Enchanted Bookshop

Gail Beauregard 

2,076 words                                                                             

Write about two characters who meet and/or fall in love in a bookshop, café, or at a wedding.

The front window lured her in. Panes of glass, framed with years of dust set in a bay window overlooked the street. The sun’s rays shone from directly behind her as she peered in. They projected a rainbow through the beveled glass onto a book on display. She strained to read the title.

    It was a large book, thick—with a white cover and what looked like gilded edges. The cover’s illustration appeared to be either a woman or a man, she couldn’t quite tell; but she could discern that the person must be royalty due to the crown on the head. The first letter in the title was embellished with ornate filigree. Prickling with curiosity, she entered the bookshop.

    The tinny tinkling of the tiny bells attached to the doorframe stopped her in her tracks. A memory flashed through her mind; an image of a creek, icy water tumbling in silvery streams over glistening stones, a face peering up at her from the water. The image was there and gone, leaving her with a wispy sense of confusion and loss. A slight shudder passed through her as she continued into the bookshop.

    The smell of age-old tomes, sitting unopened and forlorn, greeted her, along with a bright burst of lemony scent that someone had used in the mop water. To her right came a slurping sound. A young girl of maybe twenty years sat behind a metal counter, bright light illuminating the cash register and the shining dust jackets of the more contemporary literature. The girl set down her cup and gave the woman a cursory nod.

    To the woman’s left the bookshop’s appearance changed dramatically. The bay window on this side let in a last shaft of sunlight that skewered through the middle, like a sword blade splitting one side of the shop from the other. Bathed in shadow, wooden bookshelves stood in rows, each shelf decorated with wooden scroll-work fuzzy with thick dust.

    The light began to dim. The woman felt a thrill of panic. Her heart jumped into an erratic beat and with sudden realization she knew that if she didn’t cross that line now, she would miss out on something she had no name for. She leapt across the fading light just before it vanished and found herself standing at the bay window, gazing once more at the book with the white cover.

    Up till now the woman, (Gerda), had felt as if she were in a dream. She turned to look back at the girl at the desk. It’s like looking through a long tunnel. She’s so small. Gerda reached out her hand, as if to grasp the girl and bring her closer. The tunnel stretched longer, until the girl and the bright side of the bookshop disappeared with a loud “pop!”

    On the wall that were sconces alight with steadily burning flames. “Strange,” Gerda said, aloud. “I didn’t notice those before.” She turned slowly, taking in her surroundings. The bookshelves stood to her right, topping out at six feet. Four of them lined up at an angle, crowded with dark, leather-bound books of all sizes. In the middle of the room stood two tables, flanked by two chairs padded with red crushed velvet on the seats, seat backs and armrests. Two oil lamps on each table cast twin pools of light onto the surprisingly shiny surfaces.

    Gerda turned back to the book in the window. It sat on a display stand, tilted away from her. As the last of the outdoor light waned, the book took on a glow. A haze of golden light wafted from the gilt edges. She stepped closer, reached in and lifted the book, grunting softly at the weight of it. Flipping it over revealed the illustration and title and she gasped in recognition.

    The beautiful, flourished lettering spelled Hans Christian Andersen Fairytales. Below that an image of a woman, white hair drawn severely up and tucked under a glittering crown, and beneath the crown a blue-tinted countenance that bespoke of grave danger and evil lurking in a heart of ice.

    “The Ice Queen!” Gerda’s fingertips felt bitten by a creeping frost that threatened to spread to her hands and arms. With a cry she stumbled to one of the tables and dropped the book onto it with a loud thump. She thrust her hands under her arms and stood, shaking, then sat and pulled the two lamps closer together, cupping her fingers close to the glass, warming them.

    Gerda looked at the book. The Ice Queen’s face had changed, subtlety but surely, thin lips turned up ever so slightly—eyes narrowed and shooting black sparks of anger. Gerda heard an evil voice—the queen’s sneering tones: “You’ll never get him back! He’s mine. Kay is mine forever. He doesn’t remember you. Be gone from here, or you will rue the day!”

    Gerda pulled the book closer. Frost had settled on the cover, but its edges exuded warmth. How is this possible? Gerda touched the edges of the pages, then slipped her fingers between them, opening the book an inch or two. A voice called her name.

    “Gerda, are you there? Come find me. I am so cold. Can’t you help me? Please, Gerda.”

    Kay, the boy whom she had fallen in love with when they were children. Together they had played through the seasons of each year, sharing the innocence of childhood, holding hands, telling each other stories of how their lives would be. Then the Ice Queen took Kay away to her palace, leaving Gerda to grow up alone, the light of true love becoming dim and distant as the years passed. No—not a child’s voice; this was the voice of grown-up Kay!

    In a flash the memories returned to her, she and Kay, playing at the edge of the creek on an early spring day when green shoots showed shyly through the ice crusted snow. They heard it before they saw it, a sleigh pulled by six snowy-white reindeer—tiny, tinny bells jangling on their harnesses. The queen cracked her whip and commanded “Halt.” She stood and beckoned to Kay, and Kay, entranced, stumbled and splashed through the creek, disappearing into the water, taken to the realm of the queen. Gerda had followed him into the bitterly cold stream, only to see his expressionless face looking back at her. Thick ice crackled and crept over the creek. It froze solid. Kay was gone.

    Shaking off the despair of that day, Gerda drew a deep breath and threw the book open. Pistol-shot sounds of cracking ice filled the air, followed by the sound of water flowing, gurgling and chuckling over the smooth, polished stones as it tumbled to the sea. A light breeze blew from between the pages, carrying a hint of warmth and the scent of fresh earth turned by new plants.

    Gerda breathed in the scents of spring. A smile turned up the corners of her lips. She turned the page, then another and another. Scene after scene showed the arrival of Spring to the Ice Queen’s land. Great snow caps melted from the mountain tops, revealing a shimmering castle of ice and snow, now disappearing under a brightening sun.

    Gerda cried out. “Where is Kay? Show me Kay!” Frantically she flipped through more pages, seeking the boy whom she couldn’t save, yet never forgot—until she came to the page with the Ice Queen. Gerda drew back in fear, nearly slamming the book shut—then paused and looked again. The queen lay in her bedchamber upon her lavish bed, quite still and quite dead. Her once diamond-black eyes no longer flashed with anger and hatred but stared unseeing at nothing. Her scepter lay beside her frigid, gnarled fingers, far beyond her ability to grasp anymore.

    “Kay!” Gerda called out. “Kay, where are you? Oh no, oh no, what’s happened? What have you done to my dear Kay?” Frantically, Gerda turned more pages, barely hearing the birdsong—only  vaguely noting the scent of flowers that spread their petals to the ever-warming sun. Her heart raced as her fear rose. “Kay, where are you?”

    “I am here,” said a quiet voice from behind her.

    She spun in her seat. Before her stood Kay, no longer a boy, just as she was no longer a girl. The strangeness of it, the awkwardness she felt—struck her dumb. She trembled as a parade of thoughts and emotions tore through her; what do I say? Who is he now? Will he know me? So much time apart…and the queen—is she really…

    “Dead? Yes.” Kay said, reading her mind. With an unsteady hand he reached for the chair as his body slumped.

    Gerda caught him and guided him to her seat. She pulled the second chair over and sat next to him, drinking him in with hungry, astonished eyes. How handsome he is. He is Kay—and yet he isn’t. I don’t know this man. She reached out a hand, rested it on his arm, only to snatch it away again. What if he doesn’t remember us? What if he’s changed…?

    Breathing hard, Kay slowly raised his head and looked at her. “Is it you?” he asked, in a halting voice. “Are you…my Gerda? I have been so cold for so long. Lost in a land of ice and snow, with only memories to keep me alive. My sweet and dearest friend, Gerda.”

    Her eyes filled with tears.

    They gazed at each other, both wondering what might be left of a love that once bloomed so strongly between them.

    Kay reached out a hand to her cheek.

    She flinched but did not draw back.

    He brushed his fingertips lightly over the curve of her cheek, tracing the path of her browbone, smoothing her eyebrow. His eyes found hers. Within them he saw his reflection, the man he’d become. With a cry of shame, he dropped his hand and bowed his head. “How can you ever love me again?”

    Gerda remained silent. In her heart she grieved the loss of their childhood love, and though it hurt her, she welcomed it as something familiar to her. She had carried it for so long it was like an old friend. No words came to her, she had no answer for him…the same question haunted her. How can he love me again?

    Gerda turned to the table, to the book resting there. She turned the page, leaving the dead queen behind. On the following pages were more images of melting ice speared by the rays of the radiant sun. The melt-off from the castle flowed in a steady stream down the mountain. She turned more pages and saw a herd of reindeer breaking free of their harnesses, tossing their heads, hooves cutting the air as they leapt for freedom. Gerda’s heart soared at the sight. She rose abruptly, turned to Kay and, grasping his hands looked into his eyes. His beautiful gray eyes, the color of dove wings—framed by dark lashes, now sunken and hollow from years of suffering, looked back at her. These are the eyes of my beloved. Gerda drew a deep breath. “I love you, Kay. Do you trust me?”

    For long moments he regarded her, searching her face. His hands trembled. “I remember us. I love you, Gerda. Yes, I trust you.

    From the book came the riotous sounds of joyous birdsong and the steady chuckling, burbling, sloshing of a creek come to roaring life again.

    Gerda reached out and turned the page. Flowers bent to the breeze as a girl and a boy skipped through a meadow, smiling and holding hands. She turned more pages and they saw an image of the children, grown older, sitting next to one another on the limb of an enormous tree, legs dangling and he, tucking a flower behind her ear…and finally…holding Kay’s hand in her own, Gerda and Kay together turned the last page and found themselves beside a silvery creek, sitting on a blue blanket.

    Kay pulled her close and kissed her with lips warmed by the sun and his love for her.

    Her lips trembled with her urge to smile and cry at the same time. She melted into his arms. “I too, remember. “I love you, Kay.