The Piano Girl - Part Two (Counterfeit Princess Series)

by Sherri Schoenborn Murray

  The Piano Girl

  Part Two

  Counterfeit Princess Series

  Sherri Schoenborn

  MURRAY

  Visit my website:

  www.christianromances.com

  To my daughters—

  Eilee and Cori

  I promise to never serve you chalky milk.

  Tune your ears to wisdom, and incline your heart to understanding.

  PROVERBS 2:2

  Refresher from Part One

  I glanced over my shoulder, and in a window into another hallway, I locked eyes with an odd-looking creature. I stepped back for a moment and peered again. It was not a window but a large mirror trimmed with slate, reflecting my darkest nightmare.

  The creature was me.

  Roger stepped back to join the creature in the mirror.

  “Please . . .” I touched the puffy, nickel-sized spots. “Please don’t be me.” Yet I knew my reflection did not lie. My eyes were swollen, mere slits of green. The pox was crusted and unsightly. A heaviness anchored in my being. How could Wron, or anyone, bear to look at me?

  “I did not recognize myself.” I swallowed tears. “I’m sorry, it’s a great shock.”

  Wron, who’d disappeared around the curved corridor, returned for us. “Come now, my parents are waiting.”

  Blindly, I followed him. The day she’d assigned me to Peg’s, the Queen had seen me up close. Her love for music must be great to allow me in her home.

  “I looked bad in the reflection of the coffeepot,” I whispered. “No one told me how terrible, terrible . . . I really look. No one.”

  “What was that?” Wron stopped ahead of us.

  “Nothing,” I mumbled.

  “I heard something.”

  “She said no one told her how terrible she looks,” Roger said.

  Wron waved a hand toward a small chamber. “This will be your room.” Two plump feather beds sat against one wall, and at the far end of the room, a tall arched window provided daylight.

  “You will room with Rhoda, our cook.”

  “Rhoda?” A giant would be sleeping no more than four feet away from me.

  “Yes, you will like Rhoda.” He nodded ahead. “Down the hallway, a warm bath has been prepared, and Mother has selected clothes for you.”

  “Is it true that Rhoda’s a vegetarian?” I asked.

  “At times, she does not eat meat. Make haste; the piano will arrive soon.”

  Though my circumstances were not ideal, I was finally here. Despite numerous complications, I’d made it. I was in Yonder’s royal family’s home. I thought on the one-word God had whispered to me, patience. He must have an incredible sense of humor to think that one word would pacify me in such a time as this.

  But . . . I was home.

  Now I just needed to wait for healing, for my betrothed to fall in love with me, for Father to arrive, and for patience.

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Books by Sherri Schoenborn Murray

  Acknowledgements:

  Two of Rhoda’s Recipes

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  The attire Queen Eunice had selected for me was a white peasant blouse, a gray checked gingham skirt, and heaven forbid, a pair of plain Jane brown shoes. I’d rather enjoyed my experience of being barefoot in the village. I’d felt so rebellious. Now that I’d bathed, I was at least a clean creature with spots. I avoided any mirrors as I entered the slate-lined corridor.

  Please let the piano be a concert grand, highly polished ebony black and finely tuned with a matching bench, I whispered my requests to God and followed the voices to the Great Hall.

  Prince Wron sat at a long, black granite table with his parents. Silver-and-black banners hung high on the walls. Goatskin chairs and a cattle leather couch were grouped in front of a massive stone fireplace. Off to the left, in an alcove with tall arched windows, sat a baby grand piano with carved legs.

  My heart lurched. Though not as magnificent as The Beast back home, the baby beast was grand. I ran my hand along the darkly aged wood and, judging from its heavily waxed patina, estimated that it was at least half a century old.

  Yonder had invested a small fortune in me.

  “Dory . . .” Queen Eunice cleared her throat. She sat very upright, with the three-snowballs hairdo spiraled upon her head. “Come closer, Dory.”

  I stopped several feet shy of the table, clasping my hands in front of me.

  “Did you try the queen of the meadow?” She lifted her wire spectacles to study me.

  “Yes, Your Highness. Elza made a poultice for me, and she also ground the root to make a broth. Thank you for your thoughtful gift.”

  “Was it pleasant?”

  “No, I’m afraid it was, uh . . .” I recalled her earlier description of my pox. “It was very disagreeable.”

  Her mouth bunched tight, while one brow arched very expressively. “The plant does not appear to have worked the magic we hoped it would.”

  “Father, this is Dory,” Wron said, “the piano girl that Mother’s been telling you about.”

  King Ulrich lowered the newspaper to peer at me. His thick white hair was parted on one side, and his face gleamed a shiny pink. Even before he spoke, I knew I would like him.

  “I’ve heard you’re from Blue Sky.” His voice was raspy, but charming all the same.

  “Yes, I know Princess Alia well.”

  Silence followed, and then King Ulrich rustled the paper open and lifted it until only an inch of his white hair was visible. “Wron, the timing is too coincidental.”

  “I know. But the Blue Sky emblem is engraved both in the hooves of her horse and in her saddle, and also in the horse and saddle that she sold at auction,” Wron said.

  Wron’s research both surprised and pleased me.

  “Now is a time to be on your guard,” his father said.

  “Wait till you hear her play, Walter.” The Queen patted the table between them.

  “Dory, my father is concerned that you will prove to be a counterfeit princess.” Wron glanced up at me.

  Given my reflection in the mirror a short while ago, such an accusation surprised me. I gave in to a giggle.

  “Are you another counterfeit?” Walter lowered his paper to regard me.

  “No, Your Highness, I am not a counterfeit.”

  “We shall see.”

  A wee smile escaped me from the irony of it all.

  ΦΦΦ

  The piano at Peg’s had helped me purge much of my heartache, yet due to its size, it did not have the auditory potential of the baby beast. I sat with perfect posture upon the sweeping bench. The alcove windows overlooked a large herb garden and manicured beds of lavender, and in the distance, purple hills embraced the sky. I recalled the sweet little tune that Felix had often hummed while we’d ridden in the wagon. Leaning my ear low, I recited the simple melody.

  Though oftentimes difficult, remembering was always part of my healing.

  After my one-finger recital, I added six- and seven-note chords, merging the memory and the melody into one. While I played, I recall
ed Felix and our talks by the fire, the camaraderie and laughter that we’d shared. And now carrying that memory forward, I reached for high notes to express my longing to be healed, to appear beautiful in my betrothed’s eyes, to have at least one evening of courtship with Prince Wron before our vows.

  For weeks, I had longed to hear the moving melody in its entirety.

  I set my hands in my lap and recalled what my first piano instructor had told my parents years ago: Princess Alia has a rare gift. She has a remarkable ear and can recite anything I play. She will never need to read music; she will only need to listen.

  I was still learning to listen. In the small gasp and heavy sigh behind me, I heard that the melody had reached the Queen’s heart.

  Wron’s parents clapped and then requested that I play another.

  “Does anyone know the name of that piece?” I asked, my back to the room.

  “I believe you played a familiar tune called ‘Waiting,’” Wron said. “Though there were parts I did not recognize.”

  “What would you like me to play, Your Majesty?” I asked.

  “Call me Queen Eunice. What pieces do you know?”

  “Have you heard ‘The Ballad of Blue Sky’?”

  In the reflection in the window, I saw her shake her head, and her snowball hairdo stayed perfectly in place.

  “Have you heard ‘Pray, My Child’?” I asked.

  Again, she shook her head.

  “Our songs are different, I believe.”

  “Do you know ‘Tomorrow, Today’?” Her voice held a tender note of longing.

  “No, but if you will come and sing it for me, I will play it by ear.” I patted the bench beside me.

  Eunice hesitated for a moment before rising from her chair. Her love for music dismissed any remaining reservation, and she sat down beside me. In a sweetly aged soprano voice, she sang:

  “Tomorrow you say you’ll love me, but I want today.

  Tomorrow you’ll say you’ll leave me, but I want you to stay.

  Your eyes are full of joy, but your words are filled with pain.

  Tomorrow, my love, tomorrow, today.”

  “Is a sad song,” I murmured. Leaning my right ear to the piano so Eunice could not see my troubled eyes, I let the tune run through my head until it was down to my fingertips. She sang softly, and note for note, I matched the slow and moving melody. At last, the poignant song ended.

  “Music is such simple joy.” She sighed.

  I was finally here in my future home. I’d made it. There was no need to fear anymore. It was just a period of waiting for me now, for healing, for Father’s arrival, and for him to claim me as his own.

  ΦΦΦ

  I played piano throughout the day, gulped down a servant’s dinner, and played late, past an orange-tinged sunset. Eunice finally began to yawn. She either had gone too long without music or had an endless appetite for it.

  “I’m exhausted,” she finally crooned.

  “Mother, I’m sure Dory is more exhausted than you.” Wron chuckled. “I will escort her to her room.”

  His offer surprised me.

  “Oh, Wron, I’m quite sure Dory can find her way back.” The skein of lavender yarn Eunice had been knitting with was now a blanket, covering her lap and spilling onto the floor.

  “It is her first night here, Mother, and the hallways are often not all that well lit,” Wron said.

  “If it is important to you,” she sighed.

  “I will escort you to your room.” He strode ahead of me.

  I quickly said my good nights to his parents and followed Wron into the corridor. What was he up to, or did he think me up to something? I found that I was no longer the naïve, trusting young woman I’d once been. Perhaps it was due to losing my first kiss to Prince Dell, being drugged by my own father, or almost losing my hair to Hilda.

  In between the torch sconces, giant shadows loomed in the hallway.

  “I’ve known for the past six years that I am betrothed to Princess Alia,” Wron said, cupping the candle’s flame with his free hand. “Yet you are the first person I have met who can tell me anything about her.”

  “Since you were twelve,” I said, thoughtfully. It had also taken his parents a surprising number of years to break the news.

  “You told my mother that Alia’s hair is auburn, and that her eyes are hazel.”

  “It’s true.”

  “What else can you tell me about her?” His pace slowed.

  “Your question is so vast.” I laughed.

  “I know that she is a firstborn. Does she have siblings?”

  I inhaled deeply. “Yes, she has a seven-year-old sister, Wren.” With a small gasp, I realized Wron’s and Wren’s names differed by only one vowel. “Are you an only child?” I countered.

  “No. I have a younger sister, who has already married. Despite my parents’ approval, she fell in love. They live in the resort town of Delfrey, an hour from here. So . . . to have been an only child for so long, is she very spoiled?”

  “Yes, she had an idyllic childhood. Except for her father being away at war a great deal of the time.”

  “So she has not wanted for much.” Pursing his lips, he nodded.

  I stopped outside my bedroom chamber. He paused and for a moment appeared thoughtful. “Rhoda snores. Sometimes her snoring is unbearably loud. If you cannot sleep, I will help you turn her to her side.”

  I didn’t understand. “Where is your room?”

  “Right there.” He pointed to a doorway across the hall from mine.

  “You are so close to the servants.”

  “It is Rhoda who is so close to us. She is like family, and she has bad knees. The rest of the servants are on the upper level. When Rhoda falls asleep on her back, she is very loud.

  “Is Alia musically inclined?” He looked directly in my eyes now. It was kind of him, considering my condition.

  “Yes, she is.” I did not want him to ask any more questions, so I gave in to a yawn. “Good night, Prince Wron. Thank you for your escort.” I closed my chamber door behind me and pressed against it. Please, Lord, make me well. How can he even look at me?

  ΦΦΦ

  A sliver of moon shone shyly into our room. Rhoda must have still been in the kitchen, as I was alone. Usually, I was a fairly sound sleeper, so the trick was simply to fall asleep before she came to bed. I stilled my mind and my breathing as I’d done so many nights alone in the Forest Maze.

  I was home at last, and not only was my future husband handsome, he was also kind. He could be far worse. Stop thinking. Picture black. Yet a large portion of my mind wanted to be awake when my roommate arrived.

  I awakened from a light slumber to the creak of the door opening. Light from the hallway sconces spilled inside before the door closed. Outlined by moonlight, Rhoda’s giant silhouette moved to the opposite side of the room. I clutched the covers beneath my chin and prepped my voice, ready to scream.

  Rhoda wore a long white sleeping gown and a droopy white hat. Her knees crunched as she knelt beside her bed. Bowing her head, she mumbled her prayers. Something about food, pies… dinner. When I’d said my prayers, I had not bent my knees. I peered at the ceiling in penance.

  The giant woman had difficulty rising. She set a hand on both the bedside table and the bed as she pushed herself out of her kneeling position.

  “Dory, if I snore, simply roll me to my side.” Rhoda flipped back the covers and lowered herself into bed. “Your piano playing is almost as lovely as my pie.” Her compliment was followed by a yawn, which seemed to suck some of the air out of the room. “I heard your music while I washed dishes. I am famous for my pie.”

  “Oh.” I suppressed a yawn. “What kind do you make?”

  “Peach.”

  I waited for her to say apple, gooseberry, human… but she did not elaborate. “Knot talked highly of your peach pie,” I said.

  “I miss Knot.”

  “I do, too,” I mumbled, and then I forced my mind to picture
black, so I might fall asleep first. Within minutes, Rhoda’s snoring echoed off the stone walls. Wide-eyed, I lay awake. I likened sharing a room with this giant woman to being in the bottom of a canyon with a full moon and a coyote.

  Throwing back the covers, I routed my feet to the floor and tapped lightly on her arm. She did not move. Despite my fear of her, I wrapped both my hands about the curve of her ham-sized shoulder, and gently shook. Her snoring did not lapse.

  I waited for a pause between snores. “Rhoda . . .”

  She was dead to the world.

  “Rhoda.” I was afraid to yell as I might wake the entire castle. Sliding a hand beneath her shoulder and her hip, I attempted to roll her to her side, but I could not lift my hands up from the mattress. She was solid—all muscle, and heavy. Seeking more leverage, I knelt and pushed up. It did not make a difference. I would have to wake Wron.

  I wrapped a robe about me, crossed the dimly lit hallway, and rapped softly on the heavy wooden door. The door swung inward. Chuckling to himself, Wron shrugged on his robe.

  “Why is Rhoda my roommate? Is it penance?”

  “No.” He strolled past me into the hall, a pewter candlestick in his possession. “Your only other option for roommates is Needa, and her home is too small.”

  “But I value my sleep. Perhaps I can stay at Leeson and Elza’s.”

  “Once King Wells and Alia arrive, you may return to Leeson’s.” He hastily set the candle on the nightstand, and the wick dimmed and smoked. “In the meantime”—he paused, waiting for Rhoda’s snore to end—“you will stay here. Counterfeits could use you to find out more about Blue Sky.”

  What an awful thought.

  In the sliver of moonlight that seeped into our room, he bent low and pushed on Rhoda’s shoulder and hip, much as I’d attempted, except he was successful in rolling the mammoth woman to her side.

  “Good night, Dory,” my future beloved said.

  I waited for a snore to pass. “Good night, Prince—”

  Rhoda’s snoring interrupted our pleasantries, and the door creaked closed behind him.