Faye continued the story with each charm. Castle – Cinderella’s trip to the prince’s house, clock—Cinderella’s disappearance, crown—the prince’s search for his intended, key—finding the stepmother’s house, glass slipper – a perfect match, and a golden heart—a happily ever after. Alice hung on every word. When the story ended, Alice stood from their cozy place by the pond and danced as if she’d taken on the role of Cinderella.
“I fear my stepmother will have no choice but to allow fairytales into the house now.” James shot Faye a wink. “What trouble have you caused, Miss Faye?”
She leaned back, her palms pressed against the blanket and her faced turned to him, matching him grin for grin. “Imagination in the head of a smart mind and the breast of a kind heart? I predict all sorts of glorious trouble in the best possible way.”
“With that definition, I’d say you are bound to cause glorious trouble yourself.”
The glow faded from her eyes and she made to stand.
“Wait, please.” He paused her retreat with a touch to her hand. Her fingers fisted beneath his. “I meant you share both of those qualities. A smart mind and a kind heart. You’ve completely changed my way of thinking about imagination and God.”
Her gaze shot back to his, her hand relaxing to his touch. “What do you mean?”
“When you spoke of how we can’t see heaven without imagination, it caused me to consider my own interests and how imagination shapes everything I do, from being able to envision a tree from a seed or a vineyard from a grape to how I define myself, not only by what I’ve read in the Bible but also how my life has been shaped by the circumstances God allows—the heartache to reach the happily-ever-after.”
“Exactly.” She nodded leaning closer to him. “Without imagination, how could we even have hope for the happily-ever-after? We can’t see it, but we must trust what we can’t see.”
“And…what might be.” He paused, his focus snagged and caught in hers, his lungs suddenly scraping for another breath.
“Yes.”
Alice laughed nearby, breaking Faye’s spell on him. He cleared his throat and sat back, hoping his grin dispersed his sudden uncertainty. He liked her. A lot. “I even had a solid half-hour discussion with my stepmother in an effort to convince her of the vital importance of fairytales to stir Alice’s imagination.”
Faye’s lips took a subtle tilt along with her brow. “How did that turn out?”
He wiggled his brows to provoke a smile. “I can sense her weakening.”
She chuckled and dusted away something on her skirt. “I have great faith in your influence. I’ve never met anyone so charming.”
Her eyes widened and she covered her mouth with her hand. Clearly, she had not intended to admit the latter sentence, but he couldn’t help sitting just a bit straighter. Charming.
“My…my father used to call imagination heavenly magic—something that makes humans more like their Creator,” she continued, staring up at Biltmore on the hill. “The ability to see things and then enact them. To envision beyond the natural.”
“Much like music, or…” He waved toward the canvas she’d brought with her. “Art. Or in my case, planting an orchard.”
She turned to face him, light returning to her eyes. “Oh yes, your comment about a seed…I wanted to know. You’re planting an orchard?”
“I’m attempting it. In my mind, I can see dozens of healthy trees in a row, but I’ve had no fruit yet. However…” He gestured toward her with a grin. “If heavenly magic and hard work creates apples, I should have a bounty in the future.”
She laughed—a light, welcome sound that peaked the corner of his lips and the center of his heart.
“I believe that’s another reason why I love to paint and sketch, and”—she shot him a grin—“tell fairy stories. Because in that place of imagination, that realm, if you will, of wonder yet to be seen, our worlds take on a larger frame, a bigger view. Something more than shadow and sunset. Deeper.”
“Well, yes.” James followed her gaze back to Biltmore. Her words painted a canvas in his mind of a more profound way to view his purpose and world, and it somehow drew him closer not only to his Creator but to the woman at his side. He’d never spoken so intimately with any woman, especially a servant, yet here he was, his attention gripped by her revelations…and her.
“It’s remarkable, isn’t it? Something I need to remember when the world feels small or dark.” She drew her knees up and rested her chin against them, her voice softening almost as if she spoke more to herself than him. “But if God created things like massive oceans, endless horizons—” Alice’s laughter filtered back to them and Faye grinned. “Children’s laughter.” She raised her eyes to his. “Happily-ever-after stories?”
He held her gaze, hoping she saw something a little more than passing admiration. Definitely something sprinkled with heavenly magic and stardust and once-upon-a-time.
“Oh!” She suddenly shifted away and drew her palm to her lips.
“What? What is it?” James shifted his attention from her face to the blanket. What had happened?
“Something pricked me.”
James ran a palm over the blanket and, sure enough, a small row of thorns poked up through the cloth. “Here, let me help.” Without hesitation, he tugged a handkerchief from his inside jacket pocket and took her hand, pressing the cloth into her palm to cover a tiny slice of red.
“It’s nothing, really.” Her words, her gaze, faltered.
“Come now, let me help in this small way.” He swallowed through his tightening throat, her soft hand nestled between both of his. “After all, you’ve already performed a much bigger rescue.” He nodded toward Alice, hesitant to remove his fingers from hers. How could he feel as though they’d been friends for longer than a few weeks? He tempered a grin. Magic? “Allow me this smaller rescue.”
“You did provide an umbrella last time.” Her smile took a subtle turn as she drew her fingers from his hold and peered beneath the cloth. “For which I’m much obliged.”
“I have a long way to go to repay the debt I owe you for my sister’s welfare.”
Her golden gaze flicked to his. “There is no debt, James.”
The sound of his name on her lips permeated his chest with welcome warmth. Oh, he liked her using his name. She seemed to catch her blunder, because a sweet rush of rose blushed her cheeks. “But…but what was I saying?”
“Endless horizons.” He held her attention, watching the flicker of curiosity shimmer alive in those eyes. “Happily-ever-afters.” Which inspired his imagination in a very Faye-like direction.
“Yes, right.” She looked down at her palm again and then swept her attention back to the horizon—if he guessed right, to keep her attention from his. His grin nearly ruptured into a celebratory laugh. He’d had women in pursuit for years and endured his stepmother’s regular attempts at matchmaking, but he’d never known the draw of one heart…one mind toward another like this. Sitting here with her, talking of God and magic and creativity? Well, the scene unfolded in his mind like a glimpse into his future.
“If God created our endless mountain views, don’t you think he meant for us glimpse His world in ours through things like painting, music…” Her grin tipped, but she kept her face forward. “Growing an orchard?”
“Finding a new friend?”
“Friend?” Her attention fastened back on him, and this time she didn’t look away. “Yes, certainly a heavenly kind of magic.”
And if heaven wanted to sprinkle a little love dust around too, well, James Craven wouldn’t harbor one complaint.
“Mrs. Vanderbilt would like a word with you, Miss Emory.” Mrs. King, the housekeeper, barely stopped to relay the message as she passed Stella in the hallway, her usual brevity taking on a disinterested glaze.
Stella paused, canvas and paints in hand, on her way to the loggia to sneak in a few creative moments before the guests rose for breakfast.
“You can meet
her in the Oak Sitting Room.” The woman disappeared around the corner.
Stella’s feet stuck to the carpeted floor. The Oak Sitting Room? Wasn’t that Mrs. Vanderbilt’s private quarters? Why would she wish for Stella to join her there?
Stella had left a few ornaments for Mrs. Vanderbilt’s review the day before but hadn’t imagined the grand lady would have time to look at them with a houseful of guests to attend.
With a steadying breath, Stella reoriented herself to her spot on the main floor—near the airy Winter Garden with its glass ceiling and bevy of exotic plants. She weaved around the entry and up the winding grand staircase, slipping through the first-floor sitting area and up another flight of stairs until she found her way to the unfamiliar hall she’d seen Mrs. Vanderbilt retire toward several times. A door halfway down the long corridor stood slightly ajar, so Stella approached, clenching her canvas to her side, her shoes soundless against the carpet.
Rich oak-paneled walls and a cream-colored plaster ceiling dripping with ornate designs greeted her curious gaze as she keeked through the small opening into the room. The quiet sound of pen against paper made its entrance into the silence, so Stella gave a quiet knock, and Mrs. Vanderbilt’s voice beckoned entry. To no surprise, this room boasted the same rich elegance as the rest of the house, yet still held an intimate warmth. Perhaps from the dark, wooden furnishings? Or the multicolored rugs across the lightly stained floor?
“Stella, I’m glad Mrs. King was able to locate you so quickly.” Mrs. Vanderbilt sat at a small table near the fireplace, her fashionable white blouse cinched at the waist by a dark-green skirt, highlighting both the mistress’s style and figure.
“Ma’am?”
“Come, please sit down.” The hostess gestured to a chair across from her, which drew Stella’s notice to her ornaments, displayed on the table. “Thank you for sending a sampling of your work. I wished to meet here to keep the delights of your creations a secret until Christmas. None of the guests will venture here.”
“Of course.” Stella slipped down onto the cushioned seat.
“You’ve made excellent use of my notes with your handiwork. I can tell which ornament belongs to whom just by looking. And fifteen completed already? Impressive.”
“Thank you.” Stella placed her canvas, satchel, and paints on the floor at her feet and warmed to the compliment.
“These are exactly what I was hoping they’d be and more. Which leads me to another reason for meeting with you today.”
Stella sat taller. “Yes, ma’am?”
The woman stared at her without speaking, touching her finger to her chin in study. “You do have so much of your parents in you, don’t you?”
Stella’s smile unfurled. “I hope so, ma’am.”
“Yes, I think there’s little doubt.” Her eyes crinkled at the corners with her praise. “Now, the painting you’d begun of the house. The one I saw in your old room. Have you sold it?”
Stella blinked at the change of topic. “Yes, only a few days ago.”
“Really?” Mrs. Vanderbilt’s brow crinkled, and she turned her head, revealing a lavender ribbon interwoven through her soft brown hair as a hairband. Stella touched the end of her own quickly assembled bun, wondering how to emulate the style. It would add something special to the simplest frocks.
“And where have you showcased your work so that you can maintain your discretion?”
Stella’s throat tightened at the reminder of her need for secrecy. “My uncle asked me to paint some of his newest toys in return for displaying a few pieces of my work. As we’re family, it wouldn’t be unusual for him to offer my pieces, I don’t think.”
“Indeed. Excellent. Mr. Morin, isn’t it?”
The woman knew everyone, didn’t she? “Yes.”
“His shop boasts a great many unique handcrafts from the area. Mr. Vanderbilt and I have found quite a few unique toys that Cornelia adored. I can only imagine what magic you’ll add to his already unique talent.” She lowered her chin in a nod. “A rather clever choice until we hear more from Mrs. Bertram on the matter.”
Stella leaned closer. “I have made inquiries with a few of the former staff I knew in Mr. Collins’s home and asked if they’d speak to Mrs. Bertram on my behalf. I am certain I am not the only woman to fall victim to Mr. Collins’s…unsolicited interest.”
“No, I should say not. I’ve made a few inquiries of my own.” She shook her head. “His business dealings have not shone untainted either.” She tapped her desk and made a teepee of her fingers in front of her on the desk. “However, I did not call you here to darken our conversation with talk of Mr. Collins. I was wondering if you’d have the time, among the other things I’ve asked of you, to paint the house again? Perhaps at twilight? Or…in snow?”
Stella drew in her breath. Snow was tedious to get right. “I think so. For you, ma’am.”
“I’d like to give it to Mr. Vanderbilt as a Christmas surprise.”
“I’d be happy to. Is he particularly fond of snow or twilight?”
She smoothed a finger over one of the ornaments—the silver one with a ring of toy soldiers on display. “Both, and he hasn’t had the house painted in either setting, so I’m eager to offer him one.”
A gift for the master of Biltmore? Stella’s own work? She pressed a palm to her throat, attempting to tamp down the giddy desire to squeal. Yes, her illustrations graced children’s books across the world, and a few of her paintings were on display in grand houses, but something about providing a man her father had admired with a surprise by her own hand brought a special sweetness.
“I know the perfect spot for such a painting, I believe,” Stella offered. “The prospect from across the pond.”
Mrs. Vanderbilt’s eyes took on a mischievous glimmer. “I think you’re fond of that place, aren’t you? Wasn’t it where your parents met?”
“You know?”
She chuckled. “I know a great many things about the workings of the families here. They matter to Mr. Vanderbilt and to me. You matter.” She steadied her attention on Stella. “And I believe you’ve found a friend or two by the pond, haven’t you? A young man and his sister?”
Stella’s breath stuck in her throat. “Everything has been above reproach and harmless, I assure you. We’ve shared conversations about God and imagination and fairytales. He’s shown nothing but kindness and I…I’ve been grateful for the…friendship.”
“Imagination? Fairytales?” Mrs. Vanderbilt’s lips tightened as if she attempted to cover a smile. “I don’t know that either of those are particularly harmless when it comes to matters of…” Her lips tilted a little higher. “Friendship.” The teasing light in her eyes caught Stella off-guard. “But he’s the best sort of man, and I think you’ve made a wise choice of friend.”
“You…you know him?” Stella shook her head. “Of course you know him. He works for you, and you, more than anyone, take a vested interest in your employees.”
Mrs. Vanderbilt’s brows rose. “Employees, yes.” She studied Stella so long that Stella reached up to smooth back her hair, in the instance something was amiss. “I’m afraid I have one other bit of news to share with you, and it is not pleasant.”
“What do you mean?”
“A family from Boston is visiting our home for two days before they travel on to another estate. Their hostess, Mrs. Marilyn Craven, is a friend of mine and asked if I would be willing to offer them a tour of Biltmore, as a particular favor to the Cravens.”
Heat seeped from Stella’s face, second by second.
“I agreed to the tour a month ago, but upon further inquiry after you arrived, I learned the family will be bringing a friend. Someone, I’m afraid, that you may know.”
Stella’s bottom lip loosed, and she shook her head. “Lorraine Collins?”
“You have our protection, but to keep things from becoming uncomfortable, I suggest you remain invisible for the extent of their visit.”
Stella nodded, digesting th
e news. Oh, she’d hoped to never see Lorraine Collins again. The Collins family had found a way to invade even this haven. “When do they arrive?”
“Monday afternoon, and are to leave early Thursday.”
“Thankfully, you’ve given me plenty of work to pass the time.” Stella offered a light chuckle and lifted her canvas from the floor. “I know how to occupy my time in a solitary way. It has become a special talent of mine over the past few weeks.”
“Well, except for the discovery of new friends.”
Stella’s cheeks blazed warm again. “Well, I should think, with a little ingenuity, my friends and I can stay out of the way of your guests. After all, I’m in hiding, and he works in the gardens.”
6
Crown
Snow spun a sprightly dance around Stella as she topped the stairs to the bowling green. The house lights glittered with a Christmassy glow at the end of the long terrace, reminding Stella of childhood years when she’d seen the estate house decorated like a glowing wonderland of color and intricate ornaments—a world filled with cinnamon and pine and daydreams.
She’d met with James and Alice by the pond a few more times over the last few weeks. Alice had insisted on hearing more fairytales, so Stella regaled her with the story of Rapunzel one day, Snow White and Little Red Riding Hood another, the treacherous Snow Queen at another time when the day turned particularly chilly. But Alice’s favorite had been Beauty and the Beast. With Alice’s sprightly personality, of course she would like Belle the best.
The more time Stella spent with the pair, the more the layers of loneliness and self-protection seemed to peel away, releasing the dreamer she used to be. Conversations with James came interspersed between stories. She learned that James enjoyed horseback riding, a skill she’d love to learn. He loved adventure books and, to no surprise, satire. And, of course, he shared more about his pleasure in working with his trees.
Every interaction coaxed her further from her reticence.
Finding Ever After: four fairytale-ish novellas Page 6