Prologue

Late Winter, Present Day

I n the darkest days of winter, when the cold was relentless and the days were dreary and cloudy, Hilde made her way to Drumchapel Village to visit her sister and niece. Snow fell in earnest as she stepped out of the cab in front of the house at 323 Crown Lane and peered up at the large white house, a sense of melancholy washing over her.

Her brother-in-law, Jack, passed away unexpectantly leaving behind his wife of thirteen years and his daughter who was nine. Now, Marigold would grow up without a father. Hilde had only spoken to her sister, Linnea, briefly on the phone when she called to give her the news. She dropped everything and returned to the village to be with her family. The only family she had left.

The sun was setting behind the house as she hurried up the walkway to the front door. She’d visited several times in the past, of course, but this time was different. Jack would not be snoozing in his favorite recliner in front of old movies.

Finally, she rang the bell. Linnea opened the door minutes later looking exhausted. Dark circles were under her eyes. Her face was devoid of makeup and her clothes were wrinkled. Almost as though she had slept in them. She gave her sister a faint smile. She reached out for a hug, holding Hilde tight before stepping back.

“I’m glad you’re here.” She waved her inside.

Hilde swiped the snow off her boots before entering. She slipped off her coat and hung it on the nearby coatrack as Linnea moved deeper into the silent house. Normally, the television would be on, but today it was dark and quiet.

“Would you like some coffee? I just made a pot,” Linnea said.

“I’d love some.”

She preferred black tea, but didn’t want to make her sister do extra work. Coffee would suffice and warm her tired, cold bones. She paused in the living room, glancing around at the well-worn furniture. Jack’s recliner had seen better days, the material of the chair threadbare. The floral sofa was horrible to sit on with the sinking cushions. Hilde opted for the oversized blue wing-backed chair instead.

Perching on the edge, her gaze landed on the mantle over the fireplace that was cluttered with family photographs. The three of them smiling in happier days. Before Marigold’s mysterious illness forced her in and out of the hospital. Before Jack was killed in a car accident that took his life away with an abruptness that left everyone in shock. Before Linnea was left with a young daughter, a mortgage, and facing decisions about what to do next.

It pained her to think about her sister going through it all.

She couldn’t allow her sister to be alone during this time.

Linnea came from the kitchen carrying two mismatched steaming mugs of coffee. She handed one to Hilde, then sat in Jack’s recliner. Linnea never sat in Jack’s recliner, but she understood why she did now.

“Thanks for coming on such short notice,” Linnea said.

“You’re my sister. I had to come. How are you?” Hilde sipped the dark brew and tried not to frown at the bitterness.

“I’m doing what I need to do.” She clutched the mug between her hands, the steam rising and clouding her face.

“Are you sleeping?” she asked.

“Some.” Linnea gave her a faint smile. “I’m not used to sleeping alone anymore.”

“And Marigold? How is she?”

Linnea glanced upward where the girl’s bedroom was above their heads. “She took it hard.”

Hilde’s hand tightened around the mug. “Did she have a relapse?”

“Not yet,” Linnea said.

The mysterious illness came and went at will, it seemed. The doctors didn’t know what was wrong with her even after running every possible test and taking multiple vials of blood. Nothing showed up on the blood work or the MRIs or CT scans.

Hilde had a suspicion what the illness could be, but she didn’t dare mention it to Linnea. Her sister would deny it and refuse to believe such a thing.

Growing up, Linnea dreamed of having the perfect, picturesque suburban life. To have a house, a picket fence, kids, and a husband. Maybe a dog or a cat. And for a while, she managed to have that dream. Jack was deathly allergic to all animals, so pets were out of the question. Marigold, though, was the center of their universe. The brightest light in their life. She was their only child because Linnea was unable to bear any more children.

“Well,” Hilde said at last, “I hope she doesn’t.”

“She’s upstairs, if you want to see her. She rarely comes out of her room since the accident. I’m afraid she’ll refuse to go to the funeral tomorrow,” Linnea said. “I think she’s in denial.”

Hilde glanced at the stairs leading to the upstairs bedrooms. The last time she visited Marigold in her room was Christmas Eve when she was six and she told her the story of Ella and her Christmas prince. Perhaps it was time for another story.

Stories always made her happy.

“Maybe you can talk to her?” Linnea asked.

Hilde’s gaze snapped over to her sister. “Me?”

“She loves you, you know. You’re her favorite auntie.” The corner of her mouth lifted in almost a smile.

“I doubt that. She has other aunts.” Hilde tried another sip of coffee, then decided it was too strong for her. She placed the cup on the nearby table.

“Jack’s sisters don’t come to visit. Not since his parents passed.” Linnea sounded almost bitter as she said it.

Jack’s parents had been gone a decade. To Hilde’s knowledge, he had two sisters who lived abroad.

“In fact, I’ll be surprised if they show up for the funeral.” Anger pinched her face as she said it.

“They haven’t said?”

“No.” Then she sighed. “It’s just as well. We never got along. Anyway, it doesn’t matter now. If they come, I’ll be happy to see them. Now, about Marigold…” Her words drifted away as she gave Hilde an imploring look.

She rose from the chair. “I’ll try.”

“If anyone can convince her, it’s you.” This time, she did smile.

Hilde left the living room and headed up the stairs. She paused at the girl’s door and gave a faint knock.

“I’m not hungry!” the girl shouted through the door.

Grinning, Hilde pushed open the door and poked her head through. “Neither am I.”

“Aunt Hilde!”

Marigold bounced off the bed, jostling the books and papers, and ran to the door. She flung it open and fell toward her, her little arms wrapping around her in a fierce hug. Hilde hugged her back. She took her by the hand and walked back into her room.

Nine-year-old Marigold had different taste than six-year-old Marigold. Her room had changed. The princess theme was gone. The walls were repainted to a pale lavender. The canopy bed was replaced with a simple four poster twin bed. Books were scattered all over the bed. More were stacked on the floor. She had a small bookshelf in one corner that was full. Signs of a voracious reader.

“Now, let’s see what you’ve been up to.” Hilde scanned the room.

Marigold shrugged. “Just reading.”

“I see.” She picked up Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland . “Ah, this is a good one.”

“Have you read that?” Marigold asked.

“Indeed, I have. About Alice who follows the White Rabbit to Wonderland.”

Marigold gave a wistful sigh. “I should like to go to Wonderland where there is fun and adventure.”

Hilde pulled up the plush stool she’d sat on once before, still holding the book. “Why do you say that?”

“Because nothing really bad happens there.” She climbed back on the bed, sitting with her back against the headboard, her legs drawn up.

“Yes, I know. But Wonderland isn’t a real place.” Even as she said it, she knew it was a lie.

“Well, it should be.” She rested her chin on her knees, looking sad.

“Your mother tells me you don’t want to go to the funeral tomorrow.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Why not?” Hilde asked.

Instead of answering, the girl pinned her with her sad eyes and changed the subject. “Will you tell me a story, auntie?”

“A story?”

“Yes, like you always do when you visit. I want to hear a story.”

She thought of the perfect story to tell her. “If you make me a promise.”

Suspicion flickered through the girl’s blue eyes. “A promise?”

“Yes, that you’ll go with your mother to the funeral tomorrow. She’s counting on you to be there with her. And so am I.”

“You’ll be there?” the girl asked.

“I will.”

She thought about this for a long moment. “Okay. I promise.”

“Good. Now. A story.” She tapped her chin as though she were thinking of one to tell, even though she had already picked one out. “How about one about a prince and a princess, a sleeping curse, and a dragon?”

“Is there adventure?”

“Well, yes, of course,” she said with a smile.

“Then yes!” she said.

“Once upon a time, there was a lovely princess named Rosamund…”