Winterdream Page 2

  “Ladies,” Yakov murmured as he bowed formally to the both of us.

  “My Lord,” Masha replied as she curtsied gracefully. Every little move she made reminded me of a dance—lifting her hand for him to kiss, releasing the corner of her gown.

  “Good evening,” I spoke as Masha nudged me with her elbow.

  “Are you enjoying the festivities?” Masha asked, darting a quick, irritable glance in my direction before returning her sweet smile to Yakov. I wasn’t interested in making conversation with him.

  I had nothing to say.

  “Of course,” he said with a gleaming, white grin. “There’s little here that does not draw the eye. I confess, between the decorations and the sparkling company of two such lovely ladies, I could not be more content.”

  “You’re too kind,” Masha replied with another smile.

  “I must congratulate you,” Yakov began as he lifted his glass of wine. “Andrei tells me that you are to be married. This season truly brings joyous tidings.”

  “Thank you,” Masha beamed, her cheeks rosy and her eyes shining. “I feel as though I’m the luckiest woman in Russia.”

  “Oh, my dear,” Yakov said with a slight chuckle. “Indeed you are.”

  I narrowed my eyes as I glared at him. I couldn’t believe the nerve!

  “I believe it is Lord Andrei who is the luckiest man, don’t you agree?” Yakov raised a brow as he took a sip from his glass.

  “I know a man must be delicate when it comes to the fairer sex’s sensibilities, so choose to believe what you will. But in my opinion, there is no such thing as luck when it comes to marriage.”

  “Perhaps with the right match,” Masha said with sincerity, “you might find yourself with a different perspective.”

  “Perhaps,” he said through gritted teeth as he seemingly forced a smile onto his features.

  A voice from behind Masha startled the both of us, causing us to turn.

  “My lovely Lady Masha,” Andrei said as he extended his hand out for hers. Masha fluttered her long lashes flirtatiously as she curtsied; I followed suit.

  “It is good to see you again, Lord Yakov.” Andrei politely gave a nod of greeting to his friend.

  “Lord Yakov was just congratulating us on our engagement,” Masha explained. As she turned to glance at me, she smiled. “Darling, you remember Clara Stahlbaum, my dearest friend.”

  “Indeed,” Andrei said with a nod as he reached for my hand. I watched as he brushed his lips over my knuckles. “Your father and mother are always so very generous to invite such a gathering into their home for the holiday.”

  “It’s tradition,” I replied softly, feeling my cheeks begin to flush. I could feel Yakov’s stare as I looked down to my hands. “My family looks forward to it every year.”

  “As we all do,” Masha said with a bright smile. “Especially when your Uncle comes to visit. I always look forward that! I love seeing what new things he brings each year.”

  I smiled as a sense of longing filled me.

  Was Uncle Drosselmeyer going to attend our Christmas party this year? Usually punctual, like the hands on the cuckoo clock, he would arrive in a flourish of color. It was unlike him to be so late, especially when he was the unspoken life of the party, as it were. I knew it in my heart that he would appear; he had never given me any reason to doubt him before.

  Just then, the sweet stirring of music began to trickle from the grand ballroom. Guests who had been lingering now made their way to the dancing, enticed by the waltz going on in the other room. Our pleasantries were suddenly forgotten as Andrei lifted Masha’s hand to his lips.

  “Would you honor me with this dance, Lady Masha?” he said, his words soft and scandalously seductive.

  Her eyes sparkled. She slipped her hand into his.

  Envy twisted itself around me like a chain. I knew that I should be happy, celebrating their impending nuptials, but it was undeniably difficult. What did Masha have that I did not already possess? A fiancé, I told myself. She would have the world at her feet, and yet, here I was, wearing the same dress I had worn in years prior. I suddenly felt so small compared to her.

  Yakov cleared his throat beside me. “It’s quite the lively gathering.”

  “Yes,” I said, absently staring off into the rest of the party. I spied a gaggle of Mama’s friends, all of whom were most likely gabbing about Masha and the Viscount loudly. Her upcoming marriage would be the talk of all Imperial Russia. It was already the talk of St. Petersburg.

  “It would only be polite to ask you for a dance,” he said, turning on his heel. With his hand extended, his gaze bore into me, his smile forced.

  “Please do not feel obligated to dance with me, Lord Yakov…” I began, shaking my head.

  “It would be discourteous,” he continued. “And I am anything but…”

  Tilting my head curiously, I pursed my lips.

  “I’m sure there are other willing partners,” I replied, gesturing toward the dance floor. The corner of his lips tugged into a slight smile.

  “Take my hand, Lady Clara.”

  I slid my hand behind my back and gave him a curt nod of farewell. Who did he think he was? Ordering me about? And Masha actually suggested that he be a future suitor of mine? But before I could turn away sharply, I felt the warmth of his hand on my wrist.

  “Dance with me, Clara,” Yakov said again. He firmly grasped my hand and began to pull me toward the crowd.

  “Please! Lord Yakov—” I protested, but he ignored me. Sliding my free hand to his wrist, I dug my fingernails into his skin. He immediately let go with a hiss, his eyes flashing with fury and irritation. He raised his hand as though to reprimand me, just as the clock in the foyer began to toll.

  The chimes drowned out his warning. On the final toll, the front door burst open; a spray of cold snow flew into the room, causing the uproarious party to fall silent. Though Yakov once again reached for my hand, his eyes remained fixed on the doors, providing me with enough distraction to slide away and disappear into the crowd.

  A strange figure wrapped in a heavy black cloak pressed itself against the wind. Its cape billowed out, sending a flurry of cold snowflakes into the gathering of guests. Beneath the shadow of its hood, the figure peered back with one wild eye. The guests gasped, taking a step back, just as the doors were thrust closed against the winds.

  I navigated through the crowd of onlookers, peering over shoulders as I moved closer. The tall, lanky figure brushed flecks of ice away before unclasping its cloak. Beneath the bundle, I spied a familiar face in a deep purple and black suit. I knew that signature color of his anywhere, even without his theatrical entrance.

  Great Uncle Iosif Drosselmeyer.

  Chapter 2

  Uncle Drosselmeyer wore his white hair tied back with a black ribbon, curling just over his shoulder. A black patch I had always been too polite to ask about covered his left eye and gave him the adventurous look of a pirate retired from a children’s story. His right eye, wild and wide, sparkled green with sheer delight. His fingers worked nimbly on the thick buttons that kept the cloak snugly against him. Sasha, our housekeeper, waited to take his gloves and cloak. The last, his hat, was large and oddly-shaped. It was not at all like the other formal black top hats; his was crooked and worn from age.

  “Uncle!” I called as I crossed the room to him. Fritz was not far behind me, bellowing his own greetings. It had been a year since I had last seen my uncle. In my joy, I flung my arms around his neck, as though I were once again a young girl.

  “Clara, moya devushka,” he said as he pressed a soft kiss on my cheek. “You’ve grown.”

  As I pulled away and stood just within an arm’s reach, Uncle Drosselmeyer smiled. While he was my stoic grandmother’s brother, he was the exact opposite of her—wild, mysterious, and full of unexplainable magic. Every Christmas, Uncle Drosselmeyer would bring the loveliest toys he had created in his shop that year for me and my brother, Fritz. It was always the highlight of
the evening.

  Never the gifts, but rather the joy he would bring.

  “You’ve become such a beautiful young woman, my dear. I suddenly can hardly recall all those times when you were such a ferocious small child,” he teased softly, winking with a small glimmer in his eye before Fritz wrapped his arms around our uncle’s waist.

  “You’ve come!” Fritz exclaimed with a laugh. “Come see my soldiers, Uncle Drosselmeyer!”

  “Yes, yes—” he began.

  “Welcome, Uncle!” Papa bellowed with a deep laugh as he approached the two of us, swinging an arm around Uncle Drosselmeyer. Mama followed behind him. She sparkled like the star on the top of the Christmas tree. A smile grew on her lips as she greeted him.

  Papa and Uncle Drosselmeyer contrasted each other remarkably; Papa was elegantly-dressed in his best black suit, while my uncle wore his fine black and plum suit, adjoined with a deep teal cape. I always admired his extravagant clothing, though it fully suited him—unlike a stocky Boris Pavlychev in a blue suit.

  “Thank you, Valery,” Uncle Drosselmeyer remarked and shifted under the weight of my father’s arm. Taking my mama’s hand, he brushed a polite kiss on her gloved knuckles. Grinning, Uncle Drosselmeyer took a step forward as he extended his hand out to me.

  “And what magical delights have you brought tonight, Uncle?” Papa continued as he slid his hand into his waistcoat pocket. “More of your contraptions?”

  “You will see, nephew,” he remarked warmly. “It’s taken me much of the year, but I think your guests will be mesmerized.”

  “Will you be staying with us long?” I asked as I gently took his hand.

  As much as I was always enthralled by my uncle’s gifts, I wanted nothing more than to spend time with him. Just as we always did each year during Christmas. He had such good stories to share; he always did. Sometimes, he would tell me about the kings and queens across the sea—the ones who commissioned him for his inventions. His stories were just as entertaining as the toys he made.

  Uncle Drosselmeyer laughed and patted my arm calmly.

  “I will stay for a few days, Clara,” he said reassuringly. “Let me come inside and greet your mother and father’s guests.” He lifted his finger, pressing the length of it against the tip of his nose. “Then I shall show you my gifts.”

  “But I want my gift now!” Fritz said, unable to contain his excitement.

  “Fritz!” Mama hissed softly, taking his arm gently. “You must wait.”

  “Eager lad,” Uncle Drosselmeyer said with a chuckle as he stepped away.

  All of us were anxious to see what new inventions Uncle Drosselmeyer had brought with him. Over the past several years, he had begun to experiment with automation and delighted all of us with his life-like inventions. As I peered back over my shoulder, I saw another stranger emerge from the front door, carrying two large boxes in his arms.

  “Is that a new assistant of yours?” I asked curiously. “At the door?”

  There was something about him.

  Something about the way the man lingered by the doorway, observing and thoughtful as he looked on at the party. There was a twinkle in his eye, perhaps a little bit of envy. He peeled his jacket away and stood in place, reminding me of a statue. No one said a word to him in passing, though I, myself, could not keep from admiring him. Of all things, I expected a hush and giggling gossip among the other young ladies. Yet, there was nothing. Not a whisper or word. I was speechless.

  And then his crystal blue eyes met mine. My cheeks bloomed as I glanced away quickly.

  “So many questions, Clara,” Uncle Drosselmeyer chuckled as we entered my father’s study. One of the servants followed behind us and cleared his throat.

  “Sir,” he called. Uncle Drosselmeyer turned and grinned at the man. He held out a box of cigars, courtesy of Papa.

  “Spasibo!” He thanked the servant as he lifted one to his nose and took a small whiff. Slowly, he moved the cigar to his ear and wiggled it between his thumb and forefinger. With a grateful nod, he turned toward the empty seat near the large fireplace and eased into one of the blue plush chairs. With a theatrical thump, he sighed deeply and loudly.

  “I thought you wanted to greet the guests,” I teased as I followed him to the other empty chair, adjacent to his. Uncle Drosselmeyer was known to several families in St. Petersburg, and was well-loved by many. Each year, it seemed he became more and more popular with Father’s friends. Uncle Drosselmeyer had become the aristocracy’s favorite toymaker.

  “I will in a little while,” he said softly, dismissing my worry almost instantly. He slid a hand over the arm of his chair. “Come, tell me all that I have missed, moya devushka.”

  Where would I even begin? So much had happened since last Christmas. So much so, it was hard to recall. Masha was engaged. Fritz had broken his arm in the summer. I had turned eighteen; it would only be a matter of time until my mother insisted upon my ‘coming out’ party. I would officially be introduced to the world of men and balls and marriages. A shiver ran down my spine at the mere thought.

  “It feels as if it were only yesterday that you were quite small, eager for me to tell you enchanting stories, right here beside this hearth,” Uncle Drosselmeyer said as he took a puff of his cigar. A cloud of gray smoke swirled out from between his lips, and I found myself smiling.

  “It seems so long ago now,” I replied softly. “I’m grown up now.”

  Saying it aloud sounded strange to my ears. Was I really all that grown? When I looked at Mama, Masha, or the other girls my age, I didn’t quite think I measured up. They were always beautifully dressed, and they didn’t run about the house the way I did. They followed the rules of etiquette, while I felt as though I was still learning them. My childhood had only been a decade ago, but I could hardly recall a time now when I wasn’t eighteen. The world felt so much bigger than me, greater than I could ever comprehend.

  There was a gleam in his eye as he smiled. “Yes, you look like your mother now. A woman has replaced the little Clara I once knew.”

  A wave of sadness gripped my chest as I remembered the days of climbing into my uncle’s lap and watching as he unveiled the toys he’d brought with him. The evenings of lying against his chest as he smoked his cigar or pipe and told me stories of beautiful, enchanting worlds. Sometimes he’d tell me of the days when he had a wife and son. She had died trying to nurse their son back to health, who had eventually perished from an unfortunate bout of scarlet fever. Those days were gone… for the both of us.

  “I’m not so sure,” I said, shaking my head. “I’m far from being as beautiful or graceful as Mama or Masha.”

  “Oh?” He raised a brow as he drew another puff of smoke from his cigar.

  “Perhaps this is bold of me,” I began. But I knew as I struggled to find the words, if there was anyone I could speak my mind to, it was Uncle Drosselmeyer. “Perhaps it would have been better if I had been a man. Then, I could travel the world. And see all the places you once told me about. And I wouldn’t have to worry about finding a husband.”

  Raising a brow, Uncle Drosselmeyer lowered his cigar into a small dish full of ashes and eased forward to the edge of the chair.

  “Listen to me well, moya devushka.” He focused his full attention on me. “Even as you are now, you need not have to worry about trifling things like husbands. You must live your life the way you wish. My purpose in life is to bring joy. It is why I continue to create despite my critics in the village. My toys are my greatest gift. Your purpose, my dearest Clara, is to find in life what makes you the happiest.”

  A shiver ran up my spine as I listened carefully. I knew my uncle’s words were true. I wanted to be happy, and I deserved to be, too. But there were so many things I was not permitted to do . . . to say. . . to think. . . to dream.

  “Ah, Anton, there you are!” My uncle’s voice startled me.

  Uncle Drosselmeyer’s gaze moved past my shoulder, and he grinned. As I turned in my chair, I was met by th
e very same man who had come into the house carrying the two large boxes. In the dim light of the fireplace, I could make out his slight features. He was handsome with his slender nose and high cheekbones. There was a fullness to his face that was unlike Yakov and Andrei.

  And there was something oddly familiar about him. Had I met him before? He hadn’t come to the Christmas party last year, had he? I would have remembered a face like his, surely.

  “Anton, this is Clara Stahlbaum, my goddaughter. Clara, this is Anton Vasiliev.”

  I studied him for a moment, taking in the sight of his unruly appearance. Anton’s cheeks were rosy from the winter cold, while his eyes were a sharp, piercing blue. He held a hand toward me, nodding politely. As I reached out to shake his hand, I noticed his worn vest and jacket. They were the opposite of my uncle’s attire. Modest, yet somehow, they suited him.

  “Anton Vasiliev is my apprentice,” Uncle Drosselmeyer continued. “He’s been learning my trade from me for several months now.”

  “How do you do?” I addressed him as I quickly pushed myself to my feet. My cheeks flushed slightly from embarrassment; how undignified I must have seemed, staring at him so transfixed.

  “Well, spasibo…” He chased his thank you with a smile.

  There were several questions lingering in my mind, but I knew it would certainly be too impolite to voice them so soon. Was he from the same village? What had made him want to apprentice with Uncle Drosselmeyer?

  “I can see her wheels turning, Anton,” Uncle Drosselmeyer laughed as he lifted his hand. “Run now, while you can. Clara is quite the curious one.”

  My heart fluttered as I cast a glare in my uncle’s direction. My reaction only caused him greater enjoyment. His laughter rumbled deeply, hearty and full. I should have scolded him for being so frank, but the words were tied up on my tongue.

  “By all means, ask whatever you wish, Miss Stahlbaum,” Anton said as he slid his hands into his trouser pockets.