A Merric's Tale

by Margs Murray

  Doc smiled. “I’ll see what I can do. So, is that a yes?”

  I nodded and pushed up my sleeve.

  Doc opened his coat pocket and removed a silver case. Inside was a small syringe. I inhaled and closed my eyes, waiting for the prick of the needle into my arm. But it never came.

  I opened my eyes. “Everything okay?”

  “It’s a little pink, but you’ll survive,” Doc said.

  A small pink bump bloomed on my arm but then withered to nothing. “I didn’t even feel it.”

  “No one feels the BFV. It’s been perfected over the last fifty years.” Doc pulled my sleeve back in place.

  “Fifty years? Why haven’t I ever heard of it? Is it a rich thing?”

  “You could say that,” he said, and he put the silver case back in his pocket.

  “You said you have my medical chart? So, you know I broke my left arm in kindergarten, had my tonsils out in the third grade, and I am allergic to penicillin, amoxicillin, ampicillin, basically any cillin?” I ran my fingers in the chair’s grooved carvings.

  “You won’t need antibiotics anymore. Now, to more pressing matters. You asked about the Merrics. This concerns me.” Doc sat in the other chair.

  “Well, my uncle isn’t exactly forthcoming. Is it the people he works for? Is the company Merric?”

  Doc sat back and thought for a moment. He opened his mouth as if to tell me something but changed his mind. He turned his head, perplexed on how to answer me. Looking around the room, he zeroed in on the bookshelf. He pulled out a volume and leafed through the pages. “Did your grandmother ever tell you about her early twenties?”

  “Sure, I mean, not everyone’s grandma was a folk singer. She opened for the Grateful Dead once. We have her record. Folksy, pretty, but bordering on hippie.”

  “Hippie. Hmm. That is new.” Doc handed me the book. Embossed on the spine was the number 242. “I have worked for the Merrics for many decades. My first patient was an exquisite outsider much like you. Turn to page 29, please.”

  “What does this have to do with me?” On the page was a painting of a beautiful woman standing before a throne. Her eyes were stormy gray. The caption below said Helena Merric. “Grandma?”

  Chapter 7

  Tripp to the Unknown

  “Helena Merric? Her maiden name was Tripps.” My eyes darted from the name and picture and back again. It was her; no doubt in my mind. “Her married name was Tripps-Gunner.”

  Doc shook his head and took his glasses from his pocket. “Turn the page,” he said.

  Grandma again, this time wearing a crown and standing before a large crowd of people kneeling to her. My heart stopped. Grandma was a princess. “Doc?”

  “Your family has been the royal family of America since they started the country in 1589.”

  “No.” I held my head in my hands and the book teetered on my knees, threatening to fall to the floor. “Our forefathers started the country in 1776, and there is no royal family.” Our forefathers had fought very hard to make sure there was no royal family and yet here was Grandma in her crown.

  Doc’s knees clicked as he crouched down beside me. “1776 was of no great importance in our world; none I can recall, anyway.”

  “Your world?” His world? I righted the book and flipped the page. Grandma again. In this painting, she was a warrior on a horse, her sword raised, the horse bucking. An army of men charged behind her. The portrait was titled Fight Against the North. “What is going on?”

  “What I am about to say to you will sound incredible, so I will do it quickly like ripping off a bandage. Waverly, you have traversed your world to a parallel universe. We have the same landmarks, language, and in some instances the same histories, but we’re worlds apart on technology and leadership. Bollard first traveled to your world when your grandmother was your age. When you graduated, he invited you to join him. I’ll let that sink in for a moment.”

  Sink in? Information like that didn’t sink in, it exploded. I didn’t say a word. What could I say? This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. Maybe in the movies and books, but not in my life. I tried to rationalize everything he had told me. I was dreaming.

  Or I wasn’t dreaming. Multiple dimensions are real. Okay. I traveled to a different dimensional plane. Great. Grandma’s stories were real? Sure. I couldn’t even process it. “Am I dreaming or sick?”

  Doc placed his hand on mine. “You are healthy, and this isn’t a dream.”

  Mouth falling open, I blinked.

  Doc nodded to himself. “And as far as dreams go, you can control them. If you desire an experiment, try to conjure someone or something into the room.”

  “Like a turkey?”

  “Like a turkey,” he said, “right here on the table.”

  I stared at the table trying to conjure up a turkey. Didn’t work. I closed my eyes and tried once more. Nothing. I couldn’t be dreaming, or I’d have my turkey. It became clear I needed one thing at that moment. “I have to call my mother. Please, Doctor Tivoli.”

  “Just Doc is fine. I’m afraid you can’t call her. You can, however, write a letter. We can send it tonight. It takes a few days, but I’m sure it would make them feel better to hear from you.”

  “A few days!” My hand shot to my head. “My parents are going to kill me. I need to stay in touch. I’m not even on the same Earth as them. Oh God. I’ve made a mistake.” Tears pricked my eyes. I wiped them away, but it didn’t work, and my chest tightened like it did when I fought off tears. “I didn’t even want to come.”

  Doc patted my shoulder. “Let it out. I find it better if my patients cry. Tears are beneficial to the mind, and you’ve been through a lot.”

  “What?”

  “Tears are nothing but the natural release of emotions. I have a good cry often. May have one with you now if you aren’t careful.” From under his glasses, numerous wrinkles framed his bright blue eyes. He had to be at least seventy-five, maybe older, but his eyes were young. He took a handkerchief from his pants pocket and handed it to me.

  Sniffling, I wiped the tears away. What had I been thinking? I hadn’t wanted to go until my brain mysteriously switched. Dad was right. Uncle Bollard wanted something more from me. “What do I do?”

  “I do my best thinking in a long, hot shower, sometimes after napping,” Doc suggested. “You have a lot to think about it.”

  “I want to go home.” Certainly, I ‘d made a massive mistake.

  “You’ll have to take that up with Bollard when he returns in a few weeks.”

  “A few weeks!” I hiccupped.

  “Yes, unfortunately. Bollard is the only person who can send you home.”

  I stared glassy-eyed straight ahead. This couldn’t be right. “But I want to go home.”

  “I know, Princess, I am sorry.”

  “What?” I blurted.

  “You are a princess and heir to the kingdom, same as your grandmother.”

  “No. No. Doc. No.” I jumped up and walked across the room. “I fainted on the plane. I’m sleeping right now. I’m afraid this isn’t real. You’re a doctor at the hospital.”

  “I understand that you are having a hard time with this now, and that is a normal reaction when given upsetting news, but I’m sure you’ll feel better. The Merric family is small. They need new minds, new strengths. Your uncle, Bollard Merric, believes you are special.”

  Me, special? Hardly. “Trust me, I’m not.”

  “We shall see all the same,” Doc said. To his credit, he stayed a good hour or so and let me cry before he left to see other patients. As he made his way to my door, Doc added, “Give yourself time. I’m sure you will feel better, and if you don’t, we’ll figure something out.”

  I sat in the chair with my eyes closed, demanding that what had happened be a dream. But every time I opened my eyes, I faced this strange reality.

  How could my uncle not tell me where we were going? He sent me to this place like a parent dumping an unwanted twerp at camp. No, this w
as worse. Summer camps weren’t held in a different dimension. And the nerve of him. Uncle Bollard, the weasel, didn’t even have the nerve to tell me the truth. Instead, he had given that job to a stranger.

  I picked up a random box and tossed it aside on the giant pile. What did he expect from me? Like if I opened a massive heap of presents everything would be cool.

  At least I figured out how Bollard (who I decided did not deserve the label Uncle) got me to say yes. Anyone with technology to traverse from one world to the next would have the technology to control minds. Yuck, he probably had an app for that.

  But why take me in the first place? He obviously didn’t want to get to know me, so why take me? Did he hate my father this much? What could Bollard want with me? Why bother to come and get me just to dump me off in some strange mansion in Boston?

  The questions filled my head, and I wanted Sasha, although I was sure she’d be just as confused as me. More than Sasha, I wanted my mom and dad, to tell them everything and to hear they loved me because I had never been farther from home. Most of all, I wanted to hug Grandma and tell her I was sorry I hadn’t believed her.

  Grandma had warned me. She was a princess and told me Bollard had come from a different world. I wished I had believed her, but the stories were so outlandish. She asked about the Prince of France and if he ever found his cat.

  Little consolation, but the ring on my finger was a gift from the Prince of France and my grandmother had stored the historic relic in a coat pocket as if it was a ball of lint. All those mundane doctor’s appointments when it was cold, her feet landing in sludge, with the ring in her pocket.

  I picked up Volume 242 from a nearby table and opened to Chapter One. I was too keyed up to read the book so instead, I flipped through the pages looking for photographs. In the first picture I flipped to, Grandma sat at an official-looking desk. An old man, who looked a little like Bollard but was not, stood behind her. The caption said, “American Princess Helena Merric finishes one of her first official duties by signing the anti-treason act of 1965. Her uncle, Prince Regent Valvin Grenoble Merric, walks her through the finer points of the treaty.”

  I turned the page again. There was Grandma on the deck of a sailing ship.

  The book stated the picture was taken in 1966, which was supposedly the same year Grandma started her tour with the Dead. How did Grandma have the time? She married Grandpa at 22, three short years from when she appeared in the first picture. She couldn’t have toured and done enough to fill a book at the same time. Both couldn’t be real. The tour was the most realistic, yet here I was, sitting in a palace. A palace!

  I flipped towards the end of the book. In the picture, Grandma walked with a man. He was handsome, with a strong chin and deep-set brown eyes. Under the image was the title A Walk in the Lilies. The caption read, “Helena Merric, Princess of America, and Lothaire DeLuce, Prince of France.”

  The Prince of France was real.

  And as for my grandmother- I didn’t know her. Not the real her, anyway, except that she liked dances and had a thing for the Prince of France.

  I picked up a pen and paper and wrote my first letter home.

  Dear Family,

  First, Dad’s right. Uncle Bollard is a liar and a phony. At the first chance, he abandoned me. I am stuck in a mansion with people he hired to take care of me. I’m in Boston but in a different world and I don’t have a clue when I will see Bollard again. Or you. Oh, and Grandma’s tales are all true. And—

  I crumpled up the letter and threw it away. Honesty would only make them worry more. They didn’t need that.

  Dear Family,

  I made it in. I am in the middle of Romania. No phones in our village. So crazy to think there isn’t cellphone service or even a landline. I love and miss you all. I’m exhausted and will write more tomorrow.

  Love,

  Waverly

  I placed the letter addressed to my parents on top of the table. Hopefully, a staff member would see it in the morning.

  I grabbed Grandma’s book and turned to page 1. I needed every bit of information. I wanted to talk to Bollard, but since that wasn’t going to happen, I decided to read the book. Besides, I didn’t know whether Bollard was even a real relative because if this place was real and her stories were real, then Grandma’s brother had died in the war.

  Chapter 8

  First Days

  Everyone left me alone for the rest of the night; well, except for when a woman dropped off dinner. I ignored it. The day’s experience had killed my appetite.

  I spent the whole night hiding under the comforter reading Grandma’s encyclopedia. If even half of the stories were true, Grandma’s life as a princess was more amazing than she’d let on. She’d done all the traditional princess stuff we’d talked about like dining with dignitaries, dancing at balls, and being courted by princes. According to the book, she fought in the military, but I doubted it was in any real capacity. She’d flown on a trapeze, helped build houses for the homeless, and sailed around the world.

  Furthermore, Prince Lothaire wasn’t simply a prince she dated; they’d been far more serious. The love between them popped right out of the pictures. In so many, he was looking down at her with a huge smile. His arm always around her.

  Honestly, I couldn’t help wondering why she hadn’t married Lothaire. All my childhood, I’d romanticized Grandma and Grandpa and their first meeting, but now I had to question the whole story.

  Grandma’s real life was a puzzle and all the pieces were sitting there, dismantled before my eyes, and I couldn’t make heads or tails of them because I didn’t even have the picture on the box. I felt so far apart from her; it seemed I hadn’t known her at all. And I was supposed to find a cure for Grandma? In this complicated mess? How?

  When Enzo visited in the morning, I didn’t even bother to get out of bed. He cautiously craned his long neck into the room. “How are we this morning? I brought breakfast.”

  Enzo and a maid entered with a plate of fifteen pancakes. I’d assumed it was for us to share, but there wasn’t a second plate and only one set of silverware.

  “I’m not eating.” I pulled the blanket up over my head and decided not to come out until they left.

  “Come on, don’t you like pancakes?”

  I had been lied to and tricked to come to this world- a world I didn’t even know existed before yesterday-so I was in a terrible, terrible mood. “Go away.” I tucked the blanket tighter around me.

  “I’ve got a gift for you,” he said in a sing-songy voice. “Oh, come on. I know you want this one.”

  I still hadn’t touched the pile on the table. “I’m good for gifts.”

  “I can see that. I found this.” I felt a cell phone land on the bed, and I rushed from my blanket cave.

  “My phone!” Maybe I couldn’t call, but the phone had hundreds of pictures of my parents and Sasha and Grandma. I’d charged the phone before Bollard came over, and I’d turned it off for the plane ride, so I estimated the battery to be half charged but when I turned it on, nothing happened. “Did you find my charger?”

  “Charger? Chargers are so archaic.” Enzo’s large eyes doubled with surprise. “I haven’t plugged something in in forever, like since I was at a museum as a kid in grade school. Doesn’t it get power from you turning it over a few times?”

  Enzo knew I was from a different world. He should have guessed my technology wasn’t as advanced. I clutched the phone to my chest like a child with their favorite stuffed animal.

  Enzo’s face scrunched up in confusion. “I apologize. I heard you were from a remote location, but I had no idea you were using outdated technology. How far north are you from? The Arctic?”

  “North?” I went up to my knees, tears streaming down my face as the weight of everything washed over me. “North?”

  Enzo sat on the bed. “Oh, no. Me and my big mouth. I’m sorry. I made assumptions about this. I mean, third world countries have done away with plugs for practicality. I
can’t believe the Merrics let you use something that outdated.”

  “Are you messing with me or do you not know?” I asked, and Enzo turned his head. Maybe he didn’t know I was from a different world.

  “I wouldn’t dream of— Oh, I am so sorry! Not even twenty-four hours on the job and I’ve upset you.”

  I wiped the tears from my cheek with the back of my hand. “I wanted to see my family. I miss them, and they must be so worried about me. I have hundreds of pictures on my phone. I…” I cried harder.

  Enzo clumsily patted my shoulder clumsily, and it reminded me that we didn’t really know each other. He cleared his throat and added, “There, there. I didn’t mean to make you cry. I thought the phone would make you happy.”

  “It would have, but…” I broke off and studied the ceiling, begging for the tears to stop.

  “You’ll feel better if you eat,” Enzo said, and he handed me a tissue from the nightstand.

  I shook my head. Eating was the last thing on my mind. I blew my nose. “I’m not hungry right now, and even when I am, I don’t eat fifteen pancakes at a time.”

  “There are usually leftovers.” Enzo offered his hand to help me up. “They’re shared among delegates and dignitaries. It is a great honor to eat after royalty.”

  Yuck. I didn’t like that idea. “Can we not do that with my food? That’s so stupid. I’m a blubbering mess, and what if I have a cold or something?”

  “You had your shots. Besides, eating after you is an honor. There’s already a waiting list.”

  Enzo pulled out a chair for me at the table and then took the seat next to me.

  “Yuck! Why in the world would anyone want a chance at my half-eaten pancakes?”

  “You are the most vogue thing, a royal muse. Everyone is interested in you.”

  I lifted a layer of pancakes with my fork and let them fall back down. “Me? Why should anyone even know about me, let alone care about me being here?”

  “Oh, everyone in the know knows about you and has for some time.”

  “What do you mean they have known about me for some time?”