled, the handwriting was quite neat, and the signature stood out from the rest. Clearly, she had not written the letter herself. But she had signed it. And that was enough. She had consented to come with him to the North Pole. A mischievous laugh began to grow in the back of his throat, and though he tried his best to  fight it off--after all, now was no time for carrying on like a child--he couldn't help but let a chuckle or two escape.  He could hardly believe something so simple as confiscating a dormouse had been the key to bringing the most reluctant toymaker he had ever encountered on such a long--and permanent--journey.

“Whatever is so amusing?” Mr. Waddlebug asked, his bushy eyebrows knit together in confusion.

“She’s consented!” Corey exclaimed, unable to keep the foolish grin off of his face. “Can you believe it? My ridiculous plan has actually worked!”

Mr. Waddlebug was obviously confused. “But… if you knew it was ridiculous, why did you do it?”

Corey didn’t bother with an answer. Instead, he drew a quill out of the jar where they were positioned on the desk, pulled out a piece of paper, and dipping his utensil into the ink pot wrote quickly but neatly:

Dear Ms. Fizzlestitch,

I have received your correspondence and shall be by to retrieve you as quickly as my schedule allows. I shall see you within two hours time. Please dress warmly.

Sincerely,

Cornelius Cane

As the ink he was using was infused with magic, there was no need to wait for it to dry, and Corey took the letter and folded it swiftly in half, preparing to slide it into an envelope as he heard the confused voice of his valet at his elbow ask, “Why ever will it take you so long? You could be there in a few minutes.”

Corey paused momentarily, leaning sharply against the table and rolling his eyes, before continuing to stuff and address the envelope--using gold colored ink once again to write Ms. Fizzlestitch’s name--as he replied, “I don’t want her to think I am desperate.”  As he held the envelope over toward the mail shoot, he continued, “Besides, I have a stop to make first.  Go down to the stable and ready my sleigh.”

“Yes, sir,” Mr. Waddlebug replied, a slight tone of exasperation in his voice. “Do you want to take the new one? I hear he’s quite fast.”

Again, Corey’s face wrinkled in astonishment. “What? No, I’m in no hurry. Besides, that one is just a baby. He doesn’t even have a name yet.”

“He’s old enough…” Mr. Waddlebug threw out in his own defense.

“Just use Dunder and Blixem--like last time--and all of the times before that, please,” Corey replied sharply.

“All right,” Mr. Waddlebug responded as he turned to walk away. “But you know what St. Nicholas said, that you should get your own team if you’re going to be flying back and forth so often….”

“Just do it,” Corey cried in exasperation.  Once the letter, and the argumentative elf, were gone, he looked around the room to make sure he had everything he’d come with.  Pulling on his coat, gloves, and a thick scarf, he followed his caretaker out the door at such a distance as to avoid having to speak to him again, his eyes glued on the floor, mumbling, “Get my own reindeer…. This is my job…. St. Nicholas doesn’t care, and if he does then he needs to provide me with…” Just then he froze in his tracks at the appearance of familiar black boots in his line of sight.

“Well, hello there, Corey,” a jolly voice cried out, causing Corey to look up and meet two sparkling blue eyes.  “How are you this fine day, my boy?”

“Sir, it’s nice to see you,” Corey replied, offering his hand, unsure as to whether or not St. Nicholas had heard his mutterings.  “I’m doing well, thank you. And yourself?”

“Couldn’t be better,” he chuckled as he released Corey’s hand, thin and small in comparison to his own.  “I’m very excited to hear that you were able to procure a replacement for the recently deceased Mrs. Meriblossom. She served me well for over two hundred years, God rest her sweet soul.”

“Yes, sir, we were all very sad to see her go,” Corey replied, a distraught look plastered on his face, his voice ringing with lamentation.

St. Nicholas shook his head slowly from side to side, his great white beard rippling as he did so.  After a moment, he regained his composure and asked, “When will Ms. Fizzlestitch be arriving?”

“Shortly,” Corey assured the elf in charge. “I’m on my way to collect her in just a bit, right after I pay a quick visit to an old friend.”

“Delightful,” St. Nicholas replied, chuckling in such a way that caused his belly to shake up and down as he did so. “I should like to meet her straightaway. Bring her by post haste, won’t you?”

“Yes, of course,” Corey agreed, not quite sure how he would manage to do so. “I’m sure she’s looking forward to meeting you.”

St. Nicholas nodded in reply, a twinkle in his eyes.  “Her story is such a melancholy one. I do hope that being up here amongst us, where she can truly make a difference, will bring her some… closure at last.”

Corey gave some careful thought to the statement, something he had not really considered until now.  Serendipity did have such a troubled past.  Perhaps he actually was doing her a favor by bringing her here.  Pushing the thought to the back of his mind, he replied with the first statement that came to mind. “Do you think, once she arrives, you will be able to help her learn to read?”

St. Nicholas’s eyebrows raised in curiosity for a moment before he answered. “You know, Corey, sometimes our biggest weaknesses are tied to our largest strengths. I could potentially use my magic to change Serendipity, to make her able to read, but at what cost? I could alter the very fiber of her being--turn her into someone else. And that’s not a risk I’m willing to take. No, if Serendipity learns to read, it will be through some other means, not through magic, not mine anyway.”

Corey was clearly confused.  He had no idea what St. Nicholas was referring to.  How could improving a person’s ignorance take away from who they were or where their talents lie? Still, he was not about to argue with Santa Claus, and so he nodded, giving the sage a winning smile. “Well,” he replied, “I’ll be on my way then. Have a lovely afternoon, sir.”

“You, too,” St. Nicholas replied, patting Corey gently on the shoulder of his velvet red suit. “You, too.” As Corey turned to walk away, St. Nicholas called after him, “Oh, and Corey, remember what I said about forcing people to change. We have no idea what harm might befall those whose fortunes we intermingle with our own will.”

Corey turned and nodded his understanding before turning and walking briskly toward the nearby exit. He gave little thought to Santa’s parting words as he hustled out the door on his way to see an old friend.

“Was that Corey?” Mrs. Claus asked as she joined St. Nicholas in the hall just outside of the mail room. She was fresh from a meeting with the wrapping paper elves and she had been studying several tiny paper cuts on her fingers, catching only the sight of his red coattails as they disappeared out the door.

“Yes, it was,” St. Nicholas replied, scratching his chin through his thick beard.

“And?” she asked, a knowing lilt in her voice.

“And, I am hopeful that he will do the right thing,” St. Nicholas replied.

Mrs. Clause crossed her arms across her chest, atop her stout stomach. “Well, I hope so, too, but there’s really not a lot of likelihood for that at this point, is there? He’ll bring that poor girl all the way up here and then she’ll never be able to leave.”

“Now, Anywyn, I’m sure whatever magic Corey has up his sleeve, I’ll find a way to overcome it, if need be.  But, perhaps, Ms. Fizzlestitch will decide she wants to stay. You never know…”

“I do hope so,” Mrs. Claus replied. “I think she would be ever so happy here. However, I hate to see anyone dragged away from home against her will.”

“I know, I know,” St. Nicholas  responded, placing his arm around her shoulders.  “He did raise a good question though.  Do you think you can teach her to read?”

Mrs. Claus hesitated, looking up into her loving husband’s eyes. “I’m not sure, Nick,” she finally stated with a sigh. “As a schoolteacher, I taught hundreds of children how to read, some with pretty severe reading disabilities, but this condition that Serendipity has, well, I have never seen anything like it. All of those hours of practice… with her father and Maevis, and still she struggles so…. I’m not sure. But I will try.”

“And that’s all we can do,” St. Nicholas replied, kissing his wife lovingly on the head.

“And what of Corey?” she asked, pointing at the direction in which he had disappeared with her forehead.

“That young man will have to realize that the sole purpose of our organization is to help others,” St. Nicholas answered, squeezing her shoulder as he followed her gaze.

“And if he doesn’t?”

There was a considerable pause before her husband replied, “I’m not sure…. I’d hate to lose his services. He’s extremely good at what he does, but if the price is trickery and unhappy souls, I shall be forced to find our young friend a different position altogether.”

My Thoughts on The Doll Maker's Daughter at Christmas... So Far

As you may know, I am publishing the chapters of my newest work, The Doll Maker's Daughter at Christmas, as I complete them.  I have never done anything like this before, but I really felt compelled to get this story out there in the raw, to get some feedback, to see how the readers think the story is developing. And so far, I haven't really gotten a lot of feedback--which is fine, although I'd still like some--but  what I have gotten is something else, which is a clearer understanding of exactly how a story begins to write itself. Let me explain....
This book is my entry for National Novel Writing Month, which essentially means I need to write at least 50,000 words of this novel in November. Now, that may sound like a lot, and I guess it is, but I regularly write more words than that in a given three day weekend without distractions. So I am confident in my ability to finish the book in the next few days (before December 1st), but I will also be the first to admit that I sort of put off writing it because I wasn't sure what happened. Of course, I had an idea. I knew who my characters were. I knew their secrets, their strengths and weaknesses. I had a beginning, a middle, and an end--in theory. But anyone who has ever written a book knows that everything beyond the beginning can be quite flexible. And often times the book begins to take on a new direction the more you write. For example, I had no idea that Santa Claus would become an important part of this story--I thought he would be a great way to tie in the whimsical, fantasy, Christmas magic component the entire book centers around, but I didn't know he would be sooo important. Until he made himself important today as I was writing Chapter 12.  Often times, such changes cause the beginning of the story to need to be adapted as well, and I am now fairly certain the published beginning of this book will be slightly different than what you can find on my blog now, but I also believe it will be better.  I love when stories begin to intertwine, when there's more going on than meets the eye. I think Santa brings that element to this book in a unique way.

He knows when you're awake... and when you're writing!

There are already a lot of things going on, however, and I can't help but mention a few of them. For example, we learn pretty quickly that Serendipity can't read very well and that this inability has caused a tragedy in her life, one that she cannot overcome. It isn't until later in the story that we begin to understand why she can't read. And guess who decided he wanted to be the person to begin to shed some light on this problematic area of Serendipity's life? That's right--Santa Claus.
My reason for causing Serendipity to have this particular learning difference has everything to do with my job as a reading specialist, particularly this year when I have been given the opportunity to work with some very unique, extremely special kids whose differences are of the same nature as Serendipity's.  I hope that, through telling her story, we can begin to understand each other a little better and stop being so critical of others who may happen to think differently than we do.
And then there's Cornelius Cane, the hero--or is he the antagonist?--of our story.  Up until today, I didn't really like Corey--at all. I found him quite annoying and pretentious. Today, as I was digging deeper into the layers that make up this heir to the Candy Cane fortune, I realized he's not such a bad guy after all. Sure, he makes some really bad decisions that end up hurting some other people that I really love--like Serendipity--but at the end of the day, I think we all have a little bit of Corey in us. Haven't we all found ourselves a little too concerned with what is best for us, for our own reputation, for own opportunistic sense of self? Aren't there times when we are so close to the magic we forget it exists? I know I've found myself in those situations before.
With about 15,000 words left to go before I meet my goal, I am wondering if this story will be over by then, or if it will choose to be longer, even more intricate than I thought it would be. Who can say? For now, I will continue to head in the direction I am intending to go, and hopefully the story will continue to unfold before me as I do so. Who knows where we will end up, but when we get there, I hope the story accomplishes what I set out to achieve: entertaining the reader with a whimsical, folklores story about magic and Christmas while shedding a new light on a common learning difference.
If you're reading along, please let me know your thoughts! If you'd like to start with chapter one, you can find it here.

Chapter 11: The Doll Maker's Daughter at Christmas

Here is the long awaited chapter 11! I've been so busy with Thanksgiving, etc., I haven't had as much time to write as I had hoped. But The Doll Maker's Daughter at Christmas will be finished by this weekend, just in time to win NaNoWriMo!  Please keep in mind that this has not been edited. I'd love to hear your thoughts!

Clean

Serendipity had every intention of returning to her cottage and sending another letter to Mr. Cane as quickly as possible. However, once Maevis and Ms. Crottlybloom decided to take on the project of scrubbing years of filth and grime from her--her skin, her hair, her fingernails, between her toes,, everywhere--her return had been quite delayed.  It had taken both of the older women with brushes, combs, and eventually scissors, to work her hair into what could potentially be called “suitable” again. Her flesh was red and sore, not only from the warm water (which had been switched out three times) but also from the intense scrubbing.  Once the torturous bath had been completed, she needed a few moments to collect herself before pulling her abused body out of the tub.  Even the promise that Maevis would help her dress in a gown she had laid aside (it had been Serendipity’s mother’s at one time) and a new pair of boots, did not result in a hasty exit from the cooling water.  No, Serendipity needed a moment alone to recover from the ferocious attack, so she sat in the somewhat muddied water and tried to gather the strength to disembark as the dull gray suds collected around her thin white calves and danced around her elbows.

The longer she sat, legs crossed, hugging her knees to her chest, staring intently into the dancing embers of the fire in the hearth, however, the more inclined she was to reflect on the last time she had been within these walls.  She had never given much thought to this particular room, as it was only used occasionally, but it was joined by her parents’ chambers, and she had many fond memories of running in early in the morning and leaping atop her snoozing father, always to her mother’s chagrin.  Her very own room was just above this one, and that had been her place of solace for so many years following her father’s death.  It was the one place she could go to be alone--from time to time--without the constant nagging of her mother or the harsh words from her sisters.  

And, of course, there was the kitchen, just down the hall, the location where she had inadvertently changed everything. How many times these last eight years had she asked herself why she hadn’t been more careful?  She knew it was necessary to study the two canisters ever so attentively.  She had asked her mother so many times not to keep the rat poison so close to the baking goods, had even moved it herself several times. It was almost as if her mother were tempting her fate, daring Serendipity to make the most costly error imaginable.  

From time to time, another question appeared in her head: had she done it on purpose? No, of course not! Despite the difficulties of living with a mother who had no problem voicing her opinion when it came to Serendipity’s shortcomings and two sisters who berated and belittled her from the time they crawled from their beds in the morning until they finally went to sleep late at night, she had not done it on purpose. It had been a simple mistake. Two similarly colored canisters, both labeled with words she could not read, no one to help her…. She had made a careless mistake--but it was, in fact, a mistake, an accident.

And yet as she sat there in the discolored water, her legs crossed in front of her, her thin arms hugging them close to her chest, her sharp chin resting on one knee, she still knew she would never be able to forgive herself.  No matter how many people explained to her that it wasn’t her fault, nothing could take away the images of her family writing around in pain on the floor, the contents of their stomachs emptying rapidly as they both cursed her and prayed to God for mercy.  “Serendipity! What have you done? Foolish child! You’ve killed us all…”

“Are you about ready to get dressed?” Maevis had entered so quietly, Serendipity had not even heard her until she was standing right next to the tub, towel in hand, ready to help her out of the low-sitting contraption.

Serendipity did not pull her eyes away from the fire, despite the surprise of unexpectedly hearing her friend’s voice.  Maevis waited patiently, accustomed to long thoughtful pauses in the conversations she had with the tiny young thing sitting uncomfortably in a pool of lukewarm water which was still anything but clean even after being changed out so many times.  At last, Serendipity said quietly, “Maevis, I’m not sure I can do this.”

“Of course you can,” Maevis disagreed.  “The Serendipity I know can do anything she puts her mind to.”

There was a small splash in the tub as Serendipity flung her hand out of the water in protest, turning her head at last to look into Maevis’s eyes. “Who, me? Don’t be ridiculous. When have I ever…

“Lots of times,” Maevis interrupted, dropping down to sit next to the tub on the floor despite the small wet spots which had formed from drips and other wayward  droplets of water.  “When you were a little girl, it was all I could do to keep you from climbing up on the windowsill in your bedroom so you could see out across the tops of the trees, especially if you knew your father would be returning soon. You insisted on learning to play the harpsichord when your fingers weren’t long enough to reach the keys properly--even without sheet music…”

“I was a silly little girl then…”

“You were a little girl, often silly, but very intelligent--and creative. If I or your mum told you no, you’d find a way to do it anyway, whatever it was. And it’s the same today--with the dolls.  Whatever makes you think you can put together all of those dolls, ship ‘em out all over the world, dressed in fancy frocks with stylish hair is beyond me. But you’re doing it.  Because you’ve set your mind to it.”

Serendipity shook her head, her damp, white ringlets bouncing around as she did so. “I don’t have a choice, Maevis. It must be done.”

“You do have a choice, love,” Maevis corrected her, placing her calloused hand on her arm just above her boney elbow where it rested on the side of the tub.  “You have a choice everyday.  Do you keep trying to do the impossible or give up and sell the lot of the parts and maybe the house, too.”

“It’s not that simple,” Serendipity replied, resting her head on her arm near Maevis’s hand. “I promised my father that I would finish what he had started…”

“You made that promise after he was gone, darling,” Maevis reminded her. “I’m sure he heard you--sure he sees how hard you work--but you don’t know if that’s what he really wants for you.  I knew your father well, don’t forget that, and I can’t imagine he’d be happy to see the way you’ve worked yourself to nothing but skin and bones, staying up all night, never eating, all in the name of… atonement… for something you never meant to do.”

Tears began to slowly wind their way down Serendipity’s cheek, mingling with the lingering drops of water from her bath. Quietly, she asked, “Do you think he knows, then? Knows… what I’ve done?”

Maevis, whose eyes were always kind and loving, had an expression even more soft and motherly now than usual as she looked into the face of the child she had cared for ever so many years ago. “Yes, love, I’m sure he knows.” Serendipity sighed, and her bottom lip began to quiver. “And I’m quite certain he knows it was all an accident, that it was not your fault, that yu never meant to hurt anyone.”

Serendipity buried her eyes on arm as Maevis began to stroke her hair. She was sobbing now, and Maevis realized she’d neither spoken of the events of that day nor cried about them since the day it had all happened, eight years ago. “There, there, child,” she said quietly.  Let it out.”

“I would… trade places… with them…. I’d do anything…”

“I know, love, I know,” Maevis assured her.

“I thought it said flour.  The script was so ornate… I couldn’t tell…”

“I know…”

“If Father knew, he’d be so disappointed in me…”

“No…”

“He always called me his sweet girl…”

“You were his little angel. He loved you more than anything.”

“But he loved mother, and Charity, and Grace as well…”

“Yes, of course.”

“And I… I killed them…”

“Not intentionally…”

Then, Serendipity’s body began to shake as she was completely overwhelmed with grief.  “Oh, Maevis,” she managed to choke out, “why can’t I learn to read?”

Maevis continued to stroke her hair, hushing her quietly before saying, “I don’t know, my love. I just don’t know.”

“I’ve tried so hard. I just… can’t do it! If only I could…”

“Look at me, Serendipity,” Maevis insisted then, gently tugging on her chin. At first, Serendipity continued to try and hide her face, but eventually her gaze met the kind eyes of her caretaker. “I know you’ve tried to learn to read, and something is preventing you from doing so. I’m not sure what it is…. You’re right--it’s the one thing that you just cannot do. But it is the only thing.  You have a friend out there now who needs you, and though he may be small and what some would consider insignificant, he is your friend. And you must help him.  You’ve managed well enough to read the letters Mr. Cane has sent to you, which is a good start, and now you must be off to find Pozzletot and make sure that he is safe and sound.”

Serendipity nodded, but there was still fear in her eyes. Finally, after a few moments she said quietly, “What if I can’t do it?”

“You can,” Maevis assured her.

“Come with me,” Serendipity requested, her eyes wide with hope.

“No,” Maevis replied sharply, shaking her head. “This is something you must do on your own.”

“But… what if I fail? What if I let another loved one down?”

“You won’t.”

“But…”

“Serendipity,” Maevis said, still staring into those pale blue eyes, “this is your chance to prove to yourself that you can make it in the outside world, that there is no need to shut yourself off from everyone and everything. Go, save Pozzletot, and when you return, if you choose to do so, maybe you will have a better understanding of the people around you, the life you are missing out on. And, if not, you can always go back to the way things were before.”

Serendipity closed her eyes tightly and took a deep breath. After a few moments, she began to nod her head.  “Very well,” she said at last.  “Then, let’s get on with it.”