Quickly, she hurried toward it. She could find no groundskeepers, nor knights or guards. And when she achieved a side door and tugged on it, she found it to be locked. So she took her key from round her neck and stuck it in the lock, and turned it.
The door opened.
She wandered inside, and found no one. She traipsed through the vast and dusty halls, finding nothing but stone statues of courtiers everywhere she went. At last, she found her way to a winding staircase that took her all the way to the very top of the tower.
Again, she found a locked door—but her key opened it easily. And when she stepped inside…
There, upon a stone table, lay a prince. Asleep.
He wore gorgeous purple, and had hair like spun gold, a face pale as ivory. But his hands and feet were shackled to the table, and he did not stir at her entrance.
Hurrying to him, distressed, Ella quickly put the key to the rusty shackles and snapped them open, one by one. And at last, when she opened the last one which bound his left hand—
His eyes flew open. Beautiful eyes, like the spring sky. And with a gasp, he sat up. And he saw her.
“You finally came!” he cried—took her head in his hands, and kissed her.
“Forgive me,” he laughed, taking
her hands in his. “You haven’t the slightest idea who I am, but I have been dreaming of you for years as I lay here in captivity! I knew that you would be the one to come free me someday. And as I watched how good and kind you always were, no matter what your difficulty, I came to love you so dearly, and I long with all my heart to make you happy!”
“Who are you?” Ella asked. “What happened?”
“I am Prince Ellion,” he put a hand to his chest. “And my castle was put under a curse by a troll princess. All of my servants were turned to stone, except one who escaped with the key! She has wandered all this time through the
woods, trying to find you. But now that you have come and set me free, my servants have come back to life, and are stone no more!”
Ella’s heart burst with gladness, and she happily took the prince’s hand and came with him down the stairs to the halls where they found all the statues turned back to living people.
Then, with all speed, the prince sent riders through the wood to fetch Ella’s mother and father—as well as the faithful old woman—promising that they would be well-fed and rested, at home in the castle, for the remainder of their lives.
And soon, Ella married the prince, and nevermore considered the hag or the gypsies or the men with the gold—for as the old woman had promised, this reward was beyond what she could ever imagine. And so she and her prince and her parents lived happily ever after.
The End
The Plough
Once, a very, very long time ago, there lived a rich farmer named Nathan, who had grown old, but he was still an excellent craftsman, and knew all about working the land. He had several children who had married and moved to other houses, but his youngest son James still lived with him, and worked his fields for him, with hand tools. Nathan loved his son, and wanted to give him something special for his upcoming birthday—something he could use to make his work much more pleasant and fulfilling. And so, in secret, he drew up the very first design in the world for a horse-drawn plough. No one had ever invented such a thing, but Nathan had been thinking about such a device since he was young, and was eager to finally build it.
And so he went to the shed in front of his house and, just as secretly, began working on this plough. He carefully chose the wood, cut it and smoothed it so it wouldn’t give James splinters in his hands. Nathan sharpened the blade so finely that it would turn the earth over with very little effort. He was very careful as he made every single piece, so that it would work so efficiently that it couldn’t help but bring James satisfaction. And as he stepped back and looked at the finished product, he felt a swell of pride at what he had made.
And so when his son’s birthday came, Nathan happily brought James into the shed and showed him the new plough. James couldn’t help but be mystified and very intrigued.
“Look at this!” Nathan said excitedly. “This will make all your work better for you. See, you hitch it to the horse, and he will pull it for you, and it will till up the earth faster than you can imagine. I’ll show you how to use it tomorrow, but right now I have to go into town to buy food for your birthday feast this evening. When I come back, we can put it on the cart and take it through the north gate to the back field, because it can’t go through anywhere else. All right?”
And so Nathan left James to run his errands. James, however, as he stood and studied the plough, thought to himself, “This doesn’t look complicated to use, or heavy. I bet I can take this plough through to the back and till up half the field before he comes back. He doesn’t need to show me.” So James lifted the plough down off the work table and hauled it out of the shed and into the front yard. However, the plough was slightly heavier than he thought it would be. And when he looked down the length of the house and wall, and saw the distance from here to the north gate, he again thought to himself “This is too heavy to carry all the way down there. Besides, I’m positive the cart won’t fit though that gate, anyway, so I literally can’t take it through that gate on a cart. But I know I can carry this plough through our wide front door and through our courtyard, and right out the back way. That makes much more sense.” And so he carried the plough to the front door and opened the door, and hefted the plough through.
Now, the floor in this courtyard was a beautiful mosaic that James’ father had designed himself when he was a very young man. The family had always been so happy to look at it, and they had often used it for dances and feasts. Thus, James tried to walk very carefully, but also very quickly, because the plough was getting harder and harder to carry.
Then, suddenly, his arms gave way and the plough slipped out of his hands. The pointed end of the blade gouged down into the mosaic floor and tore up several stones—and when James staggered, the back end of the blade slashed his leg open.
He let the plough crash to the floor, grabbed his bleeding wound and let out a string of curses, mostly against his father. What kind of person would make a gift like this for him—a gift that nearly cut his leg off! Enraged, he threw his full strength into it and rammed the plough the rest of the way through the room, churning up the mosaic—because he wanted to. In that moment, he hated his father for this stupid gift, and the fact that it had hurt him like this when he was just trying to make it work. He shoved it through the back door, catching it against the doorframe and knocking off one of the rings that would hitch it to the horse, and flung the plough into the back field. Still bleeding and infuriated, he went to get the horse. When he brought the horse back and tried to hitch it to the plough, it wouldn’t latch properly, so he hooked it up as best he could, set himself behind the plough, and, tears running down his face, ordered the horse to start pulling.
The horse started forward. The plough turned sideways and caught on the earth and tipped, flinging James onto his face in the dirt. Swearing, he got up, righted the plough, cursed at the horse, and kept going.
For a long time, he kept doing this, ploughing as best he could, getting angrier and angrier. But he had to wrestle with the plough to make it do anything at all, walking sideways and bent over and using his full body weight to keep it upright. This way, though the horse staggered and fought, James was able to finish three rows, even with his bleeding leg and the terrible strain in his muscles.
Then, Nathan came home from his errands.
Nathan stepped into the house, and jerked to a stop at the edge of the destroyed mosaic.
“What did you do?” Nathan cried, dashing through the house and out into the field to find his son. “Didn’t I tell you that it can’t go through anywhere but the north gate?”
James stopped his ploughing, his face marred with dirt and tears, and faced his father.
“The cart will not fit through the north
gate! Don’t you know that?” James shouted. “I know that! I couldn’t have taken it through there, and it would have been a waste of time to try. Now, because of your stupid gift, I’m stabbed in the leg and this job is very difficult, not easy—but I’m still doing the best I can with what you gave me. Look, I’ve ploughed up three rows, even with this stupid invention of yours.”
The father came up to him, his eyes filled with concern.
“Are you all right?”
“No, I’m not all right,” James snapped. “But I’m making the best of it, in spite of this ridiculous thing.”
Nathan looked up and down the field.
“Your rows are all crooked.”
“So what?” James answered. “They’ll still be fine for planting.”
“No, they won’t—the hay will choke itself if we plant in these rows. And now your ploughing is too difficult for you to make any progress, and I can see here that the blade is broken, and it’s about to break again,” Nathan said. “Besides, half of it isn’t attached to the horse!”
“Well, the ring and blade were broken before I started,” James said angrily. “So that’s the way it is now. I can’t fix it or change it! Since it’s time to plough, and we can’t put it off, I have to make do with that, and this gash in my leg. I’ve learned how to work with it without you here, and I’ve already worked so hard—I’m not undoing those rows!”
Nathan looked at him quietly for a long time as his son fought back tears. Then, Nathan gently took him by the shoulders and looked into his eyes. And he said:
“What if I told you that I can make all of this right?”
“No, you can’t,” James insisted.
“Yes, I can,” Nathan replied.
“How?” James demanded.
“Well, first, I want to take you inside and clean and bandage that big gash in your leg. Then, we will have a feast to celebrate how happy I am that you were born, and how much I love you.”
James started to cry, but Nathan kept hold of him and went on.
“Then, in the days that you’re healing, you and I can spread out mats on the floor in the courtyard, and we can put the mosaic back together.”
“I don’t know how to do mosaic,” James said, tears streaming down. “Look at it! I can’t fix that—it’s ruined!”
“I will show you how, don’t worry,” Nathan assured him. “It’s a good skill to learn! Then, when you’re healed, we will put this plough on the cart, take it back around and into the shop, and together you and I will make a new blade and reattach the ring. And after we’ve finished that, we’ll put it back on the cart, and bring it around, and I’ll walk right beside you while we re-plough these rows. It will be so much easier when you don’t have a broken plough and a wound in your leg!”
“But I know that the cart won’t fit through that gate!” James insisted. Nathan smiled.
“James, I built that gate myself. I also built the cart. It doesn’t look like it will fit, but it will—by one inch on either side. But it will fit. You just have to trust me, all right?” He looked at James earnestly. “That’s why I wanted you to wait for me, and do as I asked. I didn’t want any of this to happen!” Nathan sighed, but then mustered a smile. “But it can be put to rights. Will you let me show you?”
And so James, tired, frustrated and in pain, reluctantly agreed. He limped into the house with his father supporting him, and Nathan helped him take off all his dirty, ruined clothes, and helped him wash, and then cleaned his wound and bandaged it. Then, Nathan brought out new, fine clothes that he had just retrieved from town, and gave them to his son as a gift. Soon, guests began to arrive for the feast, and when they came in they stood in shock as they stared at the wreckage of the mosaic floor. James face got hot with shame, and he immediately wanted to hide. But Nathan happily said to them,
“My son and I are going to remake a part of this floor together! I want to show him how to master this art, so that he can make his own!”
This was met with great excitement from all Nathan’s friends, and they told James how glad they were for him to be able have lessons from such a great artist as his father. Many of them had also taken lessons from Nathan, and told James how much he would enjoy them.
Then, Nathan, his family and friends feasted Nathan’s son, and toasted him and talked all about how glad they were that he lived, and that he was part of their lives—and Nathan’s joy at James’ mere existence filled the room. James all but forgot the pain in his leg and the shame of that afternoon. And that night, after the feast, he went to bed contented, but the wound in his leg still hurt.
But in the night, he woke up feeling as if his whole body was on fire. Desperately, he called for his father. Nathan hurried into his room, and found that his son had a terrible fever.
“Your wound is infected—you fell in the dirt,” the father realized, looking at it. “I’ll clean it again, and get you some medicine.”
Nathan did so, and James swallowed the medicine his father gave him, which tasted terrible and made his stomach sour.
His fever continued, and afflicted him so much he couldn’t rest. He soaked the bedsheets with sweat, he couldn’t move his leg because it hurt too badly. All the time, Nathan tended the wound, and gave him the medicine at regular intervals.
“Even if it isn’t time for your medicine or for me to change your bandage,” Nathan told him. “If you’re in too much pain, call me—I will just be working in the house.”
James was forced to call for his father several times during the next few days, at all hours, and Nathan always came immediately. He would soak cloths in cool water, and put them on James’s head and chest, to calm him. Nathan also sent messages to his other children, who lived in other houses in the neighborhood, to come home and help. And so James’ brothers and sisters would sit with him in his room all the time, feeding him broth, talking to him and encouraging him, and running to get their father if James’ distress became too great.
One evening, though, James awoke to find no one in his room. The family was actually just out in the next room, dining, but suffering clouded his head and the room was so dark—he thought he’d been abandoned.
Then, outside, it started to rain, and lightning and thunder shook the house. Panic grabbed him as heat consumed his body. He staggered up out of bed, hauled himself through the side room, thinking of nothing but the relief he would get if he could just get outside in the rain and soak himself with cold water.
He pushed through the door and dragged himself out into the storm. But when the rain hit him, it felt like knives stabbing into him all over his body.
Shocking pain blinded him, and he collapsed into the mud. Cold engulfed him, and he started shivering violently, and could not get up—he was too weak. He was certain he was going to die. He managed to roll onto his back—the lightning blazed overhead, and the thunder cracked like a landslide. It flooded him with terror.
“Help!” he tried, his voice hoarse—but there was no way anyone could hear him over the roar of the storm. “Help…!”
He swooned, about to lose consciousness. And he had no more strength to call.
Then, he felt strong hands grab him. Lift him up. More than one set of hands, it seemed like. The next moment, he was being carried, and then the rain stopped stabbing him. Voices all around him. Soon, he was stripped, and laid down in a gentle, warm bath in the large, white bathing room. His head cleared, he stopped shivering, and at last he was able to open his eyes and look around. Nathan, careworn, sat beside the tub, watching him.
“I’m sorry,” said James feebly. “It was just too much—I couldn’t stand it.”
“Why didn’t you call for me?” Nathan asked.
“I thought you couldn’t hear me.”
Nathan reached out and grasped his son’s fingers.
“When you were a little baby, I would creep around the house so quietly while you slept so I wouldn’t wake you up, and no matter what I was doing, I would strain to listen, in
case you made the tiniest sound, so I could come help.”
Tears stung James’ eyes.
“Why didn’t you hear me leave, then?” James wanted to know, anger rising in his chest. His father raised his eyebrows.
“I did. That’s why I ran out with your brothers and sisters and found you.”
James frowned.
“How long was I lying out there?”
“About half a minute,” Nathan answered.
“It felt like a lot longer than that…” James murmured. Nathan squeezed his hand.
“I know it did.”
James’s frustrated tears welled up and trailed down his cheeks.
“Why is this so hard?” he gasped. “Why is it taking so long for me to feel better? Why isn’t the medicine working?”
“It is working,” Nathan insisted. “But it just takes a while.”
“I want it to stop hurting now,” James gritted his teeth. “I’m so sick of feeling like this!”
“I know,” Nathan nodded. “Unfortunately, that isn’t how healing works. It takes time. But you’ll be stronger when it passes than you were before this happened.”
“That stupid plough,” James muttered. “I hate it.”
“Don’t think about the plough for a while,” Nathan urged. “Just lie here and relax. I’ll tell you what the neighbors have been doing lately.”
And so James soaked in the bath, while his father poured soothing oils into the water, and told him about the trivial things that had been occupying the fellow farmers round about. Then, his father helped him out of the bath, helped him dry, re-bandaged the wound, dressed him in fresh nightclothes, gave him more medicine, and helped him to Nathan’s own bed. He also opened a window so the cool breeze could waft into the room, and the sound of the rain could act as a lullaby. Then, Nathan lay down next to his son.
“I’ll be right here, all night,” Nathan told him. James nodded, and tried to sleep.
Alydia Rackham's Fairytales Page 2