by Caroline Lee
Copyright © 2019, Caroline Lee
[email protected]
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author.
First edition: 2019
This work is made available in e-book format by Amazon Kindle at www.amazon.com
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Cover: EDHGraphics
This Christmas, beauty is more than skin deep!
For years, Snow has watched her stepmother become more and more deluded. Now that she’s been left alone with the nasty Mrs. White, she’s made the choice to put up with the woman…right up until her stepmother’s new hobby pushes her too far. Coven Cosmetic’s Skin as White as Snow lotion might appeal to other women, but Snow knows it for what it is: her stepmother’s attempt to change Snow, to make her admit her skin color is what defines her.
Asthmatic Reverend Hunter Woods has arrived in Everland just in time for the holiday, but didn’t expect to meet two little old ladies claiming to be godmothers. He certainly didn’t expect to be hit between the eyes with some kind of magic spell, and on the list of things he’d anticipated in his new home, meeting the woman of his dreams was at the bottom of the list.
But wandering through his beloved woods, he can’t help but be intrigued by the lace-decorated Christmas tree, the haunting voice lifted in Christmas melody drifting through the trees, and the beautiful, dark-skinned woman who is suspicious of his claim to be there for the healing properties of the waters.
But the more he sees of Snow White, the more he realizes she has every right to be cautious around him. Her stepmother is an evil woman to try to judge her daughter’s worth by the color of her skin, and despite his holy duty as Christmas approaches, he wishes there was some way he could help. But when disaster strikes, he learns he can do something; when called upon, he’ll give up his very breath for the woman he’s come to love!
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
EPILOGUE
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Other historical westerns by Caroline Lee
Everland Ever After:
Sunset Valley
Black Aces
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Snow
An Everland Ever After Tale
Book Ten
Dedication:
For everyone who has pleaded for a return to Everland. Merry Christmas, my friends!
CHAPTER ONE
“Silent night, holy night…All is calm, all is bright…”
Snow’s voice trailed off, for more than one reason.
First of all, she knew she didn’t have a lovely singing voice, not like her mother. Since Mama’s death so many years ago, Snow often liked to sing to herself, just because it made her feel closer to the woman she barely remembered.
Secondly, Lucinda White, her father’s widow, was in the kitchen brewing up another pot of her potions, and if she heard Snow singing, she’d likely brew up some trouble along with it. Heaven knows the woman couldn’t abide Mama or Snow, which made it ironic the two of them were all each other had left.
And third, Snow had just come to a particularly difficult piece of tatting.
The light coming in through the window over her shoulder wasn’t as bright as it should be, but she couldn’t light a lantern without Mrs. White throwing another tantrum. So Snow hunched over her tatting pillow and bit down on her lower lip as she tied off the end of the lace.
This was a strand she’d started earlier in the year, but the color had been wrong for the christening gown she’d been working on at the time, so it had been set aside until now. She was finishing it off, not because she had another commission—no, she was set to ship off the last of this year’s orders in a few days—but purely for herself.
For Christmas.
There.
She held up the now-finished strand of lace.
Lovely.
“Son of God, love’s pure light…”
Placing her tatting pillow on the ground beside her well-worn chair, Snow stood, humming happily as she folded the lace and tucked it into her pocket. Maybe later today she’d be able to slip away to her tree and place it there.
“Snow! Are you singing again?”
The shriek—and it really was a shriek—came from the back of the house. Snow sighed and patted her tignon, making sure the bright red wrap was in place before her stepmother could call again.
“Snow, get in here!”
“Coming, mother dearest,” she muttered under her breath, not wanting to give the woman the courtesy of answering so she could hear.
But still, she moved toward the kitchen door, knowing nothing good would come if she waited.
Lucinda wasn’t her mother, and was no longer her mistress. In fact, Snow was the one who supported them both, since her sister, Rose, had married and moved away two years ago—at Christmastime.
Had it really been two full years without her? Two years alone with Lucinda, who was becoming odder and odder, now that she was spending time with that gypsy woman who moved to Everland with Skip King’s new wife?
Two years? Sometimes it feels like eons.
She pushed open the kitchen door and stuck her head in. There was no reason to jump at Lucinda’s every shriek, but if she didn’t, the old witch made life miserable with her screaming and nagging.
“Snow! There you are, you wretched girl! I’ve been calling and calling!”
Snow hummed noncommittally as she slipped into the room. “I was about to run an errand, but I can—”
“You can help your mother, you lazy thing. Whatever you have to do is nothing compared to what I require.”
The older woman was standing at the counter, various bowls and flasks spread out in front of her, as she stirred something viscous and bubbling on the stove. She didn’t look up as she berated Snow, which was a small blessing at least. In the last year or so, Lucinda had gotten significantly…odder.
She’d always powdered her red hair to make it seem lighter, but now her hair was rarely arranged properly. The skin around her cheeks and forehead looked too-stretched and shiny at times, as if she experimented with her potions on herself, and her eyes were just as likely to be glazed and mindless as they were cruel and snapping.
Still without looking at Snow, Lucinda stretched out one long finger and sniffed highhandedly. “Now, hand me that crock.”
Snow looked where she pointed. A crock of honey Snow herself had collected in the autumn sat on the kitchen table, only a few feet from Lucinda.
She’d really been called in to fetch something so close?
Stifling her sigh, she crossed the room to reach for the crock. Lucinda was nasty, ungrateful, and full of hate, and Snow had long ago learned the only way to get through life—or a meal—with her, was not to speak. If the older woman heard anything she disagreed with, she didn’t have any trouble screaming her opinion.
But irritated at being dragged in for such a trivial matter, Sno
w couldn’t help her sarcastic, “Your majesty,” as she held the crock out with a flourish.
Lucinda didn’t look up from her pot. “No, no, you fool. Just pour it in!”
Snow narrowed her eyes at the woman’s back, not at all sure why she couldn’t do it herself. But the sooner she completed this, the sooner she could sneak out.
So she shrugged and uncorked the honey. “Just dump it in?”
“A trickle. These potions take finesse, girl.”
Girl. At least Lucinda had called Rose—her own daughter—by her name. But Snow was only called Snow when Lucinda needed something.
Which is funny, because she’s the one who named me.
Alright, maybe not funny.
Snow stepped up beside the woman who made her life hell, and held her breath as she began to trickle the honey into the bubbling pot. Beside her, Lucinda muttered under her breath, but it certainly didn’t sound English.
Whatever concoction was in the pot looked innocent enough. It was thick and creamy, a sort of off-white, made even darker by the honey Snow was pouring in while Lucinda stirred. Thick, sludgy bubbles rose to the top and burst lazily, releasing a pleasing floral scent.
Lucinda continued to mutter under her breath, until suddenly, she hissed, “Clockwise now, you idiot, clockwise!”
Snow startled, almost dumping in more than a trickle of honey, but when the older woman switched the direction she was stirring, Snow realized she’d been talking to herself.
Getting odder? No, Lucinda White was going mad.
Snow wondered if anyone else besides her saw it. Would anyone believe her?
Who would you tell?
The town was full of lovely people, but Snow had never really gotten to know any of them. Rose had been her only confidante, until she’d met Zosia Spratt, her best friend. But now Zosia was off attending school, Snow was all alone.
Maybe you wouldn’t be, if you would at least make an effort.
Everland, Wyoming was an unusual little town, full of unusual people, but each one of them were kind and caring…except Mrs. White. If Snow truly needed help, she knew she could rely on them.
But it had always been easier to rely on herself. To keep to herself, to keep her thoughts to herself, and not have to worry about upsetting her not-quite-stepmother any further.
“There!” Lucinda straightened from her stirring and blinked, as if surprised Snow was still there. “What are you doing, girl? Stop pouring this instant!”
Snow refused to apologize—she had no idea she wasn’t supposed to continue to trickle, after all—but met the woman’s gaze as she calmly stoppered the crock once more.
With a disapproving cluck, Lucinda stirred the potion thrice more—clockwise, because apparently, that was important—then whisked the pot from the stove.
Her back was to Snow as she muttered over the creamy potion, her hands making arcane motions. Despite herself, Snow moved up to her other side, peering into the pot.
“It smells good,” she offered. “What is it?”
Lucinda’s eyes narrowed as her glare snapped to Snow. Because she’d been interrupted? Or because of the question?
Finally, she huffed and reached for two empty jars. “A cream which will reduce the appearance of wrinkles. I’m calling it anti-aging cream, and I think it will be very popular.” She sniffed as she began to dole out small amounts into the jars.
Snow hummed noncommittally as she picked up one of the empty jars to read the hand-written label.
Coven Cosmetics Anti-Aging Cream: A new you!
It was good marketing, she had to admit. And if this one sold as well as Lucinda’s skin-whitening cream, maybe Lucinda would be distracted for a while. Anything was welcome if it resulted in less complaining from the wretched woman!
Even if that anything was witchcraft...?
Snow shook her head as she carefully replaced the jar on the counter, and began backing away.
Mama had been born in New Orleans, even if she’d been living on the White Plantation when Snow had been born. She’d been the one to teach her daughter how to tie the tignon, which later caused Mrs. White’s anger over Snow’s “unnatural” hair, and she’d told her daughter more than enough stories about the supernatural things she’d experienced.
But witchcraft?
Snow wasn’t sure if that’s what Lucinda was doing. But she’d been spending a lot of time with Madame Vadoma, the gypsy woman who stayed in Everland after her troop moved on. Everyone knew how happy Marina King was to have her grandmother nearby, but some of the women, like Lucinda, had taken it upon themselves to start visiting the woman and learning some tricks.
Coven Cosmetics?
How much of that was witchcraft and trickery, and how much was just woodslore, like honey and cream and fresh water?
She was almost to the door when Lucinda suddenly slammed her spoon on the side of the pot and whirled to face her. “Water! You’re to fetch me more water, girl!”
The older woman had been working near the stove all morning, and the sweat at her temples was causing the white powder she always used to cover her red hair to cake and drip. Between that, and the slightly crazed look in her eyes, Snow took another step back.
And maybe she noticed it, because Lucinda shook the spoon in her direction, the lotion splattering. “Water! From the lake, girl! And don’t think to fool me with some stupid stream water, I’ll know the difference! I need the lake’s magical properties, and I need it before I can bottle more of this!”
The lake! Snow had to stop herself from smiling, knowing it would arouse Lucinda’s suspicions.
Her tree stood near her favorite cove of Lake Enchantment. She’d been looking for an excuse to slip away, and here it was.
She forced herself to take a deep breath, clasping her hands in front of her, in front of the pocket which held her lace. “Very well, Stepmother,” she said meekly, knowing that’s what Lucinda wanted. “But it will take me some time to get there and back.”
Lucinda never made the trip to the lake herself, even though their little cottage didn’t sit too far from it—just on the other side of town. Snow had managed to convince the older woman the trip was arduous, and took several hours. This gave Snow more time to relax alone in her favorite spot.
The older woman scowled, peering at Snow as if she could see through the lies. But then she nodded sharply. “Very well. But you’d best be home to label these bottles this evening. Thank goodness dear Reginald can’t see his beloved wife working her fingers to the bone,” she finished with a sigh, turning back to her potion. “He’d likely have a conniption.”
He’d likely have another drink.
That’s what Snow remembered of the man who’d fathered her, the man who’d forced himself on his slave woman, then raised their daughter beside his own legitimate daughter. After the war, he’d dragged his harpy of a wife, his sweet Rose Red, and Snow herself—Mama was gone by that time—out to the middle of Wyoming, where he’d been intent on becoming a rancher, something he knew nothing about.
Maybe it was a blessing the man had keeled over dead so soon after arriving in Everland. His daughters then only had one miserable parent to contend with.
Why are you dragging up the past? she berated herself.
The sun might not be shining, but it was only a few days until Christmas, and now she had hours to spend decorating her tree and singing and enjoying her favorite spot in the whole world.
So she nodded to Lucinda, in case the woman was paying attention, then whirled for the front foyer. She wanted to collect a few more scraps of material before she began to layer her winter clothes on, but that would be easy—
“Don’t forget your lotion, girl!”
Lucinda didn’t even look up when she snapped her reminder, but Snow paused, her hand on the door, to frown over her shoulder.
“My lotion?”
“The lightening lotion, you fool!” Her stepmother looked up long enough to scowl in Snow’s direction. “
The only way we’re going to cure you of that horrible color is with these!” She shook a half-filled jar at Snow. “Don’t you realize I’m doing this all for you? I invented the Skin As White As Snow lotion for you, you wretched thing!”
Horrible color?
Snow frowned down at the back of her hand. Mama had been a slave, the daughter of an African woman. Reginald White had been as pale as pale could be—with shockingly pale hair as well—and Snow White was a combination of both.
Her skin wasn’t horrible, it just wasn’t the translucently white skin of her father. Or her father’s wife. Lucinda had been rubbing herself with lotions, some real and some quackery, for as long as Snow could recall. Now she was making them, and could force them on Snow whenever she wanted.
But she couldn’t force Snow to use them.
Upstairs on her dressing table sat a small crock, with a beautifully designed label proclaiming it Coven Cosmetic’s Skin As White As Snow Lotion. And each day, Snow faithfully poured out a little to make it look as though it were being used.
But she wouldn’t be using that, or anything else her stepmother forced on her. Even if they did work, even if they did lighten skin, she wouldn’t use them.
Especially if they lightened skin.
Lucinda White had named her Snow for her hair, not for her skin. And despite being forced to keep her hair covered, Snow liked who she was. Mama had given her this lovely skin color, and she wasn’t going to hide it or try to change it.
But it certainly was easier if Lucinda didn’t know that.
So Snow bowed her head slightly, already thinking about her escape to her Christmas tree, and pushed the door open.
“Yes, Stepmother,” she murmured, before she made her escape.
CHAPTER TWO
Reverend Hunter Woods stepped off the train in Everland, Wyoming, and turned up the collar of his coat against the cold. The sky was overcast, and it looked as if snow was threatening. It was hard to see how the air and waters here could possibly help him, but he was willing to try anything.