by Marilyn Kaye
“Go away, Mother, please.”
“All you have to say is ‘I do’ and you can have your own face! You can be yourself!”
Why couldn’t she understand? Maybe because now I was just beginning to understand. “I’m myself right now, Mother! I don’t need a different face to be happy, I’m happy now, even with this face. I like myself, just the way I am!”
I wanted to go on, to try to explain, but suddenly I couldn’t speak. What was that feeling rushing through me? My whole body was throbbing, tingling, and my head was burning. I was spinning, the room was spinning, my whole world was spinning. And then I hit the floor.
“Penelope? Penelope! What was the noise? Are you all right?”
Lying flat on my back, I didn’t know what to say. Nothing hurt. But something was different.
The bedroom door opened and Jessica came in. “Penelope?”
“I’m here, Mother.”
She looked down and her expression froze. And for the first time ever, so did her mouth. It was open, but no sounds were coming out.
And then I knew why she was silent. I didn’t know how I knew, but I knew. I put my hand to my face. Then I got up off the floor and went over to the mirror my mother had brought into my room earlier that day.
I knew what I’d see before I saw it. Me, Penelope Wilhern, of course. In a long, white wedding gown. With shiny dark brown curls cascading to her shoulders, with big brown eyes.
And with a perfect little normal nose.
Chapter Thirty-one
My mother was crying again. Not shrieking, not screaming, not throwing one of her usual fits of frustration and despair. She was crying.
It had been going on like this for the past couple of hours. You’d think she’d be ecstatic, laughing, dancing for joy, celebrating my new face. I was still upstairs in my bedroom, and she was downstairs with my father and Wanda and Jake, but her hysterical wailing was as loud as every other sound that could come out of her mouth, and I could even make out the words she spoke between the sobs.
“I didn’t know, I didn’t know! How could I have known? ‘ One of our own kind,’ that was what the curse said. Someone who would love her. I thought that meant a husband! Didn’t you? Isn’t that what you thought, too?”
I couldn’t hear the normal voices of the people around her, but I assumed they were all agreeing with her. I agreed with her—that’s what I’d thought, too. Someone had to love and accept me just the way I was, snout and all. How could I have known that the someone could be me?
And would it have made any difference if I had known? How could I ever have loved myself when I was brought up to believe that I wasn ‘t myself?
While she was crying, I was packing. I still had my little furnished room in Midtown, it was paid up till the end of the month, and I was going back there. I needed some time on my own, and I knew I wouldn’t get that here. It was ironic—I’d spent most of my life so far alone, in hiding. Now that I didn’t need to hide, I still wanted to be alone. Not forever, of course. But there was a lot I needed to think about, stuff I had to figure out for myself. And not because I was finally myself. I knew now that I’d been myself all the time.
I closed my suitcase and went over to the window. The catering company was still cleaning up, carrying away the chairs, taking down the reception tent. The guests were long gone, even Edward and his parents. I had a pretty good suspicion he was celebrating.
I picked up the suitcase and carried it downstairs. My parents were now alone in the music room.
“Where are you going?” Jessica shrieked when she saw me with the suitcase.
“Just back to my own place,” I assured her. “Not far. I’ll be back to visit.”
My father nodded understandingly, but my mother buried her face in her hands and let out a fresh onslaught of tears and wailing. “Oh, my darling, I’m sorry,” she wept. “Can you ever forgive me? I’m so very, very sorry.”
I was used to hearing my father say he was sorry, for being a Wilhern and therefore responsible for the curse. I’d never heard my mother apologize for anything before.
“Sorry for what?” I asked.
She wiped her eyes. “If only I’d done my job as a mother, if only I could have loved you just as you were, as one of my own, like a real mother should, the curse would have been lifted long ago.”
What could I say? It’s okay, Mom, I don’t blame you for being a shallow, superficial snob who couldn’t bear the thought of anyone knowing she had an ugly child? What would be the point? She was who she was. So I put down the suitcase and went to her. I put one arm around her, the other around my father, and we had a group hug.
Finally, my mother started to calm down. She turned to me, smiled, and studied my face.
“You know, dear, I just had a thought.”
“What’s that, Mom?”
“I’m presuming that the carotid artery is out of the way now. You could have some more work done on your nose! I think you’d be adorable with just a little turnedup tip … and maybe you could have your cheekbones lifted….”
“Mother!” I pulled away and stared at her in astonishment.
Her face was all innocence. “What’s wrong with wanting to look your best?”
I shook my head wearily. Like me, she would never change, either.
Rising, I gave my father one more hug. “I’m going now.” They followed me out of the room and into the entrance hall by the door. But before I could open it and walk out, someone else came along with a suitcase in hand.
“You won’t be needing my services anymore, Ms. Wilhern,” Wanda said. “Penelope is perfectly capable of finding a husband now on her own. If she wants one.” To me, she said, “Personally, if I were you, I’d have some fun first. You’ve got a lot of time to make up for.” Bidding us all farewell, she walked out the door.
“Bye, Mom, Dad. I’ll call you,” I said, but once again, someone beat me to the door.
“Jake!” my mother yelled. “What are you doing?”
He, too, was carrying a suitcase in one hand and an old-fashioned walking stick in the other. Without saying a word, he nodded at my mother, my father, and me. Then he opened the door and walked outside.
Jessica ran after him. My father and I followed them outside.
“Jake!” my mother bellowed. “Where do you think you’re going? You can’t quit! You come back here, right this minute!” As he continued to walk toward the gate, her voice rose to an earth-shattering shriek. “Do you hear me? I said, come back here—”
She wasn’t able to finish the sentence. Jake turned around, lifted his walking stick, and pointed it straight at her. My mother went completely dumb. Jake turned back and continued toward the gate.
My father and I watched Jessica in fascination. Her lips were moving, but nothing was coming out. She kept trying, she opened her mouth wider and wider, she took deep breaths as if she was trying to blow out the words—but there was nothing. She was mute.
I looked at my father, expecting him to look as upset as she did. But his expression was thoughtful. And as he put an arm around her to comfort her, I could have sworn I saw a small smile on his face.
I waved to them and walked down to the gate. As I emerged onto the sidewalk, I caught a glimpse of Jake just ahead of me.
“Good-bye, Jake,” I called to him.
He turned, raising his stick in salute. And then he began to change. Right before my eyes, his body transformed, and our old butler was no longer standing straight and tall. His back curved and he was bent over. His formal butler suit seemed to melt away and was replaced by a ragged long dress. His hair turned gray and grew, long and wild until it hung to his waist. And his face—well, he certainly wasn’t Jake. He was a woman, an ugly woman, with a pimply nose and a jutting chin. Even the walking stick had changed. It was longer, rougher, and crooked. Like something a witch might carry.
Then I knew. All this time, all these years, Jake had stayed with us in order to witness the vengeance. H
e was Clara-the-servant-girl’s mother. And she’d settled her score with the Wilherns.
Chapter Thirty-two
I arrived at my shop in the morning and paused outside to examine the display I’d created for the window. It hadn’t been easy, coming up with something creative and attractive for Halloween, even though it was my all-time favorite celebration. The holiday wasn’t really associated with flowers, and I certainly hadn’t wanted to do the standard ghosts and spiderweb thing, which might indicate the season but had nothing at all to do with what I sold in my shop.
Looking in the window now, I was actually proud of what I’d managed to come up with: hollowed-out pumpkins filled with tall tiger lilies and black hanging baskets of orange spray roses and alstroemeria. It was festive and seasonally correct, and not just for decoration—the arrangements could be purchased inside, at Penelope’s Petals.
I unlocked the door, turned the CLOSED sign to OPEN, took off my coat, and put it away. Then I filled a can and watered all my plants. I went through the mail—just bills and catalogs—and checked on the arrangements I needed to complete that day.
I was reading an interesting article about gerbera daisies when the tinkling of a bell indicated that the door to my shop had opened. A rush of cool, brisk autumn air came in with the customer.
I recognized the woman immediately. “Ms. Duquesne! Nice to see you. How was your honeymoon?”
“Glorious,” the woman said. “Bermuda is beautiful at this time of year. When you plan your honeymoon, you should keep Bermuda in mind.”
I smiled. “I don’t believe I’ll be planning my honeymoon any time soon. I thought it might be a good idea to find a husband first.”
“Well, a beautiful young woman like you must have hundreds of men chasing you. Or hundreds of women, if you happen to be of that persuasion. Anyway, I just wanted to stop by and thank you again for the beautiful job you did on my wedding. People are still talking about the centerpieces on the tables. And you know, I refused to throw my bouquet in the traditional manner, it was just too magnificent. I’m having it pressed and framed.”
“I’m glad you were pleased,” I said.
“And I brought you some photos,” the woman continued. “You could use them for advertising if you like. Or put them up here in the shop.”
I accepted the pictures with appreciation. The shop had only been open for a month, and I needed all the publicity I could get. Besides, the Duquesne wedding had been my first really big job, and it was nice to have something to remember it by.
After she left, I got out my box of bits and pieces to add the photos to the things I kept meaning to put in my scrapbook at home one of these days. Then, as usual, I couldn’t resist poking through the other items in the box. There was the announcement of my shop’s opening and a photo of the storefront on the opening day. There was a picture of the sofa I was saving up to buy for the living room of my new apartment.
And there were newspaper clippings from four months ago. They all had headlines like WHERE’S PENELOPE? and WHATEVER HAPPENED TO MISS PIGGY?
It was as if I’d completely disappeared into thin air, according to the articles. I hadn’t changed my name, I hadn’t changed my hairstyle, nothing was different except for my missing snout. In a way, my mother had been right—I was a fad, a flavor of the month. But Annie had been right, too. I was still the same person.
Something else caught my eye, and I pulled out a fancy program. It was from the night I’d gone with Edward and our parents to the benefit concert. The last time I’d seen Max. His own name wasn’t even in the program, but it didn’t matter. It was my only souvenir. I allowed myself a melancholy moment of remembrance, but I replaced the program quickly before the tears could automatically well up in my eyes.
I forced myself instead to think about Edward. I hadn’t seen him since our almost-wedding, and I wondered how he was. I’d sent back the engagement ring but he hadn’t acknowledged it. I imagined he was still living at home, being bullied by his parents and feeling sorry for himself. Someday, I’d go and talk to him about how to break free and let go of all the sadness. I felt that I could call myself an authority when it came to self-imprisonment.
I wasn’t in that position anymore. So much had changed for me in the past few months. The shop, of course. It was the perfect career for me. With my love and knowledge of plants and flowers, I was able to create something more than a standard florist’s shop. People came to Penelope’s Petals for unusual arrangements, exotic plants, and all the information they needed to care for them. I was starting to build up a reputation.
I moved out of my shabby furnished room and found a little apartment in Midtown, not far from Annie’s. I visited my parents occasionally, but my social life was too busy to spend much time with them. I still had my friends from the Cloverdilly, and I’d made more. Once, I asked the bartender at the Cloverdilly whatever happened to the guy who used to clean the place, and he told me he didn’t work there anymore, that he was traveling with a band. I was glad. Even though that meant I wouldn’t see him around, it meant that he must be happy.
The bell at the door tinkled again, and I shoved the box back in its drawer. “Hi!” I greeted Annie. “What are you doing here at this hour?”
“I’m working. You’ve got deliveries.” She dropped a stack of thick envelopes and boxes on my counter. “How was dinner last night?”
I did my usual eye roll at the memory of my monthly dinner with the Wilherns. “Quiet. I still can’t believe I’m able to describe an evening with my mother as quiet!”
Annie grinned. “She still can’t talk?”
“She can whisper a little, but the doctors say she’ll never be able to do much more than that.”
“And they still don’t know what caused her to lose her voice?”
“Have you ever tried convincing a doctor that someone’s been cursed by a witch?”
The bell rang, and a little girl carrying a bag came in with an adult. “Trick or treat!” the child sang out.
I was prepared for this—I had a big bowl of candies right under the counter. But I was too startled by her disguise to reach for them right away. She wore the mask of a pig—and not an animal-pig. This mask had rosy cheeks, long eyelashes, and curly brown hair. And a snout.
“Happy Halloween,” I said brightly. “Who are you supposed to be?”
“I’m Penelope!”
Annie and I exchanged looks. “That’s… cute,” I said, and dropped some candy into her bag.
“Can you believe that?” I asked Annie.
Laughing, Annie nodded. “Actually, she’s the third Penelope I’ve seen today. Listen, do you have plans for tonight?”
“No, but aren’t we a little old for trick-or-treating?”
“We’re invited to a Halloween party. Some newspaper reporter I met. I forget his name but I’ve got the address. He lives in one of those singles’ apartment complexes, and the whole building is throwing the party. He specifically told me to bring you.”
“Really?” I frowned. I’d met a lot of reporters during my brief fame, but I hadn’t actually become friendly with any of them. But a big Halloween party could be fun.
“Okay, but I don’t have a costume,” I told Annie.
“I’ll pick us up some masks,” she said. “See ya later.”
After she left, I had customers, and more trick or treaters. There were goblins and witches and Spider-Men—and more Penelopes. One group in particular got my attention—six girls together, five of whom were wearing Penelope Pig masks. I passed out the candy to the giggling bunch, but I paused when I reached the one who was wearing a Snow White costume. She was the only one who didn’t look happy.
“Is something wrong?” I asked her.
She pouted. “Everyone else is Penelope, and I’m just stupid Snow White.”
I gave her extra candy. “Well, it’s good to be different. Different can be beautiful. And you’ll stand out in a crowd.” They turned to leave, and I called
out to her.
“Hey, Snow White.”
She turned and looked back at me.
“You know the song Snow White sings in the movie? ‘Some Day My Prince Will Come’?”
She nodded.
“Don’t count on it,” I said.
It wasn’t until an hour later that I had a chance to go through the deliveries that Annie had dropped off. There were seeds I’d ordered, and a couple of vases, and there were some books on flower arrangements, but one thick envelope was unexpected.
There was no return address on the envelope. No mark showing what city it came from, either. There wasn’t even a stamp. I opened it and pulled out a manila folder. The label on it read JOHNNY MARTIN.
Johnny Martin. It rang a bell. Where had I seen that name before? In my mind, an image of that jazz concert program appeared. I frowned, trying to figure out why. Then I opened the folder and began to read.
And it all started to make sense.
Chapter Thirty-three
“I can’t believe you bought these masks,” I said to Annie as we approached the apartment building.
“Come on, they’re funny!”
“I just hadn’t planned on ever looking like this again.” I had to admit, though, it was a cute idea. Annie and I were both wearing Penelope masks.
And we weren’t the only ones at the party with them. As we made our way through the building’s crowded recreation room, I spotted a number of pig-girls.
“This is bizarre,” I whispered to Annie. “I haven’t been in the news in months! People think I disappeared.”
“That’s why you’ve become a legend,” Annie replied. “Like Amelia Earhart!”
It looked like a good party. There was food and decorations, and a floor space had been cleared for dancing. I was hungry and I wanted to hit the buffet table first, but Annie had other plans.
“I have to pee,” she announced.
“I see restrooms over there,” I told her.
“Yeah, but do you see the line? I can’t hold it that long. Hey, there’s the guy who invited us. Wait here.” I watched as she went over to a man disguised as a pirate with an eye patch. They conferred for a moment, and then she came back.