by Amy Ephron
Comet hit the pavement with her right foot, forcefully, as if to make a point, causing what looked like a search party to look at her. As everyone looked worried and frantic and about to go out on a hunt in all different directions.
But the expressions on the faces of the people visibly changed from concern to one of joy and amazement as they saw the amazing horse Comet come to a stop at the curb.
And then she heard him whisper in her ear, softly but clear as a bell, the English accent so distinct, “Thank you.”
Tess saw the expression on Colin’s mother’s face as Tess heard someone’s feet land on the sidewalk and watched as Colin jumped down from the horse and ran into his mother’s arms.
It was a strange sight indeed. The white horse pulling up at the curb with the boy clinging on to the blanket. No one in the search party could see Tess or Max—just a boy named Colin who’d been brought home from his adventure in the snow.
He ran into his mother’s arms and there were tears streaming down her cheeks, tears of joy. They were joined in a moment by what looked like Colin’s father. The three of them held each other in an embrace. Colin was shivering. His father slid his coat off and placed it around Colin and picked him up in his arms. And Tess watched as the three of them, followed by some of the search party, climbed the steps back to the house, and opened the door to go in. Tess could just get a glimpse of a very large Christmas tree, lovingly and perfectly decorated with silver and glass ornaments and garlands made out of holly, before the front door shut again.
Tess had a moment where she couldn’t help but wonder as the door shut behind Colin, if that was what England was always going to be for her, a place where she would meet someone who she might never see again.
And then she felt Max’s arms around her waist.
She turned to see him, funny as ever, his glasses halfway down his nose. “Max! Max!!” she called out so happily. She touched his hair, partly to push the cold ice from it. This time, he didn’t flinch, he smiled as she tousled his hair.
“Tess! Tess . . .” he said to her. She’d recognize his voice anywhere, that voice that cracked sometimes as it was becoming deeper. “Where are we, Tess? What’s happened to us? I’m so cold. . . . And I appear to be riding on a horse,” said Max stating the obvious which was so like Max, Tess started laughing.
Mr. Cortland appeared, hopping down from the seat of his carriage which was still on the corner waiting for them, stationary, permanently in place, with no horse gently bridled in front of it to lead its way. He stroked Comet’s mane, then lifted Max down. It was Max. Tess knew that it was him. Just him. And then he lifted Tess down onto the sidewalk. Without any prompting, Max held his right hand up as did Tess and they executed a pinkie swear in front of what now looked exactly like THE SANBORN HOUSE, complete with a sign, the boutique hotel that she and Max were staying at with Aunt Evie. It was a genuine pinkie swear that indicated that they proudly always had each other’s backs, as a taxi pulled up at the curb.
Strange, as it was the middle of the night. Probably somebody who’d been out partying. In a flash, the back door opened, and their mother stepped out of the cab onto the sidewalk, followed by their dad, and they all embraced, laughing.
Their mother didn’t say a word of admonishment. She just laughed and said, “I wonder how you knew we were coming?! Did Aunt Evie tell you? We wanted it to be a surprise.”
At which point the front passenger door of the cab opened and Aunt Evie stepped out (as she hadn’t really gone to a pub to meet a friend, she’d gone to meet their parents at the airport). “I did not say a word to them. I promise,” said Aunt Evie.
Their dad looked at them quizzically, taking in the whole scene—Max wrapped in a blanket, Mr. Cortland next to them, as if he was somehow guarding them, the white horse looking as if she had just had the run of her life, and Tess, her hair blown, her cheeks as rosy as if she herself had run a marathon, brave and defiant, as always, smiling so happily, except her lips were a little blue—and because he knew them so well, he said, “And I wonder what you are doing up so late at night?”
Tess reached her hand into her pocket. She wrapped her hand tightly on the cat’s eye marble. The marble was warm to her touch and then warmer still. And suddenly a faint orange glow seemed to encircle all of them, as if there was a spotlight from the sky onto the sidewalk. And the five of them hugged, as the snow fell softly, like light petals all around them.
thank you
Tess and Max would like to thank the amazing Jill Santopolo for presenting our continuing real and imagined adventures, and Jennifer Chung, Jennifer Bricking, and Vartan Ter-Avanesyan for picturing us and our travels in England; the many magical voices of our friend Laraine Newman; and all the kind people behind the curtain at Philomel Books and Penguin Random House: Ken Wright, the patient and attentive Talia Benamy, Lindsay Boggs, Diane McKiernan, Katherine Punia, and Felicia Frazier!
And all the people who supported Amy: friends and family, Alan Rader, John Byers, Judianna Makovsky, Holly Palance, Sally Singer, Allison Thomas, Wendy Goldberg, Cathryn Michon & Bruce Cameron, Alexandria Jackson, Maia, Matt, Anna, Kevin, and Ethan, Delia, Nick, the inspirational Sonneborn family, Alison Petrocelli, ditto the Morgan family, Nancy Ellison & William Rollnick, the stellar Bob Myman and Jennifer Grega, Scott Miller and Alex Slater, Jon Huddle and Kara Corwin (who know a bit about the strangeness of elevators, too), resident psychic Lila, and a special thanks to Richard Symons, imbedded researcher on Ms. Ephron’s ghost travels years ago to England, and his generous participation in, as he states, that “off-road trek across mud-filled fields and into ancient burial sites” in his Aston Martin DB6 which was probably not meant for off-roading in the remote and mystical English countrysides but which is probably where Amy found us!
about the author
Amy Ephron (www.amyephron.com) is the author of The Castle in the Mist, her first book for young readers, which was nominated for a SCIBA Award, and of Carnival Magic, a companion book. Amy has also written several adult books, including A Cup of Tea, which was an international bestseller. Her novel One Sunday Morning received the Booklist Best Fiction of the Year and Best Historical Fiction of the Year awards and was a Barnes and Noble Book Club selection. She is a contributor and contributing editor at Vogue and Vogue.com, and her work has appeared in numerous other publications. She was also the executive producer of Warner Brothers' A Little Princess. Amy lives in Los Angeles with her husband; between them they have five children. You can follow her on Twitter and Instagram @amyephron.
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