Winter 11th
Flower Bud Village
5:30 p.m.
There had been a brief mention of the fire back at the Valley in the local newspaper, but Claire promptly took out the whole page and tossed it into the garbage. She'd barely read it, just skimmed until she was satisfied knowing the situation was fully under control, and the damage was apparently minimal.
Jack and Jill would be missing the horse race, what with the animals all at the nearest veterinarian and boarding shelter. But that, as Claire saw it, would lessen the busy activities on the farm. They were both older and more responsible. They'd keep warm, and fed. If anything, maybe they'd have a mature discussion about the past and work on even just a normal platonic relationship.
Everything worked out perfectly, she concluded. No more bothersome Claire. For now.
They'd just have to understand.
For hours she'd been sitting on the cushy living room couch, watching TV in her pink bathrobe and pretending not to feel any guilt. It was even harder trying to find a program that wouldn't remind her of all these failures in her life over these rough seasons. So in between the happy children's cartoons, she found herself staring out the window, watching the fenced-in backyard succumb to the mercy of the relentless blizzard outside.
She was torn all day between her desire to be left alone, and her craving for commiserating company. Her mother chose the former, and remained busy about the house.
Her birthday card, backdated from the summer, had a check inside but was promptly stuffed under a sofa cushion. Sighing, she couldn't think of any other way to use it but to buy nice gifts for her friends on the farm. A scarf that could give Jill a nice girly accent, a sweater to bring out Jack's broad, manly shoulders. And she just wasn't ready to face going back yet.
There came a loud click from the front door, and in stepped a tall, lanky figure in a knit cap and a thick quilted coat, massive gloves and a pair of construction workers' boots that already began forming a puddle on the inside doormat. The figure shook off huge clumps of snow, then peeled off the gloves, and finally lifted away the hat.
"Mark!" Claire exclaimed, her face lifting in a smile that ached. She hadn't smiled in what felt like decades.
"Holy cow! Claire?" shouted her brother warmly. His blond hair remained flattened from the cap, but his ivy-green eyes were as full of mirth as ever. They reminded her of a kinder springtime, and Mother's garden.
"You got tall!"
"And you got… tired," he stated with a concerned expression. "Let me take all this off before I go over and give you a hug."
Mark was sixteen now, and his voice was rich. No longer a plump boy, he had an attractive masculine frame and was beginning to fill into it with muscle. Claire could see that Mother had adorned him with a chic sweater she'd made herself, form-flattering with shades of green to match his eyes.
"Honey, if you leave the shovel out here, you'll have to look for it later under the snow!" rang out a light, cheery feminine voice.
'Honey?' Claire leaned over the arm of the couch to see who remained beyond the open door.
"Oops. Sorry dear," Mark said with a chuckle. He swung the door open a little wider to reveal a girl wearing matching winter gear, all tones of majestic purple. Shining locks of reddish-brown hair framed her cherubish face, and her eyes were a darker blue than the deepest parts of the ocean's surface. For a girl of about his age, she was petite but not any smaller than Claire.
"Claire, this is Chelsea. Chelsea, my sister Claire," he introduced them, stripping off a pair of baggy athletic pants to reveal what seemed to be very expensive jeans. With that, he padded across the living room in striped socks and into the kitchen.
"It's nice to meet you," Chelsea said sweetly, while self-consciously preening her hair.
"Likewise!" Claire said. "Do you go to Mark's school?"
"Yes."
Mark stood in front of the open refrigerator, swigging away at a carton of milk. "She'll be staying for dinner, maybe overnight if the weather gets too bad."
Claire suddenly felt ashamed of being seen in her bathrobe, reaching for the nearest blanket. "Do you live far away?"
Chelsea nodded sadly. "Yeah. First it was the school that closed, then the stores, and now there's an advisory warning in effect. It's only maybe three miles to my house, but my dad won't want me risking it."
"Claire! I have to show you what I've got in my room," Mark declared proudly, coming back across the way to grab Chelsea's hand and beckon his sister down the hall. "You're really going to like this."
Mark's room also underwent a transformation in Claire's absence. Although it wouldn't seem like a sixteen-year-old's room would be any different from that of a fifteen-year-old, there were now additional bookshelves installed complete with numerous volumes. Framed family photos sat atop his personal TV, but now there was a particularly pretty high-school photo of Chelsea, posing in an old-fashioned matching ensemble: flowered hat, dress, and gloves.
Where there used to be piles of intermingled clean and dirty laundry, there was now a low table supporting two large multi-level cages. Ramps and panels were arranged meticulously and thoughtfully, to make loving homes for two adorable adult ferrets.
"You have ferrets!" Claire shrieked joyously. "How'd you come about this?"
"It was our idea for a project for class," Mark explained, his arm curled lovingly around Chelsea's shoulders. "The dark one is a boy and the multicolored one is a girl. We're going to try to breed them. The second cage is for the boy when the girl becomes Mama Ferret."
"Can I hold one?"
"Sure!"
Claire beamed as she stroked the soft, shining fur of the female, who was curling up comfortably in her arm while sniffing her frantically. Then she began licking Claire's fingers. Claire began to feel her unhappiness melting away like snow on the carpet, but inevitably her thoughts wandered back to her cow, her sheep, the chickens, and the horse that Jill loved so much.
"Mom?"
"Yes, sweetie?"
"You know how you said we could talk if I needed to?"
Claire softly bit her tongue in careful concentration as she pasted on more peppermint discs into the icing, a butter knife held between her fingers lest she make another mistake on the roof of her gingerbread house. Sasha was already far ahead of her, sprinkling sugar crystals on hers for a glittering effect. Depending on how devastating this storm could potentially be, Claire worried that her mother might not be able to sell these masterpieces at the festival this year.
"Of course, honey! No need to even ask. In fact sometimes I wish you'd come home to talk sooner," Sasha reassured her, though her eyes were still on her seasonal edible art.
Claire wiped a smear of green frosting from her fingertips, then nervously twisted her napkin.
"Well, this is something that's really difficult to talk about. In fact, you probably won't believe me."
Sasha's eyebrows shot up quizzically. "I don't know, honey. I've heard some pretty strange things in my life. You can try me."
"Well… okay. Mom? …. What would you do if there was a magical creature who told you that you had to marry someone in order to break a curse and stop people from suffering?"
"That depends. Is he handsome?" Her mother's lips curled upwards in an amused smirk, then she began humming a light, cheerful tune.
"Actually yes, but that's not the point-"
"So he's handsome. Will you be happy together?"
Claire bit her lip. "Um… probably. I never really thought about it too much before. Let's say he's a great guy, probably one of your best friends ever, and he's smart and has big dreams and knows exactly how to make you smile. But your friendship is perfect and he's also dated your best friend before, and that'd be ugly, so you just don't wanna go there."
Sasha fought back a chuckle. "So a young man has proposed to you, but you're afraid of breaking your friendship with his former girlfriend?"
"No, not like that. I knew this situation was too crazy to believe. Maybe I'm just tired."
"No, no, wait," Sasha said calmly. Then she wiped her hands across her apron, studied her gingerbread house for a moment, then looked to the ceiling and sighed deeply. Her eyes were misty, and she became disturbingly pensive, almost melancholy.
"I think… you should follow your heart," she continued. "Believe it or not, I've been in that same situation."
Claire's eyes widened. "You have?"
"What do you think happened between me and your father, sweetie? When we met I had small goals. I thought I might only go so far as owning a little shop one day. Your father had big dreams of venturing out to make nature movies and write camping books. He loved the outdoors more than anything. He and I were young and fell in love. Then it turned out that the life I wanted as a mother at home just wasn't compatible with the lifestyle he wanted for himself. I guess he eventually found a woman who wanted what he wanted, and that's that. But I never regretted you or Mark, the best gifts he had ever given me."
"That's sweet, Mom."
"But now it sounds like you've had a predestined betrothal made in the sky."
"It's not quite that romantic, Mom," Claire said with a chuckle. "I mean, imagine if there was a fairy or a goddess, or even a witch, pressuring you to break a curse-"
"You know, your father used to tell me a story or two about an imp he said he met in a pond," Sasha interrupted her, completely unfazed. "It sounds crazy, and I never saw it for myself, but inspiration is inspiration, whether mystical beings are real or just part of a dream. Besides, this one that's sending you messages has already done the hard part. She's set up a life with Prince Charming for you."
"I guess I never even thought of it that way."
"Follow your heart," Sasha emphasized with a warm smile. "I did. And in the end, it worked out for the best. I'm not telling you to say yes, but just what your heart wants. Nothing means more to me than the happiness of my children, no matter what they choose to do. You know yourself and you know what makes you happy, better than anyone else does."
Claire sighed in relief, tears coming forth into the corners of her eyes. "You're the best, Mom."
"Anytime, honey. Try to go easy on the pastel colors if you must use them; I'm saving them for the cookies for the Spring festival."