Ophelia and the Marvelous Boy (24 page)

Ophelia rushed back across the courtyard. Horatio, she tried. Horace, Henry. Harry, Herbert, Hubert. Hans, Hadrian, Haley. Hallam, Hamish, Hamlet.

She knew none of them was right.

Ignatius, Ivan, Irving. Iago, Ian, Igor. Ike, Imran, Inglebert.

She skated the last few feet until she rested where the Marvelous Boy lay shivering on his side. The snow had stopped falling, and the clouds had broken apart.

“I waited,” the boy said. “As long as I could.”

He did not ask her if the Snow Queen had been defeated because he knew.

“Beyond the fabled sea there are the mountains,” he said. “And beyond those mountains there are the plains, and beyond the plains there are the forest, the river, and the woods, and beyond that there is the town, and I am going to return there.”

“I have this for you,” said Ophelia. She took the satchel from
her shoulder and placed it on the boy. She gave him the biscuit man. “It will give you strength.”

“Thank you,” he said. The dimple in his cheek showed.

She cried onto his shoulder. “I still don’t know your name,” she said. “I’ve only gotten up to
I
.”

“The wizards have kept my name so I can return home,” the boy said. “And anyway, don’t you think we’ll meet again?”

“Will we?” asked Ophelia.

She felt his hand move to her hair, a tiny movement, a sigh.

“We have been good friends,” said the boy. “We will always be good friends.”

He did not say goodbye, but she felt him leave. In the shadows of her closed eyes, she sensed the forest path and saw him there. When she opened her eyes, he was gone. He had simply ceased to be.

Ophelia stood slowly, wiped her eyes, lifted the magical sword at the sky, which was now lightening with stars.

In which we say goodbye to Ophelia Jane Worthington-Whittard

After the hospital, where Mr. Whittard had his arm bandaged, they went in a taxi to the hotel. They drove through the streets of the city, where it no longer snowed.

Alice folded all the clothes the museum curator had given her and left them neatly on her bed. She re-dressed herself, the way she had always dressed, in jeans and a T-shirt. She applied blood-red lipstick, which was way too grown-up for her.

The sun was just up. It shone everywhere on the snow and on the glistening white trees and on all the windows. Behind each window there were people waking up to Christmas Day. They would no doubt open their presents, eat, and ice-skate. They would not set a time limit; they would skate into the night, and their cheeks would burn bright, and they would smile. Somewhere a man would take a violin out and begin to play.

At the airport the family’s three suitcases were checked and
the large, unusually shaped package was checked as well. The unusually shaped package went through the X-ray machine, and security looked very surprised until Ophelia’s father produced his card, which read:

MALCOLM WHITTARD
LEADING INTERNATIONAL EXPERT ON SWORDS

They took their seats and rested, waiting for takeoff. Ophelia felt for Alice’s hand, and Alice squeezed in return until they were high in the air.

Ophelia looked at her watch. They would be home within a few hours. She went to calculate … and stopped.

Be brave
, her mother whispered in her ear, and then was gone.

From the airplane window Ophelia could see the city below. All the small and winding gray cobblestone streets, all the shining silver buildings and bridges, the museum, getting smaller and smaller until it was lost.

She caught just a glimpse of the vast and fabled sea before the clouds covered this world. In that tiny moment she fancied she saw blue water, perfect blue water, the whitecaps breaking. Then that view was gone, swallowed up by the whitest clouds she’d ever seen. Ophelia Jane Worthington-Whittard, brave, curious girl, closed her eyes and smiled.

THE END
.

Special thanks to my sister, Sonia, for seeing the story and telling me it was worthwhile. Catherine Drayton as well for giving me hope. Erin Clarke for her love of the tale and all her wonderful, passionate work at improving it. Yoko Tanaka for her glorious illustrations. And for my little girl, Alice, who grew up as I was writing it, and who slowly but surely reopened my eyes to magic.

KAREN FOXLEE
worked as a nurse for most of her adult life and also graduated from university with a degree in creative writing. She is the author of
The Midnight Dress
and
The Anatomy of Wings
, which Markus Zusak called “so special that you want to carry it around for months after you’ve finished, just to stay near it.”

Karen Foxlee lives in Gympie, Australia, with her daughter.