Rapunzelle: an Everland Ever After Tale (15 page)

“I don’t think he realized it either, honey. I’m sure he didn’t think he’d finish it this way. Do you? Do you think he knew all along that you were this princess, and that’s why he…he courted you?”

It was more like
she’d
courted
him
, but Briar knew that. So instead of bickering, Zelle bit her lip and considered. Had Dmitri used her? Had he spent time with her, just to get close to her? Had he been false in any way?

“No.” She sighed, accepting the truth. “No. He was honorable and wonderful and…”

“And all of the things that made you fall in love, yes, yes.”

She
had
been in love with him. And the really stupid part was that—she had to be honest with herself—
she still was
. “And now he’s gone!” She’d all but wailed it, and Briar put down the brush to wrap her arms around Zelle. The seated girl leaned into her friend’s embrace, desperate for the comfort.

And maybe they sat like that for a minute, maybe ten. Zelle had thought that she was all cried out, but Briar’s comforting hug brought the tears back. And when her friend slipped to her knees beside the chair, and Zelle rested her head against the other girl’s shoulder, she knew that it was alright to cry.

She was crying for…for what? For her lost dream, she supposed. For the man that she’d loved, but turned out not to be the real man. Or rather, the man she’d loved was only here for a short time, until he had to go back home; he
was
a duke after all. She was crying for his parents, and his parents’ friends, her natural parents. She was crying for the pain and the violence and the hurt that had led to her wonderful life here in Everland. She was crying for the fact that she really
did
have a wonderful life, no matter how much her heart was breaking over Dmitri’s leaving.

Oh, at this point she didn’t even know why she was crying.

She just knew that it felt nice, to be held and rocked and her hair stroked. Briar was whispering comfortingly. “I know, I know, sweetie. He’s a dolt. A big, fat, stupid dolt.”

“No, no he’s not.” Zelle hiccoughed. “He’s noble and good and he didn’t even know that I loved him!”

“Fine, fine.” Briar’s strokes moved to the top of her head. “He’s a prince among men.”

“He
is
a prince!”

“And you loved him.”

“And I loved him!” Her nose certainly was running a lot, wasn’t it? Zelle groped for a handkerchief.

“And now you’ll just have to get used to the idea that he’s gone, and he’s broken your heart, and you’ll have to move on and leave your room eventually.”

“And now I’ll have to—
what
?”

Briar took a deep breath to repeat it, but Zelle sat up, pulling out of her friend’s hold. “You think I should just get over it?”

“It’s just a little heartbreak, sweetie. Everyone has to deal with a broken heart sometime.”

Just a little heartbreak.
It was. That’s exactly what it was. Zelle stared at her friend, the handkerchief pressed to her nose and her eyes wide. Her heart felt like it was broken, and she couldn’t even be mad at Dmitri for it. She only had herself to be mad at, for falling in love with him. And now she had a broken heart to show for it.

Who would’ve thought that a little something like a heart could hurt so much? But Briar was wrong. This wasn’t something that she could just brush off. This wasn’t something that someone “got over.” Not her, at least. Her heart was broken, and it would always carry the scar.

But how to explain that to Briar, who’d never been in love, never had a broken heart?

Zelle didn’t have time to figure that out, because just as she’d opened her mouth, there was a knock. From her window.

Something like hope flared in her chest a moment before she saw the top of the ladder, peaking over her windowsill. What had she expected? Her duke to return, triumphantly declaring his love? But it was just Helga. Helga and her ladder.

Briar sat back on her heels, staring at the ladder. But when it began to rock—Zelle was sure from the weight of a little round lady climbing it—she scrambled backwards and looked frantically towards Zelle. “What in the—?”

Still swinging her head between the ladder and the blonde girl, Briar rolled to her feet and shuffled nearer to the window. She reached the window seat and poked her head out, just in time to meet the cheery face of Helga, climbing in. Surprised, Briar shrank back, her eyes wide.

“Zelle?” She was obviously asking what this woman was doing in Zelle’s room, and why wasn’t Zelle reacting?

And maybe Zelle would’ve explained, if she hadn’t been emotionally and physically exhausted. Instead, she watched Helga swing herself—in the same old-fashioned hoop dress—over the sill and onto the seat. Then Zelle sighed, and waved her hand between the two of them. “Helga, this is my best friend Briar. Briar, this is Helga, my godmother, who I absolutely do not believe in.”

Helga smiled hugely, comfortingly. “Hello, dearie. Call me ‘Happy’.”

“Godmother.” Briar’s dry tone made it clear that she wasn’t asking, because she didn’t believe either.

“Oh yes. Yes indeed, dearie. Sent by the guild, you know. Our headquarters are here in Everland.”

“A guild. Of godmothers?” Zelle was pleased that her best friend was reacting with as much skepticism as she had. “Aren’t fairy godmothers supposed to have wings?” Briar raised a brow. “You don’t.”

“Hmmm.” Helga pursed her lips. “I never claimed to be a fairy. But is that important to you? Wings? I’ll make a note of it.”

“Why?” Briar seemed close to laughter.

“Well, so that when yours shows up, we can make sure she’s got wings.” Helga waddled towards the desk where Zelle sat. “If that’s what you’re really expecting.”

“My own godmother?”

“Oops!” Helga’s eyes went wide when she reached Zelle’s side. “I probably shouldn’t have said that. Oh dear, oh dear.” She winked over her shoulder at Briar. “Just forget I said anything, dearie!” She waved her hand again, and Briar suddenly blinked and frowned.

Zelle opened her mouth to ask what she’d done to her friend, but Helga picked up her hand and patted it sympathetically. “Oh dear, a lost love,
hmmm
?” The godmother—or whoever she was—clucked kindly. “You’ve really had a week of it, haven’t you, dearie? You found your One True Love, and then discovered all sorts of secrets about your family—“
How’d she know that?
“—and now Dmitri has left. Oh, you poor dear.”

“Wait, how did you…?” Briar was still standing in the middle of the room, probably still not quite sure what was going on.

“Godmother, dear, remember. But now,” she squeezed Zelle’s hand, and met her eyes in the mirror. “We need to see about making you feel better, don’t we?”

“How?” Zelle’s question came out as a pitiful whisper, but Helga the Perpetually Happy heard it without problem.

“Well, first of all, I will tell you that no one ever dies of a broken heart.”

“It feels like it, though.”

“Oh yes, granted, it
feels
like you’ll die, but you won’t. Most people who claim to die from a broken heart are just fooling you. Or they have something completely different, like tiny invisible bugs that are eating their red blood cells.”

“Their what?”

“It doesn’t matter, dear. My point is that people who think you can die from a broken heart are wrong. Or lying. Or suicidal. Did you read Romeo and Juliet? Daft children.” She clucked again and shook her head. “No, dearie, you shan’t die from it.”

“How do you know?”

“
Godmother
, remember?”

It was impossible not to like this little round woman. Zelle’s smile was watery, but Helga beamed in return. “There now, that’s the spirit. You’re going to be fine, I know.” And Zelle almost didn’t hear the “
eventually
” the woman added under her breath. But then she turned to the back of Zelle’s chair and smiled brightly. “My word! That is certainly a lot of hair! How much hair would you say that is?”

Briar must’ve gotten over her surprise, or shock, or whatever it was, because she crossed to stand on Zelle’s other side. “Three feet of it.”

“Oh no, dearie, there’s much more than three feet of it! Even I can see that!”

Zelle was pleased to have a new direction to the conversation. “Briar means that, every year, my mother cuts off three feet of it on my birthday, so that it will grow back.”

“Three feet, every year?” At Zelle’s nod, Helga’s eyes grew wide. “Good heavens, that’s remarkable. Such fast-growing hair.
That
wasn’t in your file, was it? There has to be some kind of scientific application for this ability.” Her voice fell to a mumble. “I should tell Doc about this, she’ll be so interested.”

Zelle met Briar’s eyes. “But this year, I was thinking about doing more.” She pointed to a spot right above her shoulder. “I was thinking here, so that it won’t be quite so heavy next summer.”

Briar shrugged. “That’s a good idea. Maybe we should start cutting it at the beginning of the summer, rather than on your birthday. It’s silly to wait until August.”

A deep breath. “Actually… Actually, Mother and Papa just assigned me that birthday. My real date of birth is June fourth. According to Dmitri, that is.”

“Really?” One of Briar’s brows rose quizzically. “Well, we’re still celebrating in August this year. However…” She drew out the last word, and reached around Zelle to pull open the second drawer, where she kept her sewing supplies. Pulling out the shears, she snipped experimentally a few times. “We could always cut your hair early.”

It felt good to smile about something other than—
No
.
Don’t think about him
. But new hairstyles were always fun. Mother had said that she was looking forward to cutting Zelle’s hair “one last time,” but now that Dmitri was gone and there was no chance for a Happily Ever After, this wouldn’t be the last time. She was destined to spend the rest of her life living with Papa and Mother. And besides, this year—
today—
she wanted to bond with her best friend. So Zelle nodded, and Briar smiled, and Helga clapped her hands. “Excellent!”

Both younger women turned to her, and her smile was positively naughty. “Zelle, dearie, do you have some ribbons?”

“Of course. Why?”

“Because, my dear, I’m about to show you how to
really
let down your hair.”

Kansas was even worse the second time through. At least, on the trip west, Dmitri had thought himself on a fool’s errand, sure this was all just a grand adventure cooked up by
Otets
. Not sure what he’d find in Everland, but certain that it would be another dead-end. And he’d had his vodka, of course.

Now, though? Now he knew exactly what was in Everland. Exactly what he’d walked away from.

He sat in the seat near the window, his cheek pressed against the frame, his hair whipping in the breeze, as mile after mile of flat nothingness rolled by. In Everland, the gentle hills leading out of town and towards the Lake had been a balm, and the snow-capped mountains in the distance had leant the whole place a sort of… fairy-tale air. Here, there was wheat. Wheat and shrub-growth and the occasional barn or settlement.
Bozhe moy
,
America was ugly!

All but a small part of it.

A small town where he’d left his heart.

Groaning, Dmitri bumped his forehead against the pane, hoping to knock some sense into his head. It was for the best. He’d left her for the best, hadn’t he? He’d seen the way she’d looked at him, there in her family’s parlor. She’d seen the way she’d stood beside her parents—as she should!—while he’d torn her world apart. It was better that he leave, and let her come to terms with her new reality.

It was for the best.

Two days, fourteen hours and—his eyes flicked down to the pocket watch he held in his open hand—seven minutes. It’d been forever since he’d walked out of her house, and gone to the inn to pack his bag. Forever since he’d left that note for Max with Rip—still asleep—explaining why he couldn’t partner to form a breeding program, after all. Forever since he’d hefted his bags onto the station platform and turned for one last look at the Bavarian-fairy-tale town in the middle of America that had taught him the truth about himself and stolen his heart, even with its heat and its piles of animal messes in the street.

Forever since he’d said his silent goodbyes to the woman he loved.

Dmitri had spent the day since he’d climbed on the train avoiding the other passengers. Even when they’d sat beside him on one of the comfortable red chairs, he’d pretended only to speak Russian, and they’d let him be. He obviously didn’t belong here, didn’t belong chatting with them, so they’d wander off to a different seat. No, he didn’t belong here. The problem was that he didn’t belong in Russia, either.

Otets
and
Mama
were dead. His grandfather had worked hard to build a legacy, and had succeeded, but what was it worth, if there was no one to share it with? Home was only home because
Otets
was there, sitting on the porch of the hunting lodge, laughing about the day’s hike. Or working, sleeves rolled up and sweaty hair slicked back, with the yearlings in the corral. Going home, knowing that
Otets
wouldn’t be there with his hearty laugh and his teasing, just wasn’t…wasn’t… Dmitri sighed. It wasn’t going
home
.

It was going
back
. Going back to his empty holding and
Dedushka’s
breeding program and his father’s memory. No, he didn’t belong there anymore. Didn’t belong anywhere.

Except with her.

Bozhe moy
,
she’d ruined him. Ruined him for other women, ruined him for finding peace. He wasn’t ever going to find another woman with her zeal for life, her love of adventure. Her taste of berries, and her enthusiasm for experiencing everything—even lust. He’d been a fool to kiss her again, to fall in love, when he’d known that he couldn’t have her.

No, he hadn’t known who she was, hadn’t known she was the Princess Wilhelmina Gertrude. He hadn’t known that he was going to have to break her happy family—her happy life—apart. Hadn’t known that he was going to be honor-bound to walk away.

But…he glanced at his watch again. Two minutes had passed. Forever. Two minutes farther away from her. But he loved her.

He’d fallen in love, not with Princess Wilhelmina Gertrude, but with Zelle Carpenter. She was… She was… Dmitri closed his eyes on the bleak landscape and admitted the truth. She was everything to him. And he was getting farther away from her.

He’d left her, without even telling her how he felt. Surely, it wouldn’t have done any good, but… It was cowardly, to not at least have apologized for tearing her history apart. It was cowardly, to not stand in front of her, and at least explain
why
he’d felt like he needed to force the issue. It was cowardly, to not declare his love, even if it was going to be scorned.

And
Otets
had not raised a coward.

Dmitri’s eyes flew open, and he knew what he had to do. He had to go back. Go back and confront her, confront his actions. Confront his feelings.
Then
he could get back on the train and cross Kansas yet again, sure that he’d done the right thing.

But maybe,
maybe
, when he was in Everland he’d be able to convince her that just because he’d ruined her life, just because he was apparently heartless and cruel…didn’t mean that he wasn’t capable of love. Love for Everland, and love for her.

And if she was willing to see him, maybe he’d move back into the inn, to spend his days trying to make up for what he’d done. And maybe,
maybe
, if she was one day agreeable, he might be able to court her, to convince her that he—in some small way—was worthy of her love in return.

And even if not, even if she was never able to forgive him, well… At least he’d be in Everland, where he belonged. Where he could see her occasionally, and visit with Max and Gordon and his new friends. If she was willing to allow him to stay in her town, that is.

Dmitri swallowed and sat up straighter, knowing that he was handing his future to her. Knowing that, whatever she decided, he would abide by. But that was only fair, since she held his heart, too.

He loved Zelle Carpenter, and she needed to know that.

Dmitri stood to find the porter. He was getting off at the next stop, and boarding the west-bound train once more.

“I love it, Zelle! It’s never been this short before.”

Zelle twisted and turned in front of the little mirror by her desk, trying to see more of her head. “It certainly
feels
lighter.” Her hair barely brushed her neck, the shortest she’d ever cut it. The blonde wisps curled around her ears and bobbed around the back of her head as she turned, enjoying the sensation.

“Do you like it?”

“I…I do.” It was different, but different was good sometimes, too. “It’s…” What was it? “It’s freeing.”
Yes, freeing
. “And right now, I could use a little ‘freeing’.”

Briar smiled at their reflections in the mirror, and quickly tied off the loose end of the braid. “I know, sweetie. You can. And I’m glad it helped a little.” She held up the three-and-a-half-feet of hair. “What should I do with this?”

Zelle was still looking at herself, marveling at the feel of the hair beneath her fingers as she tucked a few strands behind her ear. It would grow at an alarming rate, but for now, she liked it. “Umm… Well, Mr. Nipper at the Wig Emporium in San Francisco isn’t expecting another batch from me ‘til next month, but I guess I could send it early. We’ll have to find a box for it.” Briar began winding the plait. “But don’t tangle it! You know he’s very particular about that sort of thing.”

Smiling, Briar crossed to the window seat, and laid the braid over the sill, so that it draped across the cushion and out the window, keeping it off the floor
and
untangled. She’d turned back towards Zelle when there was a knock at the door.

“Briar?” Mother’s voice was faint, like she was whispering. “How’s it going? Is Zelle alright? Did you get her to eat any of the food?”

The two girls exchanged glances, and Briar began to giggle. Zelle’s heavy heart wasn’t quite ready for giggling, but her smile was natural, and that felt nice. They both moved towards the door at the same time, and Zelle felt her best friend’s fingers twine through hers as they leaned closer to the doorframe.

“Briar!” Papa’s voice was a bit louder, but she could tell he was
trying
to be secretive. “Briar, are you in there? You’re worrying us. Is Zelle fixed yet?”

Briar sent her a mischievous grin, and whispered back, “Not quite, Doctor Carpenter.”

Mirroring her best friend, Zelle leaned in too. “But I’m feeling a little better.”

At her whisper, there was a moment of silence from the other side of the door, and then both of her parents’ “Zelle!” was full of relief. She pulled the door open to see Papa smiling, Mother looking worried, and both of them holding hands tightly.

And then Mother’s look changed to one of awe. “Oh, honey, I love your hair,” and she was pulling Zelle into a hug. “A little change is exactly what you need.”

Briar giggled again. “Happy said that she needed to learn to let her hair down, so we cut it all off!”

Stepping into the room, Mother looking around. “Happy?”

Both girls turned, Briar spinning in a full circle. Helga wasn’t there. The door hadn’t opened, so the ladder was the only explanation—Zelle could still see the top rung poking over the sill, and hoped her parents wouldn’t comment—but neither of them had noticed the older lady leave. And Helga didn’t really do anything quietly, so…?

“When did she…?” Zelle met Briar’s questioning gaze and shook her head, hoping that her friend would realize Mother and Papa didn’t need to know about strange women sneaking into her bedroom. Her best friend got the message and clamped her lips shut.

Maybe Mother would’ve questioned them—she had that shrewd look on her face again—but Papa pushed his way into the room. “Well, Zelle? Are you better? Did Briar help?” And then, before Zelle could explain that a broken heart wasn’t something that could be fixed overnight, he shoved his hands into his pockets and said, “Have you forgiven me?”

It was the hesitation in his expression that held her tongue, remembering the way he’d cried when he’d confessed to her. This man, this
good man
, had raised her, had been her father for as long as she could remember. “Oh, Papa. Of course.”

And then she was in his arms, safe and sheltered from all of the world’s woes, if not its heartbreak. Mother was smiling, over Papa’s shoulder, tears in her own eyes as Papa crushed her to him like she was his tiny little girl once more. “I love you, Princess.” His voice was rough. “Never doubt that.”

“I told you that she would be alright, Jack.” Mother moved towards them. They both opened their arms to her too, and they stood in a warm embrace. “I just wish we’d been able to protect you from the heartbreak, honeybear.” Mother’s murmur against her newly shorn hair caused the tears to start again.

“What’s this?” Papa pulled back. “I thought you’d forgiven me? Why the tears?”

Mother rolled her eyes and smacked his arm. “She’s not heartbroken for you, you daft man.”

“Of course she is.” Papa held her at arm’s length, as if trying to understand. “She just found out that I’ve been keeping a secret from her for fifteen years, and that it’s a terrible secret, and that she’s a Princess. Why else would she—?”