The fernwoman obeyed instantly. She took away the medicine that was dripping down her face and seemed glad of the opportunity to leave.
“What’s wrong?” asked Janna, who knew one of the things the Fern Queen liked about her was her outspokenness. This morning was no exception.
“You are the only one who has asked me that, dear,” the queen said with a self-pitying groan. “I have suffered throughout the night from an upset stomach, and these idiots can do nothing to help me.”
“If you would take a spoonful of the medicine—” warily began the highest-ranking fernwomen.
“It tastes foul,” snapped the Fern Queen. “I will not be poisoned on top of everything else. The meat was not cooked thoroughly last night. That is the only possible explanation. Cook will be punished.”
“Did anyone else eat the meat?” asked Janna calmly.
“Probably, why should I care?” said the queen, rubbing her stomach tenderly.
“If they got sick too, it was the meat. If they didn’t get sick, it wasn’t the meat.”
The Fern Queen did not appreciate this common-sense approach to her problem. Janna saw the bright green eyes narrow to slits, but she couldn’t stop herself.
“Why don’t you mix the medicine in honey or fruit nectar to make it taste better?”
She made the suggestion and then braced herself, waiting for the angry woman to shout at her. However, she had forgotten something. It was the Fern Queen she was dealing with, not an ordinary person. When the queen’s temper was at its worst, her voice oozed sweetness.
“Every word becomes a dart dipped in sweety-sweet syrup and then thrown into you where it will hurt the most,” was how Janna had described it to Petten and Alissa.
Usually, she did everything in her power to avoid such times, but she was in for it now. Not even being the queen’s favorite would help her after an all-night stomachache. Besides, the Fern Queen was beginning to enjoy herself. That was a bad sign.
“I have just had the most marvelous idea. You will start helping Cook in the kitchen, Janna dear. Clearly, you have had more than enough experience in the appreciation of good food. It will be educational if you assist in its preparation as well as its consumption.”
Janna seethed while the Fern Queen glanced pointedly at her waistline.
“Besides, that will take care of Cook too,” the smiling queen said in a voice that fairly dripped syrup. “You see, she loves her privacy more than anything else in the world, but I can’t let her keep it when she makes such big mistakes, can I?”
Straightening on her sofa, the queen clapped her hands. The fernman standing outside the room stepped in and bowed.
“Take Janna to the kitchen and inform Cook that she will assist her from now on, except for the times when I need her myself. Make sure Cook understands that Janna is to stay in the kitchen constantly.”
The fernman motioned to Janna, and she followed him out the door, but as she left, she heard the Fern Queen order one of her ladies-in-waiting, “Mix that medicine in undiluted peach nectar and bring it to me.”
The queen might be punishing Janna for the suggestion, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to try it.
Wretched woman!
Janna glowered the whole way to the kitchen. The Fern Queen’s remarks were cruel and unfair. She and Petten and Alissa worked hard every day, but they weren’t given enough food. That was the truth of the matter, and she had lost a little weight. She had. Her waistline was smaller than it had been. It was.
Several angry tears rolled down her cheeks, shocking her. A quick measure of stern self-talk was in order. Don’t listen to what that woman says. You know she mixes a lie with partial truth. She’s very skillful at it, but that doesn’t stop the lie from being a lie.
Cook was standing by the cutting board in the kitchen chopping up a piece of lamb. She was a heavyset woman with the dull eyes all fernpeople shared and more gray in her hair than brown. The green veins in her arms were particularly thick. They resembled nothing more than fat green worms, the sluggish ones that don’t move much and only exist to make people feel sick. That had always been Janna’s opinion anyway.
The fernman gruffly explained the girl’s presence. Cook scowled heavily, then seemed to shrug the situation off. With a grunt, she put her new assistant to work.
Five minutes later, Janna chortled happily under her breath. Working in the kitchen was going to be wonderful. She had two carrots in a pocket already and planned to sneak a third before long. Their food problem was solved.
Despite her complaints that morning, the Fern Queen ate extremely well. Those high in the castle hierarchy ate almost as well. Even the lower levels ate well, and every bit of the good food came from Cook. Before two weeks were over, Janna was praising the sullen woman’s talents every chance she got, though she knew better than to say anything to the Fern Queen, who liked all admiration to be directed toward her. She didn’t care whether it was sincere or not; she soaked it up either way.
Cook was different. If Janna was chattering off the top of her head, she was ignored. If she didn’t really mean what she was saying, she was ignored. Actually, most of the time, she was ignored, but since praise of the food was meant from the bottom of Janna’s hungry stomach, Cook listened then. The fernwoman made very little response; nevertheless, Janna considered it a breakthrough.
The bulges in her pockets got bigger every day as she took more and more food to stretch out the captives’ meager supper. Cook must have noticed the increasingly large bulges, but she never objected, not even when Janna took a thick piece of cooked meat late one afternoon. It was too thick to tear, so they took turns eating their share.
“I would have cut it into three servings, but why take chances? Cook probably wouldn’t have cared, but it wasn’t worth the risk,” she told Alissa and Petten that night.
“We appreciate very much what you have brought us,” Alissa assured her warmly.
“I don’t feel nearly as hungry,” Petten said, eating his portion of the meat in two big bites.
Janna nodded happily. Not only was she eating more and feeling better, but her weight was going down with the frequent small meals. She’d had to tighten her belt two notches.
“Alissa, I hear you were given quite an honor this morning,” she said, changing the subject. “The fernpeople were all talking about it.”
“What happened?” Petten asked when Alissa didn’t respond.
“She redecorated the Fern Queen’s bedroom,” Janna spoke for her friend. “The queen was busy in the throne room, of course—she won’t have anything to do with Alissa. The fernwomen don’t even like to mention Alissa’s name, but somehow the word got out about her decorating abilities, and she was given the job. The Fern Queen showed off the changes to me this afternoon as if they were her ideas.”
“Tell us about it, Alissa,” Petten urged.
“She has dark mahogany furniture. It has been stained and polished beautifully, but the heavier pieces of furniture were crowded together. I had them spread apart and rearranged the pictures. Then I tried a new way of catching back the curtains so more light could come into the room. Finally, I arranged flowers in two crystal vases, though I did not do much there. Sometimes the simplest flower arrangements are the most beautiful. I used those frilly Phyllitis fronds that the Fern Queen loves and accented them with white astilbe blossoms. The fernwomen approved the changes.”
“I’d say they did. They were more excited than I’ve ever seen them, except for Cook, who never gets excited about anything. Honestly, that woman is more like a plant than a person. Are the fernpeople you two work with like that?”
“The man who supervises my work is no plant. He’s too angry to be called anything that passive. He’s an expert gardener, but he doesn’t enjoy his life, and he’s always angry at everybody,” Petten said.
“I am afraid that the women I work with do enjoy their life,” Alissa said sadly. “They idolize the Fern Queen. Their dream i
s to look like her and move like her, even talk like her. They practice in front of mirrors for hours.”
“Maybe they’ll want to copy you now, especially after your success with the Fern Queen’s room,” Janna said.
She couldn’t imagine anyone being more influenced by the Fern Queen than by Alissa if given the choice. Her friend’s combination of beauty and kindness had profoundly impressed Janna. She wanted to be like her, and she wasn’t above trying to copy how the graceful princess moved. Maybe practicing in front of a mirror—
“They hate me,” Alissa stated with uncharacteristic bluntness, and Janna snapped back to attention.
“They laugh at me and trip me when I walk past them. They mess up work I have completed in order to get me into trouble. It goes beyond jealousy. They lose no opportunity to show that they hate me. It was worse today after I worked on the Fern Queen’s bedroom, much worse. I have never been hated before. I want to go home. I—”
Alissa burst into tears, covering her face with her hands, and Janna and Petten rushed to her side. Janna threw her arms around her, while Petten patted Alissa’s back vigorously, as if he couldn’t think of anything else to do. The two of them were stunned by the outburst.
They were the ones who had complained, day after day after day. Alissa had listened and sympathized, but she’d never let them know how hard her life was.
Janna looked at Petten and spoke the thought in both of their minds. “We have got to get out of here.”
Alissa’s sobs quieted soon. She took her hands from her face and smiled shamefacedly. “I am sorry to be so weak. You are both much stronger than I am.”
Gently, Petten took her hands in his. “No, you are the strongest one.”
When Alissa’s eyes widened, he explained, “You have the deepest faith in the Maker. You talk to him the most, never doubting that he’ll hear you. There is your strength, Alissa, and it is no small matter.”
The beautiful princess smiled at him through her tears, and he smiled back.
Ah ha! It’s about time!
As quietly as she could, Janna moved over to the window to give the budding romance privacy. They’d already been locked in for the night or she would have left the room. At least something’s going right, but poor Alissa. I didn’t know she had it that bad.
Soon, the three friends said good night and settled on their beds, though Janna couldn’t get to sleep. Long after Alissa’s breathing had become slow and rhythmic, she lay awake.
When the moon sent an unusually bright ray through their window slit, Janna raised herself on one elbow and peered into the corner at Petten. He was lying with both hands behind his head, propping it up, while he stared out the window. When she moved, he turned her way. The two of them looked at each other. Each of them knew what the other was thinking, though no words were said.
We have got to get out of here.
Chapter 11
The Peddler
“Oops,” Janna muttered as hot bacon grease fell onto the stove’s edge and dribbled down its side instead of into the container that was supposed to catch it.
She peeked at Cook, hoping she hadn’t seen. The fernwoman was rinsing out the coffeepot, but she’d seen. There was a slight scowl on her face, which meant the same thing as a severe scolding from anyone else.
“I’ll clean it. What do you want me to use? Are there any more of those old rags? They have certainly come in handy. I never realized how useful a rag could be.”
“Stove’s hot,” was the answer Cook gave, along with a glance toward the pantry, but Janna had become an expert at understanding her supervisor’s way of communicating.
“Rags are in the pantry, but the stove’s too hot to clean now,” she interpreted. “Okay, then I’ll finish the dishes and put them away. After that, I’ll check the stove again.”
Cook ignored her, but Janna was used to that. She chattered on anyway, because this was a kitchen, and her mother’s kitchen was a warm, friendly place where people gathered and talked. The fact that Cook had the personality of a potted plant was no reason Janna couldn’t talk. She had made that decision weeks ago, and though Cook had steadily ignored her, she hadn’t told her to be quiet.
A gardener arrived at the outside door with two baskets of fresh vegetables, and Cook carried them over to the scrubbing sink. As soon as the fernwoman’s back was turned, Janna reached for her hidden cup of coffee and took several sips.
Her mother didn’t believe children should drink coffee. When Janna had announced on her twelfth birthday that she was old enough, Berta had given her a cup of what was basically coffee-flavored water, which had led to a protest from Janna. Her mother had insisted adult-strength caffeine wasn’t good for children, which had led to a full-scale eye roll from Janna. This had brought about a big fight, which had led, surprise, surprise, to coffee-flavored water from then on.
Cook didn’t know how old Janna was. The impassive fernwoman would almost certainly not care whether she drank coffee or not. Nevertheless, Janna always hid her cup.
The red coffee berries were grown outside the kitchen door under a special tarp that let in light and increased heat for the sun-loving shrubs. Each berry contained two beans that had to be washed clean of the berry’s pulp, then dried, peeled, and roasted. Queen Berta went through a similar process in Mount Pasture, but there was a difference between the two women’s final results. Berta’s coffee was good; Cook’s was outstanding. Janna had no idea what made the difference, but morning after morning, she smacked her lips over it.
A cool morning breeze was wafting through the open window. Nevertheless, Janna opened the door after she’d put away the last dish. A cross current of air would help cool the stove. Sure enough, as soon as the door opened, breezes rushed into the room and out the window, making the white curtains flutter.
“Cook, did you pick out the kitchen curtains or did the Fern Queen?” Janna asked as she sat at the kitchen table and picked up a knife.
The vegetables needed to be cut for a soup Cook was making for lunch. As soon as one meal ended, the next was started, Janna had noted. Maybe it would have been different if they weren’t feeding a whole castleful of people. She didn’t expect Cook to respond to her question. It would count as a trivial one, and the stone-faced fernwoman ignored trivia as consistently as she did chatter.
This time, however, Janna got an answer.
“They came from home,” Cook said slowly, as if the words were being pulled one by one out of her mouth.
Janna, who was cutting a carrot, was so surprised that she narrowly missed cutting off her thumb.
“Where is your home?” she asked as soon as she’d gotten over her surprise.
Cook didn’t say anything further. Her mouth closed as if it never meant to open again, and a tear, one tear, made its way down a green-veined cheek.
Janna was as stunned by that tear as she’d been by the answer to her question. Fernpeople didn’t cry, did they? She had never seen it happen, and she’d spent most of that summer in close contact with them.
“Oh Cook, I didn’t mean to make you cry,” she said in a rush. “It’s just that the curtains don’t have green on them, and everything else in this horrible castle is green. I’m sorry, I really am.”
The fernwoman made no reply, but her mouth lost a little of its tightness. With an effort, Janna made herself stay quiet too. Obviously, Cook didn’t want to talk now. Maybe she would be willing to share more later.
Besides, a commotion had started up outside. Someone was arriving by the sounds of it. Then a big hearty voice rang out.
“Plants for sale, pretty pots and cloth for sale. Ribbons and perfumes to make you beautiful.”
Janna froze on her stool. Then she choked out one word—“Dad”—and made a leap for the doorway, dropping her knife and scattering carrots over the floor. She was almost there. In another second she would have flown out of the kitchen, but a strong hand pulled her back.
“No.”
“B
ut it’s my dad,” wheezed Janna, who was short of breath. Cook had rather a tight hold on her dress’s neckline.
“No,” the fernwoman repeated gruffly. “She’d kill him.”
Janna quit struggling to get away, torn between her longing to go to her father and her first-hand knowledge of the Fern Queen, who would do anything to get what she wanted, anything at all. And one of the main things the queen wanted, had always wanted, was the Kingdom of Mount Pasture, the kingdom that had defeated her in the war long ago, the large kingdom of lush green hills, the kingdom that she desired above every other.
A vision of shepherds turned into dull-eyed, green-veined fernpeople passed through Janna’s mind, and though she did pause when Alland came into view, she found that overall the prospect horrified her. She didn’t want such a fate for any of them, irritating as they could be. And her father—Janna choked again.
If the Fern Queen found out that the peddler at her front door was the king of Mount Pasture, she would kill him. If it helped her get Mount Pasture, she wouldn’t hesitate.
Janna was trembling with both hands on her face. Stumbling back to the table, she bent her head down to the wooden surface and cried.
Two minutes passed.
“She’ll call for you,” a gruff voice said. “Don’t tell.”
“Are you sure she’d kill him?” Janna was able to ask, hoping they were both wrong. “How do you know?”
There was silence.
“She killed my father,” Cook said suddenly. “She killed my mother, my husband, and my little girl. I was famous as a cook or she would have killed me too. She took me away from my home. I got to keep my kitchen things and my curtains, but I didn’t care anymore. I didn’t care about anything.”
It was more words than the fernwoman normally used in a week, and that wasn’t the end of the unusual behavior. Cook didn’t lay her head on the table, but her tears spilled out all the same, reluctantly at first, as if she’d forgotten how to cry, but then faster until they were gushing down the green-veined cheeks.
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