The dust on the road covered my shoes, seemed to seek out and settle in Jake’s hair, and made little kids cough, but didn’t dampen the spirit of the people as we made our way to the castle. I felt for the watering can in my pocket. It was like a secret and a puzzle at the same time. I would, of course, try to do as the old woman said. I thought I would probably feel a little foolish pouring nothing out of the can into the vases of flowers. And if someone saw me? Then what? “What do you think you’re doing there?” they would say. “Stop it, you…you…girl!” But if I was careful, maybe I could avoid that mess. I’d just slip along watering nothing into vases just as if it made sense. Poof, went the dusty road with each step. Poof. Poof. Maybe I should try watering the dust, I thought.
As we got closer to the castle, the dust stopped. The palace people had paved the road with shiny new cobbles. Far away at the edge of the castle wall, were the places set for the important people. Tables set in rings, I knew, so that the right people sat next to the other right people. And talked. They would have to talk. The flowers were thickest there as if the tables and chairs poked out of huge bouquets of bright yellows and reds, the fine and pale pastels with wisps of blue for accents. At the outside tables where the villagers were being shown their places, there were many fewer flowers, but on each table there were vases just as the old woman said there would be. And in each vase enough flowers to look like a celebration. It would take some work, but I could easily move around and do my secret watering. I couldn’t wait to see what would happen. The instructions had been so quick and so like the wind, that I wasn’t exactly sure what I’d heard. But I knew the watering part. The pretend watering part.
Eugenie stood shifting from foot to foot as a long line moved slowly past her. She spoke to this one, then to that one and nodded and smiled. I couldn’t hear what she was saying, but I knew it had to be all the things I couldn’t have said: how is cousin James? Oh, were they married last year? That fine dog you had, he must be old by now. She knew all the little princess things to say; and I also knew she was hating this part but doing it well so she could get back to her garden.
I moved through the crowd watching the important people greeting each other. If Eugenie saw me, she didn’t make any sign. I knew I wanted to tell her what the old woman had asked of me. She would have an opinion. The entire crowd smelled like flowers. And from a little hill I could see everyone had worn their brightest and best clothes. The day was turning out like all the holidays rolled together and then mixed with a fine summer day.
My parents were keeping a close watch on Jake, who had a tendency to wander away to some high place. During market day last year, they found him on a rooftop squatting and just watching the sellers below. Once they found him high up a cliff with some young goats hopping between ledges. So now they kept him close by.
On the other hand, I was old enough to wander in the crowds and still be expected to find my way back to my family at the proper time. I felt not only grown up, but also double, like there were two of me circling on both sides of the wedding—among the notables and among the folk.
Eugenie had the hard part. Her feet must have been aching from standing. I could see her shifting feet in those tight, uncomfortable princess shoes. And the smiling part must have become tiresome very quickly. From where I watched, her smile looked like a picture of a smile drawn on her face, always the same, only her lips moving. I knew she was bringing great peace and many fine connections among the important families. After all, that was what this whole wedding was about.
But, yikes! So, I was happy with my freedom for the moment, and I used that freedom to move from table to table with my little watering can pretending to water each vase of flowers. I heard one woman say, “Isn’t that sweet. She’s keeping the flowers fresh with that tiny sprinkling can. Such a good girl.” And I moved on.
From the castle walls flew flags of all the families with all their crests and bright colors. Arbuckle Pemberton the Third, now the center of great celebration, had been, not too long ago, considered a silly person with no future. Now he and his bride had become the center of a grand event that would become part of songs and stories forever. Trumpets sounded. And I thought of all the stolen flowers sacrificed to make this event look joyous.
I made my way from table to table nodding and smiling with my watering can. I was patted on the head four times, on the shoulder three times, and complimented on my good posture once. I think some of those who looked closely and saw that no water came from my can might have thought I was a silly girl just pretending. But most people only nodded and smiled as I “watered” their vases.
The trumpets sounded again and hundreds of white doves were let loose from the castle walls. They flew together over the crowd and then back to the wall where they had been trained to return. Every ten minutes or so they would be let out again, darken the sun for a few seconds and fly back to their cages. Then more trumpets and everyone grew quiet.
Finally, Eugenie could sit down. I saw her move to the front of the large stage and take her princess place. Cousins and uncles and aunts followed. Then the dignitaries from close by and far off all were seated. Trumpets again. Doves again. I hurried with my watering because I had many tables to go, and I could guess the ceremony would start as soon as everyone was seated. Strangely the watering can, tiny though it was, felt heavier and heavier as I finished up. It seemed it was somehow filling up from the flowers instead of emptying into the vases. At the end I had to use two hands to lift it for the last row of vases. Then I was done. I felt a little disappointed that nothing had happened. All the flowers looked the same after my watering. Oh well, I tucked the can into my apron and went to find my family.
I kept thinking how much these flowers would cost in the village market. I could picture them in the stall of a friend’s mother who would always throw in a small bouquet free if you bought flowers from her. She’d laugh and then make up someone’s name who should receive the bouquet from you. “For your Aunt Mary,” she’d say, or “for your boyfriend.” The flowers from her garden brought the money she used for Christmas presents or to buy cloth and leather for everyday clothes for her children. These were her flowers and the flowers of many other careful gardeners.
The actual wedding began just as I returned to my family. Jake was not able to sit in a chair. He climbed up the back, then under and finally sat on his legs as mother scowled him into some kind of sitting. Mother and father seemed pleased to be surrounded by so much excitement as if they had joined up with all the others now in the happiness together. I couldn’t get over the great flower robbery, but I kept a happy face just to join in. Eugenie, far away on the stage, sat with her hands folded looking like a princess. I wondered how she felt about the whole business as she looked out over these thousands of flowers shouting out wedding-day joy in a rainbow of bright colors.
The wedding itself went on for a long time, as you might expect. There had to be blessings and more flowers. There were songs. The doves again. More trumpets. And finally, cheering from everyone, famous and important and farmers alike. My favorite part was the long rolls of cloth made into a kind of portable ceiling for the happy bride and groom. The bride’s dress was white and covered in some kind of sparkles so that when she walked in and out of the light and shade made by the rolls of cloth, she seemed to float at Arbuckle’s side and then suddenly light up.
But the wedding was just the beginning of a long, long day.
Next came the ceremonies featuring the most important families, a kind of parade of what looked like some very old people and some just slightly old people. And then the younger ones went on parade. The bride and groom were long gone, and we all watched the bright dresses and uniforms traipsing up and down. Jake fidgeted. Eugenie marched in the procession when her time came. I knew that all the while she was really longing to get her hands back in the dirt of her garden.
And then the eating. Roasts and chickens and fowl of all sorts streamed out from the castle in an
endless parade—a finer parade than the notables, everyone agreed. After the royals were served, all the rest were fed. I kept wondering whose garden got raided for the vegetables, whose family will go hungry? The eating went on until nearly sundown. Trumpets announced the final ceremony and blessing of all.
Then it happened.
A little at a time at first, like the beginning of a gentle rain. Then more and more. All the flowers on the villagers’ tables began to rain money. It seemed the flower petals melted into coins that rained onto the tables. Then the raining became a storm of coins flowing from each vase. The people gasped at first. Then they began to collect coins in pockets and furled aprons. All the flowers I had watered with my tiny watering can, but not the royal flowers, became coins.
I could hear whispers that the King and Queen must have found this way to pay the people for their flowers. But all of us could see that they, and all the others whose flowers had not become money, were just as surprised as we were.
But all the guests at the people’s tables had money by the time all the petals from all the vases had changed into coins.
Everyone looked at each other in amazement. Then the explanations began.
“The priests must have done it with magic.”
“The old ones, the star and moon priests, they certainly had a hand in this.”
“Maybe the King and Queen and all the families got together…”
“No. No. Look at them. They can’t believe it either. Look, some of them are emptying out their flower vases to see if there is money in them.”
And there they were. Several old men were dumping out the royal flowers looking for more wealth to add to their own. But all they found were wilting flowers and warm water. And all they made was a mess on the fine table cloths. Only the villagers’ tables sprouted coins.
I knew why and how. I patted the watering can in my apron and smiled to myself. Then I helped mother and father collect our share of the money, and then we helped others collect theirs.
By the time we were all on the road toward home, pockets full, bellies full, I could hear around us that most people thought the magic had come from the castle somehow, some way. After all, the castle was where all the power was kept. So certainly that power must be responsible for the great transformation of flowers into money. It was settled. By the time we left the highway for our farm, it was getting dark. And as we passed near the old couple’s garden, I could barely see the path, but their garden was almost invisible in the failing light. What I could see was that the little light we had left from the day seemed to go right through the flower petals and out the other side. And one other thing, though I couldn’t be sure because of the twilight. The old couple’s house seemed abandoned, the windows like closed eyes of a sleeper. The door was hanging crooked. It looked as if no one had lived there in a very long time. I pointed it out to father, but he was carrying Jake by this point and wanted to hurry down the path toward home. Mother peered where I pointed but confessed she couldn’t see very well.
Eugenie and I waited for three days before we tried to switch back. It turned out that she still had a number of duties involving old aunts and uncles, and she had to finish these before getting back to her garden. The talk of the castle was, of course, the flowers that had changed into money. Eugenie said that the flowers always were money, and so she wasn’t the least bit surprised. And then she laughed our laugh. I, of course, told her about my little watering can. And we both laughed our laugh again.
But the rumor at the castle was that Arbuckle Pemberton the Third had made the transformation take place in honor of his wedding. After all, hadn’t he saved the kingdom from the bad water? Hadn’t he been the hero once before? Of course, it must have been his doing. And Arbuckle himself never denied it. So in time it would come to be believed as true.
Eugenie and I just laughed our laughs and went back to being who we really were—me to the castle, Eugenie to her farm garden.
The Princess Gardener
Michael Strelow
The Princess Gardener is the story of a young girl who found herself a princess by accident of birth. What she really wants is outside the castle in the gardens: dirty hands, making things grow, feeling the seasons along with the plants she tends. But castle duties call more and more often, and her parents insist she learn what she calls “the princess business.” She reluctantly curtseys and bows and smiles her way through the empty rituals of the kingdom, but every day she longs for the smell of the earth and the joys of gardening. One day, she finds an opportunity to switch lives with a young farm girl who is her exact likeness. Despite each girl finding what she always wanted, both their lives get very complicated very quickly…
(Our Street Books: 978-1-78535-674-2)
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The Alyssa Chronicle Page 10