A Pearl Among Princes (12 page)

Checking to be sure the knots are secure, I slide my chimes on a long pole and set off for the square, proud of my work. I am early, but Nora Baker and Tattlebug are there setting out pastries and pies and tarts. I wave and continue down to my stall. I pull back the tarp, brush off my counter, and hang the chimes along my display rope. They look like mermaid necklaces. I smile to myself. With wind they'll sing the music of the sea.

Soon Nuff will be here with her mother selling soaps and lotions, healing potions and perfumes. Sally Tailor will assist her mother selling dresses. Janey Derry and her mother sell eggs and butter. I am the only Miramore girl to have her own booth. It took two years to convince Mooney, the growly man who runs Trading Day, but when he saw what a draw my chimes were as I sold them displayed on a blanket on the hill near the edge of the stalls, I think he calculated the commissions he was losing and finally saw the wisdom of a new way.

“When money talks, Mooney listens,” Father said with a chuckle. If only I could succeed at convincing dear Lu to approach him about sharing her sweets with a booth of her own. But she fears disappointing her family with such public dreams of other trades.

Soon the square is filled with Miramores coming to purchase and trade. Spirits are high, as this is a day we all look forward to. A mop of Muffets stroll by stuffing their mouths with cream cups and savory tarts. They whisper and roll their eyes at me. They don't think a girl should be running a business. I turn away to adjust one of my chimes. “When's she going to act like a lady,” I hear one of them say.

My face reddens, from anger, not shame. I'm about to say something, but then I see Sir Richard approaching.

“Lady Gracepearl,” he says, bowing. The Muffets stop and stare.

“Sir Richard,” I say with a curtsy.

The Muffets' antennae have perked up. They are coming toward us.

“Is this your handiwork, Lady Grace?” Sir Richard says, reaching out to touch first one chime and then another. “I've never seen such whimsical ornaments, and what lovely sounds they make.”

Before I can answer, one of the Muffets, Chappy Lure, a fisherman's daughter, says, “Oh look, girls, come see Grace Coal's new shell thingies. Aren't they sweet?” And then all the pink-shawled spiders are swarming in front of my stall, making believe they are looking at my sea-chimes when they're really trying to snatch up the prince.

“Well, look what the wind blew in,” I say under my breath.

Sir Richard hears me. He bursts out laughing. “Oh lady, you slay me, you do.”

And then Sir Peter is there too. Good.

“Here you are, Lady Gracepearl,” he says, a wide grin on his face. “The busiest spot on the square, no surprise. I've come to buy your wind chimes, the whole store please.”

“Now wait just a moment, Peter,” the soldier prince from Ashland says. “You'll have to wait in line. I was here first.”

The Muffets are shocked, heads turning back and forth amongst themselves, to the princes and me. They know I've never been very interested in the summer royals before—they must not have believed Tattlebug's rumor about my quest for a prince.

Nuff rushes up to whisper in my ear. “Listen,” she says, and then can't go on she's laughing so hard. “Sir Humpty . . .”

I giggle and she giggles. “Oh, Gracie,” she says, cupping her hands about her mouth by my ear. “The egg prince just came to Mother's stall looking for bum balm.”

“Bee balm?” I say, thinking of the lip-soothing salve Nuff's mother fashions from the wax of bees.

“Shh!” Nuff doubles over laughing again and then regains herself, whispering in my ear again. “
Bum
balm, Gracie.
Buttocks
balm. It seems the prince from Oakland acquired a most unusual island rash.”

“Oh, no,” I say. “Not the dreaded Miramore ‘gotchagood' weed? I hope you warned good Sir Humbert to exercise more caution as he gets ‘the lay of the land,' so to speak.”

“Hmm, hmm
.” Sir Peter clears his throat. I note that he and Nuff lock eyes for a moment. She looks away, and so do I.

“Later, Grace,” Nuff says, a solemn tone now in her voice. “Mother needs me.” I notice Mackree strolling down the hill toward the market, and I wonder if Nuff saw him too. Maybe he comes to buy some of her mother's special lotions for his horses. I shake my head and turn back to the princes as Nuff returns to her booth.

“How much for the store?” Sir Richard says.

I smile.

“Whatever the cost, I'll double that,” Sir Peter says.

The Muffets make twittering sounds.

I look at my chimes.

I look at the princes.

I see Mackree approach Nuff's stand.

“What do you want them for?” I ask.

The two five-star PITs regard me carefully.

“To brighten the dreary halls of Elmland,” Sir Peter says.

“To share with the sick of Ashland, so the music might help them heal,” Sir Richard counters.

You win this one, Sir Richard, I think. What a noble response. If Lu wasn't so enamored of you . . . But no, I will not allow myself to continue the thought.

“Music to my ears, fine sirs. You shall each have an equal share.”

CHAPTER 18

Heart to Heart with Father

Hauling the pails of coal to the kitchen I think of the dance in the woods tonight and then of the Summersleave Ball next month. “Lavender's blue, dilly dilly, lavender's green. When I am king, dilly dilly, you shall be my queen.” This year I will wear my new purple satin dress to the ball. Mother's letter directed Father to give it to me on my fourteenth birthday. It was way too big for me then. It fits me perfectly now. I'll wear my oyster shell necklace from last birthday and weave a callaberry and Queen's Lace crown.

Alone on the garden path, I begin to skip. Imaging the music I will hear tonight in the circle in the woods, my feet step to the rhythm, I whirl and twirl. I am happiest when I am dancing, when all confusion slips away.

I gather the lettuce, cucumbers, tomatoes, and beets, then hurry to the kitchen, where Nora greets me with today's next assignment. Peeling potatoes. Mounds of potatoes. I set my knife to the mottled brown skin of the first ugly spud and begin. My thoughts soon return to dancing, and then to my behavior yesterday, in equal measure.

I think of how the Muffets seem to live all year for the Summersleave Ball. Hoping a prince will fall in love with them, maybe even profess his love at the ball. So many silly school stories and plays have this same exact plot. A handsome prince comes for summer study in the charming arts, meets a beautiful Miramore girl, a Muffet, of course, offers her a ring at the Summersleave Ball before a jubilant crowd and then the couple sails away to some far-off castle, where they will marry and live happily ever after.

And now such a fairy tale could turn true. “You could be the first,” Nuff had said. I might sail away from Miramore in mere months. Then I think of the glance she and Sir Peter exchanged at Trading Day. Could it have meant that there is nothing between her and Mackree? My heart speeds up.

My heart is pounding. It's as if a fog is lifting and I can suddenly see clearly. I look down at the ugly potato peels and laugh. Tattlebug peers over at me. How is it that now, in this seemingly unimportant moment, in this kitchen, peeling potatoes, how do I know what my heart has decided? My eyes fill with tears, happy tears. My calling to leave Miramore is strong, and yet my tie to Mackree is unbreakable. To leave him would leave half of my heart on this island.

Purl Will U Maree Me?
Mackree had written in the sand that day.

“Yes!” I say aloud.

Tattlebug is staring at me. “Who ya talking to?”

“No one,” I say. “Mind your beeswax.”

Mackree's face appears in my mind. Mackree, who makes me light up like a thousand stars born all at once of a night while the fiddle music weaves magic and the cow jumps over the moon. And yet my mind tells me I must go. My mind says my heart must be silent. I ache now knowing why it pains Mackree to see me. Maybe I can spare myself some sorrow too by avoiding him as much as I can until I leave Miramore. But how can I leave on a boat with a boy who may well be the heart's desire of one of my best friends? Oh, this is heart-boggling brain-wrenching confusing . . .

When I am finally done in the kitchen, I hurry to the hospital to visit Father.

Good news, he's been released.

“Thank the heavens,” I say, throwing my arms around a startled Nurse Hartling and rushing off home.

I enter the cottage quiet as a mouse so as not to wake Father should he be sleeping. There he is, sitting up in bed, writing. He pauses, reads over what he's written, dips the quill feather in the ink pot and continues. For some reason I know not to disturb him. I wait outside his room. When I look back in, he is stuffing the paper, looks like several pages, into a thick red volume. I recognize it is the book of history Mother taught me from. How odd. Father closes the book, a sweet-sad smile on his face. He sets the book down and picks up the pine pillow I gave him as a child. He brings the pillow to his nose and sniffs, breathing it in and out, tears now rolling down his cheeks.

“Father?”

“Gracepearl.” He sniffs and wipes his cheeks with the back of his hand. He smiles. “Come sit beside me. Tell me all your news.”

“No, Father, tell me of you. Are you all right?”

“Yes, Gracepearl. I am fine. It will make me happy to hear of you.”

Tell Father about the dreams
, I hear Mother speak inside me.

“Mother talks to me always,” I blurt out.

“Yes,” Father says, smiling, “to me as well.” He pats the spot beside him and I sit.

“Just this morning Miriam reminded me that your sixteenth birthday fast approaches, as if I would forget.”

Suddenly I am wary of this next birthday gift. I am curious, but afraid. The spyglass, the mirror, the necklace, the purple dress . . . the presents have always been perfectly lovely, but Mother has said this year's gift will be different from the rest. Suddenly I do not want my birthday to come. “Maybe we should skip the present this year,” I say.

A sadness washes over Father's dear face and just as quickly he covers it with a smile. He reaches out to touch my hair. “Miriam and I talk often of our beautiful girl all grown up. We could not be more proud, Gracepearl. You are all that we dreamed of in a child, way beyond our wildest imaginings.”

Tears well up in my eyes. “Father, I love you so.” I hug him.

“You have brought me so much joy,” he says.

“You sound like it's ending,” I say. “We will always be together.”

“In spirit, yes child,” he says. “Forever heart to heart.”

“You're getting better, Father,” I say, voice rising. “Look, you're home now and the color has returned to your cheeks. You have years to . . .”

“Gracepearl,” he says, his face moving with what seems like so many conflicting emotions. “This birthday . . . the gifts . . . they will be different from the others.”

“
Gifts
, Father? I don't understand.”

“I wish I could have prepared you more.”

“Prepared me for what, Father?”

“Ahhhh. . . .” He lets out a long sweet sigh. “I promised your mother to wait until your birthday. We made a pact and I have faithfully followed her wishes.”

“I grow to dread this birthday,” I say. I feel now that I must tell Father of my confusion. “Mother speaks of a destiny, a calling. Of a choice I will make. I think of leaving Miramore, but how? The only way is to marry a prince, and yet my one true love is Mackree. And I am haunted by these strange and recurring dreams . . .”

“What dreams? Tell me.”

“People,” I say. “Hundreds, thousands, old and young, never the same faces . . . they look beaten down, hungry, sad . . . they beckon to me, call me, come, come. Oh Father, what do they want?”

Father's eyes are deep brown lakes of love. He is silent for a very long time. “You.”

“Me, Father? What for? What can I do?”

“You can help them.”

“But how, Father? How? I have no power. I have no money.”

“Easy, darling,” Father says in a calming voice. “I promise on your birthday you will understand.”

CHAPTER 19

Dancing in the Woods