Finding Ever After Read online

  Finding Ever After

  Pepper Basham

  Rachel McMillan

  Ashley Clark

  Betsy St. Amant

  Experience a touch of magic with these four fairytale-ish novellas that span over one hundred years. Linked by an illustrated book of fairytales, each novella is an enchanting combination of a beloved classic sprinkled with the author’s own brand of fairy dust.

  Between Stairs and Stardust is set in 1913 Asheville, NC at the beautiful Biltmore Estate and includes a budding children’s book illustrator, an out-of-the box heir, and a teensy bit of Cinderella romance.

  Entanglements has a Rapunzel twist and is set in 1920’s Boston between a reluctant heiress, a charming piano tuner, and a game of chess.

  Twice Upon A Time is a Beauty-And-The-Beast inspired tale that brings a romance novelist back home to her family's pecan farm... and the ex-fiance she left behind.

  Once Bitten is a nod to Snow White that includes a fake date with a handsome woodsman, seven geeks, and the world's best apple tarts.

  Contents

  Between Stairs and Stardust

  Dedication

  1. Cottage

  2. A Broken Heart

  3. A Fireplace

  4. Magic Wand

  5. Castle

  ***

  6. Crown

  7. The Clock

  8. Key

  9. Glass Slipper

  10. A Golden Heart

  Acknowledgments

  Books by Pepper Basham

  Also by Pepper Basham

  ***

  Entanglements

  Dedication

  Part I

  Part II

  Part III

  Author’s Note

  Also by Rachel McMillan

  Twice Upon A Time

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Once Bitten

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  ***

  About the Author

  Also by Betsy St. Amant

  Bonus Recipe: Maggie’s Rustic Caramel Apple Tart

  Between Stairs and Stardust

  Copyright © 2019 by Pepper D Basham

  Published by

  Woven Words

  9 Cedar Trail, Asheville, NC

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form, stored in a retrieval system, posted on any website, or transmitted in any form by any means—digital, electronic, scanning, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission from the publisher, except for brief quotations in printed reviews and articles.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover image ©2019 by Roseanna White Designs & Pepper D Basham

  Cover art photos ©iStockphoto.com and Pixabay used by permission.

  Published in the United States of America by Pepper Basham

  www.pepperdbasham.com

  Dedication

  To the dragon slayers, world builders, warrior princesses, brave knights, and daring adventurers who live in my house. I am so proud to be your mom.

  1

  Cottage

  October 1913 – Asheville, North Carolina

  The Biltmore Estate

  Sunset and sunrise captured the magnificent country chateau best.

  The copper crown rose above the tree line on the hill like a castle from a fairytale, leaving a reflection of soft gray-and-golden glint in the pond at Stella’s feet.

  Yes, she loved this spot.

  A perfect prospect for covering her canvas with another tribute to the grand Biltmore House—a piece of art she hoped to sell along with some of her other works. Despite her early anonymity, her art had sold well in Boston. Why not here, in the wilds of the Blue Ridge? Asheville proved a growing city—already double the size she remembered as a child.

  Stars began their dusk entrance into the fading, orange-streaked sky, and Stella breathed in the cool scent of autumn. Crisp. Clean.

  A new season.

  An ache surged in her chest at the thought. How could a new season in her life begin when the old one haunted every recent decision? She’d never imagined returning to her childhood home as a fallen woman. Or that’s what the rumors in Boston said about her.

  She shuddered against the wounds, as fresh as the unpacked trunk in her attic room at Biltmore. At least Mrs. Vanderbilt had believed Stella when she’d arrived on the grand lady’s doorstep with a letter from Stella’s benefactress, Eloise Bertram. What did the lies matter if the people closest to her didn’t believe them? They believed her.

  She focused on the unblemished beauty before her.

  The last blush of sunset glinted off the copper trim of the house, setting it in an even more ethereal glow than the country estate usually held. She touched the bracelet hidden beneath her sleeve, and a tension in her face melted away.

  Fairytales.

  Her father had never stopped believing in them. Stella brushed a wisp of blue against the canvas and then rounded out the tone with the faintest hint of gold to match the fading skylight beyond Biltmore’s towering roofline. Her smile returned. Mother’s castle.

  She breathed in the memory of them as she sat in the very place they’d first met so many years ago. What would they think of her now?

  A loud splash broke into the dusk’s quiet—a sound much too large for a trout or frog.

  “Alice!”

  The sudden cry shot Stella to her feet and shocked a flock of geese floating nearby. They flurried in protest and then took off by the dozen in the opposite direction of the noise.

  What on earth?

  “Alice, reach for me.” The call came again. A male voice.

  The desperation in the cry propelled Stella into motion, closer to the water’s edge. She scanned the pond, gaze fastening on the autumn-painted island in the center, and there, just around the edge of a maple tree, she caught sight of a flash of white.

  A man. On a small boat. She couldn’t quite make out his features, but he looked young. Brown hair. White shirt and plaid…were those knickerbockers? Maybe breeches. The distance made it difficult to tell, but the answer would place him in varying social sets. On a boat in the evening without a servant? Not likely a high-class sort, then. Maybe one of the new hired hands for the estate?

  Another frantic splash rippled near the boat. A hand? Dark head? Stella’s body froze. Someone was in the water.

  With an instinctive tug to the scarf at her collar, Stella called out. “Do you need help?”

  The man looked her way, his expression unreadable across the distance.

  “My sister. She’s fallen in. And…and I…I can’t swim.”

  Heat seeped from Stella’s face. She looked down at the water and back to the frantic splashing on the other side of the boat. Her fingers unfastened a button at her w
aist as her mind screamed in protest. You can’t do this, Stella.

  She looked to the grand Biltmore. There was no time to run for help. She had minutes, at best, not a half hour or more.

  “Jamie!” came the cry again. A young cry. Then a cough. “Help me!”

  The frantic plea had Stella stumbling so close to the edge water. “I…I’m coming,” Stella called back, her fingers trembling through the remainder of the fasteners. Perhaps dusk would hide her form enough to conceal any impropriety, but…but if she could keep another person from the sting of a stolen life, she had to try.

  Her skirt hit the ground, followed by her blouse, petticoat, and corset, leaving her quite exposed to the evening breeze in her union suit. She looked to heaven. Oh dear Lord, please don’t allow anyone from the house to come by.

  It would only add fuel to the rumors she’d come to Asheville to escape.

  And that was the last thing she, the Vanderbilts, or her granny needed.

  Gooseflesh peaked beneath the chill of the October dusk. Stella cast a final look to the house before drawing in a deep breath and rushing into the pond. The frigid water seized the air in her lungs as the cold water pricked every piece of exposed skin awake, but she dove forward. One arm over. Then the next.

  Her body glided through the chilly liquid, muscles remembering the rhythm.

  Ahead, the splashing figure went under the water again. Stella forced her body into a faster pace, slicing through the cool water, her limbs remembering the strokes.

  The sluggish pull of the pond slowed her progress, but the girl emerged again and attempted to grab a paddle the man held out to her. What had the man called her? Alice? For a split second, long enough for another breath, Alice held on, then lost her grip and slipped into the murky depths again.

  “Alice!” came the man’s choked cry. Close now.

  A final slip of white from the girl’s dress disappeared into the cloudy deep. Stella pulled in a breath and plunged beneath the water. Dusk and the foggy surroundings beneath the pond stole any ability to see beyond an arm’s length in front of her. Her own loose hair wound a golden serpentine swath in front of her view.

  Where was Alice?

  Oh God, help me.

  The faintest hint of white flickered and then disappeared into the blackness just beyond Stella’s fingertips. She pushed forward, hands grasping in the dark. Her fingers wrapped around cloth, then flesh, securing a hold. Forcing her body upward against the tug of the little girl’s soaking heaviness, Stella broke the surface. With what strength she could muster, she pulled Alice above water and tucked the damp head against her shoulder, jostling her in the process.

  Alice coughed. A very good sign.

  “You have her,” the man called from the boat. “Thank heaven!”

  Stella closed her heavy eyes and followed the warmth in the man’s voice, but each movement came with greater difficulty, her body draped with the heaviness of cold and exhaustion. Cold prickled into a sting along her skin with an odd mixture of pain and sluggishness. Keep moving forward. One push at a time.

  Alice’s dress twisted a serpentine tangle against Stella’s legs, slowing their approach, and the heaviness of the task threatened to push them both under.

  The boat waited. So close.

  Stella’s muscles ached. When was the last time she’d swum? A lifetime ago, it seemed. One of her father’s lessons?

  Father. He’d known the tug of the water too. The heaviness.

  Water splashed up against her face and she dipped beneath the surface again. Her father’s face flashed to mind, his last words echoing as if from a dream. “I have to help them, Stella, if I can. They need me.”

  Alice needed her right now too. She forced her legs into motion to break the surface.

  A hand came forward and raised the girl from Stella’s shoulder. She sighed and looked up into eyes of clear sapphire, almost at one with the twilight blue of the sky behind him. Walnut brown curls fell over his brow, which, if Stella thought about it, would look almost regal if it weren’t so crinkled with concern.

  “Thank you,” he breathed, tugging the girl into the boat. Just as Alice made it over the edge to safety, her foot swung back, kicking Stella in the cheek.

  The impact broke Stella’s focus and stole the last of her strength.

  Almost in anticipation, the water welcomed her, wrapping around her and offering the same end as her sweet father. Had his last thoughts been of her? Of Ma and her spun-gold hair?

  Twilight and sapphire blurred from her view as the pond’s inkiness shrouded her vision to night.

  James Gregory Craven wasn’t one to lose his head in fairytales, though a new invention or innovative idea for his trees certainly inspired his creativity, but as he pulled his drenched and trembling sister into the little boat, his attention caught in a pixie’s gaze. Amber eyes stared back at him, almost serene. Golden hair, haloed by fading sunlight, floated around her pale face in a sunburst shape as she released her hold on his sister.

  He couldn’t look away. Couldn’t move.

  Every story his mother had ever told him of fairies and mermaids swarmed back to his mind. Even Tennyson’s haunting poem burst from the rusty recesses of his college days. “‘She has a lovely face.’”

  Who was she?

  “Thank you.” The words scraped over his dry throat.

  Before he could offer assistance, Alice accidentally kicked the woman’s face, knocking a sympathetic groan from James. Without a sound, the nymph-like beauty closed her eyes, as if her task was done, and slipped beneath the water.

  “No!” James placed his coughing sister at his feet and bent over the boat, the wooden edge biting into his waist. Thrusting his hand into the bitter pond, he snagged the woman’s ice-cold fingers before she slipped beyond reach.

  The boat gave a precarious rock, but he refused to release her, using both hands to draw the woman’s body up. They both fell back, sending the boat into another violent shift and knocking him to the floor of the little vessel with her in his arms. Her cold body trembled into him, her head fitting almost perfectly beneath his chin, and he attempted to share some of his dry warmth with her by wrapping his arms around her, as much in gratitude as anything else.

  She melted against him for the briefest moment, most likely due to exhaustion, her frame petite, slender. Then, as if she realized her position, she pushed away, reaching behind her to take a seat at the helm.

  “See to your sister.” She folded her arms across her chest, head down. “She’ll need to get home right away. Dry clothes and warm soup.”

  Even the woman’s voice sounded unearthly. Soft, gentle…with some sort of ethereal ring. He couldn’t place the accent. Not native to the area, but not…well, he wasn’t sure.

  Her thin undergarment clung to her body, doing very little to provide warmth or conceal her feminine form, so he diverted his focus, cleared his throat, and moved to his sister’s side, taking her dry coat and wrapping it about her shoulders. “Here you go, then.”

  “I…I’m so cold, Jamie.” Her pale lips shook through the words.

  He forced more ease into his grin than he felt and tugged the coat more firmly around her, buttoning it to the neck. His insides still shook from the near loss of her. “We’ll have you by a warm fire in no time, tot.” He cast a glance back at the stranger. “Soup included.”

  The woman’s gaze came up, stealing his thoughts again with its almost otherworldly hue, but her trembling lips broke his mental inertia. What a shame he’d left his Norfolk jacket back at the horse. It would have served a much better purpose here than taking up space on Hercules.

  James pulled off his vest and unfastened his shirt, leaving his undershirt to cover his skin from the October air, then he turned to the fairy-mermaid.

  Mermaid?

  He glanced down at her long, slender legs, bare all the way to the bottom of her lace lined undergarments. Heat rose into his cheeks. No, she was most certainly not a mermaid. “Here
, take this. At...at least it’s dry and will cover your—” He waved the shirt toward her body. “Yourself.”

  Her eyes shot wide, and then the faintest tease of a smile touched her quivering lips. His throat closed up again. Not mermaid…but he hadn’t ruled out fairy yet.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, accepting his offering and slipping his shirt around her shoulders. The clothing nearly dwarfed her petite frame, her fingers small and lithe as she fastened the buttons in place over her chest.

  His attention shot back to the bank on which he’d first seen her. It was not a long distance, but certainly not an easy swim. She’d tossed away propriety and her own welfare to rescue his sister, and the awareness settled over him in a strange mingling of awe and…embarrassment. He’d been helpless—a loathsome feeling for a man.

  He rallied to the defense of his unheroic response. “I…almost drowned when I was seven.”

  The woman appeared unimpressed, taking him in without a word.

  He reached for the oar, searching for some way to fill the condemning silence. “My mother kept me from the water after that, but I just couldn’t allow Alice’s first visit to Biltmore to pass without a proper view.” He waved the oar toward the house as the limestone soaked in the last rays of sunset.