A Basket of Wishes

by Rebecca Paisley

  Jourdian pressed his warm forehead against the cold pane. Long moments later when he lifted his head, the rain had stopped, and he saw a rainbow in the March sky.

  I don't suppose you have ever slid down a rainbow, have you, Jourdian?

  Splendor. Her name shimmered through him like a handful of glitter. Even after her return to Pillywiggin without his love, she continued to watch over him. She’d saved his orchards from certain ruination.

  Jourdian turned from the window and glanced at the chair that sat across from his desk. How many times had Splendor sat in that chair watching him work?

  I could never grow weary of watching you.

  The chair was empty now.

  Stacks and stacks of business reports sat upon the desk, each paper signifying wealth. Wealth. And more wealth.

  Well, he’d worked hard to earn that wealth! And he had every right to be proud of his accomplishments!

  But money didn’t know what he was going to say before he spoke. It didn’t rejoice with him when he was happy, didn’t shed tears when he was sad, and it was never concerned when he worried.

  For the first time in weeks, Jourdian left a pile of unfinished work on his desk. His hands still in his pockets, he walked out his office and down the corridor. Turning, he traveled down another long hall, at the end of which was one of the mansion’s drawing rooms.

  Splendor had become his wife in that room. He stopped, looked into the room, and remembered all the flowers that had decorated the parlor that day. Ulmstead had caught a rooster beneath one of the tables, and Mrs. Frawley had fainted.

  Splendor had worn a silk shirt.

  I take you for my husband, and I shall endeavor to gift you with laughter and joy every day that I am with you.

  His head hung low, Jourdian walked into the foyer and up the grand staircase. Upstairs he headed toward his room. His and Splendor’s room.

  But before he arrived, he saw Tessie exit another room down the hall. The maid held a few folded sheets in one arm, and from her other arm dangled a basket.

  “Your Grace,” she murmured in greeting.

  As he neared her, he thought about how pretty she was. Her red birthmarks had concealed her beauty, but now, thanks to Splendor, Tessie’s loveliness shone forth.

  “Is there anything I can do for you, your lordship?” Tessie asked.

  Jourdian noticed how difficult it was for her to be civil to him. The rest of the staff forced politeness in the same manner. They all missed Splendor, and all they knew about her was what he’d told them—that she’d had to return to her family.

  But they sensed that he’d had something to do with her departure.

  “Lord Amberville?” Tessie pressed.

  “No. I don’t need anything.” He started to open the door to his bedroom, but stopped when he saw the basket swaying from the crook of her elbow. He hadn’t seen it clearly before, but he did now.

  It was the same basket Splendor had held the night she’d left him. The basket that had held all the brilliant stars.

  “Where did you get that basket, Tessie?”

  She looked down at it. “One of the gardeners found it in the conservatory, Your Grace. He was going to throw it away, but I asked him if I could keep it.”

  Jourdian’s fingers ached to touch the basket. “It belonged to the duchess. Would you mind if I kept it instead? I’ll see to it that it’s replaced by ten more.”

  Nodding, Tessie gave him the basket, then returned to her duties.

  Basket in hand, Jourdian turned the doorknob to his bedchambers. He hadn’t been in the room since Splendor left. Hadn’t let himself even venture near it.

  The door opened. He stepped inside.

  Like a powerful gust of wind, more memories blasted into him. Standing on the threshold, he stared at every part of the room, remembering all the plants that had once grown from the furniture and walls; remembering how each thing in the room, even the ceiling and walls, had once been red, blue, or green; remembering finding Lady Macbeth in his bath; remembering…

  Remembering.

  He closed the door and walked to the large closet. There he saw his purple satin dressing robe. Lifting the luxurious garment to his face, he inhaled its scent, hoping desperately to detect Splendor’s fragrance.

  But the robe had been laundered. It smelled of soap, not wildflowers.

  He tossed the robe back into the closet and approached the bed. With a trembling hand, he reached down and touched the midnight blue satin coverlet. “Your body was so beautiful upon this blue,” he whispered to her memory. “Your skin on the blue…like a cloud in the sky.”

  He glanced at the mound of pillows on the left side of the bed, Splendor’s side. She’d lain upon those pillows with her glorious copper hair spread all over the snow-white satin pillow cases.

  How many times had he loved her on this bed? He couldn’t recall, couldn’t count.

  Looking up, he stared at the ceiling, pondering all the occasions when he and Splendor had floated around the room just as a session of lovemaking had ended. With Splendor’s music accompanying them.

  He would never drift around the room again. Would never hear that joyous music again.

  All the magic was gone.

  Because Splendor was gone.

  Jourdian, the short time that I have been with you means more to me than all the years I lived without you.

  Jourdian tried to swallow. But he couldn’t.

  His heart was in his throat.

  He set the basket on the bed and lay down beside it. Loneliness crept through him.

  I am being your company because one of the things that I think will make you smile is not being lonely anymore.

  “Make me smile again, Splendor,” he whispered.

  You are in dire need of frequent admonishments.

  God, he thought. What he wouldn’t do to hear her chide him over his uncivil streak just one more time.

  For hours he lay there, recalling everything he could about Splendor.

  She’d slept on top of a canopy once. She wouldn’t eat animal. She wouldn’t wear her wings because cleaning them was a tedious chore. She wouldn’t wear jewelry, but she didn’t need it. Weren’t her lavender eyes the most beautiful jewels in all the world?

  She talked to and understood animals and plants, and was worried about the sick chrysanthemums in front of the manor. Once, she’d thought sensual pleasure came from his leg. She knew every plant that grew on his estate, and knew also exactly where they grew. All the wood violets, foxglove, periwinkle, snowdrops…

  He couldn’t remember the rest of the plants she’d mentioned. She’d tried to tell him, but he hadn’t listened.

  She liked hens and rabbits, but not cats. Kissing made her strong. Sorrow made her disappear. She cried diamonds.

  She’d traveled all the way to China to retrieve one of his wishing stars. She’d knitted him a pair of mittens with her own hands.

  Jourdian squinted his eyes; he couldn’t see the canopy anymore, for the room had grown dark. He looked toward the windows and saw that nighttime had settled over the countryside.

  Stars glimmered in the sky.

  Stars.

  Slowly, he pulled the basket closer to his body, and he ran his fingers over its woven handle. A month ago this very same basket had contained stars. His wishing stars.

  The night she’d left, Splendor had held a basket of wishes.

  Jourdian frowned then, another memory coming to him. Months before he’d been terribly frustrated and angry over not having a duchess. He’d thought that finding the perfect wife should have been as effortless a goal to accomplish as any and all he’d ever undertaken.

  And he’d told himself that finding a basket of wishes would have been far easier.

  A basket of wishes, he mused miserably. He’d not only found a basket of wishes, he’d found the perfect wife.

  And he’d let her go.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered brokenly. “Splendor, I’m so sor
ry.”

  Would you like for me to try to make you laugh again, My Grace?

  “Yes,” he murmured. “Yes, Splendor, make me laugh.”

  But he didn’t laugh, and he wondered if he would ever again.

  For a solid month, he hadn’t allowed himself to admit that he’d missed her. Now, his confession spilled forth on a rumbling groan. “God, I miss you, sprite.”

  Your love is far more valuable to me than anything else you have given me or ever could give to me, Jourdian. Indeed, I would love you were you the poorest, most insignificant man in the world.

  Jourdian looked across the room and spied the cluster of iron fire tools leaning against the wall.

  You do not realize the depth of my love, do you, Jourdian? I shall show you! I shall sacrifice what is precious to me so you will know how much you mean to me!

  In his mind, he saw her. Saw Splendor lunging toward the iron tools. “No!” he shouted.

  God, he thought. Not only did he “hear” her, he “saw” her as well.

  Shoving his fingers through his hair, he rose from the bed and trudged across the dark room, the basket dangling from his hand. Moonlight splashed through the window, and the pool of silver light beckoned him. When he arrived at the window, he saw the stars again. Among them were his stars. Splendor had placed them back in the sky, and he knew she continued to guard them.

  So they would all come true.

  “But they haven’t,” he whispered. “They haven’t come true. I want to be happy, and I’m not. Not without you.”

  He hugged the basket to his chest.

  And he wept.

  He didn’t try to stop. He felt no shame. He only felt sorrow, and he didn’t think it an unmanly thing to grieve. After all he’d lost his wife. What man wouldn’t mourn such a loss?

  He watched his tears slip into the basket, and finally, after all the long years, he began to comprehend his father’s torment after Isabel’s passing. His sire had loved his wife. And her death had destroyed him.

  Jourdian knew the extent of that anguish now. Understood the agony of losing…

  Of losing…

  The thought faded away in his mind unfinished.

  Jourdian raised his head and looked out the window again, deliberating just as intently as the stars were shining. Barrington had mourned Isabel’s death.

  Death.

  Splendor wasn’t dead. She was alive in Pillywiggin.

  And at that moment, Jourdian knew how he could get her back.

  The power of Faerie was strong.

  But he knew of a magic much stronger.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Before Magnus came to a complete stop at the edge of the forest, Jourdian leaped off the stallion’s back. He fled into the black woods ahead, instantly blinded by the darkness. Shivering with apprehension and cold, he eased his pace and forced to mind every notion he’d ever heard about the Wee Folk.

  “Fairy ring,” he whispered.

  Eyes cast to the shadowed forest floor, he searched for evidence of a glowing circle. Long moments passed; his brow began to bead with the sweat of desperation, and a tinge of hopelessness slowed the frantic beat of his heart.

  “Splendor,” he called, his voice barely louder than the drifting of a cloud.

  He saw nothing. Heard nothing.

  “Splendor!” He called her name over and over again, his shout eating up the peace of the silent woods.

  Finally, after what seemed like hours, he perceived eerie changes occurring all around him. The cool night breeze warmed as if heated by sunbeams of high noon. The rustling of the oak, birch, and elder branches became almost musical, a soft, stirring melody that sounded like hundreds of flutes playing in harmony.

  And Jourdian saw lights. Among the mist-dampened leaves, the sparkles swirled in a small, perfect circle.

  They were here. They’d come.

  The fairies.

  “What do you hope to gain by coming here, Trinity?” a small male voice sang out.

  Jourdian crouched lower to the ground, straining to see if Splendor was among the fairies. He saw nothing but leaping shimmers of light.

  “Speak now, Trinity!” the voice demanded.

  The authority Jourdian heard in the small voice assured him that it was Splendor’s father, the King of Pillywiggin, who spoke to him. “I’ve come for your daughter.”

  “Leave this place!”

  “No.”

  “Do you dare to refuse me?”

  Jourdian realized the danger he was in. The power of Faerie was not to be taken lightly.

  But neither was his own power, the magic with which he would win Splendor back.

  He stood and glared down at the lights on the ground. “Meet me face-to-face, and don’t tell me you cannot, for I know full well that you can!”

  The ring remained on the ground, the fairies remained too small to see.

  “I want to see Splendor, damn it all!”

  He saw the sparkles come together on the dark ground to form one large ball of gleam, and he realized the Little People were discussing his demand. Silence ensued, and then the lights separated once more.

  “You will see me first, Trinity!” the voice declared.

  Jourdian stepped back as a burst of silver stars erupted from the ground. The glitter faded quickly, revealing a host of naked human-size fairies.

  But Splendor was not among them.

  “Which of you is Splendor’s father?” Jourdian asked loudly.

  A very round male fairy glided out of the throng of others, his long white beard flowing down the length of his body. “I am King Wisdom.”

  Jourdian wasted no time with niceties. “Where is Splendor?”

  “You cannot have her back. Now leave this place.”

  Jourdian neared the fairy king, his face set in tight lines of determination. “I will have her back, and I won’t leave without her.”

  “Oh?” The king lifted a snowy eyebrow. “And just how do you propose to get her back?”

  Jourdian met the king’s smug gaze squarely. “With magic.”

  At that, the king threw back his head and laughed. Many of the other fairies laughed as well, the resulting sound like a cluster of ringing bells.

  “Magic?” King Wisdom repeated, still chuckling. “What is this magic you have, human?”

  Jourdian smiled. “A magic far greater than yours, Your Majesty. Love.”

  Intense quiet fell over the assembly of fairies…until a voice Jourdian knew and loved broke the silence.

  “Jourdian!”

  He saw her rise above the crowd of her subjects. “Splendor!”

  She flew toward him, straight into his open arms.

  He crushed her to him, her delicate scent of wildflowers surrounding him like a profound pleasure unseen. “I had to come for you,” he murmured down to her, his hand stroking her copper hair.

  Diamonds streaming from her eyes, she waited for his next words, hope filling every corner of her heart.

  “Splendor,” Jourdian said, “I tried to forget, sprite. Work. I’ve worked like a madman every day since you left. I haven’t slept for fear of dreaming of you. I—”

  “Jourdian, cease this chatter,” she chided.

  He smiled broadly. “I love you, Splendor. My beautiful, happy, magical Splendor, I love you.”

  He kissed her then, a kiss so full of his love that Splendor began to shine like a star.

  “Hold!” King Wisdom thundered.

  The kiss ended instantly.

  “How can I be certain you love my daughter?” the king demanded. “Your declaration means naught to me, Trinity. You must prove your feelings before I will believe they exist.”

  Jourdian gave a stiff nod. “Send Splendor back with me, and after a three-month period of time you will find her alive and well, thriving on the love I have for her.”

  King Wisdom shook his head. “That I will not do. You have already had three months with my daughter, and I shall nay grant you any mor
e time. Moreover, Splendor is the princess royal of Pillywiggin. Her place is here, in the kingdom she will one day rule.”

  “Father, please,” Splendor murmured.

  Jourdian tightened his hold on her. Defeat tried to come to him, but he refused to give in to it. There had to be some way to convince the fairy king of his love for Splendor.

  And then it came to him. The answer.

  Splendor had been willing to sacrifice her magic for him. Now he would show what he was willing to sacrifice for her. “I will give up everything I own,” he announced, his voice ringing loudly and clearly through the cool, dark woods. “My estate, my fortune… I will relinquish my place in the human world for Splendor.” He paused for a moment, his next words coming straight from his heart. “Your Majesty, I will give up my own title so that she may retain hers.”

  Splendor gasped. “Jourdian, you cannot—”

  “I can,” he cut off her protest. “And I will.”

  The rustle of the leaves was the only sound that could be heard as every gaze rested on the king, and all waited to hear his response.

  The king stared at Jourdian. “You love her,” he whispered. “You truly love her.”

  “I do,” came Jourdian’s quick reply.

  The king rubbed his beard, and meditated for a very long while. His daughter had won the love of a human! he mused. How many fairies had ever accomplished such a feat? “I suppose then,” he began, his mouth quirking into a small smile, “that you may come to live in Pillywiggin, Trinity, for I will nay have it written in the history of Faerie that I, King Wisdom, stood in the way of love.”

  A deafening shout went up as all the fairies cheered. “Nay!” Splendor yelled, her voice rising above the din. “Nay, Father, I will not accept these terms! I cannot allow Jourdian to lose what has taken him years to build! I will live with him at Heathcourte with or without your permission!”

  The king gawked at his daughter, taken aback by her anger and assertiveness. How could this be? Splendor embodied the very essence of kindness and gentleness! He’d never seen this side of her before, and could only imagine that she’d learned to be bold while in the human world.

  He liked her this way.

  But even so, he couldn’t allow her to live among humans. And what of the child she carried? The babe was vitally needed in Pillywiggin. “You are heiress to the throne of Pillywiggin, daughter, and as such you must embrace your obligations—”