Rapunzelle: an Everland Ever After Tale Read online

  Copyright © 2016, Caroline Lee

  [email protected]

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author.

  First edition: 2016

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  Cover: EDHGraphics

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  Other works by Caroline Lee

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  Rapunzelle

  An Everland Ever After Tale

  Dedication:

  For the girls who remember how to let their hair down.

  CHAPTER ONE

  The first thing that Dmitri Nikolai Pyotr Vasilek Volkov did when he alighted from the train platform in the provincial little town of Everland was step in a pile of fekalii. The noise his well-oiled Hessian boot made as it squished into it was enough to set his teeth on edge and his temper simmering. Attempting to scrape it off on the edge of the platform, he reflected that it was a fitting welcome to this last stop on his fool’s errand. The way the search had been going, of course he’d step in—what was this? He knew horse doings well enough. Was this Buffalo? Goat?

  One of the locals, a big man with entirely too much hair, watched his futile attempts to remove the waste. When Dmitri met his eyes, the man boomed “It’s good for the leather!” and stomped off laughing. Dmitri watched him go, incredulous. Didn’t these people know how to care for good leather?

  Why should he be surprised? This place was in the middle of nowhere, and populated by Americans. Men with silly ideals about meritocracy and culture. And apparently a lack of good boots.

  Shouldering his own bags—if only Otets could see him now—he made his way down the dirt road towards the hotel the conductor had pointed out. Even from here, he could see that it wasn’t a real hotel, just an inn. An inn! He scowled at the quaint buildings and the cowboys—or whoever they were—who were hurrying up and down the dirt street, careful to watch where he put his feet, for fear of another smelly welcome to Everland.

  It wasn’t until he’d climbed up to the wooden sidewalk, and taken a moment to look around that he had to admit the truth; Everland wasn’t as small as some of the other places he’d passed through on the train out here. In fact, the fretwork and paint-color choices reminded him a bit of the Bavarian villages he’d seen when he was young, while still managing to be all-American. But while the Bavarian houses had sat high in the crisp, cold mountain air, the bright colors somehow cheerful against the grays and whites of the near-constant snow, the buildings in Everland were coated with a layer of omnipresent dust.

  Still, it was nice to find something familiar about this strange place. Strange world, really, Dmitri thought as he watched a man leading a gigantic gray ox down the town’s main road. Why would someone take their pet ox for a walk here? The man, who didn’t look addled, responded to the waves and friendly “How are you, Mr. Bunyan?” greetings. And then there was the angelic-looking little girl who was trying desperately to keep her gaggle of geese together; when Dmitri tipped his hat to her, she smiled so sweetly that he found himself forgiving her for trying to herd the squawking animals in such a public place.

  Strange place, indeed.

  The man behind the desk at the Van Winkle Inn had the unlikely name of “Rip”—what was it with Americans and their love of short, nonsensical names?—and looked to be asleep. Dmitri had to clear his throat twice before the old man acknowledged him, and even then he couldn’t understand one mumble coming from the man’s mouth. Luckily, Dmitri figured out which room was his, based on the key the old man tossed on the desk before he began snoring again.

  Upstairs, Dmitri wrestled with the lock, and then the knob, before finally plopping his bags on the floor of a small, but serviceable room. He might’ve even called it acceptable, were he not in such a mood.

  Throwing himself on the bed—of course his boots hung off the end, due to his height, but it was just as well he not befoul the quilt—Dmitri stacked his hands behind his head and scowled at the ceiling. What was he doing here? A stupid promise to his father, and a wild-goose chase across this uncivilized continent.

  If only Otets hadn’t wrested his word from him before the old man died. Granted, Dmitri would’ve done anything to keep his father happy, there at the end, even if it meant taking a fool’s oath to find Vasily Volkov’s missing goddaughter. And his father had died happy, knowing that his only son would be continuing the search.

  And if only Dmitri hadn’t been so chert good at it. Within a month of making arrangements for a neighbor to care for the beloved Volkov horses, he found a lead in the slums of New York City, in America. Careful questioning led him to a man who remembered some things—for a price, of course—and Dmitri had more answers than his father had ever received. New York was civilized enough, but to get on a train and head into this wilderness? Bah.

  What he needed was a drink. What were the chances that any place in this town had a bottle of decent vodka? Of course, Dmitri had traveled with his own, not trusting the local sources, but he’d finished it somewhere around Kansas. It had been necessary, to deal with the depressing, unending flatness of America. At least here in Everland there were mountains in the distance, and rolling hills.

  Tonight, he’d find some vodka. And get his boots cleaned. And maybe order a bath. And find a decent veal dinner. And tomorrow, he’d start his search for information on this Mr. Gothel and a baby girl who’d disappeared into this God-forsaken wilderness fifteen years ago.

  Because he’d promised his father.

  “The berry preserves on my lips worked well, but I’m not so sure about the charcoal.” Zelle examined herself in the mirror over her best friend’s bent head. Turning her face this way and that, she tried to peer at the black lines around her eyes. “Do you think it’s alright to use it?”

  “Just don’t blink too hard, or cry or anything.” Briar was engrossed in her task. “If it gets in your eyes, it’ll probably hurt.”

  A snort. “Oh, thanks.”

  “Well, if you found some real cosmetics somewhere, I’d love to know about it.” Briar was hunched over, shoving handkerchiefs down the front of Zelle’s bodice in an attempt to plump up what God hadn’t given her nearly enough of. Satisfied, finally, she gave the other girl’s chest a careful pat and stepped back.

  Cupping a hand to either side of her now-curvier bosom, Zelle critiqued herself in the mirror. She had to admit that Briar had done an amazing job with limited resources. “You know Mother and Papa would kill me for even asking.”

  “That’s because only hussies paint their faces.” Briar had moved behind Zelle, fluffing out the bustle they’d borrowed from Sibyl Miller.

  Zelle leaned forward, muttering so that she wouldn’t mess up the red stain—some of the strawberry filling Briar used in her confections�
��on her lips. “It’s too bad we had to use charcoal, though. If we’d been able to get the chocolate to work instead, I would’ve smelled as delicious as I look.”

  The two girls met each other’s eyes in the mirror and did their best to keep their straight faces. But when Briar’s lips twitched, Zelle lost what little control she had, and dissolved into giggles. Briar followed soon after.

  “Stop! Stop.” Zelle tried to calm her breathing, frantically checking her reflection again. “You’re going to make me smudge my eyes.”

  Briar knocked her hands out of the way, and smoothed out the dark stain over Zelle’s lashes, muttering to herself all the while. “I can’t believe you’re doing this. You’ve gotten into some crazy adventures in the past, but this is the craziest.”

  Zelle resisted the urge to point out that Briar had been there with her, every step of the way. But as her best friend clamped her chin still to fix the fake cosmetics, Zelle had to admit that this might just be the wildest thing she’d ever attempted. Scraped knees and stolen pies had once been the naughtiest thing the girls could’ve imagined, but as she’d gotten older, Zelle’s craving for adventure had grown.

  Finally, the shorter girl took a step back and cocked her head to one side critically before nodding. “Perfect. I’m impressed with myself, if I do say so.”

  “You’re a miracle worker, I’ll give you that.”

  Briar’s elaborate bow made them both giggle again. “I like to think that I know a little magic.”

  Zelle was twisting, trying to see her bustled rear end in the mirror. “You’re so creative, I knew you’d be able to make me up to look like—“ She snapped her lips closed on the sentiment, but of course her best friend noticed.

  “Look like a what, exactly?”

  Peering at the girl in the mirror, Zelle knew. Her reflection showed a tall, sophisticated pale-haired beauty. Blonde hair braided and coiled intricately around a perfect face. Green eyes accented in dark highlights. Plump lips—she’d been chewing on them all afternoon to achieve the effect—tinged a perfect red shade. Sensual curves and just enough skin to be tantalizing. Elegant hands ran down her sides, accentuating the way the corset and bustle made her dip and plunge and bulge unnaturally.

  Zelle sighed. “…Look like someone I’m not.”

  Her best friend grabbed her hand and squeezed. “I think you look lovely. This is what you could look like all the time, you know.”

  “I didn’t want to. But now…”

  “You’re going to be eighteen in a few weeks.”

  “Exactly. It’s time I grew up a bit. Started to live a little.” Briar knew all about her occasional desperate urges and wild schemes to get out from her parents’ well-meaning control. The good Lord knew that she’d helped Zelle enough! “I want to have some adventures, Briar, before I’m an old woman.”

  Her best friend laughed, and squeezed her hand once more before letting go and tidying up the mess she’d made with her cosmetics. “Your parents love you, Zelle. They’re just trying to protect you. That’s what happens when you’re an only child, you know.”

  Briar had three younger brothers who were a constant headache to the two friends, and parents who didn’t understand her. Since the moment the Jorgensens had moved to Everland, little Briar and Zelle had been inseparable, and the dark-haired girl often spent more time with the Carpenters than her own family. “Your parents just don’t want anything to happen to you. That’s why they’re so protective.”

  They’d had this argument before. “They’re over-protective, that’s what. I just want to get out. To live a little.”

  Her friend slid her eyes sideways, smiling slyly. “Kiss a boy?”

  Zelle didn’t have to look in the mirror to know that she was blushing; she could feel the heat creeping up her neck and cheeks. “Maybe.” She forced her chin up. “Yes.” That was the whole point of this particular scheme, after all. “I’m almost eighteen, and I’ve never been kissed.”

  “Well, neither have I.”

  “Yes, but that’s because you don’t want to. I haven’t because whenever I’m any place where a nice boy might be interested, there’s my father, looming.”

  “I have to admit, he is very good at looming.” Briar was closing up the jar of her strawberry preserves that they’d used on Zelle’s lips.

  “Do you remember last year’s Fourth of July parade? He made me hide in the back of the crowd, because there were so many new people in town. Honestly, he treats me like a child!”

  “Last year, you were a child.” Zelle scowled at her friend, knowing that she was only arguing for the sake of argument. “Alright, alright, I know. You want to live a little.”

  “I want to be allowed to live a little.”

  “I understand that, I really do. The only time you see any boys are at the church picnics, practically.” Zelle nodded, a bit mournfully. “And of course you can’t get to know any of them there. Especially not with your parents guarding you the way they do.” Was it Zelle’s imagination, or was there just a hint of wistfulness in her friend’s voice as she talked about the way the Carpenters cared for Zelle? “I understand that, too. All the boys in this town see you as some sort of unattainable… I don’t know…princess or something.”

  Zelle’s heart clenched slightly at her father’s childhood nickname for her. Good night, Princess. How many times had he said that as he kissed her forehead and tucked her in? Every night until she was twelve, when Mother had taken over bedtime. But sometimes he’d still wrap his arms around her shoulders and pull her close and whisper I love you, Princess against her hair, and fill Zelle’s heart with affection. Her nails bit into her skin as she tightened her fists in an effort not to think about Papa’s love. If she thought about that, her entire scheme would be ruined. She wanted away from those memories, for a while. She wanted away from him, just for a few hours. Away from his control and his watchfulness and his looming.

  Her friend continued, not seeming to notice Zelle’s distraction. “So you’ve decided to give them a different picture of you, one they don’t see at church.” Briar turned, her hands on her hips, and appraised Zelle from her delicate dancing shoes to her elegant hair style. “And it’ll definitely work, trust me on this.” Zelle smiled at her friend’s approving tone. “You look gorgeous, and not at all protected. I get why you’re dressed like this, and I get why you’re going to the Gingerbread House tonight, to show the boys that you’re not just a cloistered princess. I understand that.”

  Briar took a deep breath. “What I don’t understand—can’t understand—is…well…Merrell? Merrell Gruff?”

  Zelle stuck her nose in the air. “Well? It’s not like I’m asking him to marry me. I just want a kiss from him.”

  “Yeah, but Merrell?”

  Sighing, she defended her choice…again. They’d had this conversation twice already. “I like him. I like his mustache.” Merrell Gruff waxed his mustache until it curled away from his cheeks in a fascinating defiance of gravity. “I want to see how it feels when he kisses me—if it tickles. Besides…” She shrugged and turned away from the mirror. “I think he’s the most handsome of the Gruff brothers.”

  “Zelle, they’re identical triplets.”

  Zelle ignored her friend’s exasperation and continued to look for the delicate shawl Papa had given her three years ago. “So? I still think that he’s the most handsome.” Briar guessed what she was looking for, and passed her the shawl that had been hanging from the back of her desk chair. “Thank you.” She arranged the cream lace around her hair and face, trying to hide her elaborate braids and sensual cosmetics, in case her parents were downstairs. “How do I look?”

  She was hoping for mysterious or even sexy, but realized that was a long-shot when Briar snorted. “You look hot. It’s mid-July, Zelle. Your parents are going to think you’re sick if you try to go outside like this.” The dark-haired girl stuck her tongue out when Zelle threw a hairbrush at her, and they both began to giggle.

&nb
sp; Luckily, Zelle’s parents were both off on medical calls, even though it was after supper. The girls snuck out the back door—still giggling—and along the alley that backed most of Andersen Avenue. They were passing the rear door of Crowne’s Mercantile, which was used less now that the Crownes had moved into Arabella Bellini’s apartment above her bookstore, when Briar pulled her to a stop.

  “Give me your shawl, now, unless you want to bring it into the saloon?” Zelle quickly unwrapped herself, making sure not to muss her hair. Briar was right; it’d be silly to hide all of their hard work under a covering. Her friend continued, “I’ll take it home, and bring it over tomorrow. I’m assuming you’re planning on Merrell offering to walk you home?”

  The idea of a moonlit stroll with a boy had Zelle grinning. “Well, I can’t expect him to kiss me right there in the Gingerbread House.”

  Briar snorted, but squeezed her hand anyhow. “Good luck. Tell me all about it tomorrow?”

  “Of course.” They were best friends. They told each other everything, and by tomorrow, Zelle planned to have quite the story.

  Squaring her shoulders, Zelle stepped out into the street and the spill of light from the lamp beside the saloon door. This was it. She was going to march herself in there, and prove that she wasn’t the quiet, reclusive, demure princess her Papa had convinced the town she was. She was going to have an adventure.

  The inside of Everland’s only saloon wasn’t quite a mystery to her; she’d been here once before when one of the girls who “worked upstairs”—as Mother put it—became quite ill. Normally, Zelle would’ve been sent home, but Mother needed an assistant and Papa had been on a call of his own, so young Zelle had helped. Then, the Gingerbread House had seemed bright and cheery, with all of the red wallpaper and shining wooden furniture.