Rapunzelle: an Everland Ever After Tale

by Caroline Lee

  Biting her lip, Zelle looked down at the pile of weeds she’d pulled out over the last hour. Would Briar think less of her to find out that her first kiss had come from a stranger? Her best friend knew her well, though. “Zelle? What aren’t you telling me?”

  The kneeling girl sighed. “It wasn’t Merrell.”

  “What?”

  “Merrell wasn’t the one who kissed me.” From the moment she’d landed in the stranger’s arms, she hadn’t given a second thought to Merrell Gruff. Even during the fight, when she’d been pressed against the wallpaper, the stranger’s broad shoulders between her and the danger, she hadn’t even glanced towards the Gruff brothers. “It was…someone else.”

  “Zelle Carpenter! Who did you let kiss you?”

  Peeking up at her best friend, Zelle grinned. “I kissed him, I think. You would’ve too, had you seen him, Briar. He was…” How to describe his rugged handsomeness? His poise and surety? His sensual grace? “He was perfect.”

  Briar was on the edge of the bench again. “He? He, who? Which ‘he’, Zelle?”

  “The stranger. The one the Gruff boys fought. Wait ‘til you see him, Briar, he’s—“ She bit down on her words when she saw the expression on her best friend’s face. Briar looked like she’d just won a prize. “What?”

  “He’s a duke, Zelle! I have seen him! He’s been in town for three days now, and you’re right, he’s positively dreamy, and he’s wealthy and Mrs. Matthews says that he’s a Duke in town looking for someone and you kissed him!” Briar finally took a breath, and Zelle was certain her wide eyes matched hers. “You kissed a duke, and a gorgeous one at that. He’s Russian or something,” she added.

  “A Russian duke,” Zelle barely breathed. A Russian duke. Wow. “Well.” She exhaled slowly, and then smiled. “As far as first kisses goes, that certainly beats one of the Gruff brothers.”

  “I’ll say! What are you going to do? Are you going to see him again?”

  Shrugging, Zelle bent back over her chamomile. “Papa has forbidden me to go out alone. I can go out with him or Mother or you, but no more adventures.” At least until he forgets this one. “Besides, remember I just wanted a kiss. I don’t need to see him again. He’ll be on his way, and with any luck, no one will mention to Papa what happened at the Gingerbread House in the first place, and I’ll finally have an adventure worth remembering.”

  “Well, alright.” Briar sounded doubtful, but there was a rustle of fabric as she settled back on the bench. “But I can’t believe you kissed a duke—that’s practically a prince!—who is just gorgeous, and you’re going to just hide in here until he leaves.”

  “I’m not hiding, I’m working.” Zelle pointed at a particular plant. “Do you think that’s mint, or a weed?” She knew perfectly well that it wasn’t her mint, but she liked to tease Briar.

  “Zelle, they all look like weeds to me.”

  “You’re a terrible farmer.” The Jorgensens owned one of the largest farms in the Everland region.

  “I’m great with corn, though. Ask me to identify corn.”

  “Fine.” Zelle tried to hide her smile. “Is that corn?”

  Briar peered at the offending plant for a long moment, and then shook her head. “Nope. I don’t think so.”

  “Good.” Of course it wasn’t corn. Not in her herb garden. Zelle plucked the weed from the ground and dropped it in the pile.

  “So you’re allowed out with me, huh?”

  “I’m always allowed out with you. Papa trusts you to keep me out of trouble.” The two snickered a little, remembering all the times Zelle had been the voice of reason. Mother probably suspected that her precious princess had a wild streak, and more than once, Zelle wondered if that’s why she was allowed to spend so much time with the wonderfully unrestricted Briar.

  “So, do you want to go on a walk with me tomorrow morning? Just to see who’s out and about? Not at all looking for a certain Russian duke?”

  Zelle glanced at the sky, and back down at her garden. “Did you see the sunrise this morning? There’s rain coming, tonight or tomorrow.”

  Briar shrugged. “So? We can walk in the rain.” Zelle knew that it would look silly, to go strolling about, but she would like an excuse to get out of the metaphorical tower Papa had built around them. And her best friend knew what to say to convince her: “Besides, a walk in the rain? It’ll be an adventure.”

  Giggling half in exasperation, Zelle tossed a dirty weed at Briar, who shrieked and twisted out of the way. “Fine! I’ll go!”

  “Good.” Briar stood and made a production of brushing off her skirts. They were finer than a farmer’s daughter’s should be, but her parents were determined to match Briar up in the most advantageous marriage, and had her dress accordingly. Zelle often wondered if this callous attitude from Briar’s parents was the reason Briar had spent so much time with the Carpenters over the years. “I shall stop by after breakfast.” She put her nose in the air, and affected a “proper” tone. “We shall stroll down Andersen to the church, and then visit Mrs. Mayor—sorry, Mrs. Bellini’s bookstore. And perhaps Ian at the mercantile has a new shipment of lace.”

  Zelle struggled to her feet, and made a formal curtsey. “I will await your arrival, my dear Miss Jorgensen.”

  Smiling, Briar blew two kisses, and Zelle returned them. The dark-haired girl let herself out of the garden through the back gate; the same way they’d escaped two nights ago. Zelle stood, shoulders slumped, listening to the sounds of her friend’s departure.

  A Russian duke? The stranger with the perfect jaw and wonderful lips, the stranger who’d brushed his hands across the skin above her breasts...he was a duke? Why was he in Everland? Everland didn’t have anything to attract dukes. It was full of good, hard-working folks who just wanted to get on with their lives. Everland’s citizens didn’t keep secrets.

  Did they?

  It was just as well she wasn’t going to see him again, or she’d probably bowl him over with her questions. Like Why did you kiss me in the first place? and probably Can we do it again sometime?

  Oh dear. Maybe she’d had enough adventure for one week. Sighing, Zelle kneeled back down, and attacked her weeds. But the thought that kept running around her mind—besides the memory of the way she felt in his arms—was that maybe, just maybe, there wasn’t such a thing as too much adventure when it came to someone like him.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Dmitri sat on a bench outside of the Van Winkle Inn, watching the passersby hurry along Andersen Avenue. The sky was gray and threatened rain, but that just meant that there was finally a bit of a breeze. Tilting his head back against the rough wood, he closed his eyes and enjoyed the feel of the fresh air against his cheeks. This place wasn’t so bad after all, aside from the ungodly heat. He’d been in Everland a few days now, and had found the people to be…suspiciously friendly.

  Suddenly, a feminine shriek cut through the air, accompanying a particularly strong gust of wind. Dmitri’s eyes snapped open, and unerringly found the source of a commotion. A rotund figure in a shockingly green dress was holding her out-of-fashion hoops up above her bloomered knees and charging hell-bent after a bonnet that was tumbling down the dirt road with that last burst of wind.

  Unthinking, Dmitri jumped off the porch and managed to land directly on the straw bonnet, hearing the crunch as his boot crushed something soft and pliable. Grimacing, he reached down to free the headwear right about the time the plump older lady barreled to a stop beside him. He did his best to set the hat—were those berries on top?—to rights, but knew it was probably a false hope. Still, he managed to bend the straw back to its original position, before holding it out with a slight bow.

  “I apologize, madam. It seems that I’ve inadvertently damaged your headgear.”

  She took it with a cheerful smile, and made a show of brushing it off. “Oh, no harm, no foul, Dmitri. It’ll be fine. Nothing a little effort can’t cure.” Apparently news of his arrival in town had gotten around. That was the
only explanation for this jolly stranger knowing his name. She looked up at him, her face wreathed in a big smile. “I’m Helga, dear, but you can call me ‘Happy’.”

  She seemed to be expecting an answer, so he tried for a smile in return. “I can certainly see why.”

  Helga—Happy—giggled, and then patted him on his arm. “Thank you for rescuing my hat, dearie. Enjoy your afternoon!” And then she was waddling off down the street, one hand holding her skirts out of the way while the other clamped her hat to her head. Shaking his own head bemusedly, Dmitri returned to his bench on the porch.

  Yes, Everland was a remarkably friendly place, which kept taking him by surprise. Even ignoring the way those three cowboys had attacked him in the saloon—and Dmitri admitted that they’d had reason to—everyone around here was always smiling, always happy to see one another.

  This place was forcing him to reevaluate long-held opinions. These people were harder working than the serfs back home, but they did it with smiles and grace that he’d never seen on the Volkov lands. Back when he had lands, that is.

  He’d even met a few people who he’d genuinely liked. There was a dark-haired man with sad eyes named Max DeVille who’d done his best to make Everland seem friendly and welcoming, and Dmitri had enjoyed evenings spent with a certain “Skipper” King at The Gingerbread House. He’d been hoping that those three smelly cowboys would show back up and offer a rematch of the fight he’d been appreciating on his first night in town, but no such luck.

  Moreover, he’d had less luck when it came to any of his searches. No one—not even Max—knew of men named Witcher or Gothel, or a little girl who’d arrived here fifteen years ago. It was almost surely a dead-end to his hunt; this area of the country had been all wilderness fifteen years ago, and there was no reason to think that any of his quarry had stopped here. Dmitri figured that he’d give the search a few more days, and then head back to New York harbor, content that he’d done his duty to his father’s dying wish. Even Otets couldn’t expect miracles, if he was watching from Heaven.

  But there was one hunt he was hoping not to fail, and that was trying to find the pretty pale-haired apparently-not-a- shlyukha he’d kissed in the saloon. He knew that her father was the town doctor, so she shouldn’t be that hard to find…but so far he’d done little but watch for her. And surprisingly, for someone as uninhibited as she’d been, there’d been no glimpse of her. Was she hiding inside? Was her father hiding her inside? It seemed like a shame, to hide away such passion for life, such beauty.

  That kiss, and the ensuing fight, had been enough to fire his blood. Despite the train travel and the beer, despite the comfortable bed in his room at the inn, Dmitri had taken a long while to fall asleep that night. His jaw ached from a lucky punch, and other, more intimate parts of him ached from the way she’d made him feel. He needed a woman, but for some reason he’d had no interest in the shlyukhami at The Gingerbread House. Not after finding out that the one he wanted wasn’t one at all.

  He opened his eyes when the first raindrops pattered against the porch overhang above him. He stretched his booted feet out in front of him—ignoring the memory of the way these Americans mocked his breeches and high boots—crossed his arms in front of his chest, and watched the little puffs of dust each raindrop kicked up when it hit the road below. How many hours had he and Otets sat on the porch of the hunting cabin, watching spring rains water the horse meadow below? With that cherished memory held tight against his heart, this Everland summer rain didn’t seem too foreign.

  It was a little funny to watch the people rushing for shelter, though. Did they think they would melt, if they got wet? Matrons, clinging to stout gentlemen, ducked into shops or hurried from overhang to overhang. Cowboys riding mediocre horses hunched their shoulders and tucked their chins into their chests and urged their animals towards Foote’s Livery. But his eye was caught by two girls—young ladies?—strolling down the wooden boardwalk on his side of the street.

  One was short and a little plumper than he liked, and was obviously concerned about the rain. She kept as close to the walls of the shops as possible, holding her reticule above her dark head, and urging her companion to hurry. The other girl was tall and slender, and walked with her face tilted towards the sky, as if reveling in the way the raindrops felt on her skin. Dmitri found himself watching her, and smiling at her obvious joy for life.

  The shorter one had apparently given up on hurrying her friend, and he watched her saying something about the store—Crowne’s Mercantile, it looked like?—they were passing. The tall one laughed and shooed her friend through the door. Even from here, Dmitri could see the dark-haired girl roll her eyes and duck inside… He could also see the other girl’s bright smile as she sedately strolled towards the porch overhang in front of Van Winkle Inn.

  Towards Dmitri himself.

  She was almost upon him when she dropped her attention from the sky to where she was going, and pulled herself to a stop just as her damp skirt brushed against his breeches. Her eyes widened in surprise, and her lips made a little “oh”, and Dmitri slowly unfolded himself and stood up.

  It was her. It was the girl he’d kissed, the girl who wasn’t a shlyukha. The girl he’d been thinking of each night since then.

  She had the same lovely bright green eyes, but they weren’t rimmed with makeup this time. Her lips weren’t red and didn’t remind him of strawberries, but he was suddenly aching to taste them—her—again. Which was odd, because he usually didn’t go for the sweet, virginal-looking ones, and she definitely looked sweet and virginal today. A pale purple gown, buttoned all the way up and only slightly spotted by the rain, and her light hair in a braid down her back. In fact, now that he saw it not all tied up, it really was a remarkable length; the braid itself was long enough that she could sit on it, if she wasn’t careful. No wonder she didn’t tie it up around her head too often; she had more hair than anyone he’d ever seen.

  But it hadn’t been her hair that had kept his attention these past days; it wasn’t even her flawless face. No, it had been her passion, her lust for life. For adventure, even. What kind of woman—the daughter of a respected man—kissed a stranger in a saloon? What kind of woman relished the feel of the raindrops, instead of hurrying for shelter? One that he wanted to know, that was for sure.

  So, with her still staring up at him and a slight flush creeping up her cheeks, Dmitri bowed. It was a flourishing court bow, the kind he’d used when presented to Alexander II, and had done his best to charm one of the Tsar’s second cousins. He took a step back, held one hand out to the side to control his imaginary cape and saber, and touched his nose almost to his knees. “Knez Dmitri Nikolai Pyotr Vasilek Volkov at your service, moya ledi.” He added in an extra little flourish at the end, and took her hand in time to see her smile. He liked that he could make her smile, and that she didn’t try to hide it.

  “Are you really a duke?”

  That was her first question? He shrugged, and kissed the air above her knuckles, but didn’t drop her hand. Instead, he used it to pull her a step closer. Her smile only grew. “The title knez could be translated to duke, I suppose.” Another tug, another step closer. “It is more commonly translated as prince in English, however.”

  Those lovely green eyes widened. “You’re a prince?”

  Another shrug, and this time he dropped her hand and looked out at the now-muddy street. “My grandfather performed a small service for the Tsar.” Back home, titles like his were hereditary, even if there was no land, no serfs anymore. “The title is only a formality. I use it mainly to impress women.” Why was he telling her this? He hadn’t had any vodka, to spill the truth like this.

  But she laughed, a husky chuckle that made him smile slightly, as well. “Well, Knez Volkov, it’s working. I’m impressed. We’ve never had a Russian duke—or prince—here in Everland before. I’ve never—“ She swallowed her words, and blushed slightly, locking her attention on his chest. He found himself wondering what she�
��d been about to say. She’d never kissed a Russian duke before? Dmitri’s smile grew.

  “You have never what?”

  “I’ve never imagined that someone like you might find your way to our town.” Oh, good save, little one. “What brings you to Everland, Knez Volkov?”

  “Please, call me Dmitri.”

  A flash of green, as her eyes met his once more, and then her lovely pale lips curled up at the corners. “Then you must call me Zelle. Zelle Carpenter.” She stuck her hand out, just like the men in this uncouth town did, and he found himself shaking her hand like an equal.

  Recovering, Dmitri smiled charmingly, hiding his surprise. “I would be honored to, Miss Zelle.” If it was one thing he knew, it was that pretty well-brought-up ladies—even in America—didn’t go around inviting near strangers to call them by their first names. On the other hand, memories of their passionate kiss told Dmitri that she wasn’t a typical American lady, and he was glad of it.

  “So why are you in Everland, Dmitri?”

  He liked the way his name sounded on her lips, and wanted to hear it again. Many times. Maybe it was the thought of her crying out his name, begging for release, which distracted him, so that he answered without thinking. “I’m looking for someone.”

  “Well, you found someone.” She smiled impishly, and gestured towards the bench he’d been sitting on. “Why don’t you tell me who you’re looking for, and I’ll see if I can help you?”

  There was no reason to think this unusual girl could help him, but he wasn’t ready for her to stroll out of his life, either. How much could he reveal? Surely there’d be no harm in sharing the information he’d already shared with Max and Skipper and a few others in his search? Dmitri was about to agree, when he heard his name being called.

  Speak of the devil; Max DeVille was running along the street, laughing as he leaped over puddles and through the raindrops. With one great bound, he landed under the inn’s overhang and pulled off his sodden hat to slap against his denims. “Dmitri, I thought that was you.” He stuck out a wet hand, and Dmitri had no choice but to take it in greeting. It wasn’t a great hardship; the swarthy man obviously embraced the joy in the everyday, despite the sorrow lurking behind his dark eyes.