A Pearl Among Princes

by Coleen Paratore

  “I claim Sir Richard the dashing blue-eyed soldier,” Lu announces, reaching for a cookie. “I can’t stop thinking of him.”

  A sharp pang of guilt stabs me and I look away so that my face won’t betray me. Sir Richard touching my hand in the dining hall, flirting with me in the den just hours ago. “May I call on you?” he asked, and I said yes. In the heady swoon of flattery, I forgot Lu’s affection for him. Clearly, from her first sight of Sir Richard on the beach she declared that she was smitten.

  Lu’s face glows brightly as she babbles on about what she’s discovered about Sir Richard. The battles he’s fought, the honors he’s won . . .

  In this moment I resolve to rebuke any further advances from Sir Richard, however handsome and smart he may be. Besides, Gracepearl, remember, it is not romance you seek, but a ship for transport.

  There is still Sir Peter, the pirate prince. He is funny and charming and wildly handsome with that long hair in a leather tie, the silver loop glinting at his ear . . .

  “How about you, Gracepearl,” Nuff says. “What have you learned of the PITs?”

  “Wait till you hear about Humpty,” I say, telling them how he leered and spoke to me so rudely in the gardens and then destroyed the basket of tomatoes.

  “Oh, that won’t do,” Lu says angrily. “That’s no way to treat a lady and no one talks to our Gracie like that. My mum would wash his mouth out with soap.”

  “Soap could be arranged,” Nuff says mischievously. “Or one could tinker with his toothpaste when one cleans his bathing chamber. A little lye would do nicely, I think.”

  “Humpty Dumpty blowing bubbles!” I say. “That would be fun to see. He had no cause to treat Leem so badly.” I smile thinking of how Sir Richard and I spared Leem and his fellow food pirate, Brine, the wrath of Nora Baker at the banquet.

  “I heard Leem telling Mum how he rescued Sir Humpty’s cap from the water,” Lu says. “Leem made Mum swear she wouldn’t tell Dad for fear he would punish Leem for embarrassing the family and all of Miramore.”

  “What!” I say, my voice rising. “What does Leem have to be ashamed of? He acted in a brave and gallant fashion. Tell him I said he’s a prince of a boy.”

  “That’s right,” Nuff says. “A real prince.”

  “But how shall we punish Humpty for the tomatoes? ” Lu asks, taking another cookie from the sack, brushing crumbs from her lips.

  I yawn and Nuff does too, the long day catching up with all of us. “Let’s not rush the revenge,” Nuff says. “This calls for a truly egg-cellent plan.”

  Lu and I laugh. Matter settled.

  “I saw Mackree today,” I blurt out, unplanned. Where did that come from? The workings of my inner mind never cease to surprise me. Like when I hear Mother talking to me as clearly as if we are sitting across from each other in the kitchen having tea.

  Lu and Nuff exchange glances.

  “And? ” Lu says.

  “Mackree heard about Father and came to check on me.”

  “That was thoughtful,” Nuff says quietly.

  “But that was all. He wouldn’t talk to me,” I say, emotion rising in a wave inside. “I don’t know why he rebukes me. How did I make him hate me so?”

  My friends are silent.

  “He doesn’t hate you, Gracie,” Nuff says finally, “you know that.”

  “But I miss him,” I say, tears starting. “I still can’t believe he broke off from me.”

  “Oh, Gracie, dearie,” Lu says in a gentle tone. “It was you who ended it.”

  “No,” I say.

  “Yes.” Lu nods. She touches my arm as if to soften the blow of her truthful words. Nuff squeezes my other arm.

  “For a long time now,” Lu says, “and more and more it seems this past year, you have been telling all of us about these strange emotions haunting you. The dreams of all the faces and the signs and the guiding words you hear from your mother.”

  Nuff tilts her head to look in my eyes. “You say you are called to leave Miramore,” she says. “Mackree knows he can’t go with you. He knows that the only way for you to leave Miramore is with a prince. Mackree could beg you to reconsider, beg you to stay, but his love for you is nobler than that. So he has set you free.”

  My friends give me time and space to let the pain cry out. After, I wash my face and rejoin them. “Tell me, honestly, are you mad at me for wanting to leave?”

  “We’re not worried,” Nuff says. “We know you’ll come back.”

  “You’ve always been special,” Lu says. “We’ve always known. Nuff and I, we’re content here. You’ve always wanted something more.”

  “You’ll be the first, Gracepearl,” Nuff says with pride in her voice. “The first to marry a prince and leave Miramore.”

  “Gracepearl the First you’ll be,” says Lu.

  We clean up the crumbs, fold the napkins, and sit back content in silence. Lu begins talking of the gown she’s making for the Summersleave Ball. “It’s crimson,” she says, “like the sunset, and I’m sewing in bits of silver jitties to catch the light.”

  “I bet Sir Richard will keep your dance card filled all night,” I say. “And what about you, Nuff? Has a prince caught your fancy?”

  “No, not yet,” Nuff says. “I’m still making observations.”

  Nuff starts a fire in the hearth. I put the tea kettle on. Lu runs home to ask if she can spend the night too. She comes back with a pillow and quilt.

  After tea and the last of the good chocolate cookies, arms linked, we walk down to the beach, gazing up at the glittering specks above.

  Reaching the water I close my eyes and take a deep breath, sending out gratitude for Father’s recovery and these two wonderful friends.

  For a few minutes we are each lost in our own reveries, then wishes made, we link arms again and head home, our chatter bubbling fast as a brook.

  Back at the cottage we lay out blankets in front of the fireplace and sit together staring at the waning fire, now just glowing embers on a log.

  “What about you, Gracepearl?” Nuff asks. “Has a prince caught your fancy?”

  “Sir Peter interests me some,” I say.

  Nuff sits back a bit, her body stiffening. I try to catch her eyes, but she won’t look my way.

  “And you, Nuff,” Lu says, “what about you?”

  “No one yet,” Nuff insists.

  I have the sense Nuff is holding back.

  “I’m tired,” Nuff says, “can we go to Psleep?”

  “Sure,” I say, setting the grate around the hearth.

  Lu blows out the candle lamps.

  I snuggle beneath my covers. “Good night.”

  “Good night,” Lu answers.

  Nuff is silent. Does Nuff fancy Sir Peter?

  But Nuff doesn’t really even want to marry a prince. She wants to stay on Miramore forever. Surely she won’t begrudge me this boy who has a boat I need. There will be other princes for Nuff this year and the next.

  I need a boat right now.

  CHAPTER 10

  ʺChop, Chop!ʺ

  A, B, C, D, E, F, G,

  H, I, J, K, L, M, N, O, P,

  Q, R, S, T, U, and V,

  W, and X, Y and Z,

  Now I’ve said my ABC’s,

  Tell me what you think of me.

  Dawn blossoms bolder than a fiery orange trumpeter lily on the Isle of Miramore. It begins as a pinkish bud, then blooms and spreads with a wild, unstoppable fury until it basks the entire shore in its glorious glow. Walking the path to the beach, in the distance I faintly hear the guard blowing a wake-up call through a giant whirled queen conch shell to wrestle the sleeping royals from their slumber. It is their first day of summer school.

  These privileged young princes attend the finest boarding schools. They are well versed in history, biology, mathematics, and government. They know the intricacies of commerce, the stories of the great leaders of history. They can cite with ease the start and ending days of every major war and the dates of all
decisive battles. One among them can even recount the numbers of casualties of both the vanquished and the victorious. But this summer, here on Miramore, none of that knowledge will assist them. This summer they have come to learn another set of talents altogether. Here they will learn, as Lady Jule happily proclaims, what ladies find charming in a gentleman.

  Lu and Nuff hurried off to work after I served them a boring bowl of oatmeal. “You really should learn to cook,” Nuff had joked. “Why should she?” Lu countered, adding some cinnamon from the cupboard. “Princesses don’t need to make porridge.”

  We made a plan to meet later outside the classroom cottages to begin our annual spying on the royal students.

  I gather the vegetables, scoop the coal, and after, as I’m coming up over the bluff, I spot Mackree there below me on the beach.

  He is close, but his back is to me. He doesn’t realize I am here. There is a large orange and pink speckled crab, shell upturned, rosy-pincered legs scrambling frantically in the air, attempting to turn itself back over before a gull finishes it off. I hear Mackree laugh. He turns the crab over and gently carries it to the water, where it scurry-swims gratefully away.

  I smile. That’s my Mackree, always quick to help another, even an ugly old crab. Such a good heart. My Mackree. I watch as he picks up a stone and skips it smoothly out over the water. He whistles and walks off. I want so much to call to him, to run and join him on his walk like we’ve done countless times before. But I stop myself. Mackree did the brave thing of setting me free for another, it is not fair of me to toy with his heart. “You can’t expect him to still be your friend,” Lu said last night. “It is too painful for him, Gracie.”

  Lu’s right. I will not cause Mackree one more measure of pain. I take a deep breath and let it out and then another and another. I close my eyes. I hear Mother. Follow your course, Gracepearl my girl. Your inner compass will lead you and then you will choose.

  “Choose what, Mother? Choose what?” I stare out at the rolling waves, whooshing in and out in perfect rhythm. “Rock-a-bye baby on the treetop . . .”

  I set off in the opposite direction from Mackree.

  My feet lead me to the docks. There is Captain Jessie’s ship, sails lowered and tied securely from the wind. I wonder what his business is here? I walk toward the vessel, rub my hand against the wood, a yellowish tan color with dark knots. Pine? Looking to be sure I am alone, I gather my skirts about me and hoist myself on board.

  A smile breaks out, my heart beats faster. I’m on a ship! How hard could it be to . . . I sit down and close my eyes. Immediately I see a child. “Help me,” she calls. Then she is gone and I see others, so many others, faces young and old. “How?” I call back.

  “Caw!” A gull swoops near, squawking loudly as if to wake me.

  I’m late to meet Lu and Nuff. Classes should be starting now.

  When I reach the shady knoll where the school cottages are, I see Lu and Nuff hunched beneath the window of Professor Daterly’s yellow-shuttered, flower-boxed, bright red cottage. Courtship and Special Occasions. Just then I hear voices and turn to see Sir Richard and Sir Peter walking up from the Royal Lodge, notebooks tucked embarrassedly under their armpits. It seems they’ve struck up a friendship, these two most princely of all the PITs.

  I dodge behind a tree and watch them as they pass. Their faces reveal that they think this class will be a waste of their time and intelligence.

  “A class in dating?” Sir Richard says mockingly. “I need no such instruction. My degrees in this field are well documented.”

  Sir Peter laughs. “I’ll check you on that, mate. But the . . . grace-full girls of Miramore may have something to teach us yet.”

  I smile at the word “graceful.”

  “Grace-pearl-ful, you mean,” Sir Richard says, and I nearly giggle aloud.

  When they have safely passed me, I run to meet Lu and Nuff. We crouch beneath the classroom window, ears peeled.

  “Welcome to Courtship and Special Occasions,” Professor Daterly says. “Since the long-standing rules of the Order have changed, no longer requiring or even expecting you royal boys to marry one of your own social class, you now have a much wider, more interesting field of flowers to choose from.”

  One of the PITs says something and there’s laughter. I peek in the window. Sir Humpty Dumpty is clipping his fingernails. He brushes the little arcs on the floor. Uggh. I cower back down.

  “But this gardening is different, my young royal men,” Professor Daterly continues. “In this case, the flower does the picking.”

  More laughter. “Singe. You just got watered, Humbert.”

  “That sounded like Sir Peter,” Lu says. She sneaks a look in the window. “Yes.”

  “Does the prince from Elmland have an opinion?” Professor Daterly says, snapping back quickly as garden shears.

  “No, ma’am,” Sir Peter says.

  “Professor Daterly, to you, sir. Now, as I was saying, much has changed in the world since your great- grandfathers were seeking a match. As you know, historically, royal unions were based on matters of money or land or the military advantage a particular union might create.

  “Today you are not bound by such restrictions. You, young men of privilege, you may now marry for love.”

  “And the privileges,” Humpty Dumpty shouts.

  Big-eared Sir Hickory begins laughing with high-pitched squeals that end in hiccups.

  “Muzzle it, mouse,” Sir Richard commands good-naturedly, and Sir Hickory does as he’s told.

  Professor Daterly claps her hands one, two, three. “Now then, to our first lesson. The Commandments of Dating. Memorize them. You will be tested tomorrow.”

  Nuff, Lu, and I roll our eyes. We have heard this lecture countless summers before. I think Professor Daterly is a bit too obsessed with dates, but she is the professor, so who am I to object?

  “Certain dates are particularly important,” Professor Daterly says. “And, no matter how charming you may be, or how much a girl adores you . . . you will not be forgiven if you forget them.

  Nuff pops up for a look. “They’re starting to take notes,” she reports.

  “Number one,” Professor Daterly instructs. “Thou shalt remember the date you first met.

  “Number two. Thou shalt remember the date of your first date. . . .”

  I look at Lu and Nuff, and we cover our mouths to quiet the giggles.

  “Number three,” Professor Daterly continues. “Thou shalt remember the date of your first kiss.”

  “Now we’re getting somewhere,” Sir Peter says, and I can’t help but smile. I note Nuff is smiling too.

  “Number four. Thou shalt always remember her birth date.

  “Number five. Her mother’s birth date.”

  “Excuse me, Professor Daterly,” Sir Richard says, “with all due respect. Do girls really care so much about the calendar?”

  “See how smart my prince is?” Lu says. I nod in agreement.

  “Duck,” Nuff whispers. “Professor Pillage is coming.”

  We hide in the bushes. As he passes, he looks toward the classroom window. “Foolish . . . sissyness . . . waste of time . . . are we teaching mice or men?”

  We giggle and take our post again.

  I rise up for a peek. “And finally,” Professor Daterly says, scanning the faces of her pupils one by one to be sure she has their attention. “The most important date of all. Anyone wish to venture a guess?”

  No one does.

  “Very well then. Here it is. Thou shalt forever remember your wedding date.

  “And”—the professor’s voice rises dramatically—“from that day forward, in sickness and in health, in passion and compassion, until death do you part, thou shalt never ever ever forget your wedding anniversary—or off to the block you go. Chop, chop.” She slices her arm through the air like a carving knife to illustrate the point.

  “Chop, chop,” I whisper, ducking back down with a laugh, cutting the air with my hand.
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  “Chop, chop,” Nuff says, breaking into a giggle.

  “Chop, chop, chop, chop, chop,” Lu says, and we run off laughing.

  I start and my friends join in,

  “Three blind mice, see how they run!

  They all ran after the farmer’s wife,

  She cut off their tails with a carving knife,

  Did you ever see such a sight in your life,

  As three blind mice?”

  “Chop, chop,” I mimic again, slicing my hand in the air.

  “Chop, chop.” Lu chops back.

  “When’s our anniversary?” Nuff jokes in a taunting tone, hands on hips, lips pursed, head wagging back and forth, feigning anger. “What did you say, boy? The ninth? It’s the nineteenth, you sorry pimple poke pretending to be a prince. It’s the nineteenth, you fool. The nineteenth. Do you hear me? You write that date down and memorize it or I’ll be getting that carving knife quick. Chop, chop with that crown, chop, chop with that . . .”

  “Oh, Nuff,” I say, my stomach hurting from laughing. “You are too funny.”

  “Nothing funny about a carving knife,” Nuff says, still in character.

  “What’s that date?” Lu says.

  “The eighteenth?” I joke.

  “Chop, chop,” Nuff roars. “You’re history!”

  CHAPTER 11

  Three Signs

  Hey diddle diddle,

  The cat and the fiddle,

  The cow jumped over the moon;

  The little dog laughed

  To see such craft

  And the dish ran away with the spoon.

  A week goes by and thankfully, Father is well enough to come home. Nora Baker insists I stay home with him, and for that I am grateful indeed.

  Lu and Nuff and all of our neighbors bring baskets of food, which takes me off the hook as the cook. Father and I read together. I let him beat me at chess.

  Sir Richard comes calling with a bouquet of pink roses. Sir Peter comes calling with a bouquet of red. I speak briefly to each at the doorway, but do not invite them in. I realized I should have kindly rebuffed Sir Richard’s gift so as not to encourage his interest, knowing Lu’s feelings for him, but my thoughts were ablur. My focus for the moment is Father. The princes will have to wait.