Lizzette Sassafras was dressed in her finest holiday gown, complete with white bloomers and black boots, a stylish matching hat atop her blonde curly hair, ready to be wrapped up and shipped out to whichever sweet little girl had petitioned for her creation when Serendipity heard a slight knock at the door, followed by a rattling of the knob and the stomping of heavy boots against the mat that somewhat protected the rough wooden floor. She did not turn, not yet, as she was still admiring her work. Instead, she called over her shoulder, “Good morning, Maevis.”
Maevis was satisfied with the dryness of her boots and she crossed the few steps to the table, dropping the heavy basket she carried in the only cleared off place as she replied, “Morning? Serendipity, it’s practically evening. It’s past five in the afternoon. Why don’t you open the curtains and let some light in here?”
At the suggestion, Serendipity turned her head sharply, peering at her friend with a glance that said in no uncertain terms that the subject was to be dropped immediately. “It matters not what time of day it is. In here, time is always the same.”
Maevis let loose a sigh that sounded almost more like a growl, shaking her brown curls, which she had swept up and clipped atop her head, as she did so. She was much older than Serendipity, forty on her last birthday, and had known the girl since she was a very small child, having joined the Fizzlestitch household when it seemed three small girls were too much for the previous help to contain without another set of hands. “Serendipity,” she lamented, still shaking her head. “I do hate to see you this way.”
“Enough,” the girl replied dismissively, as she turned her body toward her only ally that didn’t amble on four legs. She still had Lizzette in her hands and offered her to Maevis for her inspection in order to change the subject. “What say you?” she asked with a smile on her face at last. She was rather fond of her latest achievement and was hopeful that Maevis would agree that this one was extraordinarily special.
“Oh, Serendipity!” she exclaimed quietly. “She’s marvelous. Look at the detail! I knew when I fired this one the last time she would turn out beautifully. You’ve really done a nice job!”
“Thank you,” Serendipity smiled. “I thought the pink in the fabric went nicely with her cheeks. Oh, but I will need more of that color--rosy pink. Can you bring it next you come?”
“I should be able to procure some more,” Maevis nodded, still turning the doll over in her hands. “Her hat goes quite well with her frock.”
“I thought so as well,” Serendipity agreed. “Where is she off to?” she asked. Maevis handled all of the requests and all of the shipments as Serendipity never--with one recent exception--handled her own mail.
“Well, we had a request from a little girl in a village in Iceland, but it’s becoming a bit more difficult to get your father’s business partners to make extra stops. I spoke to Mr. Tiggleham just yesterday. and he said he may be headed north in a few months, but in the meantime, she may need to be redirected toward one of our other girls from the waiting list--perhaps in Dunsford, or maybe I could take a trip into one of the larger cities. Oh, I do hope we can find a way to get her to Arnketia Manusdotter in Iceland. The letter she wrote to you was just lovely.”
“Could we pay a courier, perhaps?” Serendipity inquired, pressing one finger to her lip.
Maevis brushed her arm away just before she slipped her finger inside of her mouth. “Serendipity, really, you are aware that the turpentine I bring you for your brushes will work on your hands as well, aren’t you?”
Serendipity briefly glanced at her hand, which was stained with paint in a variety of colors, everything from black to the same rosy pink they had just been discussing. She shrugged dismissively but dropped her hand to her side and waited for Maevis to answer her initial question, which she promptly returned to after the brief scolding. “We haven’t the money for sending a courier,” Maevis explained. “In fact, love, you should know that money is growing tighter by the day, and unless you can come up with a way to make money doing this,” she gestured toward the dolls in the basket she had just brought in, “I’m afraid this endeavor cannot last much longer.”
“No,” Serendipity replied shortly.
“Serendipity…”
“It’s out of the question.” She crossed her arms across her chest and tilted her head down emphatically. “My dolls are never to be sold, only given away as gifts.”
“I understand that,” Maevis explained, backing up a bit, “but once the money is gone…”
“Then we’ll just have to sell something else,” Serendipity replied, starting to turn away.
Maevis grabbed her charge by her thin shoulder. “There’s nothing left to sell. Everything of value has been sold already. The only things left in the main house are those that I and Ms. Crotlybloom require in order to make it day to day. We’ve sold all of the nonessential furniture, the paintings, even the curtains in the unused bedrooms.”
“What of my mother and sisters’ things? Their clothing, shoes…”
“Gone all of it.” Maevis hesitated briefly before quietly adding, “We’ve even sold some of your father’s things--not the important ones, of course.”
Serendipity’s eyes widened for a moment, but upon realization that he would no longer need any of his worldly possessions, she did not begin an argument. After all, she would never return to Marwolaeth Hall herself, so what difference did it make if her father’s clothing and cologne bottles were still present or not? Still, the realization that they were running out of resources was discerning. After a few moments she asked, “What of the hall itself?”
Maevis’s eyebrows grew together. “What of it?” she inquired, not sure what her charge was getting at.“Why can we not sell it? Keep this cottage and one of the others for you, let Ms. Crotlybloom go. Why must we keep that dreadful place? I shall never step foot in there again.”“Serendipity,” Maevis began, leaning forward, her hands on the table, “we can’t. That’s where all of the doll parts are kept. There’d be no way we could store them all here.”Nodding, Serendipity suddenly remembered it had not been that long ago that Maevis had asked to sell the last remaining warehouse. It had required making space in the hall for all of the fabric, hair, eyes, bisque heads, what remained of her father’s initial supply of paint--everything Serendipity used to assembly her art. “All of the money from the warehouses is gone then?” she confirmed.Maevis’s curls bounded up
Maevis watched for a few moments as Serendipity worked at her craft table, laying out the hair for her next project and readying her tools. Clearly, she was not in the mood to talk today. Occasionally, when Maevis came to the cottage to visit, Serendipity would want to converse, but Maevis could never predict what circumstances would cause her to be chatty and what would prevent her from voicing whatever was on her mind. Maevis glanced around the room one last time, looking to see if there was anything else she could do to straighten the space. The lanterns were still full, since Serendipity rarely turned them on. Everything seemed to be in its place, and she was just about to turn to leave when something white caught her attention. Out of the corner of her eye, Maevis noticed an object that shouldn’t be in the cottage and turned to look at the suspect item. “What’s that?” she asked, staring in the direction of Serendipity’s rocking chair.Serend
It hadn’t taken long for Serendipity to get over her shock at Maevis’s departing words. She was certain that, even if Maevis had read the letter correctly, the information had to be incorrect, or else someone was playing a prank on her. She was quite certain that St. Nicholas was not trying to recruit her services. If there was such a person as Santa Claus in the first place, and she had stopped believing in him the year her father had passed away, there was little doubt in her mind that murderers could be on the Nice List, and why would St. Nicholas look to recruit a doll maker who wasn’t even on his list of those who deserved a gift?Serendipity had been extremely busy since the day the letter had arrived, not because of its existence, but because of the conversation she had carried out with Maevis that afternoon. The money was almost gone, which meant there would soon be no place for the dolls. She needed to finish them. At the rate she was going, it woul
Corey could hear in her voice that she was no one to be trifled with--not that day anyway. He had been in similar situations before, though never with someone in their youth such as Ms. Fizzlestitch. Generally speaking, the younger the crafter, the more capable he or she was of believing in magic. This was particularly true when it came to young ladies. Nevertheless, Serendipity was beginning to challenge him, and while he was up for the challenge, he was not up for the rain; snow was one thing--rain was something else entirely. “Very well, then,” he replied. “Might I trouble you for a drink of water then?” he called, hoping that he would make more progress with her if he could meet her face to face. Then, she could look into his dazzling green eyes and fall captive to his mesmerizing gaze as so many young ladies had before her.Serendipity was puzzled. She had not expected him to give up so quickly, nor had she expected him to make any requests of her
Serendipity looked at his hand as if she had no idea why he had held it out in her general direction. She adjusted Pozzletot on her shoulder. “Thank you for contemplating my work, Mr.….”“Cane, Cornelius Cane. But, please, call me Corey. All of my friends do,” he smiled, his hand still waiting for hers.“Mr. Cane,” Serendipity continued, “but I assure you I am not right for your team. And while I appreciate your consideration, I have neither the desire nor the ability to join you in the North Pole. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have much work to do.”“But that’s the beauty of joining us,” Corey prodded, finally withdrawing his hand, glancing at it as if he were the one with some sort of unsightly stain before resting it on his hip. “There will be hundreds of elves assigned to your shop, Ms. Fizzlestitch. You’ll be in charge of supervising each of them so every doll is crafte
It didn’t take too long for Corey to navigate back to his home, considering he had magic traveling powers of his own, much like Santa’s though not as powerful, particularly when it came to speed and the manipulation of time. Nevertheless, he found himself pulling into what was now deemed the “airport” landing strip in no time, and the elves who oversaw the transfer of the flying teams to and from the barn quickly set to work freeing the reindeer from their harnesses, inspecting their condition, and moving them back to their stalls where they would be brushed, fed, and watered.Corey did not pause to speak to either the reindeer who had gotten him to and from his destination safely and speedily or the elves that greeted him as they went about their jobs. Instead, still keeping one hand securely in the pocket of his topcoat, he made his way swiftly back to his own lodgings, mindlessly nodding in response to a few passersby who yelled out to him in greeti
Before she even finished her sentence, Corey was up and making his way toward the swinging kitchen door. Once he entered the kitchen, he could see there was simply no excuse for Mr. Waddlebug not answering him when he had yelled for his servant earlier. He was sitting at the round kitchen table, one elbow supporting his rather large noggin, a well-worn book in one hand and a cup of steaming tea at the ready. When Corey entered, he didn’t even look up, as if he was mentally transported away by the story in hand. “Waddlebug!” Corey spat out in a sharp whisper. The sound of his name caught his attention, and the old elf sat up quickly, rattling the table and sending droplets of tea onto the wooden surface with a splash, his spoon clattering against the side of the china cup.“Sorry, sir,” he replied, righting his spoon and setting the book aside. “I didn’t hear you come in.”Corey had no time to argue.“Get me a j
When Maevis stopped by later that evening, she found Serendipity fast at work as usual. She was certainly not in a talkative mood either, not that she usually was, but on this particular night, she only made the occasional grunting noise to either agree or disagree with Maevis’s questions. This was particularly true when it came to Maevis’s inquiries about whether or not there had been any follow up to the letter she had discovered earlier.She had asked almost immediately if one of St. Nicholas’s assistants had ever come to speak with her. Serendipity had made an awful noise in the back of her throat, one Maevis took as either a stern “no” or a complete refusal to discuss the matter, so she had dropped the subject, no matter how badly the urge to press further raged within her.After a few more minor attempts at starting a conversation, Maevis finally made an ethereal noise of her own, and crossing her arms sternly said, “Fine then. I