by Caroline Lee
“I failed,” she said again, in a quiet voice, “which means I can’t—”
She cut off her own words, not certain if she was devastated by failing, or relieved the possibility of having to choose between him and the guild was no longer on the table.
“You can’t join your organization,” he finished in a dull voice.
Nodding jerkily, she backed away from him. “Thanks for—for setting up the game—” Her breath caught on the last word, and afraid she was about to cry, she turned and pushed her way out the door.
Best to face her failure head-on and confess everything.
Andrew watched Christa storm out of the saloon, and a frown tugged on his lips. Christa had failed to be the one to secure Sibyl’s happily ever after, so that meant she couldn’t join the organization she’d come to Everland to join? But that was silly! Sibyl was happy, and whether or not Christa had orchestrated it, she ought to get credit for the happily ever after regardless. At least, as far as he was concerned.
If she failed, does that mean she’s going to leave?
The thought—the fear—had Andrew’s spine snapping straight. He’d never considered the possibility she might leave. He’d been so focused on helping her figure out how to achieve her goal, it hadn’t occurred to him what might happen if she failed.
Well then, you’d better give her a reason to stay.
A reason to stay. A reason to stay in Everland, which didn’t have anything to do with a job or matchmaking, but everything to do with two hearts and a future together.
Well maybe it is matchmaking.
“Hey, where’d Chris go?” Max’s call had Andrew whirling around to see the smiling man shrugging out of his jacket again. “Wasn’t that crazy? We were talking about Sibyl, and then she just popped up. Talk about narrative causality, huh?”
“Narrative what?” Andrew mumbled.
But Max shrugged. “Just something I picked up here or there. So where’s Chris? Are we still playing?”
Andrew glanced out the window at the sun sinking low in the western sky. There was still enough time to stop by Crowne’s to see if Ian had gotten the package he’d ordered.
“I think…” he began slowly, his gaze going back to the green baize. “I think we’re both done. I’ll collect his winnings and get them to him if you don’t mind?”
Shrugging, Max began to stack the chips and the money. “I don’t mind at all. I like him. You going to bring him around again to play?”
If Andrew had his way, Chris O’Hare would never again appear in The Gingerbread House or Everland at all. But only because Christmas Harrington had taken his place.
Christmas Harrington Prince.
The thought brought a slow smile to his lips as he dropped her money into the pocket of his coat and straightened. “I think, Max, that it’s entirely possible we’ve seen the last of him.”
“Well shoot. I thought he was nice, once he finally opened up.”
“Yeah,” Andrew mused. “Me too.”
“Well how about you track him down and give him his winnings and see if you can talk him into staying?”
Andrew was smiling when he turned back to his young friend and offered his hand. “I think I will do just that, Max.”
Chuckling, Max shook his hand and nodded his farewell. “Good luck. I’ll see you tomorrow night for Everland’s version of the fancy Christmas Ball Sibyl was going on about. I want to meet your lady.”
And Andrew couldn’t wait to introduce Max to Christa—as his lady.
Or his fiancée.
His grin grew at the thought. “It’s a plan.”
“Good luck!” Max called to him, as Andrew pushed open the doors to step out into the December afternoon and took a deep breath.
He was going to need it.
Chapter 10
By the time she got— Well, she’d been thinking of the big purple house as home, but soon, it wouldn’t be anymore, would it? But by the time she reached the guild’s headquarters, it was almost dark, and Christa had lost her nerve.
There was no way she could march in there and declare an emergency meeting of the chapter, not like Doc was prone to do over the most minor issues. Christa couldn’t gather everyone together, then sit calmly and announce she failed.
Admitting she’d failed was even worse than the feeling of actually failing.
Just suck it up. You didn’t want to be a stupid godmother anyhow, did you?
Well, at one point she had. But now…?
She stuck her head in through the door, and when she decided the coast was clear, she darted up the stairs and into the room she’d been given, shutting the door quietly behind her so no one would know she was home.
Then she pulled her poncho over her head, kicked her boots off, and burst into tears.
Wait, what are you doing? You don’t cry!
Apparently, she was due a good cry, then.
Throwing herself down on the bed, she grabbed a pillow and shoved it over her face, not sure if it would muffle the God-awful sounds coming out of her mouth or not.
Failing her first assignment would mean she’d have to say goodbye to the Godmothers. Sweet Bashful and silly Dorcas and somber Suzy and wonderful, wonderful Helga. She’d even miss grumpy Grunhilda and Doc, who still intimidated her. They’d become her friends in a short amount of time, and she’d been shown a world she hadn’t known existed. It had been so hard not to tell Andrew all about the tenets of the Guild, but she knew the rules existed to keep them all safe. She had been a part of that world for a while, albeit a short while, and had loved it.
But by remaining a part of that world, she would have to say goodbye to Andrew.
And although the thought of leaving the Godmothers made her cry, the thought of never having Andrew in her life made her feel as though someone had cut out her heart.
She pressed the pillow closer to muffle her sobs.
At some point, she fell asleep. When she woke, the house was quiet and completely dark. It was hard to tell the time, but as she sniffed and sat up in bed, she saw the moon was low in the sky out the window. It was after midnight, at least.
She felt drained and…
Her nose wrinkled.
Stiff.
She’d slept in her disguise, the trousers uncomfortable in ways she couldn’t recall them ever being in the past. Before, dressing as a man had allowed her the freedom to support her family. They were how she’d met Andrew. But now…?
Sighing, she ran a hand through her hair and reached for a ribbon to tie it back. Now she wasn’t sure what the trousers meant to her.
She wasn’t certain what anything meant.
She just felt empty.
Her stomach growled.
Correction; empty and hungry.
Sighing again, she pushed herself out of her bed and padded on stockinged feet to the chamber pot. There were times when trousers made life more difficult, but she didn’t have the energy to change.
She didn’t have the energy for anything, except maybe some food, so she crept back down the stairs and slipped along the hallway toward the kitchen.
How many times in the last two weeks had she walked this hallway, laughing at one of Bashful’s observations or teasing Dorcas? How many times had she sat around the big table, sipping tea as she listening to Doc explain some “vitally important” issue, which seemed not terribly interesting to anyone else?
I’m going to miss this place.
Slipping into the kitchen, she padded toward the ice box. Maybe there were some leftovers for dinner she could eat cold and no one would—
“Helga left a plate out for you.”
Gasping, Christa spun around just as Doc turned up the flame on the gas lamp.
“Were—were you sitting there in the dark, waiting to ambush me?” Christa managed.
The old woman frowned. “You were the one who interrupted my meditation.”
“In the dark?”
“How else am I supposed to meditate?”
Doc growled.
Aghast, Christa glanced toward the dark window. “It’s after midnight!”
“Best time to meditate. Everything’s quiet.”
Christa opened her mouth but had absolutely no response to that.
Seeing this, Doc nodded once, firmly, as if satisfied. “Good. Now pick up your plate and come join me so I don’t get a crick in my neck staring up at you.”
Numbly, Christa did as she was ordered. Helga had indeed left out a covered plate, and there was even a note in her adorably loopy handwriting.
Got to keep your strength up, dearie! Love is hard work! XOXO
“What does ex-oh-ex-oh mean?” Christa mumbled, as she cut off a piece of the cold meat pie.
Doc waved a hand dismissively. “It’s something she always says. Dorcas says it stands for ‘external orifice,’ but that sounds doubtful.”
Everything Dorcas did sounded silly, so Christa just nodded numbly as she chewed, not really tasting a bit of it.
“Do you want tea?” Doc asked after a while. “I’m not as good at making it as Helga is, but if you tell her I said so, I’ll turn you into a frog.”
“You can’t do that,” Christa said, smiling weakly. “Conservation of matter.”
“Ah! So you did read chapter twenty-one! Good.” Doc nodded, but her proud expression slipped after a moment. “I can’t turn you into a frog, but I can make your life very uncomfortable.”
Not anymore uncomfortable than it is now.
Sighing, Christa put her fork down and reached for one of the two bread rolls. “Why are you really here? You’re not ambushing me?”
“Why are you dressed as a man?” Doc snapped in return.
Surprised, Christa glanced down at herself, having forgotten what she was wearing. She shrugged, knowing it didn’t really matter now.
“I’ve spent the last fifteen years at the gambling tables. That’s my work.” She couldn’t meet Doc’s eyes. “When you asked, and I didn’t answer…well, that’s why.”
“Did you think we’d disapprove?” The older woman sniffed dismissively. “Clearly you don’t know us.”
“I didn’t,” Christa pointed out truthfully.
“And now that you do?”
Now that she did? To avoid answering, Christa finished chewing the roll and reached for the cup of water on the tray. But when she lowered it, Doc was still watching her expectantly.
She decided to tell the truth.
“I’m really glad I met you, Doc. I’m glad I met all the Godmothers. You’ve taught me a lot.”
Behind her spectacles, the old woman’s eyes narrowed. “That sounds awfully final.”
Christa held the woman’s gaze. “I failed.” Suddenly, saying it out loud wasn’t so hard. The band which had been wrapped around her chest suddenly loosened. “I failed my trial assignment. I didn’t match Sibyl Miller up with a beau.”
“So she’s going to die old and alone?”
Bristling at the old woman’s sarcasm, Christa snapped, “She’s married, but not to a man I chose.”
“Is she happy?”
“I— What? I just saw them together once.”
Doc braced her elbows on the table and leaned forward. “You’re a godmother. No, don’t object. You met them. Now, close your eyes, dig deep, and tell me…is she happy?”
Startled, Christa reacted to the command before she could decide if it was silly or not. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and concentrated on their meeting in front of The Gingerbread House saloon.
Sibyl’s smile. The twinkle in her eyes. The little sighs of pleasure she made. The way her new husband clearly adored her. The fact he was wealthy and well-connected in a different city. The way they held one another.
And Christa knew.
“Yes,” she whispered. “She’s happy.”
“There.” Doc’s voice cracked like a whip in the silence. “I knew you were a godmother.”
Opening her eyes, Christa met the old woman’s gaze. “You told me I had to—”
“I told you Sibyl Miller needed a happily ever after. I didn’t tell you who it had to be with. And I didn’t say you were Sibyl’s only godmother.”
In that moment, Christa realized the truth. Sucking in a sharp breath through her nose, her eyes widened. “You had someone else working on her case.” She threw out the words as an accusation, not a question. “Another godmother matched Sibyl and Gerald Charmin.”
Doc’s chin dipped slightly, a smile forming on her wrinkled lips. “I wanted to see how you would handle the situation. How you handled failure.”
“I cried.” The admission slipped out, the whisper dull and disbelieving.
“Good. We all need a good cry every now and then.”
Christa’s attention was on the wood of the table between them. The table where she’d sat during meetings, sipping tea. The table where all the godmothers met.
“Who was it?”
“Sibyl’s real godmother? Grunhilda. She was assigned Sibyl’s case as soon as the poor girl was orphaned. You’ll likely be assigned the next orphan girl in Everland, assuming you stay.” The challenge in her words dragged Christa’s eyes back up to hers. “Do you want to? Stay, that is?”
Do I want to stay?
The question bounced around Christa’s head, echoing along with all the other realizations of the night. Not least of which was…
“You said you knew I am a godmother.”
Doc’s nod was certain this time. “You’ve proven it.”
“Godmothers forfeit their chance at True Love. Chapter six,” Christa whispered.
Humming quietly, the older woman dropped her chin to her hand and studied her. Finally, she said, “And?”
Christa blinked. “And what?”
“And…is that a problem for you? Do you have a True Love you don’t want to forfeit?”
Bristling, Christa’s first instinct was to snarl back, to ask sarcastically why Doc simply didn’t use her godmothering skills to know the answer.
But there was something in the old woman’s eyes, a twinkle maybe, which told Christa she did know the answer. She was asking Christa, so Christa would know the answer.
So, closing her eyes, Christa took a deep breath and examined her heart.
“Yes,” she whispered. “I do have a True Love. I love Andrew Prince.”
“And does he love you?” Doc’s voice slapped through the peace. “Have you told him about your love for him? Are you ready to face the future together, hand in hand?”
Christa had to open her eyes; she had to face the truth.
“No,” she whispered, then repeated in a louder voice, “No,” as she met Doc’s gaze. “I haven’t told him.”
But to be fair, he hadn’t told her anything either. He hadn’t kissed her.
You haven’t kissed him either.
Something in Doc’s expression said she’d heard the unspoken debate.
“Are you done with the food?”
The change in topic made Christa blink. “What?”
“The food. The food Helga left you.”
“Uh…” Christa glanced down. She did feel full. “I suppose so.”
“Good, then pass it here. Since my meditation was interrupted, I may as well have a nosh.” As she accepted the tray, Doc commanded, “Now, go upstairs and go back to sleep. You’re exhausted and everything will look better in the light of day.”
Suddenly, Christa was exhausted. A huge yawn overtook her, and she pushed herself to her feet without acknowledging the old woman. She yawned twice more before she made it to the kitchen door, and Christa wasn’t certain she’d be able to make it up to her bed without collapsing.
“Christmas Harrington!”
Doc’s voice snapped out, pulling Christa’s attention around. She propped her shoulder against the doorjamb and smothered another yawn.
The old woman smiled kindly. “Happy birthday, dear. Now go to sleep.”
Chapter 11
The next time s
he woke, the sun was already past its zenith. Christa sat up, slowly rubbing her eyes, then trying to blink away the grogginess.
When was the last time she’d slept so long? Had there been something in the food last night which—
The thought was interrupted by a huge yawn, and she decided it probably didn’t matter. She’d needed sleep, and how she’d gotten it wasn’t relevant. Standing up to stretch, she realized she did feel better—much better.
Was it the sleep which made her feel this way? Or was it the conversation she’d had with Doc last night? Or was it just because it was Christmas Eve?
And your birthday.
The reminder had her huffing out a laugh. Her birthday? She’d forgotten, up until Doc had barked out that birthday wish last night. But what did it matter? It wasn’t like anyone was going to celebrate it, not with the Christmas Eve celebration going on that night.
Sighing, she dragged her fingers through her hair and retied the ribbon holding it back from her face, readying herself to go downstairs and face the Godmothers. She was still wearing the trousers and shirt from her game the previous evening, but decided she just didn’t care anymore.
This was who she was—or a part of who she was—or a part of who she’d once been. The tears last night had somehow wiped her past clean, and now she was just…empty. Empty, and waiting to be filled back up again.
It felt as if her whole being—her whole world—was holding its breath, waiting for the next turn of the cards, the next play which would determine her future and fill her back up again.
Gambling while dressed as a man? Continuing the unpredictable life she’d led?
Becoming a godmother? Giving up on love to help others find it?
Or…a life here in Everland with Andrew?
When she stepped into the kitchen, six faces turned toward her, with six different expressions on each, and she allowed her eyes to linger on them all, determined to remember them before they went back to what they’d been doing.
Cheerful Helga was beaming, holding a cup of tea.
Dorcas was chewing and humming at the same time, poking a large white package on the table with her fork.