The Princess and the Invisible Apple Tree

by Meredith Leigh Burton

  The hart bowed his crowned head with sadness. “It’s not a question of what I am but who I am. I am a father who loves his children and tries to provide for them in whatever way I can. I am a man who was cursed by someone who cannot see the truth. I have pursued that man from place to place. It’s a long story.” He continued walking until he reached a small hillock. “You’ll find what you seek at the top. What you seek will be different from what it first appears. Remember your mother’s embroidery.”

  Snowdrop crested the small hill and frowned in disappointment. All that greeted her was a tree stump. When Snowdrop turned back to the hart for an explanation, he had vanished. Sighing, Snowdrop sat upon the stump to wait.

  Chapter Eighteen

  S nowdrop fidgeted impatiently. Why had the hart told her to stay here? And, most disquieting of all, how could she find her way home? What was she expected to do?

  Suddenly, the stump upon which Snowdrop perched shook. She stood, blinking in wonder as the stump shimmered with a piercing ruby glow. A hole appeared in the stump’s center, and from the hole sprang a small shoot. Before Snowdrop’s thunderstruck gaze, a tree pushed its way through the stump, shattering it into fragments. The apple tree was small, but it bore dazzling apples of rosy red. It’s magic, Snowdrop thought, for no tree could produce fruit so quickly.

  A heady fragrance emanated from the apple tree. Snowdrop’s mouth watered, and her stomach growled with ferocious hunger. It had been so long since the sight of apples caused her to salivate.

  “Hello, my dear.” A lilting voice stole upon her, a voice that had haunted Snowdrop’s dreams for months. Her heart skipped a beat. Slowly, she turned and stared into the triumphant face of the short, apple-cheeked peddler. For a moment, his features changed, and Snowdrop glimpsed the face of the lady’s maid who had tried to strangle her. Then, just as quickly, the features resumed their apple-cheeked shape. The man held out his hand toward her. “You’ve sought me out, have you not? I regret not coming to you sooner, but my business takes me to many places. Do you still have a sweet tooth? What a surprise to find you here.”

  Snowdrop shuddered. “You,” she whispered. “You tried to kill me when I was seven. You killed my mother.”

  Snowdrop blinked in surprise when she saw tears coursing down the peddler’s cheeks. He shook his head. “There was once a woman who longed for a child,” he said. “She prayed night and day. A magician’s apprentice sought to help her fulfill her desire, for he loved her above all things.” The peddler gazed around the hilltop. “Can you comprehend how it feels to see people flinch everytime they look at you, to hear them scream in fright? The only one who never screamed was your mother.” He bowed his head with weariness. “But, your mother was a rare breed. I did not kill her. I believe that was your doing, was it not?” He spoke softly, his voice heavy with sorrow. “The tart was meant for you. How was I to know you’d give it to her? And that business with the ribbons was a foolish mistake. Your mother was specific in her request when she prayed for a child. I could not bring myself to mar your beauty.” He laughed harshly. “I made something beautiful, and I cannot forget that. But, your outward beauty cannot conceal the person you truly are, a murderess and a thief!”

  Snowdrop bowed her head, the guilt eating into her heart. “I’ve stolen nothing.”

  Patrick sighed. “Nothing physical, no, but something much more precious. You stole the only one who treated me with even a modicum of respect. I loved your mother." His face shimmered, and the apple cheeks seemed to elongate. Snowdrop gasped to see a crimson mark appear on the peddler’s left cheek. “I sought her hand in marriage, but her father refused my suit. He laughed at me. ‘You may marry her when the sun and moon no longer shine. Then she will not be subjected to your looks. Who will hire you to work with your face? How will you support her?’” Patrick’s face contorted, the mark becoming more grotesque with his anger. “I could not live without her. So I sought a cure for this accursed deformity.”

  “That’s why you came to our father.” A gentle voice emerged from behind them. Snowdrop spun around. Two young men crested the hill. One had a bag of paint supplies slung over his shoulder. Snowdrop knew them immediately.

  “You’re the men who wanted to destroy the mirror,” she said.

  “Yes. I’m Esmond, and this is my brother Feo. We’re artists whom Egaphia has enabled to see the truth.” Esmond’s face grew solemn. “Father came to our cottage and told us where to find you, Patrick.”

  Patrick turned to the men and sneered with contempt. “I knew you couldn’t stay away,” he said. “Even after I cursed your family, I knew you would hound me at every opportunity. Uncle Cornelius deceived me.” He shook his head. “If he’d only granted my request.”

  Feo frowned. “He did, my cousin,” he said sadly. “He told you that you must be willing to pursue Charlotte as you were. He warned you of the danger of seeking help from magicians.”

  “You blind fool! I had to seek help.” Patrick leaned forward, his eyes dilated with fury. “How dare you mock me?”

  Snowdrop watched as Feo reached into the bag upon his shoulder and withdrew a small canvas. “I can see whereas you cannot, Patrick,” he said. “Father gave you what you needed, but you refused to see it. He told you to beware of a trinket carved from applewood. Esmond brought me to this spot the other day, and we both saw what used to be here. We only finished painting it a few moments ago.” He held out the painting for all to see.

  Snowdrop gasped when she beheld the same apple tree depicted on canvas that now stood atop the hill. The shimmering fruit gleamed on the painted tree’s boughs. She turned to the real tree and inhaled the rich fragrance of the apples before her. “It’s beautiful,” she breathed.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Patrick’s voice was brittle. “There is nothing here but an old tree stump.”

  A stump? Could he not see the tree that was right in front of him? Had the artists painting caused another tree to appear? She turned to Esmond. “Is this tree a new one you created? Is your paint magical?”

  Esmond shook his head. “The paint is quite ordinary, but Feo always touches the brushes before I use them. The magic within his hands imbues the paintbrush with power. As for the tree, there was no need to create another one. The wood from the first tree still exists, although it has been inundated with evil magic. The tree seeks liberation. Egaphia enabled Feo and me to see the good that the tree was originally created to do. When both of us touched the stump, the picture entered our minds. Thus we were able to paint what we saw. The real tree was then reborn. That’s the nature of our work. We seek to liberate what evil has stolen.”

  Esmond looked toward Patrick with a sad expression. He addressed his cousin. “The mirror that magician gave you was made from the wood of the tree we painted. He twisted it to suit his heinous purposes. He took something created for good and used it for evil. Father told us of a magician who sought to trap a piece of his soul in a mirror so that he might live forever. The mirror could grant any wish. He told us of the apprentice who sought a new face, of how that apprentice poisoned the magician in order to obtain beauty.” Snowdrop saw tears shimmer in Esmond’s eyes.

  Patrick smiled strangely. He reached into the garment he wore and extracted a gleaming mirror. “You mean this mirror?” He held the trinket aloft. “If you want to destroy it, by all means, do so. Just know that the life of an innocent girl will be on your consciences.” He pointed his finger, and an image appeared in the mirror. Rachel lay within the mirror, chains of translucent glass wrapped around her legs and wrists. Her plain features were gone. Her sallow cheeks were now tinged with roses, and her hair was wavy. She was beautiful, but her beauty was lifeless, resembling little more than a porcelain statue or a block of wood. A bejeweled comb perched atop her head like a crown.

  Chapter Nineteen

  S nowdrop gasped when she saw the image. “What have you done?” She pointed a trembling finger at Patrick.

  Patrick turned to
her. “My uncle neglected to tell my cousins one essential detail of the story. It’s not enough to merely kill someone to obtain their power. You must consume their essence in some way.” His face crumpled, and he placed a trembling hand to his marked cheek. “I sought to leave Ayven’s service, but that mirror showed me how I could truly look. I could not banish that image. If I left his service without the mirror, I’d be just as I was before. I needed the masks the mirror provided. Your mother showed me the only kindness I have ever known. I was determined to try and obtain her hand. But her father would not allow the match, and why would she want someone who could only bring her pain?” He clenched his fists, hissing in frustration. “Ayven laughed at me even as he died. ‘Consume my heart in order to obtain my power. Use my power as your own, but know that you cannot die unless someone else gives themselves in servitude to the mirror. Once they are imprisoned, take their heart. Heart for heart, life for life. But, when that happens, you will be without the disguises you crave. You wouldn’t want that, would you, my apprentice?’ I was so frightened, but I had not come this far to stop now.” He caressed the mirror’s shimmering glass. “Obtaining another’s magic is a nasty business. And to discover in the end that it was all for nothing!”

  Patrick gazed at Snowdrop with intensity. “I must consume a pure heart,” he said. “Rachel will feel no pain. You should be thanking me, girl. I thought to use yours.” He blinked rapidly. “I gave you to your mother, for she longed to have a child. I overheard her plea one winter’s day as she sat sewing beside a window. I had returned to Swanvale only to discover she had married. I obtained a post as servant at the palace. I resolved to help her. It was simple to inundate a cup of tea with a conception charm. She wanted a daughter with lips as red as blood, hair as black as ebony and skin as white as snow. I gave her her heart’s desire. All I asked was to be near her, but she rejected me.” He pointed accusingly at Snowdrop. “She rejected me for you.” He sighed and pointed to Rachel’s sleeping image. “Believe me or not, but I dislike this task. This girl and I share a similar story. She, too, has suffered loneliness. She understands me.” He bowed his head with sorrow. “This is why I have ultimately chosen her heart to consume. I am doing her a kindness. She will not be subjected to years of torture as I have been. We will both be freed from loneliness and pain.” He turned to Snowdrop. “Your mother’s face haunts me from the grave. Even if your stepmother had given you up in her daughter’s stead, I doubt I could have killed you.” He sighed. “I have made certain that Rachel will not suffer. Now to my work.” He reached into the folds of his garment and withdrew a dagger. “Heart for heart, life for life,” he whispered. He held the dagger toward the mirror.

  “No!” Snowdrop lunged, grabbing Patrick’s arm. “Leave my sister alone.” She stared at Rachel’s trapped image. She had to get her out of that prison. Snowdrop understood about confinement. Hadn’t she been imprisoned by her guilt? She reached to grab the mirror once more. Patrick handed it to her quite calmly. Snowdrop lifted the mirror, surprised by its lightness.

  Patrick smiled with contempt. “Do you intend to break the mirror? It will do you no good. She will die if you do. Rachel is bound to the mirror as am I, for we have partaken of its gifts. There’s nothing you can do to free her.”

  Snowdrop swallowed nervously. She turned away from Patrick’s leering smirk. As she did so, her eyes alighted on the painting Feo held. The apple tree shimmered with beauty, a tree of life. Esmond’s words filled her mind. “He took something meant for good and used it for evil.” She thought of the carefree days when she and Mother shared apple tarts and of the day their favorite treat was used as an instrument of death. Evil always tried to twist what was good. She looked down at herself, at the seemingly threadbare gown she wore that Mother had made. It was more than it seemed, wasn’t it? She suddenly realized that truth was often hidden in plain sight. She had convinced herself that Mother and Father hated her, that she had been responsible for Mother’s death. Now she knew that she was wrong.

  Snowdrop turned toward the real apple tree. Feo and Esmond had caused the tree to be reborn through their art. If the tree was indeed real and not merely a picture on canvas, then perhaps it could be used for something good. She reached for a gleaming apple.

  Patrick laughed. “Do you think a mere stump will help you? Your games grow tedious.” He reached for the mirror, but Snowdrop held it tightly. Patrick brandished his dagger.

  A flash of light erupted on the hilltop. Snowdrop gasped as the hart appeared from nowhere. Father and Stepmother trailed in his majestic wake, their faces lined with worry. The hart placed himself between Snowdrop and Patrick. Snowdrop screamed as the dagger found its mark. The mirror fell from her shaking hands.

  The hart crashed to the ground. He lowered his crowned head and lay still.

  Snowdrop wept as she saw the majestic animal shimmer. Before her eyes, he transformed. A short-statured man lay where the hart had fallen. Esmond cried out in agony and ran to the man’s side. He knelt and clutched the man’s hand. Feo followed him and knelt as well. “Father,” he whispered. Both men wept.

  CRACK! CRASH! The sound of shattering glass reverberated around them all. Snowdrop hurried toward the breaking mirror. Rachel lay within the shards of glass, her eyes still closed. The translucent chains still encircled her wrists and legs. Snowdrop bent over her sleeping sister and proffered the apple she held. The mirror was made from an apple tree. Perhaps the tree’s real purpose could be revealed.

  Chapter Twenty

  I am a jewel-encrusted comb,

  A trinket of jet.

  I am a useless tool

  That others easily forget.

  D esolation was Rachel’s first awareness. She felt encased in a coffin of crystal, coldness pressing in from all sides. She desperately tried to move, but her hands would not budge. She tried to run, but her feet were frozen. Hunger tore through her, the monster foaming at the mouth and pummeling her innards with vicious teeth. Acid clawed at the back of her throat.

  Light flashed before her eyes, a light of rosy red. Within the light, she saw her own plain features. Ugly minx. Memories forced themselves upon her; the memories of derisive laughter and isolation. Stupid, paltry, dimwitted girl! You are worthless, the voice in her head jeered. Why don’t you simply succumb to the inevitable? You’d be better off dead. No one wants you.

  But, that light. Where was it coming from? Rachel felt a gentle pressure against her frozen lips. Warmth penetrated the coldness. “Please.” A familiar voice filled the emptiness around her. “Please wake up.”

  The warmth pressed insistently against Rachel’s lips. Rachel suddenly longed for that warmth to fill her heart. Could her hunger finally be satisfied? She struggled to see. An apple gleamed before her eyes. She saw who was holding it. Snowdrop understood how it felt to be alone. Rachel trusted this girl, for they were a lot alike. Yet in the apple’s light, Rachel’s ugly features mocked her. To obtain the warmth, did she have to accept herself as she was, to acknowledge that she needed help? Even if she did, anything seemed preferable to this coffin. And, her own efforts to obtain beauty had resulted in nothing but disaster. Snowdrop wanted to help her. Perhaps she was wanted after all. Rachel opened her mouth and bit into the taut flesh of the fruit.

  A rending cry filled the air as the glass chains fell away. Rachel sat up. A cacophony of voices surged around her. Mother enfolded Rachel into her arms. “Darling! Lawrence and I have searched for you and Snowdrop since dawn. We couldn’t find you anywhere. Then a hart came to us. Lawrence recognized him from a tapestry Snowdrop had embroidered.” She hugged Rachel tightly.

  Snowdrop and Stepfather approached, and Rachel smiled at them both. They turned to the hillside and stared in wonder. Five swans were alighting around the apple tree. As they landed, they transformed into young men and women. They approached Feo and Esmond, who were kneeling by their father’s body. Beyond them lay Patrick, his face contorted with pain. He lay amid the shards of destroyed mir
ror. Burns covered his arms and legs. He struggled to sit up.

  Esmond reached for the dagger that lay by Patrick’s side. He cut away the shards that bound his cousin. Patrick feverishly groped for a sliver of glass. He raised his head and peered into it. Rachel saw Patrick’s marked visage contort with pain. “Why does it never go away?” he whispered brokenly. He fell backward with a final gasp of pain.

  Rachel felt a hand touch her arm, and she looked up to see Snowdrop’s tear-filled eyes. Both girls surveyed the mourning family. “Patrick told me he was bound to the mirror,” Snowdrop said softly. “The hart was father to the two artists and their five brothers and sisters. To think they were the swans I admired so often!” She wiped tears from her cheeks. “Why would someone die for us both?”

  Rachel bowed her head. “I don’t know,” she said. “But, I was bound to the mirror, too.” She took Snowdrop’s hand. “Thank you for saving me,” she whispered.

  Snowdrop smiled. “It was the only thing I could do. I had to try, anyway. I love—” Both girls nodded as the word passed between Snowdrop’s lips. They looked toward the seven young men and women who knelt beside their father. Perhaps love was the only word that could answer their many questions.

  Epilogue

  T wo sisters walked within the wood’s embrace, inhaling the rich aroma of earth and springtime. “We should get back soon,” Snowdrop said. “Esmond’s coming for tea.” She winked at Rachel, who blushed.

  “He’s just coming to deliver the painting Father ordered.” Rachel became interested in watching a butterfly dance upon a rose’s petals. “Anyhow, he and Feo have an exhibit to prepare for. He won’t stay to eat.”