Sleeping Beauty, the One Who Took the Really Long Nap (6 page)

As much as my bad/terrible/awful painting pleased me, it did not have the same effect on my mother. For months after the painting incident, I often caught Mama looking worriedly in my direction. Since in my family unpleasant things were never really discussed, it took me a while to get up the strength to confront her. Finally, after she had spent almost an entire meal looking at me as if I were a little child whose pet kitten had run away, I had to say something.

When we were alone in the library after supper, I asked, “Mama, why do you appear so sad whenever you look at me? Have I disappointed you terribly?”

Much to my surprise and horror, she burst into tears! I rushed into her arms to comfort her. She stroked my hair and said, sniffling, “Oh, baby, no, don't ever think that. I had always believed the fairies' gifts would protect you and make life easier for you. It helped to soften the terrible blow of the curse hanging over your head. But when you painted
that picture, it pained me that you should feel any disappointment or sadness or pain in life. I wanted you always to believe you were the most special, talented, wonderful girl in the world.”

“But why?” I asked. “Why do I need to feel that way? Wouldn't you rather I find out who I really am, without the gifts to guide me all the time?”

She sighed. “Honestly? No. I don't want to think of you struggling with anything. I'm not saying it's rational. This is a mother's love talking.”

We sat in the two comfortable chairs, holding hands. There wasn't much left to be said. I could not blame her for how she felt. I wondered if someday I would have a child to love as much as Mama loved me.

Later, when she kissed me goodnight in front of my bedroom door, I called down the hall after her. “Mama, for my birthday next week I thought I would cook supper for the family.” I hurried through the door before she had a chance to answer. In the morning when I awoke, Sara handed me a note on Mama's personal stationery. It said,
No knives!

Cook was not as pleased as I thought she would be about my offer to relieve her of her kitchen duties on my birthday night. She argued that she always made something special for my birthday. Was I sure I wanted to mess with
tradition? I told her now that I was almost grown up — I was turning fourteen, after all, the age some other princesses were engaged — I really did not need a fuss to be made on my birthday anymore. I had spent the last week working out the menu, and I handed her a list. She read it, grimaced slightly, and nodded.

The morning of my birthday I was up before dawn. I dressed myself since Sara was still sleeping. But instead of my usual gown, I put on an old pair of Papa's nightclothes that he had given me for playing in the garden when I was younger. At first Mama had been horrified that I wanted to wear pants to swing on the swing that hung from an old tree next to the mermaid fountain, but I convinced her I was much less likely to fall without my skirts getting tangled up in the chains. “Safety before fashion,” I pointed out. How could she argue with that?

Papa's old nightclothes also made an excellent cooking outfit. I planned on getting dirty today. Sara came in the room, rubbing her eyes and yawning. “Why are you awake so early? The rooster has not even crowed yet.”

“Did I not tell you? I am the castle's new cook!”

“Sorry?” she said. “I must have wax in my ears.”

I laughed. “I'm cooking our supper today. For my birthday.”

“Why?”

“Because I've never done it before. I want to see if I can.”

“Like painting a picture?” she asked, taking my hair-brush off my vanity table and directing me to sit down.

“Yes, painting a picture.”

As she brushed my hair until it shone, she said, “You know, your painting was not that bad.”

“It was supposed to be the garden below my window,” I replied.

“Oh.” Then after a pause she added, “Well, I'm sure you shall be a better cook than an artist, then.”

I wasn't. After a full day of plucking hen feathers, marinating turnips, and churning butter, I hadn't managed to make a single thing that my family could eat more than one bite of. Oh, they tried, to be sure. Papa even had two full bites of the turnip stew before pretending to cough into his napkin. He tried to secretly pass the napkin behind him to a wine steward, but I saw him.

“These plum cakes are delicious,” Sara said gamely. She had been chewing the same bite for five minutes. Then suddenly her expression changed to one of great surprise and delight. She swallowed, eagerly reached for her cake, and took another bite.

“You don't have to do that just to make me feel better,”
I said. “I think I let them bake too long. I know they are horrid.” It would have been nice to make a tasty meal, but after all, very few people did something perfectly the first time they tried it. I had worked hard at doing it and had enjoyed trying something on my own. That was enough for me.

Sara swallowed her second bite and shook her head. “No, honestly, this is delicious. You all have to try it.”

My parents had already nibbled on their cakes and were highly skeptical of Sara's claim. The three of us looked at one another and shrugged. We took another nibble. And then another. Before I knew it, we had all polished off our plum cakes and were reaching toward the platter for more. How was this possible? It was like magic. Then it hit me: It wasn't
like
magic, it
was
magic!

I stood up and turned from the table. “All right, Fairy, show yourself!”

At first I saw nothing. Then a foot appeared from behind the purple curtains. It was followed by a leg, and then the rest of the fairy. It was the same fairy who had blessed me with the gift of dance. Everyone else hurried out of their seats. We all gathered around her. I noticed Papa had grabbed another cake before leaving the table and was munching on it behind his large hand.

“What a lovely surprise,” Mama said, with a deep curtsy. “To what do we owe this honor?”

The fairy put her hands on her tiny hips. “I could not let Princess Rose create something that was not worthy of her gifts. I had to set things right.”

“I do not wish to be disrespectful,” I said carefully, “but why? Why can't I do something that isn't perfect every now and then?”

The fairy stood at her full height, which was still only about half of my height, and said, “I need not explain myself to you. Fairies' gifts are meant to be used, not ignored.”

“Please, Fairy,” Mama said hurriedly. “Rose does not ignore her gifts. Is she not beautiful? Is she not graceful? Does she not sing like a nightingale and dance like a leaf in the wind?”

The fairy waved off Mama's comments. “My job here is done. You might want to take your dessert into the library.” With that she jumped into the air and flew right out the window. Unfortunately the window was closed since it was a cold evening. She shook herself off, spit on the windowpane, and it disappeared. She left without a backward glance. The wind whipped through the room.

“Take care of that,” Papa said to the nearest steward, pointing to the empty window.

“Why did she tell us to have our dessert in the library?” Sara wondered aloud.

Mama sighed. “I suppose we should go find out.”

A steward followed us down the long hallway with a tray of cakes and glasses of cider. When we reached the library, at first we saw nothing out of the ordinary. Then Sara suddenly said, “Look!”

We followed where she was pointing. Where a bookshelf used to be, a painting now hung.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Don't you recognize it?” she said. “That's your painting!”

“What? No! It can't be!” The painting was beautiful. It depicted a young girl lying in the grass, reading a book and gazing up at a pale blue sky. She wore a colorful bonnet.

We all rushed to get a closer look. Mama pointed at the details. “Here is the colorful bonnet I thought I saw when I first looked at the painting in your sitting room.”

“And I said I saw a girl who looked like you lying in the grass reading!” Sara said excitedly. “Your initials are in the corner. This is definitely your painting!”

“But how is this possible?” Papa said.

“Fairy magic,” I grumbled. Standing on a nearby ottoman, I reached for the painting with every intention of pulling it off the wall. I grabbed the bottom corners to lift it off the hook, but it did not move even an inch. I tried from a different angle. Nothing. I might as well have been trying to pull down the solid stone wall itself.

I stepped back down in defeat. “It won't come off,” I said miserably. “She must have affixed it there permanently.”

Papa tried, too. But he could not make it budge, either. “I'm sorry, honey,” he said, patting me on the head and reaching for another plum cake. “But now everyone will believe you made this lovely painting.”

“That's the problem,” I explained. “I don't want to get credit anymore for things I don't do. I wanted to do something that reflected
me
for a change. And if it didn't come out well, that was fine.” I sank down into a chair.

Mama sat next to me and took my hand. “Rose, listen to me carefully. You are not special and wonderful and admired and loved because a bunch of fairies gave you some gifts. You are special and wonderful and admired and loved because you are YOU. A funny, charming, generous, loving girl with a unique spirit all your own. True, you have some advantages others do not. But that is not why you shine. You shine because of who you are inside.”

My eyes filled with tears. “Truly?” I whispered.

“Of course,” Papa said, patting me on the head again. “Did you not know that?”

I shook my head. “What do you think, Sara?”

Sara smiled mischievously. “The only reason I'm your friend is because of how well you can sing opera. Without that, I don't know….”

We all laughed, and I felt better than I had in years. For the first time, I looked forward to finding out what my life would bring me. If I could live my life happily without needing my gifts, perhaps the curse had no hold over me, either.

It would be a few more years before I learned how wrong I was.

After Jonathan left I spent nearly a month in the forest. He had taught me so well how to take care of myself that I was never without food and fresh water. Just being near the old castle made me feel better. It still wasn't giving anything up, though. Every once in a while I swore I would hear a low humming sound coming from it, but other than that, nothing stirred or changed, ever.

When I was finally ready to return home, the bailiff informed me that Mother and Father had gone to a meeting in the north with other local kings and queens. I had been left in charge. Without a second thought, I told the bailiff to invite the oldest men and women in the kingdom and the neighboring towns to tea in two days' time. Then I alerted Cook to be prepared with tea and desserts, and told the maids to get out their rags. I wanted the place to shine. I enlisted the pages to help me raise all the windows to let the cool breeze refresh the stale air.

On the following day I filled the mermaid fountain out
side with buckets I borrowed from the stable. Though it leaked in a few places from disuse, the water bubbled happily from the mermaid's mouth.

The falconer saw me from the aviary and came down from his tower. “What will your mother say when she gets back?” he asked.

“I do not care,” I replied.

He smiled. “You are planning on getting rid of it before she gets back, right? And you're going to throw some dust back over everything inside?”

“Yes,” I admitted. The falconer knew me well.

The next day the bugle blew, announcing the arrival of the townspeople. In all, about twelve men and women showed up. The kitchen staff had set up the tables in the Great Hall, and the room looked nicer than I ever remembered seeing it. The silver serving trays gleamed and the chandelier glittered with light. Most of the guests had never been in the castle before, and I could tell by their twitchiness that they were nervous. Once they were all seated, I stood and said, “Welcome, everyone. Please relax and have some warm tea and cakes.” I waited until they were sipping on their tea before adding, “I am hoping you can help answer a question for me.”

They whispered amongst themselves at this, then gave me their attention.

I did not want to ask about the old castle directly, so I decided on a roundabout route. “I need to know everything you have heard about my castle,” I said. “The history of it, how long it has been here, who built it, anything at all.”

This elicited many more whispers, but no one offered up any information. I waited patiently. Finally, one old woman stood up, holding tight to the arm of her chair for support. She was the oldest in attendance, at least eighty.

“My grandmother told me that when she was a girl, the castle was farther away from the town than it is right now. The ground where
this
castle rests used to be a field. Knights and squires practiced jousting here. She said one day, soon after my own mother was born, the castle suddenly moved to this field. Gardens, stables, moat, the whole thing. Just got up and moved all at once! I never believed her tale, of course, for everyone knows castles don't appear fully formed overnight. It must have taken months to move all those stones.”

I listened carefully as she spoke and then asked, “How long ago would you say it appeared here?”

She calculated for a moment and then answered, “A few years short of a hundred.”

I thanked her heartily, and she sat back down. “Have the rest of you heard the same story?” I asked.

Most of the people in the room nodded. One man stood
up, took off his hat, and said, “I know a bit more, Your Highness.”

I nodded my encouragement.

“The castle was moved during the time of King Bertram and Queen Melinda, Lord rest their gentle souls. It was right after their daughter disappeared. They were never the same after that. When they died, the castle went to your father's grandfather, who was from the finest family in the kingdom. Your family has been ruling ever since. Quite well, may I add.” He bowed creakily and sat back down.

The story of the daughter rang a bell. My nursemaids used to talk about a missing daughter of Queen Melinda. “Does anyone know more about the girl?” I asked, searching their faces.

One man called out, “I think she was named after some kind of flower. Don't know more than that. I think she was ill or something.”

The woman who had spoken first suddenly stood up again. “I remember something else! Grandmother said that when the castle moved, the forest grew triple its size and completely covered the area where the castle had originally rested.”

Another woman added, “I've heard those woods are haunted. Ain't natural for woods to grow up that fast.” At this, everyone nodded.

Soon they all returned to munching on their cakes and
sipping tea. No one seemed anxious to leave, so I sat with them, mulling over what I had learned. Moving castles? Forests that bloomed overnight? When the last person finally left, I knew what I should have known instantly: King Bertram and Queen Melinda's castle had not moved. An exact duplicate had been created on their fields, and the original was covered by such dense brush and vines as to be virtually invisible. But why? And who had such magic at their disposal as to keep it impenetrable nearly a century later?

I was about to head up to my chambers to ponder further when one of the men came hobbling back inside. “Did you forget something, sir?” I asked.

He shook his head and whispered, “I did not want to say this in front of the others, but I was a friend of your grandfather's, Lord rest his kind soul. When he was a bit older than you, he told me of a vision he had of a beautiful young woman asleep in the woods. He packed a bag and went to find her.”

Wide-eyed, I asked, “And did he?”

The old man shrugged. “He wouldn't say. I used to kid him about it, but he would simply smile sadly and say, ‘I was not the right one at the right time.'”

“Not the right one at the right time?” I repeated. “What does that mean?”

“I am sure I do not know, Your Highness. I simply thought you'd like to know the story, since you never knew your grandfather.”

“Thank you,” I said, reaching out to shake the man's hand. “My grandfather was lucky to have a friend such as you.”

“You are a fine young man, Your Highness. He would be proud of you.” The man bowed, put his hat back on, and hobbled out.

I could not think of anything I'd done to make anyone especially proud, but I would certainly try to in the future.

That night I dreamt about a girl, except she wasn't a regular girl. For one thing, she had pink wings. For another, she was only about two feet high. In my dream she was handing me a book. I could barely make out the title.
Flora and Fauna of the Northeast Region.
I joked about it sounding very exciting. She did not laugh. I did not remember the dream until I was washing my face in the basin. I stopped in mid-splash and ran it back through my mind. What had the girl-creature been trying to tell me?

I hurriedly finished dressing. Normally Jonathan would be helping me — not that I needed it, of course. I was headed downstairs for breakfast … but then I found myself passing the kitchen and heading toward the library. I stood in front of the painting of the girl reading on the lawn. The
maids had dusted the painting when they'd been through the castle the day before, and I noticed for the first time how beautiful the girl was, even though the painting was still much more faded and cracked than the one I had glimpsed in the old castle. I tried to make out the artist's name, but some tiny cracks in the paint ran through it. The two initials were either B's or P's or R's, or some combination of them. It didn't truly matter, since I would never have heard of the painter anyway.

But I had not come into the library for the painting. Starting in the far back, I began to carefully search the shelves. I found many books on politics and battles and even a cookbook on how to make the perfect loaf of bread. All the books were covered in a thick sheet of dust, like they hadn't been taken off the shelf in decades. Father was not much into books, and due to my tutors' lackluster performances, I had never been motivated to read much. But now all I wanted to do was find the book from the dream. Three shelves down, I found it. The title ran down the spine, faded, but definitely the same book. I knew it should feel very strange that I dreamt about something and it came true, but at this point I was surprised by little. I pulled it off the shelf, blew off the dust, sneezed, and sat down with the book on my lap. I turned to the first page and held my breath. What secrets would it tell me?

Well, it basically told me all about the flora and fauna of the northeast realm. I already knew what types of trees and vegetation grew here. It was so boring I almost fell asleep. I had to shake myself to stay awake. In the process, I shook something out of the book. I bent down to retrieve it.

It was a thin pamphlet titled “The True and Fascinating Story of a Certain Fairy Who Saved the Princess.” A drawing on the cover showed the same girl-creature who was in my dream. I eagerly opened it. In flowery handwriting was a single paragraph:

 

I, the youngest fairy in the realm, am recording what will likely be my greatest deed in a long, long life. Due to my quick thinking, I was able to lessen a cruel curse made by the eldest fairy in the realm who everyone thought was dead. I alone have ensured Princess Rose's safe passage through these ten decades. I can say no more, for I do not want the wrong suitors disturbing her. Blessings be on the head of the right one at the right time.

 

That last line sounded familiar. My grandfather! That's the same thing he told his friend upon returning from the woods. Everything began to fit together. The new castle was created almost a hundred years ago — ten decades. No one saw Queen Melinda's daughter after that. The name of a
flower — Rose. Princess Rose. P.R. The name on the painting! I twisted my head until I could see it again. That must be her lying on the grass. Did her parents order a duplicate castle from the fairy because they needed the old one to hide her? Could she possibly still be alive behind all those vines?

There was only one way to find out. I ran into the cloakroom and threw on my traveling cloak. The season had grown cold, and I planned on staying in the woods until I got inside that castle. Never had I had such a worthy goal, such a grand mission. My body tingled with anticipation. I was about to tell the bailiff that he was in charge again until my return — but then the bugle blew announcing a visitor. Could my parents be home early from their trip?

A young man stepped in and shook the snow off his cloak. A page came up behind him, holding two suitcases. The young man spoke. “How have you been, old friend? Looks like we're going to be spending a lot of time together.”

I gaped. “Percival? What are you doing here?”

“Well, I suppose I've had worse greetings,” he said with a grin, draping his wet cloak over his page's outstretched arm. “Did not your father tell you? He invited me to stay at the castle until I am eighteen. He said something about you losing a good friend to the knighthood and that you were taking it very hard. Since there is little chance of me becom
ing a knight, he thought it would benefit both of us if I came to live at the castle. So … where's my room?”