Kingdom of Crowns and Glory

by Laura Greenwood et al.

  I found a pair of scissors, and by the time I’d succeeded in freeing the cardboard from the tape, the soup was done. Debating whether to leave it until after I had food in me, my curiosity defeated hunger this time. “The soup is too hot anyway—one minute. I can check while I wait for it to cool down.”

  I was talking to myself again but didn't care. The only person who could hear me was my dad, and he was too absorbed in his work to listen to me anyway.

  The parcel was heavier than it looked. Inside the outer wrapping and cardboard was another box, which was made out of some sort of shiny dark wood. It looked as if it had been hand-made with strict attention to detail. Celtic knots and other intricate designs looped together, impossible to tell where one ended and another began.

  Somehow, the box reminded me of my mother.

  “Strange,” I murmured.

  I didn't know much about her other than what my dad had told me because she’d died years ago when I was very young. I still missed her, but it had been so long that the loss was no longer fresh.

  So why was this box triggering waves of sadness and love for the dark-haired, laughing woman who shared my eyes?

  I knew very little about her past except that she’d been from Scotland. Perhaps that was all it was. I continued to run my hands over the smooth, polished surface and noticed a small lid. I flipped it open, and it moved easily on well-oiled hinges at the top. As it opened however, a small mermaid popped up and began to spin.

  It was a music box!

  I leaned closer as the song played, watching the mermaid dance in a small painted spray of water. I began to hum the tune, trying to place the song. I knew it, but from where? The sense of my mother grew stronger as I recalled it was one she used to sing to me. How did it go?

  The words came to me all at once;

  Early one morning

  just as the sun was rising

  I heard a maiden sing

  in the valley below

  Oh don’t deceive me

  Oh never leave me

  How could you use,

  a poor maiden so?

  Frowning, I turned the paper that had been wrapped around the parcel over to look at the address. Weird. It had come air mail from Scotland, but the address was unfamiliar and the name on it was a set of initials. S. D. Nothing else except my name and address. Nothing to tell me who had sent it. Or why.

  The parcel itself had nothing else in it, no letter or explanation. Other than the mermaid, the box was completely empty. For some reason, an unknown person had given me a music box. The thought crossed my mind that maybe it was to stir my memory.

  But if so, why?

  Biting the inside of my cheek as I mulled over who could have sent such a beautiful yet mysterious present from Scotland to Montreal, I put the box down on the counter and took the food to my dad.

  Chapter 2

  "Thanks for the soup. And the sandwich is delicious as usual, dear." He beamed before taking another slurp of soup from his spoon.

  Nodding, I accepted his gratitude. "You're welcome. Dad, by any chance did you recognize the address on the parcel?"

  His glasses were back on his face when he’d joined me at the table for the late night snack and now he peered at me over the top of them with a frown. "I have to confess I didn't actually look at it. Who's it from?"

  He took a bite of his sandwich and waited for me to reply. Deciding it would be easier to show him, I got up and brought the wrapping paper back in, along with the box itself.

  "There is no name, only initials. Someone with the initials S. D. Does that ring any bells?"

  His eyes sharpened as he picked up the paper and read it carefully. When he looked up, his frown had deepened. He shook his head. "No, I don't know who wrote this. That was inside?”

  I nodded as he picked up the music box, waiting while he looked at it for several long moments. When he opened it and the mermaid began to dance, his face stilled.

  Was it my imagination, or was he paler than usual?

  I blinked, deciding it must be the lighting as he spoke in a quiet voice.

  "I've seen this, once before, a long time ago. But how?” His face crumpled with sadness and his voice was hardly a whisper, so I had to lean forward to hear his next words. “I have no idea how it got here."

  "What’s wrong with it? It's not some sort of cruel joke or something, is it?"

  He exhaled, giving me a weak smile. "No, I don't think so. I can't explain how it got here but I remember your mother having something like this years ago, before she moved away from Scotland.”

  I waited for him to explain what he meant. I knew they’d met overseas but other than brief stories from time to time, he never spoke much about their life before Montreal, especially the years before I was born. He paused long enough that I began to get excited.

  Was he going to tell me something new?

  Finally, he sighed. “The address—well, your mother was from the Isle of Skye. The best I can guess is that maybe one of her relatives sent it. Maybe now that you’re older they’ve decided it’s yours. I can’t see any harm in it, and it was sent to you. Take good care of it, because if it is the same one your mother had, it’s much older than it appears."

  I nodded as he slid it across the table and patted it gently, being careful not to get any food on it. For a moment I stared at him. He was lost in his thoughts, but for a change, it wasn't work he was thinking about.

  Suddenly needing to know, I blurted out something I'd wanted to ask for a long time. "Dad, how come we’ve never visited any of mom's relatives? Before or after she died? And why didn’t any of them come for the funeral?"

  The moment I asked, I was sorry I had. Discomfort sat with his sadness now as he struggled to answer.

  “I guess it was difficult. It’s a long trip, and your mother never spoke of them much. I got the impression they weren't very close. They sent their condolences, and your mother wasn’t much for things like that. She never made a fuss.”

  My appetite vanished at the feeling there was more to it than he was saying, and I pushed the rest of my food away. I couldn't eat, knowing I’d made him sad.

  "I'm sorry, I know you miss her too.” I kissed his cheek then stood and forced a smile. “I’m pretty tired, so I’ll just put the dishes in the kitchen and clean everything up in the morning. I love you."

  I couldn't imagine what it had been like for him to lose her so young and become a single parent. How old had I been? Six? For me, it had been so long since she died that sometimes, I forgot our lives had ever been different.

  But he hadn’t. I’d never seen him date, and her picture was still everywhere in the house. Even through photographs, her vibrant personality shone. Laughing, adventurous, and kind was how he always described her. The kind of person who was always looking to the next challenge.

  I knew he still loved her and missed her every day as much as the day she’d died. I missed her too, but the edge had softened over the years. While he was absent-minded when wrapped up in his work, my dad had been a loving father who was always there for me. For years, after she’d died in that tragic car accident, I’d expected her to come walking through the door and tell me it was all a mistake. One day she’d been reading me stories, the next day I was dressed in black holding a picture of her while an old man I didn’t know said boring prayers and everybody cried.

  I prayed for her to come back long enough to give me one more hug until my teens, but slowly I let that dream go, the same way I’d let go of Santa, the Tooth Fairy, and all the other magical thinking of childhood.

  I took the music box with me and placed it next to my bed, allowing it to play as I brushed my teeth. Even though it had made my dad look sad, I was grateful to have it here. It was the first time in years I felt my mom’s presence close to me.

  As I closed my eyes and faded off to sleep, I could have sworn I felt the touch of her lips against my hair as the music box played.

  That night in my dreams,
I heard the song again; only now, the mermaid from the music box was the one singing. The sound of waves crashing against the rocks made a perfect harmony as I turned and saw her sitting on top of a rock.

  She was beautiful. Her red hair shone like fire, and I’d never seen eyes a more beautiful emerald green. They glowed against her porcelain skin as she sang, brushing her hair in the sunshine against the backdrop of the sea.

  I listened in a daze until she finished singing and was startled when she turned to me, her jewel-colored eyes glowing as they locked onto mine.

  "A songbird on water, you are more than you believe. Look within yourself for power; if you trust, you shall achieve.”

  I blinked in confusion, wondering if she was speaking to someone else. When I looked behind me, no one was there. I wanted to ask what she meant, but before I could get the words out she began to sing again. I briefly considered interrupting but was immediately captivated by her song.

  This one was different, in a language I didn't understand, but it spoke to me on a deeper level than anything I’d experienced.

  I closed my eyes, allowing the music to flow through me. It called to me in a way I couldn’t explain and it crossed my mind this was why sailors both feared and longed for mermaids.

  Even as the song filled my soul, I could feel her moving further and further away until finally, only the faintest echo of song remained.

  I opened my eyes and the sky faded to black.

  Chapter 3

  The sound of birds chirping outside the window woke me before dawn. I groaned and rolled over to see the alarm clock read 5:30 a.m.

  "Stupid birds."

  I knew it was hopeless to try to go back to sleep at this time. Every other time I’d attempted, I ended up more tired than if I had just gotten up in the first place. Stumbling over to the shower, the water managed to wake me enough to dress in jeans and a sweater.

  I shuffled to the kitchen with eyes that were barely open in the hope coffee would succeed where the shower had failed. I knew my dad frowned on me drinking so much of it, telling me I’d end up short, but I always rolled my eyes. As far as I was concerned, it was the nectar of the gods and I wasn’t interested in a few extra inches if it meant giving up the only thing which made mornings bearable.

  Besides, my parents had both been a decent height and I’d already stopped growing around grade seven. At five foot, eight inches, I was tall enough. As it was I had to pick my shoes carefully for shows, and could only wear heels on stage if my partner wasn't too short.

  Once the coffee was ready, I sat down and inhaled the rich aroma as I reflected on the upcoming week. Exam season was almost here and early mornings gave me more time to study—once my brain had warmed up, that was. Weekends were my time to catch up, and generally I made good use of the two days to study and rehearse.

  But today instead of planning my weekend, I couldn't get my mind off the dream I’d had about the music box and the mermaid.

  I was certain the mermaid who had spoken with me had been the one from the box. I was as sure of it as I was of anything in the waking world. Normally, I’d have chalked it up to a late night and crazy mind processing, but something told me this dream was different.

  The mermaid had known me, and I felt a sense of recognition as well.

  Unable to let the dream go, I went back to my room to look at the box again. In the light of day, it was pretty but hardly mysterious except for the way it had arrived in my life. It was clearly well-made and would likely be considered an heirloom, but otherwise a normal, attractive jewelry box with a tinkling song that played when you opened the lid.

  Disappointed at how ordinary it looked, I did my best to put the lingering suspicion something was going to happen soon behind me and went about my day.

  But as soon as I fell asleep again that night, the dream returned. The mermaid was there, singing, but when I tried to ask her questions she seemed to glide away. As a result, I was tired and out of sorts when I woke up on Monday.

  Maybe that was why I had such an intense reaction to seeing Melissa in the hallway.

  It wasn't like we didn't ever cross paths. We were in the same drama and music classes after all, which was how I’d ended up being her understudy. Perhaps if she'd been in another class I would have been the lead, but there was no way to know for sure. That day as we practiced though, something felt very wrong.

  Her performance was flawless as far as I could see, but even through my envy, I noticed she seemed paler than she had on Friday. Once she finished her song, she started coughing backstage.

  “Here, have some water.”

  I watched as her friend handed her a cup and she took a sip, but even as she smiled her thanks, something told me there was danger brewing. The second the thought crossed my mind, she walked away, leaving me with a vague unease I managed to forget until later.

  After last bell rang I saw her again. Our lockers were directly across from each other, so we usually waved and went our separate ways. I grabbed my backpack and jacket, casting a sidelong glance at her, curious what was wrong with her.

  I closed my locker and turned to go but found her coughing so hard she was leaning against her locker. She coughed again, this time more forcefully. Using one arm to cover her mouth, she gripped the door of her locker with the other. I couldn’t help staring at the force of the cough and waited until she was done before I stepped closer.

  "Is everything okay?"

  She really didn’t look well, and when she didn’t straighten up, I began to wonder if I should call someone to help. As I started looking around for a teacher, she stood up.

  Shaking her head, she held up a hand and shook her head. "No, I'm okay. I think my little sister gave me a cold. Nothing to worry about."

  I nodded slowly. I didn’t believe that for a second. Melissa was downplaying what was going on, but why? Before I could push, she was joined by another one of her friends so I added the usual platitude. “Okay, well, hope you feel better soon.”

  “Thanks! I’m sure I will.”

  As my perfect competition walked away, I was bothered by my level of concern. There was something not right with her and I needed to find the answers. Why I was so bothered was something I needed to figure out as well. There was an odd sensation, deep in my bones, something truly horrible was about to happen if I didn’t stop it.

  The week passed and I became increasingly frustrated at the idea I was missing something important. By Friday, any jealousy I’d had toward Melissa had been completely eclipsed by concern. She was on point when it came to her role, but whenever I saw her off-stage, she looked breathless and ill.

  More than once when I was with the drama crowd, I caught one of her friends whispering to her with a worried look. Each time, she brushed them off with a bright smile until she thought no one was watching. Then her smile dropped and the hollows below her eyes highlighted her gaunt cheeks. I knew I wasn’t the only one curious and alarmed by the changes she refused to admit.

  Was there something going on outside school making her look this way? Or was it nerves about her role in the upcoming play?

  As her understudy, I had a lot of time to watch and listen but wasn’t in her circle of trust, so I wasn’t comfortable asking her in the group. I didn’t want to come across as happy she looked so crappy, so I kept my thoughts to myself.

  It wasn't until after voice lessons on Friday night I had a chance to speak with her alone again. I walked out of the practice rooms at McGill in time to hear her finishing up, pausing mid-step before deciding to wait for her to finish.

  It crossed my mind how much my feelings had changed when just last week, I had tried to escape before she saw me. My awkwardness in the face of her perfection had evidently been forgotten in the process of trying to figure out what was going on.

  I heard her cough in the middle of a piece then stop and swear. I wondered if I should knock on the door but before I could, she barreled out of the room like a small tornado.
/>   Halting abruptly with wide eyes, confusion filled her face when she saw me standing outside the room.

  "Hey, how's it going?" I stuttered, sounding falsely perky.

  "Fine. Tired. It’s been a long week, right? Ha!"

  She gave me a tight smile, throwing her bag over her shoulder and moving to push past me. Unlike last week when I’d been the one itching to get away, she was the one rushing ahead.

  I frowned, following but not attempting to catch her. She stifled another cough before we reached the exit and although she held the door, she didn't say goodbye this time.

  I watched as she walked down the stairs to the waiting car and set out once she had driven away. For the first time, I felt none of the jealousy I was used to in her presence. She held the role I wanted, but the sudden thought that my number one competition’s talent seemed to be eating her alive flashed through my head and I stopped, gasping.

  Where had that come from?

  I had never believed in magic or the supernatural. Well, not since around the age of twelve or so, when I’d found a small book on witchcraft and tried a few spells. When they hadn’t worked, that had been the end of that. Where the notion of something so unlikely as talent being able to kill someone had come from now, I had no idea.

  Or did I?

  An image of the music box flashed into my head and I took a deep breath, then tried to push all thoughts of Melissa and her issues out of my head. I needed to worry about how to improve my own singing. With the audition coming up and exams looming, there was enough on my plate as it was. Besides, regardless of what was happening with Melissa, I wouldn’t see her until Monday.

  Who knew? Maybe she’d be better by then.