The Balter of Ashton Harper

By Millie Florence

Balter (verb): "To dance artlessly, without particular grace or skill but usually with enjoyment."

Ashton Harper has three problems and two of them are his sisters. First Drusilla, the oldest, who has decided that all she cares about is muslin and courtship. Second Zizi, the youngest, a stubborn optimist who is constantly pushing her brother outside his comfort zone, whether it's in their dancing lessons or his disbelief in magic.

And third, their invitation to audition for a ballroom dancing scholarship at the prestigious Overmorrow Academy of Arts, which could be either a dream come true or a hope-crushing failure. As a proud, sarcastic realist, Ashton is betting on the latter.

The Harper siblings set out for Overmorrow, but their opportunity evaporates when mysterious magical ruins wreak havoc on the travelers. Ashton is separated from his sisters, trying to make sense of a power that he thought existed only in fairytales. Soon much more is at stake than attending the school of his dreams.

A story of family and ambition, The Balter of Ashton Harper is woven with whimsy, hope, and Millie Florence's signature light-hearted depth.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bandersnatch Books, LLC
• Release date: Oct 17, 2023
• ISBN: 9781958863138

Millie Florence

Millie Florence's earliest memories are of lying under the covers at night, whispering stories to herself long after her parents had told her to go to sleep. She published her first book, 'Honey Butter', at age 13 and hasn't stopped since!Millie lives in a picturesque blue house in the woods of southern Illinois. She loves adventure, good food, and just about all things yellow.You can out more on her website millieflorence.com

Book preview

1

Ashton Edward Harper had three problems, and two of them were his sisters.

At the moment, he was attempting to ignore all three. This was difficult, as Zizi, the first and youngest problem, was sitting in the parlor with him, listening to him read aloud from The Wishing Well Incident and Other Fairytales.

The Old Thinkers drew up a wall of bright green fire ’round the travelers, and the goblins scattered in all directions, Ashton read in a monotone, his eyes skimming the page. But the travelers themselves, and the forest greenery, were unharmed, for the fire was mere illusion.

Winter sunlight fell in a hazy glow through the sash window onto the sofa where Ashton sat. The parlor was the traditional reading spot for the three Harper siblings, and many a cozy afternoon had been spent there, sharing adventures together through storybook pages. Today, though, the three had been reduced to two.

For once, Ashton was glad that he was chosen to read. Reading kept him from thinking about The Other Problem (the one that was not a sister) and the feeling like curdled milk in his stomach that he always felt when he was supposed to make a decision. To be sure, even deciding what to have for luncheon could be difficult, and this was a rather larger problem than that.

Zizi had not been helping matters by pestering him about it all morning. If I die of disappointment, you will be the culprit, Ashton Harper! she exclaimed, interrupting Ashton’s lackluster reading. She fell dramatically backward onto the shabby parlor rug where she had been sitting.

How tragic. Ashton flipped to the next page. Couldn’t she leave him alone for two minutes? The Knight thanked the Old Thinker and—

It will be. Terribly tragic. A girl of eleven perished of disappointment at the hand of her cruel, tyrannical, barbarous brother! Zizi’s pale hand flew up to her forehead, and she exhaled a sigh like that of a theater lady.

And the brother perished soon after due to an overexposure of drama. Ashton clapped shut The Wishing Well Incident and shot his sister a deadpan look. He was only a year ahead of her, but sometimes he felt far older. His stomach was still twisting inside of him, and ignoring it was not helping.

Zizi pursed her lips together, trying not to laugh, but failed in the end. Oh, don’t be daft, Ashton! She dropped her wounded heroine act and propped herself up on her elbows, her blue eyes wide and her head cocked to one side. The motion sent a wave of inky black hair over the shoulder of her morning gown, the sleeves of which were several inches too short.

She looked like an overexcited crow. Or an inquisitive wood sprite. Not that Ashton had ever seen a wood sprite before, but history—or fairy tales, depending on who you asked—described them as lively, mischievous spirits.

Zizi raised her eyebrows at her brother. "Don’t you want to go to the ball?"

Ashton’s thoughts tumbled over each other and tangled up into knots. I say, did you see the new window display in the baker’s shop this morning? he said.

She pointed an accusing finger at him. Don’t change the subject.

Ashton heaved a deep, tired sigh and flopped back against the faded embroidery of the sofa cushions, giving up on reading altogether. He would never come close to Drusilla’s storytelling skills anyway.

If it had been an ordinary ball, there would not have been a problem. Even now, the sweep of the music and the flow of the steps tugged at Ashton. Of course, he wanted to dance. But this ball would include a special guest—Jasper, their former ballroom dancing tutor.

The Harper siblings had not seen Jasper in over a year because he had accepted a job as a dancing instructor at a school. In his most recent letter, he had expressed himself enthusiastic to see how my favorite students have improved during my absence.

If that had been all, Ashton would not have been too worried—but that wasn’t all. No, no, no. Life would not let Ashton Harper off so easily.

The school where Jasper taught was no ordinary school. It was the one and only Overmorrow Academy of the Arts, the pinnacle of education for artists of all kinds, but dancers especially. Since age seven, when he learned his first steps on the dance floor, Ashton had known that he wanted to attend Overmorrow. He had to attend Overmorrow. Everyone expected him to attend Overmorrow.

And now Jasper might have influence over who was admitted. Maybe. Ashton should have been thrilled, but he wasn’t. Maybe meant uncertainty, and uncertainty was terrifying.

Ashton’s thoughts were interrupted as the oldest problem, who went by the name of Drusilla Harper, entered the house in a flurry of golden curls and blue muslin. Her cheeks were flushed a becoming shade of pink from the winter air.

Afternoon! Drusilla said brightly, quite as if she hadn’t snubbed them both earlier that day.

Yes, it is. Well done for noticing, Ashton thought but decided against vocalizing it. It would make Zizi laugh, but it would only make Drusilla angry.

Zizi’s bright smile darkened into a sour frown, and

her words suddenly had a bitter edge to them. Back so soon?

Ashton felt another swooping, uncomfortable sensation, quite apart from his worry about the ball. Not this again.

Where’s Mother? Drusilla took off her muff and pelisse, ignoring Zizi’s glare.

She’s delivering some inscriptions she finished lettering this morning, Ashton said quickly.

You were supposed to be here. Zizi crossed her arms, stubborn as stone. For read-aloud hour. We all agreed.

I was out with Mary and the girls. Drusilla peered in the parlor mirror and tweaked a couple of the blonde curls framing her face back into perfect position before untying her poke bonnet. It was second-hand, but she had attempted to make it look new by adding fresh ribbon.

And boys, said Zizi.

A pause stretched out after this pronouncement. Ashton closed his eyes. How many different uncomfortable sensations could a person feel in one day?

Drusilla, who had stiffened at Zizi’s words, now turned away from the mirror and towards her brother and sister with a large, superior smile and raised eyebrows. Yes. And boys. What of it? she laughed. Now, I’m not going to be late tonight on account of you two, so you had better dress soon.

You needn’t worry about Ashton, said Zizi, and some of the bitterness left her voice. Because he says he’s not going.

Drusilla’s fake smile dissolved, and she turned to stare blankly at her brother. To the ball? Her tone had lost all its grown-up pretense, and she looked genuinely surprised. Are you quite serious?

Ashton merely shrugged in reply.

Well, why not? Drusilla frowned at him.

I haven’t said I’m not going! Ashton waved The Wishing Well Incident through the air in frustration. I just haven’t decided if I’m going to dance, all right? I ought to be allowed to skip performing at a ball once in a while. We certainly have enough of them around here.

Once in a while? Zizi stared at him. Ashton, you haven’t danced at the last three!

And it’s a little late for you to be indecisive, said Drusilla lightly.

"Don’t know why you care anyway." Zizi turned pointedly away.

Drusilla raised her eyebrows at Zizi. Well, you’re quite right, I don’t care. But I was going to play a piece for you, wasn’t I? To be nice. She lifted her chin superiorly and turned towards the hallway that led to their small bedrooms. Jasper will be disappointed if you don’t perform.

"He might very well be disappointed in me if I do perform, Ashton muttered. Besides, I’ll see him at tea tomorrow."

Drusilla turned back and shook her head at Ashton. He’s your dance tutor, Ashton. He’s not here to watch you have tea.

Look, why don’t you read with us a while? Ashton said quickly. He tugged uncertainly at the ends of his sleeves. You haven’t in ages and you always did the best voices, he thought. If you leave me alone with Zizi, I’m going to go mad, he said.

Zizi grinned. You’re already mad, Ashton Harper.

Can’t. I have to dress for the ball, remember? Drusilla waved her hand dismissively in their direction as she disappeared down the hall. I’m going to put up my hair like Queen Charlotte does. All the girls are.

Ashton frowned. But the ball’s not for three hours.

Three? Drusilla rushed back into the room to peer up at the clock on the mantel. Crumpets! The Milliner’s shop clock must have been slow! She dashed out again, and a moment later, the bedroom door slammed.

Ashton blinked in surprise. She needs three hours to dress?

"Of course she does. It’s Drusilla. Zizi took a moment to look scornful before turning back to Ashton. Forget her. Now, to dance, or not to dance, that is the question." Zizi’s voice was dramatically poetic, but she was watching him shrewdly.

Oh, hush. Ashton flipped to a random page in the book and pretended to read. It was his favorite story, The Floating Bridge, but he wasn’t taking in a word of it. Instead, his mind whirled around Zizi’s question: to dance or not to dance.

Listen, why don’t you want to go? Zizi sat down next to Ashton on the sofa so unexpectedly that he jumped a little.

I do want to go!

Well, then, why won’t you?

Ashton frowned at the rug. I don’t know. Because it scares me for some reason. He glanced up to find Zizi’s eager face awaiting an answer. Because I can’t.

Zizi leaned persistently into his line of sight. "‘I can’t’ isn’t a proper answer." Her arms were crossed, and her face held no trace of the usual playful teasing. Ashton’s stomach twisted again.

He sighed to buy himself time to think and reached up to fiddle absently with the fraying drape cord that hung over the parlor window. They were worn drapes but clean, like everything else in the Harpers’ house. Ashton, please. We have our free waltz practiced and everything, and I want Jasper to see how we’ve improved. We haven’t danced a free waltz at a ball in ages. Oh, imagine, Ashton! All the glowing candles— and the music! Zizi leapt up and gave a little twirl as if to demonstrate, her eyes sparkling.

And it’ll be hot and loud, and everyone in town will be watching.

But only think about what might happen . . . now that Jasper has some influence at Overmorrow. Think about what could happen.

I’d rather not, Ashton said. The future is a terrifying concept.

Zizi huffed. Just try. It can’t hurt.

Ashton rolled his eyes and turned away. In his experience, trying could hurt quite a lot. Ashton shuddered and pushed away the unfriendly memory. He wasn’t going to think about that. Not today.

Anyway, he didn’t like the idea of Jasper watching them perform for some reason. It felt too much like a test. And Ashton had never been good at tests. He always panicked. Panicking was the only thing he was better at than dancing, the difference being that he enjoyed panicking considerably less. A memory danced in his mind of his jitters before his first performance years ago, Drusilla placing a warm hand on his shoulder and her comforting voice in his ear: You’ll be brilliant, Ashton! You know how I know? Because you already are. Seeing that Ashton had been silent for longer than two seconds, Zizi decided to use it to her advantage. She flew to her brother and threw both arms around him, leaning her dark head on his shoulder. Please, Ashton, please. How could you do this to your innocent little sister?

She widened her eyes pitifully, the same expression she had used to wheedle Ashton into giving her the rest of his biscuit when they were younger.

Ashton removed himself from his sister’s embrace. Innocent, he snorted.

Zizi stood back, and this time both her expression and her voice were serious. "Ashton, I really, really want to dance. Not just dance, perform at the ball. And I know you do, too."

This was one of the annoying things about Zizi. She actually did know. On more than one occasion, Ashton had wondered if Zizi could read his thoughts. Ashton turned away in an attempt to show that he wasn’t bothered by this. Why, oh why did he have to feel so nervous about something he wanted to do so much? The possibilities of success or failure were equally terrifying. Perhaps he should stay home and drink tea and read and pretend the ball did not exist.

That sounded so much easier.

What if we pretended that Jasper wasn’t there? suggested Zizi gently.

I’m not any good at pretending, Ashton muttered. What if we found a magic spell that would make us dance better than we ever danced before? Zizi threw her arms wide.

Ashton threw her an unimpressed look. Then you had better start looking for a wishing well before nightfall, he said sarcastically.

The Old Thinkers’ wishing wells do exist, Zizi persisted. Or at least, they did a long time ago. You were just reading about them.

In stories. Ashton would not be moved from his realistic point of view. The same stories with talking frogs.

Maybe frogs do talk, and you just don’t listen. "I can hear you, can’t I?"

While Zizi was giggling over this one, Ashton began unbuttoning and re-buttoning the first button of his waistcoat. Jasper might really have no influence at Overmorrow at all. Somehow, that thought was comforting. Besides, it would be rude not to dance when Jasper was expecting them and their performance had already been planned for. He didn’t want to disappoint Zizi either; he was her dancing partner and, more to the point, her older brother. It wouldn’t do to desert her like that.

Are you scared? Zizi’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

No. Ashton rolled his eyes.

A mischievous expression crept over Zizi’s face. Prove it. Or else lose my respect.

Ashton grabbed a pillow from the parlor sofa and whacked her over the head with it. Zizi squeaked, giggled, and dodged under the writing desk in the corner, where she stuck out her tongue at him.

Ashton stared at Zizi, who was grinning devilishly at him from under the tablecloth, her eyes glinting. Strangely enough, he rather valued her respect.

Fine. I’ll go.

Zizi gave a shout of joy, leapt up, and banged her head on the underside of the table, causing an abandoned fountain pen to jump.

But only because you’re being so annoying. The annoying shall always be victorious! Zizi scrambled out from under the table, rubbing her head, and thrust a very victorious fist in the air.

Something like that, Ashton sighed. Victory didn’t seem to be quite the word for it. Marching into battle was nearer the mark.

2

Minutes before the ball began, Ashton was resisting the urge to laugh. His mother stood like a general beside the door to her scribe shop—the Harpers lived in apartments behind their mother’s establishment—and she surveyed two of her children like undersized troops, lips pursed together. He could almost hear her thoughts marching through her mind; no child of Mrs. Isabelle Harper would be seen in public assembly rooms looking anything less than perfectly respectable.

Right, then, Mrs. Harper nodded, which meant she couldn’t find anything to complain about. At least you look decent. Just don’t you dare take off your shoes again, Zizi!

Of course not! Zizi widened her eyes.

Mrs. Harper looked unconvinced but moved on.

And, Ashton, do try to be civil. I’ll try.

I’m in earnest, Ashton. Mrs. Harper raised her eyebrows. I’ll have no more of your sulking in a corner. You’re a gentleman.

What if I’m not, though?

His mother gave him an exasperated look. Then pretend you are. Now. Where is your father?

Probably outside, said Ashton. Hiding, he added privately. Wherever conflict arose, you could bet Benjamin Harper wouldn’t be there. Thus, Ashton was the only boy in the house most of the time.

Fine then. Drusilla! Are you quite done? Mrs. Harper shouted down the hallway, from which her oldest daughter had still not appeared.

No! The door to the washroom sprang open, and Drusilla came out, flapping her hands and looking on the edge of a nervous collapse. Mother, the fingertips of my gloves are fraying! I didn’t realize until just now. I can’t go to the ball with frayed dancing gloves!

Mrs. Harper hurried over to examine the damage. Well, they should hold for tonight. She sighed.

Can’t we get a new pair on the way there? Drusilla looked pleading. They’ll look shabby!

Drusilla, you know we don’t have the money for that, Mrs. Harper muttered in a strained voice. Besides, she breathed deeply and looked calmer, Proper decorum is better finery than pearls, she said. Ashton had heard that one about a million times.

He wasn’t sure if his mother had read it somewhere or made it up herself. He wouldn’t put it past her to have written a whole book of such proverbs.

Just you behave yourself charmingly, and no one will ever notice, Mrs. Harper continued, shepherding the three of them through the door and into the darkened shop beyond. Now come along. It’s disrespectful to be late.

Outside the shop, as Ashton had predicted, stood Mr. Harper, waiting for them on the frost-flecked cobblestone street. Ashton caught his father’s eye and made a face, jerking his head in the direction of his sisters. Mr. Harper smiled kindly and patted his son on the shoulder before turning to lead the way down the street, arm-in-arm with Mrs. Harper. Ashton, Zizi, and Drusilla trailed behind.

The early winter air was bitingly cold, patches of ice between the stones twinkled merrily in the glow that spilled from street corner lanterns. In high spirits, Zizi skipped and twirled.

Watch this! Zizi took a deep breath and blew out a cloud of fog. I’m a drag—dragon. She fell into a fit of coughing.

Not much use in a dragon whose own smoke makes them cough, Ashton remarked.

Ashton! came Mrs. Harper’s reproval. "Zizi, stop running about! The air’s too cold for that,