Encircled

by Laurie Lucking

  “Of course.”

  “I will not make you swear it again, but you will cause me great grief should you disobey.”

  Anna’s laughter came down the stairs and made me turn, hand flat against my stomach to steady my breathing.

  “Go to your sister. I will come to you before I leave.”

  Later, when he was perched upon his gelding, Wilhelm pulled the lace at my neckline through his fingers. “Please wear this when I return. It is my dearest wish to see you again, as I do now.”

  I pressed my lips to his hand and waved as he disappeared down the road.

  After his departure, my days were merry. We sewed if we wanted to, or drifted through the nearby woods, with Michael as our guide, pointing out the heavy pinecones.

  “It will be a hard winter,” Mother remarked, pulling her shawl tighter. Indeed, the nights were colder. Michael filled the wood boxes twice a day. Even the stove in the kitchen didn’t warm the stone floor much.

  “I will have you as my company until my husband returns,” I said, plucking a dead leaf from April’s hair. “Until then, we will not think about the pinecones or gray skies.”

  But it was not meant to last. Mother’s light cough sank deep into her chest, despite Mrs. Mason’s balm and heated towels. When we woke to a fine dusting of snow, I knew she had to be closer to Doctor Worth in Sacramento.

  My heart broke as Michael drove the carriage away, leaving twin wheel tracks in the snow. April’s head poked out of the window and she waved. I waited until they were far away to sob.

  The slow work of cleaning and closing the rooms once more kept me from crying all day long. Mrs. Mason allowed me to help with meals, which we took with Michael, huddled near the potbellied kitchen stove.

  She protested when I sent her to visit her own family but admitted she hadn’t seen them for a spell. Michael agreed to accompany her and check the railway station and boat ferry for Mr. Meyer’s return every day. The day of their departure, fat snowflakes fall and covered the yard.

  My world shrank to three rooms: the kitchen, the parlor where I slept, and quick trips to Wilhelm’s office for writing supplies as I needed them. It was no trouble to bank the two fires for just myself and haul in wood from the stack Michael left right outside of the kitchen door.

  Some days into my solitude, I searched for a new quill, having split my normal one. Upon entering the office, my shoulder brushed the frame and the iron keys jangled against the wood. I stared at the three keys. Did he keep gold bars from the mine down there? Jewels? Was it my Christmas surprise?

  The cold jerked me from my musings as I shivered in the cold air in his office. I hurried to grab another quill, but still, my eyes wandered to the keys as I shut the door.

  For two days, I made excuses for trips into the office: ink, paper, books to read. On the third day, the keys were still attached to the hook. I reached up and touched them. Quickly, I tucked them into my apron and rushed back to the parlor fire, taking care to look down the drive for signs of Wilhelm’s return.

  I added a heavy sweater to my shoulders and wondered why I had decided to wear the white silk with red roses that day. Perhaps it was the way the silk swished when I walked, or that it kept my legs warmer than the others.

  After another look out of the window, I balanced the candle and headed back into the hallway. Just a peek couldn’t hurt! Besides, if there was a fire, I needed to know what to protect. Key in the lock, it took both hands to make it turn. As the bolt thudded, it vibrated through my hand, and I suddenly felt much colder.

  The chilly door handle was easy to turn. As the door crept open, a blast of icy air blew out my candle. I returned with the candle lit once more, and it was snuffed again. Finally, I brought the oil reading lamp, the flame guarded in a glass dome.

  The air smelled wet and heavy. I dipped the lamp down to the first step and saw a trickle of water bouncing toward the bottom. I carefully hitched my skirts and descended, lamp high in one hand and keys clutched in the other. Another wooden door awaited me at the bottom of the stairs. I used the same key, and this time, the lock turned easily.

  As the door swung open, the air was even colder here, like I was in the snow with not a stitch on at all. The lamplight glistened on water rivulets, streaming down the bedrock walls. Something light-colored was further in the shadows. I knew it was not gold or jewels, yet I held my lamp into the darkness.

  A limp white dress hung just above the floor. I almost missed the tiny red roses as my gaze traveled upwards, to the pale hand with a wedding ring like mine. Wilhelm said the two tiny gold hearts were his and mine, bound for eternity.

  I could not look at the woman’s face, for her dark hair covered her bowed head. It was as if she was praying, chin dipped to her chest, somehow floating above the stone floor. Below her lace neckline creased a V-shaped crimson stain.

  My lamp flickered. I held it up. Another figure beside this woman. And another. And another. With shaking hands, I turned up the flame inside the globe as high as it would go. Seven brides side by side, praying in death, dangling above the slick floor.

  Breakfast revolted in my stomach. I raced partially up the stairs, only to return and lock the inward door. Almighty above help me, I couldn’t lose my stomach there. Wilhelm would know I’d disobeyed. Once the lock slid into place, I rested my forehead on the cool wall and listened to the trickle down the steps. Moments later, I opened my eyes to watch the water slide underneath the door.

  “No!” I gasped into the heinous gloom. My hem matched the roses on my dress. I scampered up the stone stairs and locked the door. My hands shook as I unlaced my boots, soiled with blood. Keeping the stained hem lifted above the floor, I replaced the keys and ran to the kitchen in my stockings.

  Tears blurred my eyes as I placed the edge of my dress on the sink. The more I scrubbed, the farther the blood crept up the silk. It did not grow pale with water and soap, but more crimson than before.

  My hair fell into my eyes as I switched from lye to some root Mrs. Mason kept near the sink. Though my fingers were frozen from the cold water, a chilly breeze moved my hair. I turned toward the hallway.

  Wilhelm stared, his face without expression. Hat still on, with snowflakes clinging to the brim. “You defied me, my Robin.”

  In the sink, the pumped water gurgled to a stop. I was still holding the bloody hem of my dress in my hands. And I felt very, very cold, like I was in the basement once more, chilling my very blood.

  “I wanted you to be the one to grow old with me. To love and obey me. But I cannot seem to find a wife who will resist temptation.” He took one step, then another, until he was nearly touching my raw hand. “You will join them, my Robin.”

  “No,” I whispered, unable to move. “I will obey you, Wilhelm. I promise.”

  “My dear.” He dragged a gloved hand across my cheek, looking from one eye to another. “It is far too late for that.”

  “Please.”

  “They also begged. Do not be as common as they were. You were meant to be my prize.”

  “Can I … would you allow me the day to pray? To ask for forgiveness before …” I couldn’t bring myself to utter my fate. The next day, I’d be praying next to my identical sister brides.

  “Curious.” Wilhelm tugged off each glove. “I will allow this. Now, you must go change into something dry. As you know, this is my favorite dress and you will depart the world in it, like those before you.”

  I thanked him and hurried to the parlor to shed the spiteful dress. He dismissed me to the blue bedroom with the globe lamp, a pipe tucked into the corner of his mouth.

  The door upstairs didn’t lock, but I quietly pushed a chair under the handle, knowing full well that he could break it down. Tucking a blanket around my body, I lit the firewood Michael always kept ready in each bedroom, grateful for his thoroughness. Outside, the snow had stopped. I dropped to my knees at the window pane and prayed for a miracle. My prayers became frantic when the heavy basement door opened, th
en closed, far below.

  I whispered my “Amen” and my breath fogged the window when I opened my eyes. Was that whistling I heard? I swiped my hand across the glass and saw Michael’s brown, oversized jacket below. The wooden frame was swollen, but I finally pried it up enough to get my head out.

  “Michael!” I did not yell. It was more of a loud whisper.

  He looked up from under his wooly hat and waved.

  “Please do not come in. Do you understand?”

  Michael nodded, tilting his head sideways.

  “I need you to get my sister and the sheriff. I cannot tell you why, but you must run and get them. Please, Michael. Please say you will do that.” My tears felt like tiny icicles.

  He nodded again, but then looked at the front door.

  “Michael.” I waited until he looked back to me. “I trust you with my life.”

  With a quick salute, he turned up the driveway and jogged back toward my salvation. Maybe they would arrive that night.

  My hope faded when the gray sky turned dark. Although hunger gnawed at my belly, I didn’t open the door when Wilhelm offered me supper. Surely, Michael had reached someone and they would come for me before morning. Outside, the clouds parted, and stars blinked in the night. I was left with my thoughts: if only help would arrive, if only the window would open wider to escape, if only I had one more sunset before meeting my Lord.

  There were ashes in the fireplace, and my eyelids were laden with exhaustion when a knock on the door awakened me.

  “My Robin, you must come down now.”

  I didn’t want to obey, but I removed the chair and stepped over the supper tray. The fire in the parlor was stoked high and I stared into the flames rather than my husband’s face.

  “You must change into the dress.”

  Next to me, the silk dress laid dry across a chair. The red stain predicted my future. He didn’t attend me, so I tightened my own laces. My soiled boots went on last. I pulled the hairbrush through my tangled, brown knots. I just knew that hooves would come flying down the drive any moment. Once again, though, my confidence dwindled as I fixed the last pin atop my head.

  “Come now.” Wilhelm motioned to the kitchen. He refrained from touching me until he pressed my shoulders down, causing my knees to buckle. In his right hand, the tiny knife he kept on his desk turned round and round. Hund was curled into a small ball at his feet. “My disappointment in you is deeper than any mine shaft.”

  I took a shaky breath. “I will not beg, like you told me.”

  “Thank you, my dear.” The knife dipped toward my neck.

  “Would you allow me one more thing?”

  “Do not ask for your life. It is forfeit.”

  “I will not.” I didn’t struggle in his grip. Perhaps Anna needed more time. “The clouds have cleared. You know my favorite time of day is sunset. Would you give me one last look?”

  His knife stopped twisting in his hand. “I will. Then, we will proceed.”

  I thanked him no less than three times and sprinted back to the blue bedroom. The sun played peek-a-boo behind the clouds, melting the snow before the winds picked up. The storm heralded rain. Maybe I would see a patch of pink sky if no one came.

  Hours later, when the sun dropped below the line of clouds to the west, a brilliant spot of orange and pink washed together on the horizon. I’d spent the day looking to the road, rewarded with nothing. In that moment, it was enough to enjoy the riot of colors.

  The silk rustled as I rose from the chair at the window. A dark blot caught my eye down the road. But by the time I blinked, it was gone again. I descended the stairs and took my husband’s hand.

  Rain pounded the kitchen window when I knelt for the second time. The chill from the stone floor seeped through my skirts. I caught a glint of flame as the blade spun in Wilhelm’s hand. When he lowered the blade to my neck, I then understood the stain from the necklines of my sisters in the basement. I would go quietly to my Maker, where I would dip my toes in the streams of heaven.

  Wilhelm first guided his thumb across my windpipe, the knife resting on the other side of his soft skin. It was almost like a caress. He kissed the top of my head and murmured, “My Robin.”

  The first prick of the blade burned. I closed my eyes.

  A loud bang echoed down the hallway, and I glanced up, my pain spreading. Hund began to bark. The front door was open, and John screamed my name. He came nearer and the burn grew on my neck. Wilhelm yelled, and I couldn’t understand either of them. John leveled his flintlock pistol before a puff of smoke covered his face. The explosion rang in my ears, and the gunpowder burned my nose.

  I didn’t want to leave with John’s face so close to mine. But, I felt my soul departing before I could say goodbye.

  I left the unknown brides’ names for my mother to choose. In the end, the profits from the sale of the mine and the house paid not only for seven Christian burials, but for advertisements to find their families. Anna cried when I provided her a dowry, and asked to name her firstborn daughter after me when she married.

  As for me, I sit on the banks of the river, toes dangling in the water. Scandalous. John beckons me to the house, but I will wait a while longer to see this sunset. It feels like it will be the most beautiful one I have ever seen.

  THE END

  About the Author

  An adrenaline junkie, S.E. Clancy has skydived, worked as a 9-1-1 dispatcher, and raised two daughters with her husband of over 25 years in Northern California. A bit of a sci-fi nerd, geek, and self-proclaimed dork, there isn’t much she won’t try at least once … unless it involves mayonnaise, because that stuff is just gross.

  Her debut novella, “True: A Contemporary Retelling of Rahab,” released March 14, 2019.

  A Spell’s End

  A retelling of “The Nutcracker and the Mouse King” by E.T.A. Hoffman

  E.J. Kitchens

  Chapter 1

  In the kingdom of Plumgarten, in the year of our Lord 1809

  A NUT OF all things. But it’d worked. Judging by the gasps echoing through the throne room, the ugly Princess Sophia was ugly no more.

  A smug smile lifted the corners of Ernst Drosselmeier’s mouth, but he kept his eyes lowered as he took a step back. One, he counted. Trust the Mouse King to make the princess’s anti-curse something as mundane as a shelled nut and seven flawless steps backward. At least the nut was only found in a particularly dangerous faerie kingdom.

  Two. Ernst’s boot heel clicked against the marble floor once more. Five more perfect steps and then he, a soldier and the son of a doll maker, would be a prince and the future son-in-law to the king. Ernst’s chest tightened in an unfamiliar sense of anxiety. What had his arrogance and adventure-seeking gotten him into?

  Three. He didn’t care one whit about the princess. The sneer and pinch about her eyes hadn’t been solely from her curse. He’d seen her occasionally as a child at his father’s shop. He’d noted the signs of conceit and selfishness even then. She didn’t need the square jaw, grinning mouth, and cottony beard from the curse to make her ugly to him.

  Four. Only three more steps, and his fate was sealed. Lord, what have I done? Is it your will that I marry this woman? The doll maker’s son become a puppet prince to a selfish princess? Surely not. He should have listened to his uncle and never gone on the quest. He’d only done it to prove himself where others had failed.

  Five. The king had promised his daughter’s hand in marriage to the man who broke the curse. He’d never let Ernst insult the princess by refusing to marry her.

  Six. Only one more step. Help me, Lord. Forgive my arrogance. Closing his eyes, Ernst raised his foot and stepped back.

  Sev—

  His heel landed on something soft and squirming. A mouse squeaked, and Ernst stumbled. He caught himself, but it was too late. Over the pain shooting through him—the sensation of being torn apart and put back together like a puzzle—he heard screams, a voice crying she’d never marry him, for he was hi
deous. Another affirming she needn’t, for Ernst hadn’t broken her spell—he’d transferred it to himself.

  The agony subdued, but the curse still pressed against him. Pressed but not settled. What kept it from sealing itself upon him? Was there a chance for him to be free? He shuddered as he heard the princess’s voice again.

  “He freed you, dear,” the king said, though doubt laced his voice. “I gave my word.”

  “I don’t care. I won’t marry him. I won’t have that creature staring at me every day, reminding me of what I was, and hating himself and me for what he is now. I’ll never marry him.”

  I’ll never marry him. Like a crystal note, the words pierced him, a prelude to the curse sealing itself upon him with a pain that made him lurch.

  When the agony eased, Ernst dared look into the mirrors situated all around the throne room, normally reflecting candlelight and color and the finest of the king’s court. Now, he saw only a creature, man-like, with a huge head, a wide grinning mouth, and a cottony beard.

  Ernst sprinted from the room.

  Chapter 2

  In the kingdom of Plumgarten, in the year of our Lord 1816

  “WHY DO YOU always look so…?” Eighteen-year-old Marie Stahlbaum broke off her murmur. With a sigh, she examined her sketch of the nutcracker doll. A hopeless sadness revealed itself in the sketch’s penciled eyes as clearly as in the toy’s painted blue ones. Or so it seemed to Marie.

  “Why do you look at all?” she asked the doll as she tapped the shaft of her drawing pencil against the paper. How could she capture the doll’s likeness if it was always changing?

  Once again, she sighed. She had a doll she couldn’t accurately sketch and a note she couldn’t decipher. Marie glanced around the drawing room and then slid a slip of stationary from under her sketchbook.