The Dollmaker's Daughter at Christmas のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 1 - チャプター 10

Several moments, perhaps half an hour, passed before Serendipity was satisfied with the smiling face, and she eventually sat the doll head down carefully on the roughly hewn wooden table that held her paints and turned her attention back toward the fireplace, certain that whatever wayward piece of postage had haphazardly found its way into her chimney would be long gone. But it wasn’t. It still sat there un-charred and unblemished atop the dancing flames, staring at her almost as intensely as the blank canvas she had just personified.Serendipity stood and stretched her back, noting that it no longer seemed quite as erect as it once was from so many hours of carefully examining her work, and crossed the few feet to the fireplace. Before she made a move to retrieve the stalwart article, she contemplated its existence a moment longer. Finally, taking the poker in her long, spindly, paint-stained fingers, she drew the envelope out of the flames, and it came to rest on

At first, Serendipity went about her business as she would any other time. After a short nap, she was always ready to dive right back into her work, picking up precisely wherever she had left off. Today should be no different: she picked up the dress, realized her needle was missing, and chose another one from a wide selection stuffed inconspicuously into a well-used pin cushion. She threaded the needle without looking on the first try, and settled down into her chair, training her mind on other things, anything, other than that letter that sat across the room from her. She decided to concentrate on the doll she was working on, number 1,452, or as she had nicknamed her, Lizzette Sassafras, thinking how smart she would look attending a cotillion in the pink lacy dress she was currently creating for her. Lizzette sat on the table near the head of number 1,468, the one she had been working on earlier, which she had chosen to name Hester Pineyfrock (her dress would be green, of cou

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 sharpl

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

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