Furthermore (28 page)

Dear reader: I do hope you enjoy a happy ending.

We are coming upon the last bit of our story now—the bit where Father and Alice and Oliver finally return home—and I'm feeling bittersweet about it.

Father, as you might imagine, fixed Alice's arm in a pinch, and she was a fully limbed young lady once more. Alice, for her part, very deftly magicked the village of Ink into a land absolutely drenched in color, and Father was reimagined into an even more stunning iteration of his former self. Oliver, good sport that he was, tapped open his magical box with its little door, and they three clambered in, one after the other, and soon, very soon, they were right back where they started, back home in Ferenwood.

A great deal of time had passed while they journeyed through Furthermore, though Alice didn't know how much. All she knew was that it was winter in Ferenwood, which meant they'd been gone not quite a full year. Snow had descended
upon the land in their absence, icing the many hills and valleys in a neat layer of white. Thousands of trees had attempted to shiver their branches free of frost, and when she squinted, Alice could see their green skeletons peeking through. Chimneys chugged atop warmly lit homes, and the town was still, and they three were silent, and Alice exhaled as she closed her eyes. She had never been more grateful for this town or for this life, and she never again wanted to take it for granted. She was happy to be home and happy to have a home. And she couldn't wait to see Mother's reaction, Mother who didn't know Father was here.

Alice and Oliver hugged each other tightly as they said their good-byes, and Oliver promised to come over the very next day to help her build an igloo and make plans for the spring. Oliver would be moving on to upper-level schooling now that he'd completed his Surrender, but Alice had no idea what she'd do next. Father was surprised to hear her say so.

“But, Alice,” he said. “Didn't you say you received a black card? For failing your Surrender?”

“Yes,” said Alice quietly. She ducked her head. “I did.”

Father lifted Alice's chin and looked her in the eye. “That's nothing to be ashamed of. A black card just means you get another try the following year. Did you never unlock it?”

“What?” she said, hardly daring to breathe. “I get to try again? I get to do my Surrender over?”

“Of course you do,” said Father, smiling. “What did you think would happen? Did you think the Elders would toss you out of Ferenwood?”

“Well, yes,” said Alice. “I thought they might.”

“I told you,” Oliver said, beaming. “Didn't I? I told you to unlock it earlier—I told you you were supposed to unlock it but you didn't listen to me.”

Alice went pink. “Alright,” she said. “You were right.”

“I'm glad I was right,” said Oliver, who was grinning from ear to ear.

And then, finally, it was time for Oliver to go home. He hugged Alice once more, then hugged Father, too, and then he ran as best he could through the snow. “I'll see you tomorrow!” he called over his shoulder.

“I can't wait!” Alice called back.

And then she took Father's hand in hers, and Alice decided she would never, ever lose him again.

Alice and Father stood together quietly
just outside their little home, each lost in their own thoughts. The house was just as Alice had left it (save the snow that iced the roof and blanketed the ground); and the chimney puffed gently in the soft evening light, and the windows were lit from the life within. It was a warm, welcoming sight.

But suddenly Alice was nervous.

Alice knew how Mother would react to seeing Father again, but she didn't know how Mother would react to seeing
her
again—and this new unknown frightened her. After all, Alice had run off without saying a single good-bye; she couldn't expect Mother to be forgiving. What about the ferenberries? What about the washing and the mending? What about the shame she'd brought upon her family by failing the Surrender? Mother was sure to be
livid
. Alice was certain that when the front door opened, she would be met with anger and punishment and crushing disappointment, and it almost made her wish she hadn't come.

For a moment Alice wondered whether she shouldn't run straight to Oliver's house and hide until Father could smooth things over—but she didn't think Father would allow it. In any case, Alice could no longer dawdle. Father was eager to go inside, and Alice couldn't deny him such a simple request. Not after everything he'd been through.

Father squeezed her hand and gave her an encouraging look and said, “Are you ready, darling? Shall we go in together?”

But Alice shook her head—she knew she should face Mother alone. (Though perhaps after Mother had her fill of yelling and screaming, Alice would call Father inside to save her.)

So Alice told Father her plan. Well, part of it.

“This way, it'll be a surprise,” she said. “How Mother will cry when she sees you!”

Father laughed. “Very well,” he said. “If that's what you prefer.”

Alice nodded, Father hid, and the two of them shared a wink before Alice walked up to the front door. Then, after only a moment's hesitation, Alice knocked twice. Once for her and once for Father. (It was Furthermore tradition, after all.)

A moment later, the front door swung open.

Mother was exactly as Alice remembered her—beautiful and elegant and desperately sad. Her green corkscrew curls had sprung free of their ponytail, making her golden eyes seem somehow bigger and lonelier. Alice felt a sharp tug at her heart
as she locked eyes with Mother, and both of them were suddenly still. Well, Alice was still. Mother appeared to be frozen.

“Alice?” she whispered.

“Hello Mother.” Alice attempted a smile, but quickly dropped her head and shrank inward lest Mother should think she was being deliberately insolent. Alice swallowed hard and braced herself for the imminent onslaught of anger, determined to be brave for Father once more.

But then, dear friends, the strangest thing happened.

Mother fell to her knees.

She threw her arms around her daughter and pulled her tight to her chest and wept, long and loud. Mother's pain felt real and hot against Alice's small body, and Alice could almost
hear
Mother coming untethered, tears cracking open ribs to let the pain pass through. “I'm sorry,” Mother cried. “I'm so sorry. Please don't ever run away again. Please forgive me.”

“But, Mother—” Alice tried to say.

“I blamed you,” she said. “I knew why Father left and I blamed you for it and I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.”

“You knew?” said Alice, stunned. “You knew why he left?”

Mother looked up at Alice, eyes red-rimmed and puffy, and nodded. “He went to find color for you. He thought—he thought it would make you happy. But when he never came back, I blamed you for it.” She shook her head. “I treated you horribly. Please forgive me, Alice. I can't bear to lose you both.”

“But you haven't lost us, Mother,” said Alice softly. “You never did.”

Alice stepped backward to let Father step forward, and she wandered off in a daze, her head heavy and swimming with truths newly collected. For Alice, who'd only ever wanted to be loved and cared for, Mother's confession was a revelation. And a curious life lesson. She and Mother had both loved Father dearly; but though this love had carried Alice, it had crushed Mother, and this was a power she hadn't known a heart could possess.

Love, it turned out, could both hurt and heal.

Strange.

“I told you she loved you,” said a familiar voice.

Alice was so startled she jumped nearly a foot in the air. “Why Oliver Newbanks!” she shout-whispered. “How dare you spy on me!” (But she was secretly pleased to see him.)

“I just wanted to make sure you were alright,” he said, smiling. “I knew this would be a hard moment for you.” The sun was setting overhead, making the sky look as if it'd been slit open to rush the sunshine out. Oliver appeared to be glowing in the halo.

“I am,” said Alice, but she was quiet about it. Thoughtful.

“What is it?” Oliver said, studying her. “What are you thinking?”

“I'm going to redo my Surrender, you know.” She sighed. “In the spring. And I'll finally have a task of my own.”

“Of course you will,” said Oliver, beaming. “And you'll do splendidly.”

“Well,” she said, examining her fingers. “I might be gone a very long time.”

Oliver's smile slipped. He cleared his throat and said, “Right. Of course.”

“So,” said Alice, looking off into the distance. “I was wondering if you'd come with me.”

Oliver blinked, surprised.

“I mean you don't have to,” Alice said quickly. “Firstly it's illegal and secondly I know you'll be busy with other th—”

“I wouldn't miss it,” he said. “Not for anything.”

And Oliver smiled and Alice smiled back, and she looked up at the sky and wondered, as she closed her eyes, how this small, cluttered world had managed to make room for all her happiness. Father was home and Mother was kind and Alice and Oliver would be friends for a very long time and that, as they say, was that.

Or at least it is all I will say on the subject.

Until next time, dear reader.

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