A mandatory session has been scheduled for tomorrow at 10.00 AM.

Do not disappoint.

I stared at the computer screen, my initial shock melting into panic.

I’d been summoned by my characters to account for months of inactivity and broken promises, it appeared. And I nothing to offer them…no secret progress to give them hope, no defense to argue my lack of words. A flash of shame heated my face as I clicked off the computer screen.

This should go well.

“Ah, there she is! Welcome, lass.”

I looked around the empty room and back at Mrs Winn. “Where is everyone?”

The housekeeper smiled, her wrinkles folding like fans. “I was sent. The Harringtons in particular were insistent that this time I wait for ye. I have Jenny overseein’ the bread.”

“And Dr. Keating? Where is she?”

“She left. I asked her to give us some time to talk, lass.”

“Oh.” I nodded, uneasy, and joined her on the leather sofa. She scooted closer and turned to face me.

“I no have much time, so I’ll jest say it an’ be done. I know how tis, lass.”

“How what is?”

Her smile faltererd. “To feel ye be overwhelmed an’ useless at the same time.” She paused. “Ye feel the years marchin’ forward an’ leavin’ all the shiny hopes an’ dreams ye had for this life behind. An’ those dreams, well, they dim a bit, then twist themselves around ye in knots, leavin’ ye locked up an’ unsure what to do.”

I stared at her, surprised. “How’d you know?”

She chuckled. “Well, tisna hard, lass! Ye be our creator! There be a piece of ye in each of us.”

We sat silently for a long moment, listening to the rain outside patter against the window. My own thoughts churned.

“So, what do I do?” The question was reluctant.

“Keep dreamin’, lass. The years go by whether we wish it or no. But dreams, they give us hope. And inspiration.”

I looked down, surprised to see our hands clasped together. “But I have failed you all. And I fear failing more every day.”

Mrs Winn leaned forward. “The fear is yer dream-snatcher, lass. Tis why ye dither over words. Ye canna go forward since the fear leaves ye believin’ lies. They tell ye yer no worthy, but tisna true.” She gripped my hands harder, staring into my eyes. “Our story is worth tellin’. Ye just need do it.”

I looked at her and felt the rigid set of my jaw soften under her warm gaze. “You were one of my first, you know. My story needed someone and you just popped into my head, fully formed and talking.” I chuckled. “You’re one of my favorite characters.”

“Och, well, I’ll no take great pride in that jest now, when I know that murderin’ bastard Theodore Hwarrington tis another of ye “favorites.” She winked at me, and leaned back, releasing my hands before she reached into one of her many apron pockets and pulled out a large watch. “Look at that! Time to go. The bread finished the second risin’ by now. An’ ye know how starry-eyed and forgetful that Jenny is.” She heaved herself from the sofa with a sigh, and I rose too.

“Thank you, Mrs Winn.”

She enveloped me in a big hug, and I relaxed into the familiar curves and warmth of her embrace.

“There be bits of the real Marjorie here, too, lass. An’ they make me who I am on the page,” she whispered.

I swallowed past the knot in my throat and nodded.

She walked to the door, pausing as she looked back at me. “I know this time was short lass, an’ I gave ye only bits to latch onto. But the peace yer soul searches for? That will come, too.”

I listened as her footsteps faded and felt a timid smile tug at my mouth. “I believe it will, Mrs Winn. This year, I believe it will.”