Beneath her hand, the creature shook, his body tense. “The antlers could gore you in an instant,” he said matter-of-factly. “Are you willing to risk staying here?”
Jenna shuddered. She couldn’t help it. At the same time, she suddenly realized that the antlers felt familiar. In fact, she recalled how something sharp had brushed her hand the day she’d fallen from the tree. She whispered, “I’m willing to stay with you.”
After a long silence, the beast said, “I’ll leave you now. Tonight, will you join me for supper?”
“Yes,” Jenna said. She listened as the beast strode to the door. Quickly, she asked, “Please, sir. What should I call you?”
He laughed that harsh laugh again, a sound of bitter amusement. “Beast will suffice.”
“No.” Jenna trembled at her daring, but the refusal had already been spoken. “I meant, what’s your name?”
“It’s Beast. You’ll call me that, for it’s what I am.”
“The villagers call me Blind. It’s a title that limits me. I’m not calling you by a mere title. My name’s Jenna. If you won’t tell me your name, then I won’t call you anything. Then what kind of conversations would we have?”
“Am I master here or not?” the beast growled angrily. Then he said, “My name is Paul.” He stormed from the room before Jenna could say anything else.
Jenna rose from the bed and groped around the chamber. Opening a massive wardrobe door, she brushed her hands along an array of gowns and night apparel. Mirabel would love these clothes, she thought.
“Can I help, my lady?” A young, female voice filled the room, and Jenna started, for she hadn’t heard the door open.
“I’m fine, thank you.”
“I can get you any gown you prefer. Lots of varying colors. I think a plum gown would be best.”
Although Jenna strained her ears, she heard no footfall or rustling garment. Moreover, the voice seemed to be issuing from the wardrobe through which her hands were rummaging. “What’s your name? May I shake your hand?”
The voice laughed. “I apologize, my lady. I have no hand for you to shake. Not anymore.” The voice was suddenly sad.
Jenna swallowed nervously. Poppa’s story of the candelabra. It was true. “You’re a wardrobe?”
“Didn’t I hear you tell the master you wouldn’t answer to titles? Nor shall I. My name’s Betsy. Do you want a gown? If not, kindly close these confounded doors. I was trying to sleep.”
Jenna laughed. “You choose the gown, please. I don’t know what to suggest. May I ask how you were enchanted?”
Betsy sighed, and garments rustled upon hooks. Then Jenna felt a gown as soft as gossamer land within her hands, a garment with teardrop-shaped beads upon its collar.
“Seed pearls,” Betsy murmured, “set against plum and rose silk. To answer your question, Claudio caused my enchantment to happen. He claimed to be an amateur enchanter. I, however, disagree.” She laughed. “I’m in this state, aren’t I? That’s not the work of a novice.”
Jenna fingered the brilliant gown she held, her mind spinning in confusion. “Who was Claudio? Was he evil?”
“Evil? My, no! Claudio sought to protect his charges at all costs. He was the head servant. A very kind man who would do anything for anyone. Then—”
Betsy’s voice broke, but she finally said, “It was the day of Paul’s fifteenth birthday. When I brought him his tea, he rushed at me like a madman, demanding to leave the grounds. He howled, charging from the room. I’ve never heard such pitiful screams.”
Betsy related how the duke had been wounded when he tried to prevent Paul from leaving the grounds. Claudio had stepped between father and son as they battled.
“Claudio was so old,” Betsy whispered, “so very frail. He was killed. As he lay dying, he said, ‘I’ve done all I can, Gustav. I’ve ensured that the servants will not leave, as they will desire to help you, and the roses will help too.’ When he died, the changes came upon us.”
Jenna shivered. “As he died, Claudio changed the servants into objects?”
“Yes, my lady. Claudio didn’t realize that the enchantment was so strong. The magic misinterpreted his directions and made certain the servants would stay, no matter what. Duke Gustav died soon after that day. No one quite knows how, but he was terribly upset about Claudio’s death. Many of us think the distress acted upon his heart. Paul has never sought to leave the castle again.”
Jenna felt sadness grip her heart. She knew what it was like to be confined. She loved her family and would do anything for them, yet she also battled with anger against them. So wasn’t she as much of a beast as Paul? She knew she couldn’t hide in this room. She resolved to make the most of her time at the castle.
Chapter Fourteen
The rest of the day was spent exploring the gigantic castle. Jenna met the candelabra, whose name was Lucian. She laughed when she heard the clinking of his footsteps following her down corridors.
“I know you don’t need light, miss,” Lucian said once, “but it’s such a treat having a human here. Is it permissible for me to walk with you occasionally?”
Jenna smiled. “Of course.” She turned down one more corridor, her nose suddenly filling with the wonderful scent of leather-bound books. She opened a door and stepped into a room that held the fragrance of knowledge. A library, she thought with longing. She began shuffling along numerous bookshelves, stroking dusty spines. She took a book from a shelf and rifled through its pages, delighting in the brusque conversation of rustling paper.
“Could you once see?” The reverberating voice spoke behind her, and Jenna jumped, dropping the book. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.” Paul’s voice was heavy with weary regret.
“I didn’t hear you come in,” Jenna said.
“You were absorbed. It’s teatime. I always take tea in the library. Would you like some?”
“Yes, please,” Jenna murmured. She followed Paul’s reverberating footsteps until she reached a table. She sat within a wicker chair. A tea tray containing cucumber and pâté sandwiches and chocolate cake sat upon the table before her.
Jenna’s stomach growled. She remembered lavish teas from happier times, and she reveled in the bounty before her. As she ate, she said, “You asked if I could once see. Yes, I could, but I was burned in a fire.” She swallowed and blinked rapidly. “Mother was killed.” She placed her fork onto her plate, her appetite suddenly gone.
“What happened?” Paul’s voice was gentle.
Jenna sat down her cup, listening to it rattle upon its saucer. “They always say that I didn’t do it, but I know what happened.” Her hands began to shake.
“Tell me.”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“I think I would!” Paul spoke harshly, and Jenna trembled. She thought of Betsy’s story.
“I was twelve,” Jenna said. “It was fall festival time, and there was to be a dance. I wanted to go. Mother said she needed help and that I couldn’t go. We’d dismissed our servants, and that meant extra work for all of us. It’s funny, because I didn’t really care about the dance. I was angry about our misfortune.
“I told Mother I hated her. I ran from the house, forgetting that I had soup simmering on the hearth. Mother ran after me, but I hid in the woods, listening to her search for me. I don’t know how long I stayed there, but suddenly I saw a plume of smoke coming from our house. I remember hearing Mother scream as I ran toward the house. When I burst into the clearing, our home was ablaze, and she was inside, trying to put out the flames. I rushed inside to help her and felt the heat surround me, but she tried to shove me back outside. Then the roof collapsed, and I don’t remember anything more.
“I must have fainted, because when I woke up, I learned that Mother had died. She’d pushed me to safety, but she’d been crushed by debris when a portion of the house collapsed. I-I killed my own—” Jenna stopped speaking, only then realizing how hard she was breathing.
“There’s a difference between d
eliberately killing and doing so by accident,” Paul said. “You left her, but then you came back.”
“That doesn’t change anything. She’s dead.” Jenna stood and turned from the table. “Tea’s meant to be a peaceful meal, and I’ve spoiled it for you. I’m sorry.”
The silence seemed exceedingly heavy, and then Paul spoke, his voice shaking. “When I killed Claudio, I was so frightened. I remember awakening on my fifteenth birthday, and I somehow knew that I was being held prisoner here. Father wouldn’t let me leave, and we struggled. Then Claudio stepped between us. ‘Let him go, master,’ Claudio kept saying. ‘I’ll follow him.’ But Father wouldn’t listen.”
Paul’s voice broke, and a whimper escaped his throat. “I struck blindly with my antlers, and Claudio fell. I remember screaming at Father, telling him it was all his fault. Father turned away from me and reentered the castle. Two days later, he was walking in these gardens. I was watching from an upstairs window and saw him clutch his chest and collapse. I ran into the garden and saw that he was lying so still. His face was twisted with pain.
“He raised his head and looked me in the eyes. It was the first time he’d ever looked at me directly. ‘Monster,’ he gasped, his words barely audible. ‘They will call you a monster. People will try to kill you. You must promise me you’ll never leave here.’ I knew that Father was right, but before I could tell him that I would obey him, he was dead.
“I was so terrified! The servants had been transformed, and I was alone. I pleaded for someone to help me. The roses sang me to sleep, and when I awoke, Father’s body was gone. I hid in the castle, resolving never to leave. Yet I couldn’t banish thoughts of the roses from my mind, so I continued tending them daily.”
Jenna trembled. “You didn’t have to tell me that.”
“Yes, I did. I want you to know that I understand. Both our parents are dead, and we each have experienced guilt.”
Jenna sucked in her breath. She felt tired but oddly relieved, almost as if a stone had been lifted from her chest. Even so, she hadn’t meant to cause Paul pain. Telling his story had obviously been hard for him, as difficult as telling hers had been for her. She shuffled toward the library door.
“I observed you with the books.” Paul spoke urgently, a desperate cry in his voice. “What types of books do you like the best?”
Jenna turned and slowly sat back down. “Fairy tales. I know I’m too old for them, but I like stories where evil is vanquished. Mirabel’s always reminding me that life isn’t a fairy tale. I know that, of course, but it’s so nice to dream. Those stories give me hope.”
Paul was silent for a time. Then he murmured, “I like them too, even if they’re wishful thinking. I think I can help you.” He stood and walked to a shelf. Jenna heard a peculiar sound, the sound of scratching against paper. Then Paul returned. “I’m placing this paper in front of you. Do you remember what letters look like?”
“I think so.”
“It’s just an idea. Touch the paper.”
Her hands trembling, Jenna ran her fingers along the paper. It bore claw marks in the exact shape of letters. She traced the first letter, feeling a circle beneath her fingers. O, she thought. Then she traced the second letter, two vertical lines with a diagonal one in the center of them. N. Then a half-circle. C. Then a vertical line with three horizontal ones jutting to the right of it. E.
Jenna gasped with joy. It was as if a fountain had been unstopped. Cleansing coolness filled her. Even if this feeling did not last, the sadness was momentarily gone. She read four of the most beautiful words ever written: “Once upon a time.” That was all Paul had written, but it was enough.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Paul laughed as he had done so often before, but the sound was not as bitter as usual. “You’re welcome,” he said.
Chapter Fifteen
Each day was a new adventure. Jenna walked with Paul in the garden, and they spent much time in the library. With Jenna’s help, Paul refined his system so that she could read. She did not read quickly, and transcribing was tedious work, but Jenna relished the times she and Paul held copies of the same story in their hands. They’d read together and travel to distant lands.
Each night, they partook of sumptuous meals. The first time Jenna had expressed a longing for Peppermint Surprise, a dessert that Mirabel used to make, she’d been shocked to find a large dish of the fragrant dessert in front of her. Tentatively, she had tasted the dessert, delighting in the melting marshmallows, whipped cream, and brittle fragments of refreshing mint candy. She remembered Poppa’s story of the cordial bottle that had magically appeared. Paul told her that Claudio had ensured that food and drink of any kind would always be available.
After the meals, Paul and Jenna retired to a lavish music room. They were treated to magnificent concerts. The violins, cellos, trumpets, and clarinets played of their own accord, as did the grand piano.
One night, they even danced together. This attempt was rather dismal, for they both had two left feet, but the experience was worthwhile. Before long, a month had passed.
Each night before retiring to their bedchambers, Paul asked Jenna the same questions: “Do you want to stay here? Are you happy with me?”
Jenna always answered in the affirmative, but over time, her answer to the first question was hesitant. Paul noticed this, of course.
One night, Paul said, “You cannot pretend with me. Tell me what is wrong.”
“I want to see my father and sister again. I miss them so much,” Jenna whispered.
Paul moved closer to her. His voice was choked when he said, “The night your father came here, I was terrified. The roses later told me they felt sorry for him. That’s why they let him in. I allowed him to stay simply to hear another human voice. The next morning, I saw him reach toward my friends. He meant to take one away from me. I was furious and frightened. When I saw his face for the first time, I was shocked. There are gaps in my memory, times I cannot reclaim. Like I told you, my dream of you was so real. I made that bargain with your father because I was so lonely. You’ve filled my heart with such joy, Jenna. I can’t bear for you to leave me.”
“You asked the question, and I answered honestly. I won’t leave you,” Jenna said. The sadness that had been sleeping in her heart suddenly awoke.
There was a long silence. Then Paul said, “And yet, if you don’t leave here, you’ll be miserable.” Jenna heard him suck in his breath, and when he spoke again, his voice was sharp. “You’ll leave tomorrow.”
“What?”
“You heard me.” He turned abruptly and stormed from the room.
Jenna trudged to her bedchamber. She lay down and succumbed to the sadness, feeling it invade her mind. She longed to go home, yet she also longed to stay with Paul. Gradually, she sank into a fitful sleep.
Part Three: The Confrontation
Chapter Sixteen
The cottage walls pulsed with ominous silence. Poppa lay still as death. Mirabel bent over him, running a damp cloth across his fevered brow. Poppa had been sick for three weeks, and the fever wouldn’t break. Reinhardt had brought Poppa home the night Jenna had left. For the first week of Jenna’s absence, Poppa had journeyed far each day, determined to find her. Every night, he returned to the cottage, despair enshrouding him. The fever had come upon him suddenly and relentlessly.
Mirabel sobbed. If only Jenna were here. Mirabel knew that Poppa’s illness wasn’t simply physical. It was the result of a broken heart.
Mirabel glanced around the cottage. Her eyes alighted upon Reinhardt’s cloth bag. He’d gone to retrieve more water and would return shortly. Reinhardt had tried so many medicines, seeking something to break the fever. Was it possible Mirabel could find something herself? She retrieved the bag, peering inside at boxes and bottles.
“What’re you doing?”
Mirabel started and turned, staring into Reinhardt’s fatigued face. She hadn’t heard him enter.
“I’m trying to find someth
ing to help him. You aren’t helping—” Mirabel’s voice broke, and tears coursed down her cheeks. “I didn’t mean that. I-I’m sorry.”
Reinhardt took the bag from Mirabel’s hand. “I’m doing all I can, Miri.”
Mirabel nodded. “I don’t know what I’d do without you. Isn’t there any hope? Be honest with me.” Her face crumpled with pain.
Reinhardt drew Mirabel into his arms. “As long as the heart beats, there is hope, Miri. Yet I fear that Marcus’ illness stems from despair. If a person loses the will to live—” His voice trailed away, and his features hardened. “Rest assured that if I cannot save Marcus, I can at least avenge his death, and Jenna’s as well. I won’t allow that monster to hurt anyone else, and I’ll do all I can to protect you.”
He ran his fingers through Mirabel’s chestnut hair and gently kissed her lips. As he felt her respond, euphoria filled him. They were so alike, kindred spirits fighting against an unjust world. He drew her closer. “You fill me with such joy,” he breathed.
Mirabel moaned, disentangling herself from his embrace. She shook, her knees as weak as water. His kiss was the stuff of fairy tales, the kiss of an ardent prince. It was wonderful, and yet it was terrifying. She longed to let him hold her, but if she did, she knew where it would lead. Her eyes strayed to Poppa’s sleeping form.
“Please don’t,” she whispered.
Reinhardt blinked as if awakening from a dream. Trembling, he stepped away from her. “Forgive me,” he whispered. “I’ll find that demon tonight. I’ll kill him.”
Miles away in Paul’s castle, Jenna awoke. She heard screaming. The screams were her own.
Chapter Seventeen
The door of Jenna’s chamber banged open, and Paul rushed in. His voice rumbled with concern when he asked, “What’s wrong?”
Blind Beauty and Other Tales of Redemption Page 5