Winterdream

by Chantal Gadoury

  They live at the heart of Sugarland, inside the oldest spruce tree. Their entire court can fit in the hollow of the tree. You see, Clara, they are no bigger than my thumb. I have seen them at full height, though I think they prefer to be littler. Magic has as many abilities as you can dream up, and I think that the Sugarland Forest has the two greatest magic users in all of Winter Dream.”

  “Are they very like fairies?”

  Nutcracker smiled and laughed. “They are, but I would not refer to them as such.”

  “I would like to meet them sometime, if I am able.”

  “Of course,” he agreed. “You will meet their daughter, Lady Irina. She serves at the Winter Dream court.”

  Lady Irina? I wondered what she would be like; how she would react to my presence in Winter Dream. I felt my stomach flip. Could she be his betrothed? I had not realized I had been staring at Nutcracker until the thought of him marrying Lady Irina invaded my mind. Despite his wooden form, the Nutcracker was handsome. Anyone could have seen that beneath the mask of his curse. His eyes were bright and crystal blue, and I liked the way his lips curled into a smile each time he said my name.

  Did he smile in the same way when he spoke her name?

  Enough, Clara. Don’t be silly!

  I quickly averted my gaze, focusing on the snow that had stuck to the furs. I felt Nutcracker watching me, his focus caught between me and the road ahead. He was silent and steady. In the comfortable silence between us, I pulled the furs closer to my body, seeking security in their warmth. The sound of the snow beneath the horse’s hooves was almost like a soothing, strange lullaby.

  It was not long before my eyes felt heavy with sleep, and I fell into a comfortable slumber.

  Chapter 10

  “Find me, Clara.”

  From the darkness, a wooden hand firmly grasped mine. I looked around me, surprised to find that it was not the Nutcracker’s hand that held mine.

  It was Anton.

  He was unchanged, mostly. Still his blue eyes shimmered with the same kindness I had seen at my papa’s party.

  Find him? I raised my brow curiously. Was he not standing before me? I parted my lips to speak, but stopped as he chuckled and lifted a smooth, warm finger against my lips.

  “Find me,” he said again, this time more insistently.

  “But you’re here,” I replied, puzzled. “You’re. . .” somewhere far apart from me now. Anton reached for my hand and tugged me forward gently.

  “Don’t be afraid, Clara.”

  Afraid? I didn’t understand. What was there to be afraid of? Why did I need to go find him? As I lifted a hand to his shoulder to brace myself, I caught sight of Uncle Drosselmeyer from the corner of my eye, lingering behind him.

  “Uncle!” I called out urgently to him. Where had he been? The last I had seen of him was in the parlor, just before I had shrunk. Before the Mouse King attacked. My heart jumped in my chest. Why had he left me? How could he leave me and the Nutcracker to face the danger all on our own?

  My uncle’s lips curved into a smile as he lifted his hand in a gesture of greeting. He grasped the edge of his large, black top hat and tipped the edge—like a true theatric.

  “Uncle!” I shouted again, pulling myself from Anton’s grasp. But he held onto my hand firmly, keeping me in place.

  “Clara, don’t be afraid…” Anton said again. I shook my head and scanned the dark space, only to discover that my uncle had disappeared once more. In his place, a large white owl spread its wings and began to fly off into the air.

  I whimpered as I felt a sharp shiver of fear roll down my spine. What would become of me? What would become of the Nutcracker and all of his subjects of Winter Dream?

  Just as I was about to turn and face Anton, to explain that I had to return to my Nutcracker, I found the Mouse King’s sneering face instead.

  I jolted against the Nutcracker’s hard chest with a start. My eyes were wide with alarm as I felt the familiar sensation of the Nutcracker’s hand on my back.

  “Clara?” His voice was warm, calm, but filled with concern. “Are you alright?”

  I stared at him, but rather, tried to look beyond what was in front of me. Was this all a scheme of my uncle’s?

  I scanned the wintry woods around us; the horse was still trotting at a leisurely pace, taking us into what seemed like an endless forest.

  “I’m alright,” I said, sliding my fingers over my temples. Anton’s words echoed in my mind. ‘Find me, Clara. Find me.’

  “What is it?” Nutcracker asked softly, tilting his chin down to gaze at me.

  “It was just. . .”—I paused and bit my lip—“... a strange dream.”

  He raised an expectant brow. Exhaling, I replied, “Do you think dreams can send messages?”

  The Nutcracker slowly reached for my hand and squeezed it gently.

  “Anything is possible, Clara,” he murmured. My stomach sunk at his reply. If dreams could carry messages, what was Anton trying to tell me?

  The Nutcracker remained eerily calm as he tucked the corner of the fur blanket around me again, avoiding my curious gaze. He parted his lips, seeming to search for the right answer, but instead replied, “We’re nearly there.”

  “To Mother Ginger’s Inn?”

  “Indeed. The very one,” he said looked about the forest scenery. Some moments later, he pointed at something in the distance.

  “There? Do you see it?”

  I lifted my gaze to where he indicated. Just on the horizon, I could see a small structure and a whirl of smoke coming from a chimney. Beneath the moonlit sky, the house tucked itself away beyond the dark ebony branches of the woods. It truly was an inn nearly in the middle of nowhere. It reminded me of a fairy tale, of the princess who ran away from the evil queen and hid away in the forest in a small woodcutter's cottage. Large stones made up the walls; a two-story home with a straw roof that looked like licorice. I could smell the brewing stew from the chimney smoke.

  My stomach growled. It looked cozy and inviting.

  As he brought the horse to a halt in front of the inn, a strange sort of unease filled me. And it was not that I was hungry, though I was starving. I could not place my sudden anxiety, but it nearly petrified me.

  “Are you sure about this?” I asked softly, knotting my fingers in the furs.

  “Of course,” he said, dismounting the steed. “Mother Ginger will be overjoyed! She loves to meet new people, and it isn’t often that we have guests in Winter Dream.”

  He turned to help me. Instead of offering his hand, he lifted me by my waist and gently lowered me to the ground. His eyes were nearly the same as Anton’s in my dream. But I knew that could not be. Anton was safe in my world, back at home, daydreaming about our walk in the garden. The thought of him waiting for me, alone, caused me a great deal of guilt.

  Perhaps that was what he had meant by ‘find me.’

  I shivered as the Nutcracker retracted his hold on me. He gave a nod as he patted my fur-covered shoulders, sliding one hand down to my own and grasping it in his. The blanket made me feel more protected than I had in my chemise and dressing gown; more modest against the snowy elements and the woman I was about to meet for the first time. He led us to the door in a few short, confident strides.

  I trailed behind him, clutching his hand nervously. We waited together silently as he knocked on the door; wood on wood.

  The door opened to reveal a petite, young woman. Her wild, red curls were tied back with a dull blue ribbon, frayed around the edges. Her blue dress was simple, yet it suited her and the world she lived in. It was green, deep and rich like the spruce trees, adorned with a simple, starch white apron.

  “Hello, Mistress Lotte,” the Nutcracker said, cracking a smile. “You’ve grown.”

  She curtsied quickly and blushed as she darted her gaze to the ground.

  “Your highness! We didn’t know you had returned so soon,” she explained as she lifted her chin and extended her hand to the large hallway behin
d her. “Come in. Mama will be pleased to see you again.”

  The blush on Lotte’s cheeks reminded me of my own silliness back at Papa’s party with Anton. I knew the shy look in her eye, for it had been my own once. She must have admired him so, but how could she not?

  Nutcracker had a polite disposition.

  “Thank you,” he said happily.

  Lotte took a step back, away from the door, and waited for us to come inside. I glanced over my shoulder only once, just in time to see our snow-white horse disappear in the very same manner as the sleigh had hours ago.

  As I passed through the doorway, she stared at me with a wide grin. Her glittering, green eyes seemed to hold a sort of amusement as I tugged the fur blanket tighter around me. She closed the door behind us, grabbing a stray, lit candle from a side table. She strolled down the hallway, with both the Nutcracker and me in tow.

  I stayed back a step, taking the time to familiarize myself with the furnishings that made the inn so comfy. Littering the wooden walls, cuckoo clocks ticked away at the passing seconds. Large shelves hung almost near the ceiling of the room holding unknown treasures. The walls were carved with etchings of things I didn’t recognize; perhaps they were of people belonging in stories, or a part of their own family history.

  Lotte rounded the corner, lingering just at the doorway with her hand extended once more. “Mama is making bread in the kitchen. She’ll be so happy to see you, sire. I’ll make myself busy preparing your rooms.”

  With another curtsy, she turned on her heel and marched back down the hallway from where she came. Lotte’s lips turned into a gentle smile as she passed by me. The Nutcracker waited until I caught up with him to walk into the warm kitchen. Just beyond a large counter covered in dough, a large woman with the same bright red hair leaned over three pans of freshly-baked bread. The air smelled so heavenly, my mouth began to water. Everything was lit by the many scattered candles about the room, and the roaring fire in the hearth behind her.

  Mother Ginger turned on her heel, her eyes going wide when she saw the Nutcracker.

  “Your highness!”

  She waddled across the room, bringing him into a tight hug against her large bosom. He looked at me with a sort of innocence, as if he had no idea how to get away. I lifted my hand to my lips, stifling my giggle.

  “Oh! Sire,” she exclaimed and took a step back. Her gaze drifted to mine, and she paused. Her mouth widened, as if in shock and awe of my presence. I fidgeted, hastily avoiding her gaze as best as I could.

  “It can’t be! Is this. . . Are you. . . Clara?”

  I didn’t understand how she knew me by name. After all, I knew nothing about her. Mother Ginger glanced at the Nutcracker, awaiting an answer. But before he could say anything, I nodded.

  “Y-Yes, I’m Clara. Clara Stahlbaum.”

  “Clara…” She sighed my name as if relieved. Perhaps she was. “Oh, dearest Clara…” Mother Ginger reached out to me with her flour-covered fingers and pulled me toward her.

  “Hello,” I stammered.

  “You’re more beautiful than I expected!” Her fingers brushed underneath my chin as she gazed at me.

  “Thank you.”

  Mother Ginger turned quickly to Nutcracker. “Does this mean—? Why are you here?”

  “The Mouse King,” Nutcracker proclaimed.

  “Oh dear,” she grimaced. “Yes, I suppose that does explain everything.”

  “It seems that in my absence, he has been pursuing the kingdom more—persistently—than before.”

  Mother Ginger gave a quick nod. “Trouble has been brewing since you were here last.”

  “Undoubtedly.”

  I did not miss her bereft expression or the slouch in her shoulders. Had the Mouse King taken more than we thought? I wondered how long Nutcracker had been away from Winter Dream. It must have been a depressing separation for him to be away for so long, unable to rule his people properly.

  How could his master take him away when they were all in such peril?

  “Never you mind all that now, though.” She waved off the tension easily and turned back to her work. “How about a spot of tea, or a big bowl of my special stew?”

  My stomach growled curiously.

  “It seems I’ve been neglectful of Clara’s needs,” he chuckled.

  Mother Ginger grabbed the two trays of bread and brought them to the table before us. She flipped the pans over and swiftly removed the warm, golden-brown loaves. My stomach grumbled with hunger, and my cheeks warmed.

  “I made some sweet apple butter this morning, special for the bread,” she said as she reached for a couple bowls hiding in a cabinet. “It’s Lotte’s favorite.”

  “I’ll fetch it for you,” Nutcracker offered.

  “It’s just there, the red bowl.” And just like that, the kitchen was alive with movement. Mother Ginger served a healthy helping of stew into two medium-sized bowls while Nutcracker set to work on cutting the bread and spreading the apple butter.

  He handed me a piece of the sweetened bread, and I took it without hesitation. Biting into it was heaven. “This is delicious.”

  I eyed the bowl of stew like a ravenous beast as she placed it before me. Potatoes, beef, carrots, onions, beans, and just a hint of paprika. I picked up the spoon she had given me and ladled a bite into my mouth. I sighed, my belly content.

  “Any news from the castle?” the Nutcracker asked, barely touching his food. “Have you heard from anyone recently?”

  “Not since your departure,” she said with a solemn nod.

  I took smaller bites in an attempt to tune myself into their conversation.

  “The lord and lady of Sugarland assisted us this evening, but I fear the others may not be so fortunate.”

  “They have all of Sugarland to hide from him. I know they’re on the defensive.”

  Nutcracker tensed, the tide of their warm greetings shifting heavily into more serious waters. I felt a bit small sitting beside him. I had been brought here, yes, but not for glad tidings and celebratory revelries.

  I was brought here for something else. But what?

  “What more can you tell me, Mother Ginger?”

  “I know the subjects from all the lands have been warding off attacks by and by. The Mouse King sends his spies about, searching for you. He’s been waiting for your return.”

  I looked to the Nutcracker curiously.

  “Just how long have you been gone?” I asked. His features appeared frozen as his gaze darted to mine for a moment.

  “Too long, it seems.” He shrugged thoughtfully.

  Mother Ginger clicked her tongue and turned on her heel again, grabbing a pitcher and two goblets. As she returned to the table, the Nutcracker took a seat beside me. Pouring a dark, brown liquid into our goblets, she nodded and gestured toward them.

  “Perhaps a rest would do you both good. I imagine the journey has been long,” she said warmly. “Ah, perfect timing. Lotte?”

  The young girl from earlier emerged from the shadows of the doorway. Her face turned red as a fresh beet.

  “Yes, Mama?”

  “The room, is it ready?”

  Lotte nodded a silent yes.

  “This might be quite an impropriety,” Mother Ginger said as she returned her attention to us, “But I do have a room available the two of you could share.”

  “Thank you—”

  Mother Ginger cut Nutcracker off quickly, her cheeks turning a fine shade of pink. “It’s been quite a bit of time since I’ve last welcomed anyone to this inn. I’m afraid the other rooms are…” She paused. “Well, mostly too cluttered and messy for guests.”

  Improper, indeed. I knew my mama would have outright refused. But it was, after all, the Nutcracker. My protector.

  “I understand,” the Nutcracker replied and took a small sip of his drink. He looked to me.

  “I shall sleep on the floor if you’re comfortable sharing a room with me, Lady Clara.”

  His use of formality sou
nded strange coming from him. But his tone suggested a deep respect he must have felt for me. I jerked my chin into a silent nod as I brought my own goblet to my nose. The scent of ripe, fresh apples smelled delicious. And as I took a sip, I was surprised to find the liquid cold and refreshing.

  “Good, then,” Mother Ginger said with a smile. “I’ll be sure to have enough bedrooms for the both of you upon your next visit.”

  Another visit. I would return to my own world—my own home—one day. Would I ever return to Winter Dream? I finished two more slices of warm bread before the Nutcracker rose from his stool and offered his hand to me. I found myself anxious about going to our room; I was nervous to be in such close proximity. Terrified, but eager.

  I knew nothing of the men in my own world, except the warnings my mother and other women had imparted on me. But I was unable to push away the familiarity I felt toward the Nutcracker and his world of sugared snow.

  I looked up to find him watching me carefully, as if his movements were contingent on mine. He did not rush me, though I presumed his exhaustion from both the fight and carrying me through the snow-covered forest. He said I wouldn’t be held to the same rules of etiquette here, and I felt that freedom bloom like a flower in my chest.

  With a determined sigh, I took his hand.

  We trailed behind Mother Ginger as she guided us up the main staircase with a large, gilded candelabra, passing by many paintings of what I assumed were family members. Another long line of cuckoo clocks lined the walls as she took us up another flight of stairs. Just as we reached the top landing, she paused and gestured toward a large, oak door.

  “Can I get you two anything before you retire?” she asked as she passed a lone candle from her candelabra to me.

  The Nutcracker peered at me and gave a crooked smile. “Perhaps new clothes for Clara. We left in a hurry. . . and she had no time to change from her nightgown.”

  As if I had any other choice.

  Mother Ginger bobbed her head and descended back down the flight of stairs.