Star's Crossing

67: A Thing So Fragile

Christmas morning was another form of chaos entirely. 

Mare reveled in it, distributing the little gifts she'd gathered throughout her travels. Parisian perfume for her mother, a first edition print of The Prince for Matilde, an Italian hymn book for Mollie, a Venetian mask for Medley, a small Welsh tapestry for Madrigal.

"I've one more gift for each of you, but I'm afraid it will pale in comparison." Mare hesitated, then distributed her novel to her sisters and parents. "I know none of you have read the end, so I hope..."

"Mare." Matilde leveled her with a cool gaze. "It will be perfect."

Mare was not so certain.

"We're proud of you my dear," said her mother softly, squeezing her hand. "So proud."

Mare smiled. The family ate together and vanished to different areas of the house, where most began reading Star's Crossing from the beginning. Mare rubbed her arms anxiously. She wasn't sure she could remain here to watch, but had nowhere to go. Her mind went to the bur oak, but she refrained. There was no reason to go there; no one would be waiting.

Much of the morning passed in this way. Fearful she'd pace a hole through the parlor floor Mare excused herself to her old room, where Mollie and the boys had been sleeping. Mare had taken the much smaller guest room, and hadn't even entered her room since her arrival.

Crossing the threshold felt like walking over a grave. Jenelle had kept the room pristine. There was no dust on any surface, and yet still it felt oddly empty. This was not Mare's home anymore.

Where is?

She gazed at the writing desk beneath the window. It was strange to think her story, in so many ways, had begun and ended right there. She persuaded her reluctant feet forward, drew back the chair, and sat.

The view out the window was so familiar it made Mare's heart ache. The drive, the road, the snow-laden field and wood beyond; oh, the stories she'd written right here, the tales she'd imagined, the lives she'd led.

Mare closed her eyes. She'd written the end of Star's Crossing so long ago, now; she'd not read it since the manuscript was delivered to the publisher. She couldn't. It felt like magic: she'd written something into reality that had not yet happened, a confession so fragile her fingertips might shatter it.

But it won't happen. Mare opened her eyes, then stood quickly, faith restored. Lilith Gilbert and Alison Watt had arrived.

***

Christmas lunch was served and eaten in a parlor more crowded than it had ever been. If Lilith or Alison found the proximity or volume of the Atwood family at all off-putting, they hid their disdain well behind bright smiles and near-constant laughter. Afterward, when Mare delivered her book into their hands, it felt like the final nail in the coffin—once they'd read it, then, truly the ending could not be undone.

Mare sat with them in the parlor as golden noon fell beyond the windows and snow melted off the sills. Mare basked in their presence. She'd been gone more than a year, but all at once the time disappeared, until it felt as though she'd never left.

"We've loved reading of your adventures," said Alison over her tea. She sat beside Lilith on the settee, while several of Mare's sisters argued on the other side of the room and both of the boys dozed beside the hearth. "Please tell us your next novel will tell more of them?"

"Oh, it will, indeed." Mare grinned. "I've already begun it, and it's far more dramatic than my tales were. I'm hopeful the publisher will enjoy it."