One instant, she was entirely lost in a world of her own making, where her characters were more tangible than the details of her compartment, and the next, a sudden stillness would abruptly pull her from a paragraph, alerting her to the fact that they’d reached the end of the line.
It was a place that seemed to move beyond the steady clicking of a clock, where minutes took on the texture of molasses in the most satisfying ways and daydreams could be captured on the page.
At least, that’s how the everyday magic of the train car had felt before this particular trip.
Instead of staring down at her notebook, which was packed in the very bottom of her traveling case, Beatrix’s gaze was fixed out the window, where she saw a ghost of her pensive reflection blinking at her from the snowcovered fields that passed by in the background. Her fingers, normally wrapped firmly around a pen, were touching a marigold pendant that rested just above her heart.
“I’ve found us a pot of tea,” a familiar voice suddenly echoed through the train car, its cheerful hue instantly easing the furrow that had taken root between Beatrix’s brows.
Turning away from the window, Beatrix smiled as she watched her publisher’s assistant try to carry a tray with a silver teapot and a pair of cups through the door of their private compartment, which kept sliding back and forth, making the task nearly impossible.
As Jennings took another step forward, Beatrix noticed a single carnation teetering in a crystal vase next to the tea spout, the sight of the cheerful red petals instantly turning up the corners of her lips. She wondered, not for the first time, how he had known exactly what would bring a smile to her face just when she needed one the most.
“Don’t ask what I had to do to get it,” Jennings said with a chuckle, his own grin broadening as he glanced down at the flower and tried to get a firmer hold on the tray.
“Let me help you, Jennings,” Beatrix insisted as she moved to rise from her seat, only to be thrown backward by a sudden turn of the train.
Unfortunately, the movement also sent Beatrix’s companion tumbling forward, and he just barely managed to grasp the handle of the teapot before the rest of the tray’s contents spilled to the floor.
“Well, at least I’ve saved the tea,” Jennings laughed as he carefully reached down to collect the cups, which, by somestroke of luck, were no worse for wear. He even managed to return the carnation to its vase, though the petals were somewhat tattered about the edges now.
“Thank goodness for that,” Beatrix said with a grin as she reached for one of the saucers and let Jennings fill her cup, trying her best to keep it still as the train continued to rattle back and forth.
As much as her life had changed, the sense of steadiness that Beatrix felt whenever she took her first sip of tea hadn’t altered a bit.
“And I did manage to bring you these,” Jennings continued as he reached into his jacket pocket and dropped two sugar cubes into Beatrix’s cup. Though she wouldn’t have dared complain, he knew that she preferred something to take the bite from the strong, bitter tea that they tended to serve in most dining cars.
Throughout the past year of her tour, Jennings had managed to slip effortlessly into the fabric of Beatrix’s life with gestures like these, ones that told her he was paying attention to details that even she had a habit of overlooking. When Mr. Stuart first passed along a tumbling list of author engagements, Beatrix had grown weary by the sheer number of dates and particulars that she’d need to keep track of all on her own. But her hesitation had quickly shifted to relief when Jennings appeared at the train station with the news that Mr. Stuart had sent him along to help ensure their bestselling writer had a smooth journey. And after months of dizzying train connections and crowded lectures, Beatrix was more grateful than ever that he could be spared from his desk at Donohoe & Company. Whether it be with just a few softspoken words or a gentle nudge that told her which platform to step onto, Jennings always managed to find a way to make her feel grounded, even when the two of them were rolling across the country.
“I’d say we both need a cup of something warm given how chilly it is in here,” Jennings said, shivering so that a few strands of his disheveled brown hair fell across his forehead. “It figures that Mr. Stuart would finally decide to let you go home when traveling by rail could lead to frostbite.”
Beatrix suspected that the sudden change in her schedule had less to do with her publisher than Jennings thought.
Though her ability to see the future had faded as her word weaving magic grew stronger, Beatrix still occasionally caught the barest whisper of what was to come. These moments were few and far between these days, but sometimes, when she was glancing just so at the clouds above or washing out the remains of her cup, for the barest second, she’d catch a sign out of the corner of her eye.
And yesterday morning, as Jennings had raced into her hotel room with a telegram from Mr. Stuart, she’d seen a bow waiting patiently on the rim of her cup, so close to the handle that she nearly smudged it with her thumb.
Before Jennings could give her the news, she’d already realized that they were going home.
Home.
The word conjured the scent of honey cake and freshly risen cinnamon bread, ready to be torn apart while steam was still spilling in tendrils from the tin. The warmth of the fire nipping at her toes and the murmur of chattering voices in the front parlor. And strongest of all was the memory of her sisters’ arms wrapped tightly around her own in an embrace that always let her know where her heart remained.
Jennings caught sight of the grin that had caused the dimples in Beatrix’s cheeks to make an appearance and smiled himself.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked, his eyes twinkling in the way they always did when Beatrix knew he was curious about what she would say next.
“The tea shop,” Beatrix replied as she leaned back into the cushions and released a deep breath, anticipating how it would feel when she finally stepped back over the threshold. “And my sisters.”
The past year had flown by in a rush of author events, train stations, and luggage. Beatrix would sometimes wake in the middle of the night and need to glance at her calendar book to remember what city she was sleeping in. Then there were the lines of readers who waited for hours just to get the chance to have her sign their copies and ask a question or two about her next project, their eyes gleaming in anticipation when she said, “Yes, I am working on another story.”
She’d loved every moment of it. Loved realizing that she could step beyond the confines of the tea shop and find pieces of herself waiting to be discovered in every new city, where the towering buildings reminded her just how far people were willing to climb to reach their dreams. Loved learning that she could stand in front of a crowd and find the sense of confidence that she needed to speak about her beloved characters when just a year before, she’d shuddered at the thought of stepping into the front parlor and talking with a handful of regular customers. Loved realizing that she didn’t need to split a tarot deck to know the best was yet to come.
It hadn’t been until very recently that Beatrix had begun to long for the Crescent Moon in ways that were causing her to slip back into her former self, the quiet shadow that shifted in the corners of the shop hoping that no one would notice her.
“Well, I’m sure it will be the perfect place to work on your next book,” Jennings said, stretching his legs out as best he could. They were so long that he needed to bend his knees to get them to fit between the benches of the train compartment.
Beatrix suddenly shifted awkwardly in her seat, moving her hand to pull nervously at the chain attached to her spectaclesand knocking her cup of tea off the saucer and onto the floor in the process.
