Returning to Star's Crossing felt like waking from a dream.
But Mare had been living her dream a long time; the quiet, snow-laden town was a welcome, precious reality. It was as she remembered it, or perhaps a bit smaller: pockets of light like halos round the streetlamps and over shop doors. There, the paper; the bookstore; the tailor. It was all unchanged, preserved as a flower in the pages of an old book.
Mare was eager to be home. Her heart was full to bursting, and she'd brought a small trunk of copies of her novel, printed and bound, for her family and friends. Her sisters were all to be in attendance; after all, it was the first year no Atwood girl had been at home in Star's Crossing. It felt right they all return, like kits to the den, to their mother.
Mare had been closely in contact with all of her sisters, as well as her mother and father. She'd exchanged dozens of letters with Alison and Lilith. And of course, Mr. Hammer at the paper had long ago expressed interest in Mare's journeys abroad. She'd saved quite a stash of money penning articles for the paper, each detailing this fine old city or that, some boundless Canadian wood or infinite Welsh horizon.
God, it'd been lovely. Invigorating. Impossible. Mare was overjoyed to be home; she was famished in equal measure for another journey. In fact she'd already begun another novel, this following a new heroine as she trekked across the world with a charming, sharp-witted old chaperone. She'd written the first half, but was wanting for new adventures to fill the second. Yes, this respite was welcome; but Mare was already but sitting on her suitcase.
The coach bounced down the road, past the path leading toward the schoolhouse, and the estates of the Doores, Watts, and Bridges. They felt like fiction, now, their half-empty villas like ghost-towns. They'd felt so treacherously real last year. This was something Mare had learned of reality: it is not ceaseless but finite, and can, almost always, be changed.
For a moment Mare was tempted to halt the carriage. There stood the bur, somewhere eclipsed in the dark caverns of the wood. There she'd seen Teddy Bridge back from Almagest. There she had kissed him in the rain.
Mare closed her eyes, turning her face from the coach window. The memory had once been tender as a fresh bloom; in the last year it'd grown thorns. No longer could she recall the taste of Teddy's lips without the bitterness of their parting. Both had let go. They'd had to let go.
So, why did it still hurt?
Why had he not written?
Not a word. Mare bit her lip, shaking her head. She'd heard from Geoffrey, who provided a fine repository for her self-flagellating in regard to how she'd left Teddy. She'd not heard from Camden, and hadn't expected to, but was warmly surprised to learn of what he'd done for Alison and Lilith.
Mare had been informed of their affections by the ladies themselves, who upon Mare's exodus had written a lively and desperately poetic account of their first romantic encounter that night of drinking and revelry. It became clearer upon inspection, the way Alison and Lilith had looked at once another; the way they'd spirited away and stolen pearls of moments from the barren landscape of forced courtship.
In moments of doubt and fear abroad, Mare referred to their letter, read it by candlelight and held it to her heart. The world could be cruel, endlessly, and for this one rose in a thorn-garden Mare was unaccountably grateful. Two of the dearest people in her life, in the world, had found love in one another.
Likely it would never be considered such beyond Thatcher Place, beyond the little world they'd built for themselves; but in their hearts, in Mare's, even in Camden's, the pair were perfectly right and dutifully loving. It filled Mare with hope.
Mare was anxious to see everyone, and even hoped to encounter Geoffrey during her stay. She'd be off to the west coast after the holiday with Matilde and Antony, where she would reunite with Meredith after the new year. After that, there was no plan; Mare would go where the wind willed her.
Mare startled when the coach door opened; she hadn't realized they'd arrived.
With a steeling breath, she stepped into the snow. Joy struck within her as she looked up, the windows bright against the winter night.
Mare was home.