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.
Serendipity was lost in thought, her back to Maevis, and she had no idea that the other woman had even spoken until she realized she had crossed the room and was standing next to her chair. By the time she opened her mouth to protest, Maevis had the envelope in her hand and was removing the paper from within. “It’s nothing…” she began.
“Who would deliver a letter here?” Maevis asked, knowing full well the mail carrier, Mr. Barkingstop, would never make his way out to the cottage.
“No one,” Serendipity assured her, stepping over to her side, her hand reaching for the letter before she hesitated and dropped her arm to her side. “No one delivered it.”
“Then how did it get here?” Maevis asked, stepping away, as if she were attempting to protect the letter from Serendipity’s grasp should she reach for it again.
Serendipity sighed, folding her arms across her chest and narrowing her sharp eyes. “It came down the chimney,” she explained as nonchalantly as possible.
“Down the chimney?” Maevis repeated, her eyes wide. “Whatever do you mean? Was your fire out?”
“No.”
“Well, then, how did it make it down the chimney without bursting into flames?” She turned the letter over in her hands. “There’s no mark of ash or soot…”
“I’m not sure,” Serendipity admitted, “but it came down the chimney, and it’s nothing to be concerned about.”
“Whoever sent it?” Maevis asked as she began to unfold it.
Serendipity snatched at the letter again, this time the hesitation out of her system. “It’s nothing,” she repeated. But Maevis was too quick for her, and Serendipity was not able to get it before the older woman spun around on her heels, her back to her charge now.
“If it’s nothing, then you won’t mind if I read it.” Maevis was beginning to wonder if a gentleman suitor hadn’t found this long-lost princess in the woods--though one glance at Serendipity’s current state of unkemptness negated that thought quite quickly--and she unfolded the paper and began to read. Her eyes skimmed the words quickly, her mouth open in awe and disbelief, but the words retaining their situation in her mind. “Serendipity!” she proclaimed upon finishing, her hands shooting down by her sides. “Do you know what this says?”
Thin shoulders shrugged. “Of course I know what it says,” Serendipity assured her. “I did read it after all.”
Maevis knew better than to argue with her about her ability to decode literature, so instead she assumed Serendipity had somehow managed to decipher the message. “If what this says is true--and if it truly arrived the way that you said it did--Serendipity, you’ve been summoned to join the finest group of toymakers ever assembled.” She drew the paper up before her eyes again, rereading, contemplating the words carefully. Then, more to herself than the other woman in the room, she mumbled, “I have heard of things like this, old folk tales mostly, but I didn’t know it was true. Never would I have imagined it was possible that this could be real. And yet, here it is, in my hand, nevertheless.”
Serendipity’s confusion was well hidden by her look of nonchalance. “It doesn’t matter,” she assured Maevis, finally giving up on the possibility of retrieving the letter from her friend’s hands now that it had been read. “I’m not going anywhere anyway.”
“Not going?” Maevis repeated. Serendipity turned her back and crossed over to her table, and Maevis followed. “What do you mean you’re not going? Of course you’re going. You have to go.”
“I don’t have to go anywhere,” Serendipity reminded her, picking up the bald-headed doll she had been going to work on before Maevis noticed the letter and threw her out of her routine. “There is no one in the world who can make me leave my cottage and the work I have to do.”
“Serendipity!” Maevis implored. “Don’t you realize this would solve all of your problems? If you could go… join this team of toymakers, you could finish all of your dolls and thousands more. You wouldn’t have to worry about paying for Marwolaeth, storage, food, or anything else. Serendipity, this is the chance of a lifetime.”
For a moment, pale blonde eyebrows rose as if in consideration, but just as quickly as the hopeful expression flickered into existence, it extinguished. “My lifetime is of little consequence,” Serendipity reminded her. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have much work to do.”
Maevis opened her mouth in protest, but closed it sharply. Setting the letter down on the corner of the table, she pulled her woolen shawl around her shoulders, gathered her basket, and began to walk toward the door. “Fine,” she said, one hand on the doorknob. “Don’t forget to eat your soup before it gets cold.” Then, as she pulled open the door, she mumbled, “How anyone could say no to Santa Claus is beyond me,” and stepped outside into the damp, misty air.
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
If Maevis didn’t know Serendipity as well as she did, she might’ve allowed herself to become offended at the dismissive statement. But she knew better than to let Serendipity’s poor manners insult her. The possibility of pressing on anyway crossed her mind, and Maevis opened her mouth to ask another question, but then he closed it abruptly when she realized that Serendipity was done with the conversation before it even began. Giving up, she wrapped her shawl around her shoulders, picked up the basket she had brought with her off of the table, and turned to the door. As she pulled it open, she said, “You should have told me.” There was no answer.“Be careful,” she added as she stepped out, pulling the door to behind her.As she made her way down off of the rickety front steps, she noticed the same footprints in the mud outside.How had she missed them before? There were two matching sets. One that distinctly led up to t
Serendipity sat the letter down on the table and gave Gypsim her full attention.“What is it, little friend?” she asked.Gypsim scampered over to the letter and began to point at it, as if her information had something to do with the letter. Serendipity didn’t understand. “The letter?” she asked.Gypsim’s head waggled up and down furiously. Serendipity continued. “You want me to know something about the letter?”Again, the mouse agreed.“Can you read the letter?” Serendipity asked, wondering if too many late nights had caused her to become delusional.However, Gypsim signaled that this was not the case. No, a mouse could not read human handwriting. Serendipity was puzzled again. “All right. But it does have something to do with the letter?”This was confirmed, so Serendipity made another guess. “Does it have to do with Mr. Cane?”Gypsim jumped up