Violet Eyes

by Debbie Viguié

  “Beautiful,” Genevieve said.

  “Like a princess,” Arianna confirmed.

  “Like the most beautiful bride Cambria has ever seen,” Goldie said.

  Violet hugged her friends. In less than an hour she and Richard would be married. It still took her breath away to think about it.

  There was a knock on the door, and Goldie went to get it. “You have visitors, Violet.”

  Violet turned to see two elegantly dressed women walk into the room arm in arm. The first was Richard’s mother, and the second was hers. Violet felt tears of joy stinging her eyes. Sarah’s cough was getting better each day, and although she was very weak, she had begun to get out of bed. Still, Queen Martha had spent hours with Sarah, and the two had enjoyed planning every moment of the wedding together. Violet marveled as she saw the queen holding up her adopted mother and was touched by how generous Richard’s mom was and how caring.

  Violet’s parents had been invited to live in the castle, but they weren’t entirely sure they were ready to give up farming. Violet had persuaded them to stay for a couple of weeks after she married Richard. It would give her mom more time to recover, and when Thomas had shown up the day before for the festivities, he had very solemnly promised to run the farm in their absence.

  Violet embraced the two women and then offered them seats. “Violet, have you seen the portrait of your mother?” Sarah asked.

  Violet nodded. The portraits of the former royal family had been in storage for nearly seventeen years. King Charles had had the large canvases brought out, and Violet had been delighted to see that there was a family resemblance.

  “The same beautiful violet eyes. That night you arrived here, I felt you had to be related,” Queen Mary said, with a smile.

  “I’m still surprised you let me in the door, as wretched as I looked that night,” Violet said.

  “But if I remember correctly, you looked gorgeous by dinner. I knew that dress would look perfect on you.”

  “So, it was you who sent the clothes?” Violet asked.

  “Yes. I always believed that you had survived, and I had hoped someday we would find you. When it looked like you might actually be the princess, how could I not make sure you were at least attired like one?”

  Violet smiled. “I have so much to thank you both for.”

  “I did bring you something for good luck today. You can put it in your shoe or your bodice,” the queen said.

  “What is it?”

  “Hold out your hand.”

  Violet did as instructed, and into it the queen dropped a single black pea. Violet stared at its round black shape before looking up at the other woman.

  “It’s from underneath your mattresses. That pea helped bring you to this day. And now I think you’ve had quite enough of nightmares, so never fall asleep near it again.”

  Violet started laughing.

  Out in the hall she heard a familiar voice and smiled. “What’s so funny in there?” she heard her father ask.

  “Nothing!” Violet called back.

  “May we come in?” Richard asked, trying to sound innocent.

  “No,” Violet said, walking close to the door. She touched it and could feel his presence on the other side.

  “This door can’t keep us apart forever,” he joked.

  Violet smiled and looked at the pea. “Nothing can keep us apart ever again.”

  “You know, in less than an hour everything changes,” he whispered.

  “I know,” Violet whispered back, glancing out the window at the gathering storm clouds and smiling.

  DON’T MISS THIS MAGICAL TITLE

  IN THE ONCE UPON A TIME SERIES!

  Midnight Pearls

  DEBBIE VIGUIÉ

  It should have been the happiest day of her life, but instead it was a living nightmare. Pearl slowly fingered the fabric of her pale blue gown and closed her eyes. Fat tears squeezed cut from beneath her eyelids and rolled down her cheeks.

  The bell of the chapel began to ring. It was ringing for her. Its keening was her death sentence, its steady beat her death march. She felt herself begin to shake. Today was the last day of her freedom, her last taste of joy. She opened her eyes and stared down at her slippers. They gleamed softly white, mocking her. Today was supposed to be the happiest day of her life, for today she would become a bride.

  She looked back upon her life and saw how every step had led her here. Where had it all gone wrong? What could she have changed?

  She closed her eyes again and prayed for death.

  The fisherman sat quietly in his boat staring at the darkening skies. The sun should have stood directly overhead, marking midday, but instead it was obscured by angry clouds that seemed to grow thicker by the moment. He squinted, staring at the horizon. The leathery skin of his face crinkled around his hazel eyes. A storm was coming up fast, too fast. A stiff wind suddenly sprang to life, roaring across the bow of the boat and bringing with it the unmistakable smell of rain. It was time to head for shore.

  The fish had been acting strange all day, nervous, as though there was a predator lurking in the darkening water. He had been out since noon, and not a single one had found its way into his nets. Still, he had seen the dancing shadows and quick flashes of silver that indicated their presence. He quickly pulled the woven rope nets in and secured them.

  A raindrop splatted on his nose and a shiver danced up his spine. Finneas,he thought, you’d better get yourself home fast,

  No sooner had he picked up the oars and began to row than the heavens let loose. The ocean began to heave, and it was all he could do to keep the tiny boat from capsizing.

  He strained at the oars with all his might. He had never seen a storm come up so quickly. He should have had time to make it home before the weather became this bad. His arms began to ache with the strain of fighting the waves. A huge one bore down on him, and he saw it through the rain, but it was too late to turn the boat. It crested over the bow and filled the tiny vessel with water.

  He had always been careful, always respected the sea not only for what it could give but also for what it could take. He had lost his father and his two brothers to its wrath. His was a family of fishermen eking out a living from the sea. But the sea was a fickle mistress. He remembered the storm that had taken the lives of the other men in his family. Still, he, too, had gone to the sea for his livelihood. It was all he knew.

  As wave after wave continued to crash down upon him, he knew that his time had come at last. The sea would claim him this day, and he would never see his beloved Mary again. He whispered a desperate prayer to St. Michael, patron saint of the sea, and another one to King Neptune for good measure. Father Gregory would not be happy about that, but the good father wasn’t there to take offense.

  A short distance ahead of him he saw a light shimmering in the water that grew brighter as he watched. Was it the angel of death coming to take him? He briefly thought about trying to go around the spot. He was too tired, though, to waste his strength rowing the extra distance. And if it is the angel of death,he reasoned, he’ll find me whether I turn the boat or not.He kept his course, and moments later he was right above the light. He stared down into the water but could see nothing.

  Cast out your nets,a voice whispered in his head. Without thinking, Finneas scurried to comply, heaving the nets over the side and dropping them down into the light. Something heavy caught in them, and he feared that between the weight and the raging of the ocean the ropes would snap. He began to pull them in. They held, and the light grew brighter as he kept pulling. At last something broke the surface of the water.

  Finneas gasped as the small face of a child looked up at him. She had enormous eyes that shone dark against her pale skin. Her white hair floated on the water, each long strand glimmering with a greenish light—the glow that he had seen. She was caught in his net, and he heaved her into the boat. She sat very still, the blinking of her eyes the only sign of life.

  He quickly untangled her u
ntil she sat naked and shivering in the bottom of the tiny vessel. He peeled off his coat and wrapped it around her. For a moment he forgot the wind and waves and storm as he stared at her. What had Father Gregory read from the Good Book that morning? “I will make you fishers of men.”

  He smiled reassuringly at the child as he picked up his oars.“We are going to make it, you and I.” She just blinked her enormous eyes.

  God, Neptune, St. Michael—someone had sent the child to him. He couldn’t 1et her die in the storm, That conviction gave him the will to keep pulling at the oars. At last after what seemed like an eternity, the wind swept aside a curtain of rain and he caught a glimpse of the shore. His heart lifted at the sight, and he pulled on the oars with renewed strength.

  Finally they hit the beach. He scrambled out of the boat and began to try to pull it backward onto the sand. Finneas fell to his knees, a sob escaping him. He was too weak. He felt his fingers beginning to slip from the bow when, suddenly, strong hands closed over his and lent their strength. Together they pulled the ship backward up onto the beach.

  Finneas collapsed onto the sand gasping and looked up to see his wife. His heart filled at the sight of her face, beautiful in his eyes. “Mary, I thought I’d never see you again.”

  “And I you,” she answered.

  He gestured to the boat. “I brought you something.”

  She looked in and gasped softly. “Oh my.”

  They made it to the house and barred the door against the lashing rain, Finneas peeled off his wet clothes, depositing them in a heap by the fire and changing into dry ones while Mary wrapped the child in a warm blanket. She sat down with her by the fire and lifted a lock of her wet hair. Finneas noticed that the glow from the child’s hair was slowly fading.

  He shivered and muttered a silent prayer. Still, as he looked into the little girl’s enormous eyes, he couldn’t see any evil lurking in them. If she isn’t of the devil, then she has to he from God.He nodded slowly. She was God’s gift to his Mary, who had no child of her own. He placed a hand on Mary’s shoulder.

  When Mary looked up at him he had no answers for the questions in her eyes. They stared at each other for several minutes before she broke the silence.

  “I thought you might be dead,” she croaked, her voice hoarse.

  “I nearly was,” he admitted as he took a seat beside her. “Then I found her—out there in the water. I knew then that I was going to live and that the Good Lord wanted me to bring her home—to you.”

  Mary gently stroked the girl’s hair. “She can’t be more than four years old. What do you think she was doing out there by herself?”

  Finneas shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  The girl stirred in Mary’s arms and stretched her small hand out toward the fire. Her skin was pale, deathly pale. Finneas felt his heart begin to pound. For a moment, when her hand was up in front of the fire, he imagined that he’d been able to see right through the skin, through her very hand, to see the fire glowing on the other side.

  He shook his head to clear it. I’m exhausted, and a trick of the light sent my imagination on a flight of fancy. That is all.But beside him he heard Mary gasp, and when she turned to him with fearful eyes he knew that it was no trick and that she had seen it too.

  “Wh-what is she?”

  He met Mary’s eyes. “I don’t know and I don’t think we want to know.”

  She nodded slowly, and a silent agreement stretched between them. The child looked up at them questioningly. She stretched out her other hand from beneath the blanket. It was balled into a tight fist. Something dark shone through the cracks between her fingers.

  “What have you got, little one?” Finneas asked, reaching gently to take her hand. He pushed at her fingers, and reluctantly her fist began to open.

  There in her palm was the largest pearl he had ever seen. It was a shiny, midnight blue color and was almost perfectly round. He had never seen anything like it.

  Her small fingers balled around it, and her hand disappeared back beneath the blanket. He laid a hand upon her head. “I think we’ll call her Pearl.”

  Two days later the storm had passed, but the destruction it had left in its wake was staggering. Villages up and down the coast had been destroyed, some of them completely. Worse, several hundred people had been killed.

  As Finneas sat beside Mary in church that Sunday, he fervently thanked God for the safety they had enjoyed. Only a couple of people from their village had lost their lives. The priest solemnly prayed for their souls. In front of Finneas the town blacksmith, Thomas, bowed his head in sorrow. His wife had been one of those who was lost.

  Finneas felt guilty for his and Mary’s happiness in the face of so much sorrow. Happy they were, though, for little Pearl sat between them. The storm that had brought her to them had made it easy to explain her sudden presence. They had simply told everyone that she was the child of a distant cousin in another village who had been killed in the storm.

  That had satisfied the others, although it hadn’t stopped them from casting puzzled looks at Pearl. Finneas closed a hand around Pearl’s protectively. Maybe with time the sun would tan her unnaturally pale skin, and as she continued to grow, surely she would grow into her long legs.

  She looked up at him with her wide, dark eyes and asked him a question. At least, he thought it was a question. He had no way to answer her, though. Whatever language it was she spoke was foreign to him. He thought it might be Italian, but he wasn’t sure.

  He just shook his head and squeezed her hand. They were working on teaching her English. He just prayed they would be able to communicate quickly before it became too much of a problem.

  Mary turned to look at him and he smiled to hide his concern. He couldn’t help but be afraid. Pearl was different; he wasn’t sure how or why, but he did know the people of his village. They didn’t tolerate anyone or anything that was different. Only five years earlier an angry mob had seized a woman, a traveling gypsy, accused her of Witchcraft, and burned her at the stake. He shuddered at the memory. And there was nothing I could do to stop it.

  He gripped Pearl’s hand even tighter until she began to wriggle her fingers. He had had a nightmare about the villagers trying to do the same to Pearl and him not being able to reach her. He had awoken screaming and soaked in sweat. He had lied to Mary for the first time in his life, telling her he didn’t remember the dream. He had vowed, lying there, shivering and praying, that he would do everything in his power to keep them from hurting Pearl. He just continued to smile at Mary, who had enough to worry about without hearing his fears.

  When the services were over, he picked Pearl up in his arms. She hadn’t yet seemed to master walking. She was trying, but she just went skittering on her long limbs, wobbling back and forth and landing in a heap time after time. She just needs to grow into her legs,he thought.

  She wrapped her tiny arms around his neck and looked up at him. She asked him what sounded like a question. Her tiny voice lilted as though she was singing. He just shook his head and kissed her cheek.

  She held her pearl out to him and he kissed it as well. Mary had secured it with a thin piece of rope and a loop so that Pearl could wear the shiny orb around her neck. She laughed up at him. Her laughter, at least, he could understand.

  That night Finneas sat bolt upright in bed, awakened by a keening sound that split the stillness and reverberated in the air. Chills danced up and down his spine, and fear touched his heart. Beside him Mary sprang from the bed, grabbing for her shawl. They glanced to the bed where Pearl should have been, but it was empty. A hard knot settled in the bottom of his stomach.

  They exchanged frightened glances and began to search the cabin. They found her moments later sitting in the kitchen. She was surrounded by dead fish that were scattered about on the kitchen floor. She must have pulled them off the counter and unwrapped them from their protective coverings.

  The stench of death was strong, and an unnatural sound was coming from Pe
arl. She stared up at them and pointed to a dead fish and then to Finneas. His heart began to pound as he realized that she was blaming him for its death.

  Mary knelt down and folded the girl in her arms. “Those are fish. We eat the fish so that we can be strong,” she tried to explain.

  Pearl began to cry and Mary just held her, clearly not knowing what to say. Finally she looked up at Finneas, and he saw the tears shimmering on her cheeks as well. “Clean up the fish and hide them,” she instructed him. “We’ll keep them out of her sight, at least for now.”

  Nodding, Finneas did as he was told. The sound of her cries echoed inside his head continuing long after she had fallen asleep in Mary’s arms. It had been a completely unnatural sound, unlike anything he had ever heard.

  About the Author

  DEBBIE VIGUIÉ holds a degree in creative writing from UC Davis. Her Simon Pulse books include the New York Times bestselling Wicked series with Nancy Holder, and the novels Midnight Pearls and Scarlet Moon. She currently lives in Hawaii with her husband, Scott. Visit her at debbieviguie.com.