Winter Garden

“Now,” Dad said with a sternness that Meredith had never heard before.

Mom folded beneath that command, just sank into the rocking chair.

Meredith barely had time to process the stunning capitulation when her father spoke again.

“Your mother has agreed to tell us one of her fairy tales. After all these years. Like she used to. ”

He looked at Mom; his smile was so loving it broke Meredith’s heart to see. “The peasant girl and the prince, I think. That was always my favorite one. ”

“No,” Meredith said—or maybe she just thought it. She took a step back from the bed.

Nina crossed the room and sat down on the floor at Mom’s feet, just as she’d done years ago. As they’d both done.

“Here, Mad,” Nina said, patting the floor. “Come sit by me. ”

Jeff was the next to move. He chose the big armchair by the fireplace and Jillian snuggled in alongside him. Only Meredith had yet to move, and she couldn’t seem to make her legs work. For decades she’d told herself that her mother’s fairy tales meant nothing; now she had to admit what a lie that had been. She’d loved hearing those stories, and during the telling, she’d accidentally loved her mother. That was the truth about why Meredith had stopped listening. It hurt too much.

“Sit . . . Meredoodle,” Dad said gently, and at the nickname, she felt her resistance give way. Woodenly, she crossed the room and sat on the Oriental rug, as far away from her mother as possible.

In the rocking chair, Mom sat very still, her gnarled hands tented in her lap. “Her name is Vera and she is a poor peasant girl. A nobody. Not that she knows this, of course. No one so young can know such a thing. She is fifteen years old and she lives in the Snow Kingdom, an enchanted land that now is rotting from within. Evil has come to the kingdom; he is a dark, angry knight who wants to destroy it all. ”

Meredith felt a chill move through her. She remembered suddenly how it once had been: Mom would come into their room at night and tell them wondrous tales of stone hearts and frozen trees and cranes who swallowed starlight. Always in the dark. Her voice was magic back then, as it was now. It would bring them all together for a time, but in the morning, those bonds would be gone, the stories never spoken of.

“He moves like a virus, this knight; by the time the villagers begin to see the truth, it is too late. The infection is already there; winter snow turns a terrible purplish black, puddles in the street grow tentacles and pull unwary travelers down into the muck, trees argue among themselves and stop bearing fruit. The fair villagers can do nothing to stop this evil. They love their kingdom and are the kind of people who

keep their heads down to avoid danger. Vera does not understand this. How can she, at her age? She knows only that the Snow Kingdom is a part of her, like the soles of her feet or the palms of her hands. On this night, for some reason she cannot name, she wakes at midnight and gets out of bed quietly, so as not to waken her sister, and she goes to her bedroom window, opening it wide. From here, she can see all the way to the bridge. In June, when the air smells of flowers, and the night itself is as brief as the brush of a butterfly’s wing, she cannot help imagining her own bright future.

It is the time of white nights, when at its darkest the sky is a deep, royal purple smattered with stars. In these months, the streets are never quiet. At all hours, villagers gather on the streets; lovers walk across the bridge. Courtiers leave the cafés very late, drunk on mead and sunlight.

But as she is breathing in the summer night, she hears her parents arguing in the other room. Vera knows she should not listen, but she cannot help herself. She tiptoes to the chamber door, pushing it open just a crack. Her mother stands by the fire, wringing her hands as she looks up at Papa.

“You cannot keep doing these things, Petyr. It is too dangerous. The Black Knight’s power is growing. Every night, it seems, we hear of villagers who are turned to smoke. ”

“You cannot ask me to do this. ”

“I do ask you. I do. Write what the Black Knight tells you to. They are just words. ”

“Just words?”

“Petyr,” her mother says, crying now, and that frightens Vera; never has she heard her mother weep. “I am afraid for you. ” And then, even more softly, “I am afraid of you. ”

He takes her in his arms. “I am careful, always. ”

Vera closes the door, confused by what she has heard. She does not understand all of it, or perhaps even part of it, but she knows that her strong mother is afraid, and that is something she has never seen before.

But Papa will never let anything bad happen to them. . . .

She means to ask her mother about the argument the next day, but when she wakens, the sun is shining and she forgets all about it. Instead, she rushes outside.

Her beloved kingdom is in bloom and so is she. How can anything be bad when the sun shines?

She is so happy that even taking her younger sister to the park doesn’t bother her.

“Vera, look! Watch me!” twelve-year-old Olga calls out to her, launching into a series of cartwheels.

“Nice,” Vera says to her sister, but in truth she is barely watching. She leans back into the bench and tilts her chin upward to the sun, closing her eyes. After a long, cold winter, this heat feels wonderful on her face.

“Two roses do I bring to thee. ”