Mrs. Pickle was busily wrapping Rapunzel’s gifts. “Yes, our flower has blossomed so quickly! I can hardly believe it!” she said, not realizing Gothel had just walked into the kitchen.
“She is my flower, Mrs. P! Mine! And don’t you forget it!”
Mrs. Pickle flinched, refusing to make eye contact with Gothel. “Yes, my lady,” she said, keeping her eyes on her wrapping.
“And where is my little flower?” asked Gothel. She looked no older than when she and Mrs. Tiddlebottom had first met.
“She’s in the wildflower field,” said Mrs. Tiddlebottom as she was decorating Rapunzel’s birthday cake. “I’ve asked her to stay out of the kitchen while we make ready for her party.”
“Well, you might want to add another layer to that cake, Mrs. T. It seems we will be expecting three more guests this evening. And you know how much my sisters like cake!”
Mrs. Tiddlebottom sighed.
“Do you have an objection to my inviting my sisters to celebrate my daughter’s birthday, Mrs. Tiddlebottom?” Gothel asked with a false smile and a singsong cadence to her voice.
“No, Lady Gothel. None whatsoever.”
“Very good,” said Gothel, exiting the room and leaving the ladies awestruck.
“Did you see what she was wearing?” asked Mrs. Pickle after Gothel left the room.
“Oh, I did. It used to break my heart seeing her dressed like those horrible sisters of hers. Now it just angers me. How dare she invite them here after everything they’ve done to her? Here! To this house with that young girl here! She is no kind of mother!”
“Shhh! Don’t say that so loud!” said Mrs. Pickle, looking to see if Gothel was still about.
“I’m not afraid of her!” said Mrs. Tiddlebottom, slamming her hand on the table, causing the flour to billow and get all over her flower-patterned apron.
“Aren’t you? I know I am! And I’m even more afraid of those sisters of hers, if you want to know the truth! From everything you’ve said, they sound like the stuff of nightmares.”
“And so we are!” said someone outside the open window. “We are the stuff of nightmares, and don’t you forget it!”
A chill went through the ladies as they saw the odd sisters peering ominously in at them through the kitchen window.
“So, what’s this? Mutiny?” asked Lucinda as she and her sisters made their way through the kitchen door.
Mrs. Tiddlebottom’s heart almost stopped.
“Calm yourself, old woman! We don’t want you keeling over before you’re done making that beautiful cake!” said Lucinda.
“No, we couldn’t have that!” Ruby laughed. “That would be a shame!”
“Yes, I am so looking forward to having a slice of birthday cake!” said Martha.
“When was the last time we had birthday cake? Was it at Maleficent’s birthday?” asked Ruby.
“No, no! We didn’t have cake that day! It was all ruined. All destroyed. The stars were right! There was no cake! No cake for Maleficent! No cake for any of us!” said Martha, stamping her feet like a child having a tantrum.
The sisters were more frightening than Mrs. Pickle had imagined.
“Oh, you have no idea!” said Lucinda, laughing.
“And who is this? Mrs. Pickle, is it? What a strange name. I’m sure it should mean something, but I honestly don’t care.”
The sisters laughed and laughed, horrifying Mrs. Pickle and Mrs. Tiddlebottom.
“Sisters! You’re here!” said Gothel as she made her way into the kitchen, her arms outstretched. She was wearing the same dress as the odd sisters. It was uncanny to see the four of them with their matching dark ringlets, pale faces, tiny red lips, and pink circles painted on their cheeks, all of them looking like terrifying marionettes. Mrs. Tiddlebottom could tell the odd sisters were in shock from seeing Gothel dressed like that.
“Gothel. Hello!” said Lucinda, hardly knowing what else to say.
“Oh!”
“How…”
“Oh! I saw you in your mirror. The one you left here. The one you thought to pass off as my mother’s so you could spy on me,” said Gothel to the confused odd sisters.
“You gave Gothel one of our mirrors?” yelled Ruby. “Stop giving away all our treasures, Lucinda!”
“We did no such thing, Gothel!” said Lucinda. “I left it as a gift. It was a way for you to contact us when you saw fit to do so.”
“Then why hide it among my mother’s things? No matter! I treasure it! Let’s not dwell in the past! I’m so happy to have my sisters back at last!”
The odd sisters were speechless. They couldn’t quite get over her being dressed like them. And they weren’t entirely sure why she had invited them.
“I have so much to show you! So much to tell you! You won’t believe the progress I’ve made!” said Gothel like an excited child sharing a favored piece of artwork with her parents.
“We, uh, can’t wait to see it,” said Lucinda, wondering if they had made the right decision in coming to see Gothel.
“Come with me! Come now!” said Gothel, dragging the sisters toward the cellar door.
“What about the birthday girl?” said Martha, looking around, trying to spy her.
“What about her?” snapped Gothel. “What do you want with her?” Gothel’s face transformed into something monstrous.
“We just wanted to wish her a happy birthday, that is all. It can wait!” said Ruby.
“Yes, it can wait!” said Gothel, smiling at the odd sisters.
“Oh yes! Let’s wait! Show us what you’re so excited about, Gothel,” said Lucinda, letting Gothel lead them down to the cellar.
Mrs. Tiddlebottom found it amusing to see the odd sisters so frightened of Gothel. She wondered what it was they knew about her that caused such fear. Then again, Mrs. Tiddlebottom didn’t know much, and everything within her was telling her to leave the house at once. And she would have if it weren’t for Rapunzel. She couldn’t leave her little girl alone with those witches. Because surely that was what they were.
Witches.
And everyone knew what witches did to children in fairy tales. The last thing Mrs. Tiddlebottom wanted was to see Rapunzel cut up into little pieces and baked in a pie. Or put into a long deathlike sleep. Or into some witch’s oven.
Or locked away in a tower. Or even kissed by some prince taking far too many liberties with a sleeping princess.
Nope, Mrs. Tiddlebottom was going to stay put. Her Rapunzel needed her. Even as old as she was, she would protect the girl with everything she had.
“Rapunzel! Come inside, will you?” the old woman called out the back door.
Mrs. Tiddlebottom smiled, seeing her sweet girl run in from the field of wildflowers.
“There’s my girl. Here, you look a mess. Let me brush that long unruly hair of yours. I wish your mother would let me cut it for you. Never mind, you are going to look lovely for your birthday!”
Mrs. Tiddlebottom had outdone herself. She’d made an eight-tiered birthday cake covered in delicate marzipan flowers and colorful animals. It was an edible menagerie that rivaled even the famous confections concocted by Mr. Butterpants of Butterpants Bakery. It was a grand spectacle of a cake. A masterpiece. It was the most beautiful cake Mrs. Tiddlebottom had ever seen, if she did say so herself. She was exceedingly proud of that cake and hoped Rapunzel would love it as much as Mrs. Tiddlebottom loved Rapunzel.
The cake was placed on a long table in the front parlor and surrounded by a heap of gifts wrapped in gold paper with pink iridescent ribbons. Mrs. Pickle had made a lovely banner that read HAPPY BIRTHDAY, RAPUNZEL! And the room was decorated with red paper hearts and yellow tissue paper flowers. The only thing missing was Lady Gothel and her sisters.
“By Hades, these madwomen are vexing me to utter distraction!” Mrs. Tiddlebottom had half a mind to pound on the cellar door and command the witches to come out at once.
In all the years she’d lived in that house, she had never gone down to
the cellar. Even in the first months after Gothel’s return, when she’d started to sequester herself away, leaving poor Mrs. Tiddlebottom to care for the baby Rapunzel alone, she never even knocked at the door. She just let her mistress be. So she wasn’t about to knock on the door now, even though she was annoyed they hadn’t come up so they could start the celebration.
“Mrs. Tiddlebottom!”
It was Mrs. Pickle. She was in a panic. Her face was red and she was wringing her apron.
“What is it that has you strangling your apron, girl?” Mrs. Tiddlebottom said.
And for a moment Mrs. Pickle forgot all about Rapunzel. “Mrs. T! What’s happened to you?”
“What in fairy wings are you talking about, girl?” asked Mrs. Tiddlebottom, becoming annoyed.
“Well, look at you!” she said.
“Oh yes, I probably have flour all over my face, as usual. Now what’s got you so upset? Get on with it!”
“No, Mrs. T! Look in the mirror! Something’s happened,” Mrs. Pickle said, pointing to the oval mirror that hung on the far wall of the parlor. “Go! Look! Right now.”
“Good grief!” said Mrs. Tiddlebottom as she made her way to the mirror. “I will if only you’ll stop this carrying on.” But her tone changed when she saw her reflection. “Oh my!” She couldn’t believe her eyes. She was young. It had been so long since she had seen that version of her face she almost didn’t recognize it. She just stood there, staring at herself in disbelief.
“Oh, Mrs. Tiddlebottom! The reason I came to find you…”
“Yes, child, what is it?” she asked, still looking at herself.
“I can’t find Rapunzel! She’s not in her room, and she’s not outside!”
“What? Are you sure?” Mrs. Tiddlebottom asked, whipping her head around to look at Mrs. Pickle.
“Yes, I’ve looked all over.”
“Rapunzel?” called Mrs. Tiddlebottom. “Where are you, girl?”
“She’s nowhere to be found! You don’t think she’s downstairs with the mistresses, do you?”
“Oh, I hope not!” said Mrs. Tiddlebottom, rushing to the cellar door.
She flung open the door in a panic. “Rapunzel?” The girl didn’t answer. Neither did the witches. All she heard were the soft monotone sounds of the witches reciting some sort of song or poem. Mrs. Tiddlebottom couldn’t make out the words, but she could hear their voices growing louder each time they recited the poem again. She called down to the witches. “Ladies, I’m sorry to interrupt, but I can’t find Rapunzel.” Still no answer from the witches. It was eerie, like she was in a dream, calling out for help, but no one could hear her. She went down the first few steps, each of them creaking and moaning as she went. The sounds of the witches’ voices became louder. It was a dank, musty place. It smells of evil down here. She hardly knew what she would find when she got to the bottom of the stairs, only taking a few at a time, hoping she could see what was happening from a distance. “Mrs. Tiddlebottom! Don’t go down there alone!” She started at Mrs. Pickle’s voice. “You about made me jump out of my skin! Shhh! If you’re coming with me, then keep quiet!” The ladies descended the stairs, slowing. The voices of the witches became cacophonous, hurting their ears.
Then they heard them: the evil words. Even though it was strangely beautiful, something about the song struck fear into Mrs. Tiddlebottom’s heart. She knew something foul was happening to her little Rapunzel.
Flower, gleam and glow
Let your power shine
Make the clock reverse
Bring back what once was mine
Heal what has been hurt
Change the fates’ design
Save what has been lost
Bring back what once was mine
What once was mine
Mrs. Tiddlebottom rushed down the stairs. She couldn’t have imagined a more horrific scene. The four witches were in a semicircle, their bloodied hands linked and dripping on Rapunzel’s sleeping body. The witches’ eyes were rolled back into their heads, and in front of them were three bodies. Two beautiful dead young women and Rapunzel sleeping between, with her long hair brushed out and blanketing the dead beauties.
Her hair glowed as the witches sang their song, which seemed to be penetrating the dead and lovely creatures:
Flower, gleam and glow
Let your power shine
Make the clock reverse
Bring back what once was mine
Heal what has been hurt
Change the fates’ design
Save what has been lost
Bring back what once was mine
What once was mine
Mrs. Pickle screamed, drawing the witches out of their trance. Nothing about the scene was natural, especially the contortions of the witches’ faces after being brought of their trace. They were stupefied, and their bodies were twisting in ways that didn’t seem possible—in ways that brought terror to Mrs. Tiddlebottom. It was as if something within them were breaking, snapping, causing the witches to cry out in pain. Their peals of horrific screams were like the things of nightmares, but nothing—nothing—was more unimaginable than the image of poor Rapunzel lying there among those dead things as if dead herself.
Gothel’s mouth bubbled with black goop as she struggled to spit out her words. “Look what you have done! You fool! You’ve ruined it!”
“What have you done to Rapunzel?” screamed Mrs. Tiddlebottom.
Lucinda waved her hand at Mrs. Tiddlebottom, causing her to fly backward and smash into a shelf covered in books and glass bottles, which tumbled down on the poor unconscious woman.
Gothel waved her away. “No, Lucinda, no! Don’t hurt her!”
Lucinda gave Gothel a queer look. “Why not, Sister? She ruined our spell! She deserves to die!”
“I want her to live. I need her,” she said, looking at Mrs. Tiddlebottom’s young face, no longer marred by deep lines.
“And what about this one?” asked Lucinda, pointing to Mrs. Pickle, who was huddled in the corner, crying.
“Oh, you can kill her,” said Gothel. “She is nothing to me.”
“Very good,” said Lucinda, laughing. “Sisters. You heard Gothel. Take care of this simpleton while I wipe Mrs. Tiddlebottom’s memory.”
Gothel and the odd sisters locked the cellar door, hiding away all their secrets from prying eyes while they got up to their skullduggery. Rapunzel was still in an enchanted sleep and wouldn’t wake until the odd sisters chose to wake her. Mrs. Tiddlebottom was spirited out of the cellar and up to her room after they altered her memory. Then the foul witches quickly hid all Rapunzel’s things. They ripped down her birthday banner and haphazardly packed up all her belongings, stuffing them into the cellar along with everything else they didn’t want Mrs. Tiddlebottom to happen upon.
Lucinda performed a remarkable memory charm that caused Mrs. Tiddlebottom to forget everything that had happened after the soldiers came to take the flower. She wouldn’t remember Gothel’s leaving, bringing the baby Rapunzel home, or having employed Mrs. Pickle, who had the misfortune of setting foot in such a wicked and demented household. The poor dear’s body was still lying on the cellar floor, locked away with the rest of the horrors lurking down there.
Rapunzel became just another possession. An implement to bring Gothel’s sisters back from the dead. A way to stay young forever. She wasn’t even a person in Gothel’s mind. Gothel only saw the flower.
The witches were looking forward to a long afternoon without interruption so they could devise their plans and go over what they should do differently the next time they performed the spell, but suddenly and with great surprise, Mrs. Tiddlebottom wandered into the parlor, looking quite disheveled and worse for wear. She was confused at finding Gothel and the odd sisters stuffing birthday cake into their mouths at an alarming rate.
“Oh, hello, Mrs. Tiddlebottom! What are you doing out of bed?” asked Gothel, annoyed but pretending to be concerned about the poor woman.
“Oh, Mrs.
Tiddlebottom, this is a magnificent cake!” squealed Ruby, spitting cake as she spoke.
“Oh, yes, you should try it!” said Lucinda, biting the head off a marzipan kitten.
“Lady Gothel, may I speak with you in the kitchen?” asked Mrs. Tiddlebottom, befuddled and horrified by the entire scene.
“Yes, of course, Mrs. T.”
Gothel followed the bemused Mrs. Tiddlebottom into the kitchen. She could see she was confused and probably a little featherheaded. “I’m surprised you’re awake, Mrs. T! You were quite woozy after your fall. I think you should go back to bed.”
“My fall, lady?”
“Oh dear, you don’t remember! You fell down the cellar stairs. I was so worried about you. I still am! Now, please, let’s go back upstairs.”
“The cellar, lady? I never go into the cellar.”
“I know, Mrs. T. I was just as surprised as you are. I think you were looking for me.”
“What are your sisters doing here? And why are you dressed that like?” asked Mrs. Tiddlebottom.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Mrs. T. I hadn’t the opportunity to tell you I made peace with my sisters and asked them over for my birthday.”
“Your birthday? Oh, Lady Gothel, I didn’t know, or I would have baked you a cake!”
“Not to worry, Mrs. T. You’ve not been well. As you can see, Mr. Butterpants made me a lovely cake. You can bake one for me next time!”
“I feel so strange, lady. Maybe I should go back to bed?”
“Yes, Mrs. T. I think that might be for the best. You’ve had a very trying day.”
“Have I, lady?”
“Well, with being so unwell, I mean.”
“Yes.”
“I will bring up some tea in a little while, and a slice of Mr. Butterpants’s cake?”
“Yes please.”
Mrs. Tiddlebottom followed Gothel back to the parlor on her way up to her room and stopped abruptly. She stared into the parlor, dazed. Transfixed. She seemed to be looking for something. She didn’t even notice the odd sisters hovering over the cake, devouring it like wild beasts.
“What is it, Mrs. Tiddlebottom?” asked Gothel.
“I’m not sure. Something doesn’t feel right, like something is missing.”
Mother Knows Best: A Tale of the Old Witch Page 16