Fairy-tale Inheritance Series Bundle 1-6| E-books

Prologue
Once Upon a Time

Nadzia tucked the cleaning rag into her apron in exchange for her feather duster. She held it out like a dance partner and placed her other hand against her chest in mock modesty. “Mnie? You’d like me to take this dance?” She looked around as if another maid had entered and was waiting to waltz in her place. “Tak, yes, of course,” she said.

Humming the tune from the final song at the anniversary ball, she waltzed on bare toes around the queen’s dayroom with her feather companion. Mere hours ago, the ballroom had been filled with the sounds of stringed instruments and swishing skirts. There had been long tables of puff pastries and rows of men in cravats, and oh, how she had longed to join the dancing. She breathed deeply to catch the scent of the hundreds of roses and gerberas and lilies still standing at attention downstairs.

Nadzia bowed again to her duster and returned to her duties with a contented yawn. She stopped by the door to the queen’s bedchamber and pressed her ear to the ancient oak. Not a sound. Should she wake her? The queen had never slept so late.

Nie. Let her sleep. Soon there would be no sleep in the household for months.

Nadzia moved on to dusting the vases on the mantel. The round-bottomed red one was her favorite and she took it down to gently sweep the feathers into its neck. It would look lovely with a bouquet of white peonies from downstairs.

“Nadzia!” The queen’s voice carried through the walls.

The girl ran to the door and flung it open, the vase still in hand. “Yes, my queen?”

She stood by her enormous fireplace, her bedclothes draped gracefully about her large and growing midsection. Her eyes were rimmed with red. The door connecting her chambers to the king’s shut with a loud crack, and she blinked before taking a step forward. Her hands shook as she pulled back her hair and smiled.

“You are my most trusted servant and friend. I am sorry to have to send you away.”

“Send me away, m’lady?” Nadzia squeaked. Her breath caught in her throat. She had served the queen since the day of the royal wedding. She had never so much as spilled a drop of tea nor scorched a piece of silk. To be sent away was to be shamed. What would her mother think to have her stumbling back up the mountain in disgrace?

The queen, as if sensing Nadzia’s thoughts, shook her head. Her eyes were kind. “It is because you are my most trusted friend that I give you this task,” she said gently. “You will remain in my service, and I will continue to provide for you. You and Esmerelda. You must go to her in the mountains.”

Nadzia’s knees regained some strength. The queen was not dismissing her.

“My stepsisters…” The queen’s voice faltered. “They have married the Burgosov twins.”

Nadzia dropped the vase. Glass shattered at her feet, red shards strewn on the cream tiles like blood.

The queen flinched. “Once they have convinced their husbands to break the peace treaty, they will come for me.” She held up a muslin-wrapped package. “They will come for the dress.”

Nadzia ran forward, cutting her toe on a piece of glass. She wrapped her arms around the queen’s neck. “Come with me. We will all be safe in the mountains.”

The queen pulled Nadzia’s arms away and pressed the maid’s hand to her swollen belly. “My time is too soon. Nie, I cannot make it.”

Nadzia felt the skin under the thin nightdress, taut as a round drum. And underneath, the child poking as if in a morning stretch.

The queen lovingly stroked the muslin package. “This dress means the kingdom to me, and only you can keep it safe. Find Esmerelda, and leave this land,” she commanded as she shoved the package into Nadzia’s arms. Next, she pulled something from her pocket. “Thank you for lending me your necklace for the ball. It was a perfect match. But you must wear it now and always. It will be our sign.”

Nadzia touched the amber pendant as the queen clasped it around her neck. Her mother’s necklace. It felt right to have it back again. The faint scent of old pine forest wafted up as the amber warmed to her skin. No other necklace emitted a scent such as this. It reminded her of home. Of safety.

“Tell no one where you are going. Esmerelda has bound us together, and we will find each other. If not me, my daughter. It is her legacy. Do this for me, I beg you.”

Chapter 1
Poland, September 16, 1939

“Let’s go now, Adalbert,” Elsie whispered in Polish. Her elderly hand clenched her husband’s shoulder.

“Nie! A few more minutes. He’ll be here.” Adalbert wiped the sweat off his brow. Out of habit he looked up to search for signs of rain. The calm night sky was so different from his racing heart.

“The train,” Elsie spoke again. Her quiet voice was loud in this lonely stretch of woods. She leaned on the steamer trunk carefully hidden in the bushes. “We must leave. We can’t be here when the second invasion…”

Adalbert nodded. They had waited long enough. Perhaps he had given too much credence to the magic. He turned to go when a faint crunch of footsteps sounded on the gravel.

The couple pressed closer into the safety of the trees and Adalbert gave the signal, a quick raven caw.

The footsteps stopped. There was a rustling and the steps changed direction. An answering bird whistle.

Beside him, Elsie relaxed, leaning her shoulder into his side. Together, they walked out of the shadows, leaving the trunk in hiding.

The scout handed Adalbert a card. “Here is your contact point when the war is over.”

Adalbert pocketed the card without looking. He handed the scout a slip of paper. “We will stay in Europe as long as we can. But if we must leave the continent, here is our intention.” On the paper Elsie had scrawled the last address she had for her sister in New York City, America.

The scout took the paper and tucked it in his pocket. “Godspeed,” he said and then was gone.

Adalbert and Elsie wasted no time in gathering their meager belongings. They kept to the shadows as they headed down the dirt road that would take them through Romania, to France, then possibly on to America. Though Adalbert had ruminated on the plan a hundred times, a small twinge of guilt pierced his thoughts.

Elsie bumped into him, the way she used to when they were dating. “Stop it,” she said scolding. “You are too old. Your first allegiance is to the legacy of the queen. We cannot help Poland tonight. They are coming and we cannot stop them. God be merciful.”

She was right, again. Already he was winded and his lungs burned.

They traveled through Constanza, Efori, Malta, picking up and delivering small packages in addition to safekeeping the trunk.

The war was worse than expected and when Adalbert was detained in Yugoslavia it was only by miracle that he was let go. The time had come to leave the continent. Although they could no longer go through France, there was an escape through Bombay, India.

At last, on the ship to America, Adalbert began to relax as he ate apple pie with the other refugees. Mashed potatoes, steak, peas, and apple pie! A wonder. But Elsie had trouble. She tried to stay up on deck to get fresh air, but she was queasy and felt better lying down on the floor of her room. It was for the best. One of them should be with the trunk at all times. The queen’s legacy had never been moved such a great distance.


Chapter 2
New York City, Spring 1944

Kate Allen, wearing proper hat and gloves took a deep breath before opening the door to Horizon Studios’ waiting room. She immediately backed out, bumping into her mother. There had to be about a hundred girls here. All vying for the role of Girl Next Door.

“It’s kind of full in there,” she warned, making her eyes plead for mercy. Hopefully her mother didn’t have the time to wait, given her recent promotion to assistant to the manager of Women’s Wear at the department store.

“Go in, we’re late,” said Mother, nudging Kate unceremoniously through the door. “I pulled some strings to get you on the list.”

The receptionist frowned and handed Mom a clipboard to sign. “Go ahead and take a seat. They’ll call her in a few minutes.”

Simply thinking about having her name called made Kate’s stomach lurch. She’d never auditioned for a movie before. Sure, she’d gone on plenty of go-sees for modeling ever since her mother had decided Kate had something special. Her old modeling coach (before Mom fired her) assured them the nerves would go away with practice, but that wasn’t happening. Neither were the jobs. Aside from the department store fashion shows, they’d only landed one—a local shoe advertisement. Apparently, Kate’s feet had talent.

After finding two empty seats, Kate sat beside a brunette wearing a flowered drawstring dress from Altman’s. She smiled at the girl, who was too busy biting her fingernails to notice. Kate stared at her own hands, cleverly tucked into white kid gloves so she wouldn’t do the same.

“Anything from Dad?” she asked, trying to cut off any advice before her mom started in.

“No,” Mom answered distractedly as she rifled through her handbag. “Our fashion show tomorrow has me scatterbrained. I’ve got so much to do in the next twenty-four hours.” She looked up from her purse. “Well, you’re the prettiest one here, that’s for certain.”

She said it too loudly, and the mother sitting across from them frowned. Oh boy. Kate looked out the window at the wiggling spring leaves on the Norway maples.
“It’s the truth,” Mom said in a softer voice, but again, too loud. She took out a cigarette.

Kate pulled at the pearls on her gloves while the sweat trickled between her shoulder blades. By the time her name was finally called, her nerves were as tight as the girdle Mom made her wear.

“Sadie Young, Yvonne Whitehouse, Katherine Allen, Fran Marshall.”

Fran Marshall? Kate sucked in a breath. When Kate landed shoes, Fran landed a national baking soda campaign. She was all Mom talked about.

“Oh, look!” Mother smiled and waved across the room to catch Fran’s attention. “We were lucky to book her for the fashion show when we did.”

Ignoring the exchange, Kate stood and smoothed her aqua-blue skirt, questioning every decision she had made that morning. From the gloves, to the skirt, to wearing her grandmother’s antique amber necklace. Kate touched her throat, but there was no hidden lump under the collar of her blouse where the necklace should have been. Her heart skipped a beat. Of all the things to lose.

The only reason she wore it today was for courage. Babcia always knew the right things to say and do, and Kate thought the necklace might help steady her nerves.
While her mother was busy signaling Fran, Kate surreptitiously searched the floor, looking in between beige sling-backs, colorful Mary Janes, a peep-toe, and several wedges. As she retraced her steps to the receptionist, she kept her gaze on the ground. It wasn’t there. She made a move to go outside and check the street when Mother grabbed her by the shoulders.

“This way.” She pushed Kate toward the other girls, hastily putting out her cigarette in a silver ashtray along the way.

“No mothers,” the clipboard woman snapped. “Just the girls.” She turned on her heel and led the group forward like a conga line.

Kate followed, expecting Mom to spout off some insult in Polish, but the employee’s stern expression must have made her sit back down.

Bright lights pointed at a platform up front where a scene had been set: a blue sofa with some flowered pillows and a blanket, a chair, a coffee table, and a rag rug. Three men sat in front of the stage at a table littered with papers, coffee cups, and three overflowing ashtrays.
Kate’s perceptive eye took it all in. There was also a record player. Would she have to sing? Dance? If she still had the stick of Wrigley’s her mom made her spit out, she would have swallowed it right then and there.
The rest of the auditorium plunged into darkness that went on forever. Her whole school could be watching, and she wouldn’t know it.

“All right, girls,” said the man with wire-framed glasses. “One by one, sit on the sofa. Tell us your full name, age, then say the line, ‘I can’t wait for the boys to come home.’”

A coed—from Barnard College, judging by her sweater—sashayed over to the sofa and sat down, crossing her ankles. “Hi, I’m Sadie Luanne Young, eighteen, and I can’t wait for the boys to come home.” Sadie Luanne Young beamed as she stepped back in line.

She probably couldn’t wait for the boys to come home. Most likely, she was one of the girls down at the canteen dancing with the soldiers every night before they shipped out. She was perfect for the role. She’d lived it already.

Fran stepped into the living room scene next.
Kate clasped her hands together to keep them from shaking. Visions of past auditions flashed through her mind. She’d heard it from enough talent agents: “You’re a beautiful gal, love the long lashes, can live with the brown locks. No poise. Take some classes.” Why would today be any different? She should walk out now and find her necklace before someone else—

The judges were looking at her. It was her turn already. When did the other girl go?

Kate chewed her lower lip while making her way to the sofa. She picked up a pillow and hugged it when she sat down. “I’m Katherine Marie Allen,” her voice edged out. Realizing the pillow might look like a shield, she put it back, rearranging it with the other pillows until it looked right.

She swallowed, trying to get moisture to her throat, and spoke louder. “I’ll be fifteen next month, and I can’t wait for the boys to come home.” She jumped up and folded the blanket, placing it just so on the back of the sofa. On her way past the chair, she angled it so it was easier to get by. The directors should have thought of that already.

Back in line, Kate stared somewhere over the casting directors’ heads. I can’t believe I just rearranged their set. Josie’s going to die when I tell her.

The man with the glasses cleared his throat. “Next, girls, we’d like to see you jitterbug.” He snapped his fingers, and a teen-age boy who’d been hidden in the darkness walked out to the center of the room. As he drew closer, the other girls whispered eagerly to one another.

He was tall with flipped-back dark-brown hair, wearing blue jeans and a button-down shirt with the top button open and a white T-shirt underneath. Kate had no idea who he was, but based on the reactions of the older girls, they did.

He smiled at each of the hopefuls, and when he looked at Kate, her ears burned like the New York asphalt outside.

The man closest to the record player leaned over and switched it on. Out blasted the Andrews Sisters’ “Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy.”

Kate smiled in relief. She’d danced a hundred times to this old song. It would be a cinch after all.

The boy grabbed Sadie’s hand, and the two jitterbugged in front of the casting table. Working his way from girl to girl, he finally reached Kate. He grinned and held out his hand to her. “Care to dance?”

When Kate made eye contact, her stomach did a jitterbug of its own. She didn’t expect his eyes to be so Frank Sinatra blue. Blue like the early-morning sky. She shyly ducked her chin, forgetting for a moment this was an audition.

Without warning, he yanked her in front of the three men and their clipboards and swung her around like she was a teen-age Shirley Temple. He pulled her close and whispered, “Relax, doll, you’re doing swell.”

His warm breath tickled her ear, and she leaned into him. Girl Next Door might be an okay role after all. She could help the war effort by increasing morale and have fun at the same time. She put a little extra oomph into her next kick…

But before she knew it, she was flat on the floor, her elbow smacking into the wood with a painful pop. The poor boy let go of her hand as he stumbled to keep from falling on top of her. The music stopped, and the hush in the room stretched thin like the silence after an air-raid drill. The boy lifted Kate to her feet. He shrugged, let go of her hand, and walked back into the darkness.

She kept her eyes glued to her saddle shoes. Her tailbone smarted, and her elbow felt like the skin had rubbed raw and started bleeding. No one asked if she was okay. It took every bit of self-control she had to stay put and wait for the directors to finish their notes and say something. It didn’t matter anyway. All she wanted now was to get out and find her missing necklace.

When Babcia had given her the family heirloom she had said, “You seem a little lost. Perhaps this will help you find your way.” The necklace had come from Poland, and Babcia had given it to Kate during the days after Pearl Harbor was bombed but before she became so ill that speaking was the same as gasping for breath.
What was an audition compared to a war?

The man in the middle spoke for the first time. He had a deep, leading-man-type voice. “Thank you, ladies. If we’re interested in you, we’ll be in touch.”

Kate flew to the door, ahead of the other girls. Quickly, she pulled off a glove and wiped at her tears before anyone could see them.

Mom stood on the other side of the door, a fresh cigarette in hand, and tried to get in the room. The assistant held up her hand like a stop sign. “They’ll let you know if they want her to come back. We’ve got your phone number.” She stepped around them and called for the next group of girls. “Margaret Tannenbaum…”

Dozens of pretty heads turned to watch them walk out. Kate tried not to look at Fran, knowing she’d have that self-satisfied smirk on her face. But when Kate walked by, Fran tilted her head in a tough-break-when-your-mother-embarrasses-you kind of way.

Kate responded with a small smile. Maybe Fran had a heart after all. Maybe they’d seen each other at enough auditions that they could be friendly.

Then Fran laughed.

Kate’s smile fell. Why couldn’t Fran act like a decent human for once?

Outside, she pulled off the other glove and tucked it into her pocket while she scanned the sidewalk looking for her necklace. Worst audition of them all.

“Well? How did it go? I had my ear pressed against the door, but I couldn’t hear a darn thing.” Mom walked briskly to the bus stop.

Kate quickened her steps to keep up, eyes focused on every piece of litter. “I wasn’t what they wanted.” Not in a million years, not when they had girls like Miss Sadie Luanne Young from Barnard College, who already looked like a movie star.

“Why not? You’re perfect for film.” Mom grabbed Kate’s chin. “Look at your skin. Not a blemish on it.”

The bus arrived, and her mother handed her a nickel. “I’ll see you at home. I left my folder at the store, and I need to work on some things tonight. Get supper started?”

“Sure.”

Kate collapsed onto the first open seat where the man in front of her opened a newspaper. The headline read: Surprise Attack Nets Mile Gains in Central Italy. Finally, some good news. With Dad in Italy she’d take any gains for the Allies.

She settled back into the cushion. One more audition behind her. She repeated the promise she had made to her dad on the day he left. Caught up in his let’s all be there for each other speech, she had volunteered to help mom do whatever she needed to do to make it through the war. Even continuing with auditions.

For the duration.

That’s what people said when hard times came—for the duration. You could sacrifice anything for the duration of the war. Last year, she had no idea how she would come to regret her boastful promise.

At her apartment building, Kate kept an eye out for her necklace but didn’t find it. She stepped into the elevator, ignoring the side glances of the operator. Maybe the necklace fell off in the hallway and was sitting there right now waiting for her.

“Heard from any of your overseas relatives lately?” he asked.

“We’re not close.” Kate answered with a raised eyebrow. Bob generally stuck to talking about the weather. “And we haven’t heard from Dad in a while.”

“My son’s over there,” he said. “Same as your daddy.” He gave her an awkward pat on the shoulder. “Here’s your floor.” He glanced over her head and pointed with his chin. “He’s a bit sensitive about that trunk,” he whispered. “Didn’t want me touching it none.”

“Who is?” Kate asked as the doors closed. She stared apprehensively down the hallway to her apartment. In front of her door stood a very old, very tired looking couple. And at their feet, an even older looking steamer trunk.