Rachel smiled. “I’m getting some strawberries for my mother. We’re going to bake a pie.”
“Pies, eh? You’re in for a treat then. The best berries around.” The woman smiled. “Best get along with you. Don’t want to be out here after nightfall.”
Rachel nodded. “Thank you, Grandmother.” She waved as well and resumed her journey. As she walked further into the forest, she noticed that the clear path before her was beginning to fade. The sun hid behind a cloud, and a chill filled the air. Most startling of all, plants of different types sprawled upon the ground. Rachel suddenly realized that the plants were encroaching upon her path. She clawed at brambles that snagged her clothing. Soon her cheeks were flushed with exertion. The harder she tried to avoid the brambles, the more numerous they became. She cried out when a particularly tenacious bramble scratched her arm.
“Oh, dearie me, this won’t do.” Rachel jumped as the old woman’s voice interrupted her efforts. The woman’s voice was tinged with concern. She emerged seemingly from nowhere and reached forward, thrusting the bramble aside. “Pesky things, these plants are. Very territorial. Got to worrying about you, so I decided to come back and check how you were faring. Awful young to be out here alone. Woods are dangerous places, you know. Wolves and other beasties lurk about.”
Rachel trembled at these words, but the woman smiled reassuringly. “They won’t attack unless provoked. More afraid of you than you are of them. Anyway, they can’t hurt you when I’m here. Come. Let’s get you those strawberries.” She offered her hand, and after a moment, Rachel took it.
The longer they walked, the more relaxed Rachel became. The woman talked of frivolous things, and she was very kind. Rachel also realized that the plants were no longer bothering her. Perhaps she’d simply not known how to walk through them properly.
Soon they emerged into a spacious grove. Strawberry vines brushed the ground. Vibrant berries sparkled upon them. Rachel gaped and turned to the woman. “So many of them.”
The woman nodded and grinned. “Indeed. Lovely berries of innocence.” She plucked one and popped it into her mouth. Crimson juice dribbled down her chin, and she slowly licked it away. “Ah. Not too bitter and not too sweet.” She plucked another berry, her expression suddenly growing pensive. “So sad that life isn’t like strawberries, isn’t it?”
Rachel frowned in confusion. “I don’t understand.”
The woman laughed. “I was just remembering my younger days. I once loved someone, although you wouldn’t think it to look at me. We often met on spring days such as this one. During the strawberry season, we’d share the first ripe berries. They’re a remarkable fruit. They tell us of happiness. Hence their heart shape. They’re the perfect symbol of young love.” The woman placed the strawberry to her lips and ate appreciatively. After finishing, she said, “Now apples, on the other hand? They’re a different story. My love and I shared an apple once. It was late autumn, and I remember how sweet it tasted. But, after autumn comes winter, doesn’t it? We were separated for a time, and when I finally saw my love again, we were separated forever.” The woman hung her head. When she spoke again, her voice shook. “I was always homely, you see. I never knew my mother. Father said she died when I was born, that the sight of me broke her heart. Flowers were my only friends. I longed to play with the village children, but they merely laughed. ‘We don’t want the likes of you,’ one lad said. ‘Go and play with the flowers you love so much. Although it’s a wonder they haven’t withered at the sight of you.’” The woman shook her head and clicked her tongue. “One day as the bullies jeered, my love appeared and reprimanded them all. It was the first time we met.” She smiled. “After my tormentors left, my love offered me an apple tart. I ate half and my love ate the other half. It was a test, you see. My love passed.”
Rachel fidgeted, trying to conceal her impatience. She began filling her basket. “I like apples,” she said offhandedly.
“Oh, so do I, although they’re not a fruit of happiness. They have quite a sad history, you know.” The woman held out her hand, causing Rachel to cease her work and blink in surprise. The woman held a gleaming apple. The apple was rosy red, a red of such vibrancy that Rachel gasped. Her mouth watered, and a strange longing filled her heart.
“Where did you get that?” Rachel asked.
The woman smiled. “I have my sources. Would you like to try it?”
Rachel frowned. Mother had always told her not to accept food from strangers. She shook her head.
“Suit yourself.” The woman placed the apple to her lips and took a large bite. She sighed with pleasure. “Apples may have a sad history, but they taste divine.” Then she held out the apple once again, grinning invitingly. “Afraid of poison, dearie?”
Rachel’s stomach growled, yet she continued to hesitate. She suddenly felt uneasy. “I must go,” she said. “Thank you for your help. It was nice to meet you.”
The woman nodded and smiled. “You as well. May I escort you home?” She held out her hand yet again and leaned forward. The expression on her face shifted from carefree kindness to concern. “I see sadness on your face, child. I can help you.”
Rachel’s uneasiness abated. This woman was strange, but she obviously meant well. “We don’t have much money anymore,” she blurted, blushing as the words tumbled out.
“I know.”
Rachel frowned. “What do you mean? Who are you?”
“I’m a friend who offers you a gift. How do you think you made it through this forest, dearie? I said nothing would harm you with me around.” She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I know bits of magic.” She proffered the apple yet again. “This apple grants wishes. One bite, and your fortunes will change. Your mother will want for nothing, and you will be protected forever.”
Rachel gasped. The hunger for the apple became overpowering. What if she could help Mother? What if Mother were happy again? Before she allowed herself to think too deeply, her hand closed over the gleaming fruit. She inhaled its sweet aroma and sank her teeth into the taut flesh, biting from the intact side.
A heady sweetness filled Rachel’s mouth as the piece of fruit passed between her lips with a satisfying crunch. Then her heart constricted in pain. Rachel cried out, and a bitter taste exploded in her mouth. What was happening?
A rough hand stroked her hair, and a male voice murmured, “Don’t worry. The pain will fade in a moment.”
Rachel tried to run. She gasped, trying to draw a full breath.
A face swam into view. Rachel saw the flushed face of the stranger who had come to the inn. “I need your help.” His voice was beseeching. “You’ll help me, won’t you?”
Rachel tried to plead for mercy, but fear paralyzed her throat. At last, she managed to whisper, “What do you want?”
The man blinked, and she was shocked to see tears glimmering in his eyes. “I want freedom from my pain.” Something glimmered in his hand, a long, sharp dagger. “You won’t feel this,” he whispered. “Just close your eyes.” Bending closer, he positioned the dagger’s blade just inches from her chest. “I have no choice.” Then he whispered a series of unintelligible words. Lethargy caressed her veins, and Rachel could no longer stand. She felt the man gently lower her to the ground, and she knew no more.
Chapter Twelve
T he melodic singing of rushing water filled Rachel’s ears. Sunlight danced before her eyes. Rachel struggled to sit up.
As her eyes slowly focused, she saw a shape kneeling beside her. She raised her head and stared into deep, walnut eyes. Rachel’s gaze traveled upward to gleaming, gilded antlers. A hart, she thought. The majestic animal snorted gently and rose.
Rachel struggled to her feet. She shook with weakness, but at least she was standing. The hart glided forward, stopping to look back at her. Rachel blinked, not understanding. The hart continued walking then stopped. He pawed the ground and turned to stare at her again. “You want me to follow you?” she asked, feeling like an idiot.
/> The hart blinked a long, slow blink that Rachel took to mean yes. She trailed behind the hart until they reached a chattering stream. The hart knelt, drinking deeply. He blinked at Rachel once again. She knelt herself, catching a glimpse of her reflection as she did so, at the limp hair and plain face.
The hart surveyed her with gentle eyes and bent to take another drink from the stream. Rachel suddenly realized how thirsty she was. She drank as well, delighting in the crisp, clean taste. For a moment, the sadness and fear abated. The hart drew closer to her. He thrust his head forward, touching a gilded antler to her chest. Rachel trembled. Did he mean to hurt her? Yet his touch was exceedingly gentle. A warm feeling entered her heart, a feeling of comfort and reassurance. She watched in fascination as tears flowed down the hart’s face. The hart rose and lifted his head. A strange noise rumbled from his chest, a cry that was deep-toned and reverberating. It resembled a hunting horn. Within the cry, Rachel distinctly heard words. “I cast a sleeping spell upon him so that I could retrieve you. The spell is temporary. You must leave this land at once. Your mother is near. She’s coming for you.” Then the hart turned from her and glided away. Rachel stared after him, not knowing what to do.
“Rachel!” Mother’s voice burst upon her, and Rachel turned in time to see her Mother’s weary, tear-streaked face. Then she was running into her mother’s arms.
Mother’s eyes were wild and bloodshot. “I’ve been searching for you all night, Rachel. Where were—” Her voice trailed away as she beheld her daughter’s stricken face. “What happened?”
The story poured from Rachel in a strangled gasp. Mother listened, her face growing as hard as stone the longer Rachel talked. When the story was completed, Mother said, “I’ll not give him a chance to hurt you again. I’m so very sorry. I-I just didn’t want you seeing—I-I just didn’t know what to do.” She snatched Rachel’s arm, and they ran through the forest to their cottage. When they arrived, Mother began packing.
Thus began a time of running. Rachel was forced to hide at every inn they stayed. During the brief intervals when they weren’t traveling, Rachel rarely saw Mother. Mother procured any job she could, and Rachel was told that she must amuse herself.
Eventually, Mother found full-time employment in a city called Mondia. She worked at an inn. The inn was ugly. Sewage-clogged drains, disgusting food and constant quarreling filled the place. Mother made Rachel stay out of sight, and Rachel was happy to do so. The people in this city were uncaring. Rachel knew this from personal experience. Her room had a veranda with a small table where she liked to sit. Rachel sat on her veranda in the mornings and ate breakfast, usually a stale slice of bread and a grizzled slice of ham. Occasionally, a fresh pastry would accompany these meals, and Rachel relished the rare treat.
On one particular morning, she’d heard two men talking as they sauntered past the inn. “That barmaid has a daughter. Innkeeper told me. Wonder if she’s as talented as her mother?” The man that spoke had a raucous voice, a voice that resembled the cry of a jackal.
“Saw her myself when she and her mother came here.” The other man spoke, his voice slurred and rough as sandpaper. “Ugly little minx. But, they’re all the same where it counts, aren’t they?” He laughed, a cruel, derisive sound. The bite of bread Rachel was chewing suddenly tasted of sawdust. She resolved to eat inside from then on.
Weeks stretched into months. Rachel felt suffocated. Her very soul writhed within her. If only some freedom would come!
Then, on a morning that Rachel thought would be as humdrum as all the rest, she heard shouts and laughter. This fact was not unusual, but the noise was louder than normal. Rachel’s heart stirred within her. She remembered Mother saying that the day would be a busy one. From outside, a voice floated to her ears. “Beautiful baubles for your delight! Come and sample my wares!” Unlike the voices she was accustomed to hearing, this one fairly sang. Rachel stole to her window and peered into the early dawn. People scurried to and fro, and she saw a sign proclaiming an annual fair. Rachel did not allow herself to think. She decided to go. Just the thought of a little freedom filled her with joy.
It was at the fair that Rachel met the apple-cheeked peddler. It was at the fair that she had received Ayven. The apple-cheeked man had smiled at her. “I have something I think you’ll love,” he said. He brought forth a shining hand mirror. “He’s very special.”
Rachel frowned. “He?”
“Yes. Ask him for anything, and he’ll grant it. You must ask him through rhymes. And, he mustn’t be broken. If he breaks, he’ll die.” He leaned closer to her. “I sense your loneliness, child. You need a friend, don’t you? I want no payment. Just knowing that you now have a companion is payment enough.”
“A companion?”
He winked at her. “You’ll see in time.”
And she had. When she’d reentered the inn, she heard snickering. A guest had spotted her as she walked to her room. The laughter had stung after such a lovely hour of freedom, for it reminded her that the taste of liberation was like hard cider; it burned even as it slid sweetly down the throat. When she entered her room, a voice had emanated from the cloth-wrapped bundle she carried, a gentle voice full of compassion. “Maiden, why do you weep?”
Over time, a friendship developed between Rachel and Ayven. He listened to her constant woes. In return, Rachel cared for the mirror. She polished the gleaming surface, triple-wrapping the trinket in cloth when it wasn’t being used. She was determined to keep Ayven safe.
When Rachel was fifteen, a king came to the inn. He was very kind, or so Mother said. Rachel noticed that Mother’s face shone when she spoke of the king. A month after his arrival, Mother came to Rachel’s room. “Rachel! We’re saved!”
Rachel frowned. “What do you mean?”
“King Lawrence has asked me to marry him.”
Rachel stared at Mother in shock. “Marry? But, you barely know him. I don’t know him.”
“That makes no difference. We can’t stay here.”
“But, how can you love him? You don’t—I mean, what about—”
“Love? What has that to do with it?” Mother patted Rachel’s arm. “Darling, don’t you see? He’ll take care of us. That’s all that matters. He’s a widower. His daughter needs a mother, and you need a father. It’s—”
“I don’t want another father!” Rachel turned away from Mother in disgust. Her mind reeled with hurt. How could Mother be so heartless?
“Do you think I care what you want? Want has nothing to do with it! Do you think I want to be in this situation? Nothing matters but our security. It doesn’t matter what you want.” Mother’s voice broke. Then her face crumpled. “I didn’t mean that, sweetheart. You know I didn’t. I just have to leave this place as do you. He’s doing so much for us, and he wants nothing in return. I’ll help you learn the proper way to act before nobility. We must make sure we’re worthy of him.” She drew Rachel into a tight embrace, and they both wept, their tears mingling as they sought to comfort each other. “It’ll be all right,” Mother whispered. “I promise.”
Rachel had to admit that Mother’s marriage was a preferable alternative to the inn. The king offered a way of escape. Mother seemed so happy.
Rachel never reckoned on how tiring pleasing the nobility could be. The lessons Mother gave her seemed to indicate that the nobility were never satisfied. Perfection was key, and Rachel’s clumsiness and mousy appearance ensured that perfection was an unreachable goal. It was only through Ayven’s help that she gained even a rudimentary level of confidence. Yet no matter how many potions she drank or how much cosmetics she wore, she knew that beneath it all she was nothing. Even so, she journeyed to Swanvale with high hopes. Yet nothing had been as she imagined it would be, and now she knew that she and Snowdrop were linked in some way. They had both seen the peddler. They had both seen the hart.
Rachel’s memories faded, and she whispered, “Do you really think you killed your mother?”
Snowdrop frowned
. “Yes.” She retrieved a book from a shelf and handed it to Rachel. “I wrote my confession down, but no one believes me. Andrew discovered me writing one day in class. I told him I was writing my fiction assignment and that it wasn’t finished yet, but he read it anyway. He said he’d help me. No one else believed me. Now I’ve caused him to die, too.”
Rachel frowned. “Maybe you just think he’s the only one who believed you. Stepfather told Mother he was searching for someone. That’s why he stopped at the inn.” She perused Snowdrop’s composition, her eyes widening in shock. “But, he was so nice to me,” she said, realizing how silly that sounded.
“I have to find out who he is.” Snowdrop’s beautiful features grew steely with determination. She extended her hand and smiled tentatively at Rachel. “Will you help me?”
Rachel swallowed nervously. What if she found out something she didn’t want to know? But, the hart had saved her from the Marked One. Snowdrop seemed to think that the peddler’s gift had caused her mother to die. But, Rachel’s own gift had brought her nothing but joy, hadn’t it? Surely something else was wrong. Finally, she nodded and allowed Snowdrop to take her hand. The girls shook.
Chapter Thirteen
B arbara stood beside Lawrence in Rachel’s chamber. The servant’s body had been removed and the crowd had dispersed. Her cheeks were flushed. “How dare she? I won’t have her insulting my child.”
Lawrence took Barbara’s hand, his face sad. “Please be patient with her. She meant no harm.”
“She most certainly did mean harm. Why would she bring someone to my daughter’s chamber? Why would she not confide in you if she felt threatened by something?”
Lawrence hung his head. “Because I left her when she needed me most. I went searching for the peddler she mentioned. I think I know who might be behind this, although I can’t prove it.”
The Princess and the Invisible Apple Tree Page 5