“You can dell me you’re sorry now.” She glanced up at me and then toward her mother at the sink.
Oh, how I longed to tell her the kind of day I’d had and how she was lucky that I’d only asked for salt.
“Very well.” Though the apology was not warranted, I supposed I could humble myself enough to tell the poor child what she needed to hear. “I’m sorry that I asked for salt.”
“I forgive you. Now”—she folded her hands very adult-like in front of her—“can you dell me a sdor-ee?”
“Let me see . . .” I looked at the bare walls. What would be appropriate?
“Do you know ‘Dee Smiling Princess’ sdor-ee?”
I shook my head and glanced at Greda. The story was the oldest of fairy tales and inappropriate to tell a little girl.
“Puh-lease.” Her perfect little teeth formed an enchanting smile.
“She is familiar widh dee sdory, Dory,” Greda said.
“Ohhh.” I was surprised. “Hmmm . . .” And against my better judgment, I began. “There was once a young princess who was raised to smile. Good news or bad news, blue sky or rain showers, she was told to smile. As she rode atop her fine, white horse through the streets, she would wave to her countrymen and smile.”
Sadie leaned against me and sighed contentedly.
“When other children made fun of her, she was told to smile.”
The little girl nudged me. “You are delling id doo quick. Why did dhey make fun of her?”
“Well . . . she was overly protective. Everyone’s little mama.” I nudged her back. “Now, you make something up.”
Sadie’s eyes grew wide. “She only had one nosdril.”
I waited for her giggling to subside before I continued.
“Once, when the princess heard that war was only a few hours away, she was told to smile. And once when their cook was beheaded, she was ordered to smile.” I nudged Sadie. “Your turn.”
“Once”—Sadie’s gaze lingered on the table—“when her modher said dhere was no more food or money to buy food, dee princess was ordered do smile.”
Hot tears bottled in my throat like lava.
“Your durn. Puh-lease add one more once.” Holding her hands prayer-like, she gazed up at me.
Sometimes Wren would add her version of atrocities here as Sadie had done. Mine felt even closer than the kitchen. “Once… when the princess was shipped away from her home to marry a man she’d never met, without saying good-bye to anyone she loved…” My voice trailed off. “The princess was ordered to smile.”
Sadie hugged my arm and sighed in the contented bliss of a good story.
“So tiresome was her smile that whenever she passed a mirror, she would frown and make the most atrocious faces, simply to relieve her facial muscles.”
Sadie melted more against me.
“On one occasion, when she passed a royal mirror, she frowned horridly and her reflection was observed by a handsome prince who’d been invited to dine with her family that evening. It was his first impression of her, and though she smiled beautifully the remainder of the evening, he could not forget the face he’d seen first in the mirror.”
Sadie sighed. “I love dhad sdoree.”
“What is the moral of the story?” I asked.
“Moral?” She yawned and blinked her eyes several times.
“Yes, a moral is a lesson.”
“Oh.” She nodded. “Dee lesson of dhis sdoree is… even if you are a cripple in dhis life”—Sadie smiled—“you are do… smile.”
The soup pot clattered in the sink.
A chill crept through my body.
“I am very, very sorry,” Greda said. “Sadie, you know you are do say lame.”
Sadie’s mouth bunched as she peered up at me. A fierce determination shone in her lucent green eyes.
“How would you like to word it, Sadie?” I whispered.
Her chest inflated as she gazed across the room at her mother. “I am designed differend.”
I waited for the child to explain further, but she didn’t.
“When I was growing up, my mother’s version of the ending was”—I took Sadie’s hand in mine—“that, whatever life throws at you, Little Princess, you are to smile.”
She sighed, pressing her shoulder into mine. “Your momma called you Liddle Princess, doo?”
“Yes.” I forced a smile. “She called me Little Princess, too.”
ΦΦΦ
Despite my exhaustion, I lay awake in the dark on the dirt floor of Greda’s home with a blanket that Felix had brought in for me from the wagon.
I recalled the details of Father’s letter. What was Prince Wrong like? Was he handsome, or was he like Prince Dell—repulsive? I found myself troubled by all of the what-ifs. Instead, I focused on Sadie.
The little girl’s plight nabbed at my heart. What parting gift could I leave her? Except for the clothes upon my back, I had nothing. I had no way to improve her life, and then I remembered the ring that Father had given me for my birthday, the previous morning. I felt the smooth, solid piece of jade on my left hand. I had no notion of its worth, except that it might prove invaluable to Greda.
The next morning during breakfast, I pondered how I would leave such a gift. I feared its loss if I did not address its value. Felix finished his bowl of porridge before the rest of us and rose from the table to carry the bedding to the wagon. In his absence, I slid the ring off my finger and set it on the table’s rough-hewn surface, halfway between Greda and myself.
“I would like to help Sadie and you. It is all I have to give.”
Greda shook her head, and then she peered wide-eyed from me to Sadie, seated beside her, before picking it up. She cradled the ring in the palm of her hand and marveled at its beauty. When Father had given it to me, there had been rare emotion in his eyes, which I told myself was worth more to me than the gift itself. If I ever had to tell Father that I’d given it to a peasant, I prayed he’d understand.
“I have no idea of its value. But I know it’s real. Don’t sell it to the tinker; take it to a good shop.”
As Greda gazed at me, an amber color emerged in her deep brown eyes. I knew without a doubt that their situation was not merely a manifestation to teach me—a spoiled princess—empathy. A hope beyond acting glistened in the young mother’s eyes.
“God bless you, and may your kindness be redurned do you.”
Felix emerged in the doorway. “It is time to go, Dory.”
I nodded.
“Sadie, id is dime do say good-bye,” Greda said.
“I won’d!” Sadie dropped her spoon in the watery porridge and slid out from her chair.
“You musd.” As her daughter hobbled across the room, Greda followed her.
“I won’d say good-bye.” Sadie flailed in her mother’s arms.
“I don’d know whad’s godden indo her,” Greda said.
I knew. As a young child, I’d watched my father head off to war far too many times. I’d hated good-byes. Maid Kimberlee, who was much older and wiser than me, once told me that when you say good-bye, it’s an important time to tell people that you love them and that you’ll keep them in your prayers.
“Good-bye, Greda; thank you for your hospitality. You and Sadie will be in my prayers.”
I paused in the open doorway and looked back. Sadie leaned her head away from the folds of her mother’s skirt to watch me. I walked very slowly toward the wagon. Though Felix was already seated upon the bench, he appeared patient.
Behind me, I heard bare feet patter across the threshold. “Dory,” Sadie’s voice rang out. As the child approached, I bent down. “Do you have do leave?” she asked.
“A long journey is ahead of me. Someday I will tell you all about it.” And as I said it, I prayed I would.
A whimper escaped her as she rubbed at her face with both hands.
I gently took one of her hands in mine. “When I was a child, I hated good-byes so much that I would hide,” I admitted.
/> “You did?” Her wide eyes told me that I had seen her soul.
“But now that I am older, I realize they must be said.” I thought of all the people I might never see again back home. Even my own parents had not said good-bye.
“Someday when I dasde sald, I will dhink of you,” she whispered.
“You will be in my prayers.” I touched the child’s cheek with my fingertips and climbed up into the wagon to sit beside Felix.
I waved at Greda and then her daughter.
“Dor-ee,” Sadie called. As I turned, the child’s eyes widened. “Once…” she said, and in the silence that followed, the little girl pasted on a smile and waved as we pulled away.
‡
Chapter Three
When we were well out of Greda and Sadie’s sight, I returned the wig and hat to my head. Upon Felix’s request, I reapplied the walnut oil to my face and hands.
“I hope that not all of our stops will be as emotional,” I said.
He flicked the reins. “Because of her child, Greda has not given up on living. But there are many who have.”
“I hope we’re not going to visit them next.” I felt weary at the thought. I needed time to reflect, perhaps grieve. The child had touched me deeply.
Felix said nothing, nor did he provide any clues to the evening ahead. I disliked this about him. Why hadn’t my father chosen a better communicator to be my guide?
Midday, Felix brought the horses to a halt. “Get out.” He nodded to the middle of the country road.
For a moment, I questioned if he was going to abandon me, but surely not. His mission and sole purpose were to deliver me safely to Prince Wrong. I climbed out of the wagon and walked to the center of the dirt road.
“Walk like you think Sadie will walk when she is your age.”
It was Sadie’s right leg that impeded her. I dangled my right foot toward my left and walked sideways on it, as Sadie had done. It did not take many steps for my ankle to ache, and probably in time so would my hip. By the time Sadie was my age, she would most likely be more crippled.
“You are to walk like that in Sherman. We’ll be there soon.”
“Can I talk this time?”
“It’s best you don’t.”
Situated on a grassy knoll, Sherman appeared to be a thriving metropolis. Felix parked the wagon in front of Sherman Feed Store, a large, barn-like building. He helped me out of the wagon, and I remembered to limp on my first step. My gait drew attention, and a crowd quickly gathered as we walked inside.
“I have chickens to trade for a horse,” Felix told the young man behind the counter.
I began to question if we would trade the horse for shelter, as we’d traded the pig the night before.
“All is well?” The young man glanced at me.
“Yes.” Felix slid an envelope across the counter.
“Drive your wagon around back.”
When we returned outside, the crowd remained.
“Are you new in down?” a gentleman asked, taking off his straw hat.
“No, we are passing through,” Felix said. He was good about staying by my side like a father would protect his lame daughter.
“Good,” a few breathed.
A dark-haired woman spoke up: “Dhey will dake her from you when dee new law is passed and insdidutionalize her. Is she dumb also?”
Felix glanced at me. “Only sometimes.”
I lowered my eyes to the wood-planked walkway. It must all be a game to humiliate me. I’d get back at him… somehow.
“What kind of law would separate a handicapped child from her family?” Felix loudly addressed the crowd. “I cannot trust that kind of government with my daughter’s well-being.”
I remembered Sadie.
“A handicapped child dakes a good working cidizen oud of sociedy because dhey musd sday ad home widh her. Dee governmend loses in dee end,” the dark-haired woman said.
My father had always crammed politics down my throat, but he was getting very creative. Without smoothing the back of my skirt, I sat down in the front of the wagon next to Felix.
“Pray for us.” As he flicked the reins, Felix hunched and his thick neck disappeared into his large shoulders.
At the rear of the feed store, a gray workhorse was tethered to the back of our wagon.
“Are the letters for my father?”
“Yes, they are written in code. In one month’s time, he’ll take this route on his way to your wedding.”
“One month? Why so long?”
“It will take us almost a month to reach Yonder. You will arrive several weeks before the wedding.”
“Before?” It was the first positive thing I’d heard about my wedding.
“Yes. Though you’ve been promised to each other since birth, his parents want their son to approve of the marriage.”
“And if he doesn’t approve of me?” My mind wandered to the gallows.
“It is greatly in his country’s favor that he approve. Yonder does not have the wealth or infrastructure that Blue Sky does. But…” Felix shrugged. “If the merger were to be annulled, you’d return to Blue Sky to marry Prince Dell of Nearton.”
I shuddered. Dell repulsed me. I was simply a pawn in my father’s hand, a commodity.
“Will my mother be coming to the wedding?”
“No, the journey would prove too difficult.”
I thought of Sadie. It had already been too difficult.
ΦΦΦ
On our way out of Sherman, we passed a bakery. I elbowed Felix and pointed at the large, curved letters on the storefront glass. CHERRY FRITTERS.
“Do we have any money?” My stomach already felt empty.
“What money I have is not for danishes.” He flicked the reins harder.
I crossed my eyes in agony. I would trade my shoes for a jelly-filled croissant. Of course, I would not admit that to Felix. I watched over my shoulder until the view of Sherman was the size of a postcard. I could not dismiss Sadie’s fate from my thoughts.
“Is Sadie’s future really an institution?” I sat up taller.
“Yes, unless Prince Wron employs a wider rule of his land.”
“And you are trying to educate me about my future kingdom?”
“Yes.” He nodded.
“What is Prince Wron like?”
“He is not as spoiled as you.” A smile softened Felix’s unshaven face.
Given the circumstances, I thought I’d behaved quite well.
“Is he handsome?”
“You will meet him in Yonder.”
“Is he unpleasant looking?”
“Dory, what did I just tell you?”
Felix was the most obstinate of men.
“Why you? Out of all the men my father knows, why you?”
Hunched, he flicked the reins. “I know the routes to Yonder like the back of my hand, and”—he cleared his throat—“your father trusts me.”
“What have you done to earn his trust?” He must have worked for Father during the war.
His barrel chest inflated. “I was one of his informants.”
I knew I’d seen him before. “You were a spy.”
“No, a runner.”
“You were a running spy.”
He didn’t argue with me.
After endless miles of flat prairie, I fell asleep. When I awoke, the sky was a dark angora blue and my head was against Felix’s shoulder. I stiffened and sat up.
“Do they know who I am tonight?” I yawned.
“No, you are always Dory. We arranged tonight as a request from the king, under the guise that you are to play piano for the royal wedding. They know nothing more, except that they will receive a horse in return.”
A horse in exchange for one night’s room and board? “It must be a very old horse.” I glanced at the workhorse hitched to the back of the wagon. The large creature appeared gentle and strong.
“There is a price for safety and secrecy. Reapply the walnut oil to your face and hands.
You do not need to wear the wig tonight.”
I was relieved.
The sky deepened to a navy blue before we entered a small hamlet named Ma’s Cow. By moonlight, the town’s cobblestone streets and church steeples and the outline of the modest, but sizable, homes enticed the heart.
Felix knocked on the door of a single-level brick home. A plump woman with short, dark hair opened it and invited us inside. She led us down a narrow hallway to a spare room.
“Dhere’s a vashbasin in your room. Dinner is ready.”
The woman did not correctly pronounce her Ts or Ws. Perhaps she had a speech impediment. I eyed the two single beds. Though the lodging was an improvement over last night, I felt uncomfortable about sleeping in the same room as Felix.
“Do not worry; I will sleep outside in the wagon.”
“Thank you.” Across the room, a washbasin sat on top of a low dresser. I washed my hands and glanced up to see my reflection in a round mirror.
A teetered gasp escaped me.
It was the first time I’d seen myself since the night of my party. The layers of walnut oil made my face appear muddy, stained… older. My hair was matted, and the rags I wore were pitiful. Prior to the mirror, I could only guess at my appearance; now, I knew. I looked like the lowliest of beggars.
“I need a brush, a bath, new clothes… I can’t be seen looking like this.”
“You’ve already been seen looking like that. You forget, Dory, the reasons you are disguised.”
I slumped down on the side of the mattress. “Do I have to be dumb again?”
“No . . .” Felix inhaled. “They know you are a royal pianist, but don’t get smart.”
“If I am a royal pianist, why am I dressed in rags? Why am I not with the wedding party? None of this makes sense.”
“We are traveling ahead of the party, so I will have time to visit Evland—my homeland. Practice that on your tongue, Dory.”
“Before the royal wedding, my father wants to visit Evland first.” Though I was confused, I tried to believe the lie.
I followed Felix down a narrow hallway to a blue-painted kitchen. Our hostess was seated at a long, dark table with the man of the house and several young women about my own age. Though they were already seated, they had waited for us before dishing up. Felix pulled a chair out for me, and I remembered my manners and training as I sat down and he pushed in my seat.
The Piano Girl - Part One (Counterfeit Princess Series) Page 3