Twelfth Day of Christmas
Kestrel woke up full of woo.
She’d slept on a bed made of the word, her head resting on a pillow of woo, her dreams enchanted by the soul-stirring sound of it.
Woo was a very specific word of action. It did not mean to visit a resort out of curiosity or create closure with an ex before marrying a good Wisconsin girl from a great family.
Woo invoked courting, romancing, working for someone’s approval.
It was an ancient, primal word that got to the point. And the point was love.
Kestrel was surprised to find a small gift on her tea tray wrapped informally in a handkerchief. She untied the corners, and a palm-sized purple plastic case with an attached keychain rolled into her hand. It was a Giga Pet.
For Kestrel’s ninth Christmas, her last before Farm Home, all she’d wanted was the puppy Giga Pet.
Instead, Santa Claus had brought a box of clothes from the secondhand shop and a sock full of candy canes.
Next year, she’d thought. But Santa hadn’t been welcome at Farm Home.
She must have told Hank about the never-gotten Giga Pet. And he had remembered.
No note accompanied the gift. That lack created an implied silence, a sentence fading away into a question mark. “My true love . . . ?”
Kestrel stayed in bed and played with the Giga Pet, feeding and caring for Karma Junior. Even while she was busy cleaning up Junior’s digital poop, her thoughts were laser focused on this evening.
A ball. The ball. Would Hank be there? Was he still trying to woo her?
Or had Anika’s visit officially ended what had almost restarted?
She tried to fantasize about a future with Hank, but any glimpse of it was obscured by a forest of question marks.
At the thought of him, her heart softened and leaned.
Yet when she tried to imagine some reality of a new life with him, her brain put up an Out of Order sign.
No plan, no images, nothing formed in her head.
She dressed in her comfiest brown muslin and left her hair down. It was still the early side of morning in the morning room. Andrews was sitting alone with a cup of tea but stood when he saw her. She crossed to him and fell directly into his embrace.
“Thank you for taking care of me yesterday,” she said.
“I myself have been taken care of from time to time,” he said, still in full hug. “I imagine I will be again. And perhaps next time, you will be the one ministering to me.”
She wished that very much. Also, she knew today was her final day.
Tomorrow she would fly back to Boise, pick up Karma, and .
. . then? Take a bus to Wisconsin where Hank probably was living again, knock on his door, and say, “I found this Giga Pet. Is it yours? Also, are you engaged or can we give this another go for real?”
The idea was so horrifyingly wrong, she shuddered. Andrews pulled back to look at her. She strained against a tight crying feeling in her throat and squeaked out, “I have a lot of stuff going on.” She swished her hand in front of her heart.
“Yes, my pet.”
“Hey, why were you at Windy Nook yesterday?” she asked.
Andrews straightened his cravat and sat back down at his tea. “Yesterday I was visiting with a friend when Mr. Kern alerted me to your condition and asked me to take care of you.”
“He did?” Oh, stuff and nonsense, she’d really messed up.
Hank had seen her at her worst. And on top of it all, Andrews had been off duty and hanging out with a friend when her episode had forced him to take care of her instead.
Surely Andrews, Charming, and Jerome were more than ready for her to leave tomorrow, while she was head over heels for the whole place and wished she could stay forever and . . . Oh no. Kestrel gasped.
“What? What’s wrong?” asked Andrews, his raised teacup halted before his mouth.
“This place is a cult, isn’t it?” Kestrel whispered.
“What? Austenland isn’t a cult.”
“If a cult says they aren’t a cult, then they’re definitely a cult.”
“Kestrel, this is an expensive holiday very few can afford to attend, and they always go home again. Well, Charming stayed, and we do have many repeat clients—”
“Oh no oh no oh no . . .”
“But Charming is the only one who stayed forever . . . that is, beside much of the staff—”
“So many red flags.” Kestrel counted on her fingers.
“After arriving in Austenland, they take away our phones, cut us off from the outside world, change our names, impose strict rules we must follow on threat of expulsion, love-bomb us with hand-selected romantic interests who don’t actually love us but pretend to so we’ll feel good here . . .”
Andrews was staring at the wall with mouth agape. “No, it can’t be . . .”
“I did it again,” Kestrel said. “When I feel good I let my guard down and start to believe that this time is real, this time will last, this time I’ll find my home and can start building my life instead of running after it . . .”
She’d begun by talking about cults but somehow had veered into talking about falling back in love with Hank. She forced herself to shut up.
Andrews had pulled out his phone and was reading from a website.
“‘Cults are able to attract people because they present themselves as surefire ways to fulfill basic human needs, such as belonging, identity, community, a desire for self-improvement, and a sense of purpose. But cults are not entirely honest up front and seek to bind members so that, even if the members eventually discover the organization’s darker side, they are too committed to easily get out.’”
Kestrel found herself thinking of Jill. Like her daughter, she’d been a wild girl at heart, but struggled against a harsh and judgmental father and never found a place where she belonged.
As a single mom, she’d gone to Farm Home seeking stability and kindness.
Kestrel’s heart twinged with genuine empathy.
“Jerome!” Andrews leaped to his feet as Jerome sauntered into the morning room.
“Good—” Jerome’s customary salutation froze on his lips as he took in their expressions. “What’s happened?”
“There is a chance . . .” Andrews looked at Kestrel for support. She stood beside him and took his hand. And Andrews whispered, “That Austenland is a cult.”
Jerome blinked several times. And then he sighed. “Jeezum bread, there are two of you,” he said as he poured himself some tea.
In the face of Jerome’s palpable calm, Kestrel’s panic meter dialed way down. She took a deep breath. “Have I become one of those former cult members who sees them everywhere?”
She smiled quizzically at Andrews, and he smiled emphatically back.
“Kes, we do rile each other up, don’t we?”
“Jeezum bread,” Jerome muttered again. Kestrel and Andrews began to laugh.
“To be fair, Jerome-pups,” said Andrews, “Austenland does employ the occasional nutter who takes the role-play too far.”
“True,” said Jerome, “but guests don’t stay. Charming isn’t a guest anymore.”
“Right-o, and I’m the only gent who is full-time. If it is a cult, then perhaps Charming and I are its only members. A very cozy cult of two.”
Though her fears were quieted, a lingering disappointment remained that Kestrel didn’t dare to name. Guests don’t stay . . .
A coiffed and makeup-ed Charming entered boldly and declared, “It’s high time we got some more frickin’ Christmas up in this frickin’ house.”
“Hear! Hear!” said Andrews.
“Blimey, Kestrel,” said Charming, “you’re up early for someone with a hangover.”
“Well, I totally wasted my eleventh day, and by George and by gum and by the Prince Regent’s round bum, I will get the most out of day twelve.”
“Hear! Hear!” said Andrews again.
“Here, frickin’ here,” Charming added with gusto.
“Look at the four of us, just like on Christmas Eve.” Kestrel’s chin unexpectedly pressed in with emotion.
She dropped down onto the carpet, and catching her meaning, the other three followed, sitting as they had on the kitchen floor.
Jerome reached out first, and soon they were all holding hands.
Kestrel emitted a laugh but it trembled with a deeper emotion.
Jerome smiled at her and whispered, “I’m glad I didn’t miss our British Christmas.”
“Today is going to be magical,” said Kestrel. “Today will make Jerome’s stay in England worth it. Today is Charming’s new beginning.”
“And it will be the most festive ball Andrews or Kestrel ever attended,” added Jerome.
Andrews began to sing. “Oh, the grand old Duke of York, / He had ten thousand men. / He marched them up to the top of the hill, / and he marched them down again . . .” Andrews trailed off. “Why is no one joining in? Doesn’t it feel like we’re about to play a children’s game?”
“Yes, but I don’t know that one,” said Kestrel.
“Me neither,” said Charming. “Let’s sing a kids’ song that everybody knows. Like ‘Bohemian Rhapsody.’”
When Gussie entered, they were all singing and banging their heads to an a cappella rendition of Queen.
“Regency appropriate,” Andrews mumbled, and Jerome offered her a good-morning, but Gussie looked uncertain and started to back away.
Kestrel let go of Jerome’s hand to reach for her. “Please join us, Gussie. We are discovering that the best way to begin a day is on the floor, because it can only go up from there.”
“Scandalous,” Gussie said with a relieved grin, and she plopped down between Kestrel and Jerome.
“Now at last the day has begun,” said Jerome, “because the sun has arisen. Or is all that golden glory just the light from your eyes, Miss Chen?”
She swatted him on the shoulder. “You do tease, Captain Relish.”
“I may flatter,” he said, “but on the contrary, I never tease.”
He kissed her hand, and she sighed.
“It’s going to be the best day ever,” said Kestrel.
“I believe you,” said Jerome.
“I am enraptured by the prospect,” said Gussie.
“Pip-pip, jolly good, rather,” said Charming.
“Well put, my loves,” said Andrews.