by Emily Asad
“What if they don’t know what they need?” My voice comes out in a high-pitched whine. “They’re a century behind.”
“Then we’ll help them understand their options,” he says.
I grab Phoebe’s sleeve. “You owe me. They can’t leave, not now. You can’t, you can’t, you can’t…” Great. I’m blubbering and I can’t make it stop.
David enfolds me in another protective hug, reminding me of the first night his music lulled me to sleep. “I won’t leave Zenia,” he tells the Ambassador.
“You’re welcome to stay here as long as you wish. We have plenty of rooms.”
“Your mother will never forgive you,” I tell David through my sniffles. “There must be a better solution.”
“Father wants to get as far away from magic as possible.”
An idea creeps into my head. I stare at Phoebe’s new necklace. “You can go in and out of that thing whenever you like, right?”
“Yes.”
“And you can bring anything out? Anything?”
She fiddles with the chain. “I think so.”
“Then I might have a way to keep everyone together. But I’ll need help convincing George.”
David traces my jawbone with his rough, calloused fingers. “I knew you’d come up with a plan.”
“You haven’t heard it yet.”
He beams down at me. “Doesn’t matter. I believe in you. Always have.”
Phoebe has to clear her throat again when we start another kiss. “George is helping Gary hitch up the horses to drive into town. You should hurry.”
“A sleigh ride? Doesn’t he remember we have cars now?” I ask.
“Father never liked the idea of automobiles,” David says. “Like you said. He’s a century behind.”
“I can make that work in my favor. Phoebe, you might need your mother and sister for this one. Here’s what we need to do…”
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE:
WHITMAN
Driving through the forest is like a scene on a holiday postcard, except I’m rehearsing my persuasive speech to George in my head instead of enjoying the ride. Snow-laden pines surround us as we cut through the forest. Rows of jingle bells on the horses’ harness mark time as they pull us through the crusty drifts. Crisp, ion-flavored air threatens frostbite to my cheeks.
The Artemics went in the first sleigh, saying they’d meet us in town. They’re so far ahead of us I can’t hear their jingles anymore. The Ambassador flicks our reins with practiced ease, making sure our horse takes his time picking through the snow.
In the back seat of our sleigh, Eleanor leans against George as they drive, talking through lists of things they’ll need for their new home. Clothes, kitchen supplies, new quilts. Furniture, of course. She can’t wait to go shopping in a modern mall with the credit card Phoebe has told her about. George just grunts. It’s his happy grunt.
Nathaniel and Henry face them, singing Christmas carols at the top of their lungs and splashing snow at each other whenever their fingers touch the low branches that sweep against the sides of the sleigh. Their voices hold an edge of giddy desperation. They’re homeless refugees, after all, leaving everything behind except the clothes on their back and the Ambassador’s promise of help to start a new life.
I try to be happy for them, yet I can’t stop wondering if they’ll miss their dollhouse home when their current excitement settles into practicality. As a person who’s said too many goodbyes, I can already see the trouble they’ll have starting their new lives from scratch.
In the driver’s seat, David smoothes a wrinkle on the blanket that covers our laps and shoulders. His tuxedo coat and my gown are useless against the icy night air, so we huddle together for warmth, playing with each other’s fingers in a bold game of secrecy. From time to time, he lowers his cheek to my hair for a snuggle.
“Won’t your father notice we’re going in the opposite direction?” I whisper, hoping the Christmas carols coming from the back seat will cover my question.
“The forest has grown a lot,” he replies, his lips against my ear. “But he’ll realize we’re going in circles sooner or later.”
“How much time do you think Phoebe needs?”
“Ask the driver.” He nibbles my earlobe, just because he can.
I stifle my giggle so I can I repeat my question to the Ambassador.
“Not long.” A white cloud of vapor escapes his lips. “If it works.”
“It has to,” I reply. Or else I’ll be alone forever.
The sleigh finally pulls to a stop in front of a thick row of trees, right next to Phoebe’s empty sleigh. Our horses whicker, their breath floating around their muzzles like white clouds.
I hope the Artemics have had enough time to complete my project.
“It’s on the other side,” the Ambassador tells me. He turns to George. “We’re here.”
George frowns. “This can’t be Otter Paw.”
“It’s not,” I say. “We’re in the middle of Akakios Preserve.” My voice starts to tremble. I haven’t even started my speech yet. “Would you trust me? For five minutes?”
David gives my fingers a squeeze before lifting me down to the snowy ground. My dancing slippers are so thin, the soles of my feet start to chill immediately. He wraps the blanket around my shoulders before helping his mother.
George frowns, suspicious. I don’t give him the chance to argue. I follow the Ambassador through a narrow trail the Artemics tamped down for us. Soon we push through pine branches into a huge clearing.
George whistles. “Well, dash my wig.”
The village of Whitman looms in front of us. Five blocks by five blocks is huge in real life. Already, the weather inside Callista’s sphere is changing from early autumn to match our frigid December weather. Nathaniel’s flowers freeze as I watch, their bright colors muted by clear layers of frost.
We walk up Main Street past George’s boutiques, the mercantile, and the millinery shop, all the way to the Artemics in front of the empty bakery. Identical grins of pride cover their faces. They join us as we walk past the post office toward the four houses that sit on the farthest lots of town, a backdrop of tall, frosty pines completing the perfect scene.
George’s jaw works up and down as he stands in front of the home he built for Eleanor. Artemis has been here – the fragrance of ambrosia-infused cocoa lingers around the house. I bet steaming bowls of cocoa wait for us, if only George can screw up the courage to go inside.
Nathaniel pecks my cheek. “What’s your modern word? Rad?”
“That was the ’80’s. Try ‘awesome.’”
Phoebe flings her arm to encompass the entire sphere that used to sit on George’s table. “It works. Electricity, plumbing, sewage. Everything.”
“Bully for you, Phoebe,” Henry says. But he’s looking at Alexis like she made the miracle happen all on her own.
“It’s my first step toward restitution,” Phoebe tells George and Eleanor, twisting the fabric of her gown around her thumb. “I can never make up for the life I stole from you, but I can help you make some of those dreams come true.”
“Why can’t you leave good enough alone?” George spits on a cobblestone. “This was my most sacred project, Phoebe. Now you’ve contaminated it with your magic.” He turns his back on her and stomps back toward the sleigh.
I jump in front of him. “Please, George. Listen to her.”
“Stand aside.”
It’s a struggle to get my quaking voice under control. “Then listen to me. To reason. Are you going to take Alexis away from her family? She and Henry are married, whether or not you approve. You want to stay away from magic and the mansion? I understand that. This village is neutral territory now. They only brought it up to size – nothing more. No traps, no weaves.”
“It’s still unnatural.”
“It’s your design. The perfect place for you to spend a few years catching up with the rest of society. You think you’ll be able to just land a job in Minneap
olis as an architect? You’re old-fashioned, George. They’ll catch you and put you in an insane asylum. Even if they don’t, you’ll be too weird or different to fit in. Stay here a while. Modernize in safety.”
“It’s not a life, Zenia,” he says, quiet. “What am I supposed to do here? There’s no work to be had. And – sorry, Dmitri – I’m done building mansions for now.”
“Finish the village. Now that you’re out, I’ll drive you anywhere you want to go so you can see how we do modern malls and emergency rooms and whatever else you want to build.”
He skirts around me. I catch his sleeve. If he leaves, this chance will be lost forever.
“I’m tired of being alone. If you leave, I’ll… I’ll…” My voice catches. I have to clear my throat to continue. “I have to stay here until my mom comes back or else I’d go to Minneapolis with you. Don’t make me choose. This way, we can have it all.”
He shakes his head.
Hot tears warm my frosty cheeks. “Then do it for me. Don’t take David away. I’m begging you.”
“I’m begging you, too, Father,” David rumbles.
Henry and Alexis press in close behind David. “Us, too.”
Eleanor won’t look at him – or me. The misery on her face matches mine.
Nathaniel’s standing behind everyone. “If we move, I won’t see Phoebe again.”
It’s totally the wrong thing to say, but he’s so sincere and forlorn we all laugh. Phoebe blushes as red as a holly berry.
David lowers his voice so only George and I can hear. “I won’t go with you, Father. My life is here now. With her.”
George exhales. “A man’s family is his masterpiece,” he finally says. “But we’ll only stay on one condition. This place needs neighbors. Not many, but a few. You must set up your Ladyslipper on that empty lot there. And you must talk your mother into using the bakery. One needs fresh coffee and hot bread for breakfast.” He holds out his hand. “Deal?”
I shake his hand and start blubbering again. “Deal.”
An odd-looking snowman in the front yard catches my attention. Make that a marble statue – Artemis. She winks and waves and then goes back to being a statue.
Behind me, the Ambassador’s cell phone rings. Mrs. Akakios shrieks and flails her arms. Alexis laughs at her. “I used to do that, too. It’s called a cell phone. You’ll get used to it.”
“Hello?” he says into the receiver. He’s silent for a while. Then, “I see. Thank you.” When he hangs up, an expression of relief and triumph cover his face. “Zenia, they’ve found your mother. She’s on her way home right now.”
Hysterical laughter pushes past my throat. Whimpers, too, and tons of tears. I’m a mess. David’s tuxedo catches my tears as I press my face to his chest. Soon I’m surrounded by the other Whitmans, then Alexis, then the Ambassador and his wife. Phoebe squirms her way under all the arms to stand by me and pet my hair.
Through my swirling chaos, one fact strikes me with perfect clarity: my position, in the center of a group hug, with my favorite people in the world.
In other words, I’m home.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Emily Asad currently lives in Tampa with her husband and two daughters, where she bakes bread in solar cookers and dreams of building her own Tiny House someday.
Website: www.emilyasad.com
Author email: [email protected]
TINY HOUSE RESEARCH
*Jay Shafer: Four Lights Tiny House Company
*Ross Chapin: Pocket Neighborhoods
*Abel Zimmerman Zyl: Zyl Vardos
*Anita: Lilypad Planet
*Deek Diedricksen: Relaxshacks
FAMOUS TINY HOUSES
Shabby Chic Tiny Retreat Protohaus
Fortune Cookie Lilypad