A Pearl Among Princes (14 page)

“A sign,” I say.

“Maybe,” he says, shrugging his shoulders, “or just a good skipping stone.”

Before I can speak, he is gone.

CHAPTER 21

Field Trips

Professor Millington soon announces she is taking the royals on her annual week-long field trip into the forest to help them get in touch with their “inner yins.” The princes groan in unison.

From our listening post beneath the classroom window, Nuff, Lu, and I cover our mouths to silence the giggles.

“Remember the year she had them weave flowers through their hair and skip through the meadow,” Lu whispers.

“And don't forget the daisies,” I say. Professor Millington always teaches the princes the “loves me, loves me not,” plucking game.

“Each of us,” Professor Millington is saying “has a female and male, a yin and yang nature. Despite what you young men may have been told about bravery and bravado, I assure you that a young lady finds it particularly charming when a boy she likes casts aside aggressive, competitive tendencies to show his more sensitive and vulnerable side . . . to let down the iron shackles and lay bare the contents of his heart. And tears, my young men”—she sighs—“tears are very, very good. Tears are icing on the cake.”

The PITs groan. “Trying to turn us into snivelers, are you?” Sir Humpty says.

I picture the princes sitting around a campfire, roasting marshmallows, sharing deep secrets until they're all bawling like babes in the nursery.

“A floppy bunch of emotes,” Sir Marcus says.

“What's an emote?” Lu whispers

“An emotional person?” Nuff suggests.

“Like the three of us,” I say, sighing with a smile.

When the PITs return from bonding with their “inner yins,” Professor Pillage is ready and waiting with a field trip plan of his own. He instructs the royal students to pack up for a week of “real man” sports—archery and trapping and hunting. He orders Mackree to prepare the horses. He calls for some hounds. Lady Jule is not pleased, but as with the race at the tournament, she knows she must follow the bidding of an emissary of the Order.

I send a silent prayer to the forest animals
: Run, quick, and hide
.

Killing animals for food may be Nature's way. Killing animals for sport is wrong.

August has brought a western breeze to Miramore, and a blistering heat as well. Father's health is returning, but under Doctor's orders he is to stay home and rest, no work until further notice. Healthy food and rest are the prescription.

I can tell Father misses running the kitchen. Summer is his shining season. And I know that as he sips the clear vegetable soup Nurse Hartling brings to him and the fruit salads Lady Jule sends, he dreams of succulent roasts and pot pies and freshly baked bread, butter melting.

I decide to take a field trip of my own.

As much as I enjoy the company of Lu and Nuff, I am just as happy, maybe even happier, when I am alone.

“Sometimes your best company is you,” Mother says inside, and I smile.

I change into my swimming clothes, pack some food and a jug of water, and head toward the sea. It is a sunny, glorious day. Throwing my sandals and towel on the sand, I run and dive straight into the water, sweeping my arms like a butterfly, kicking my long strong legs out like a frog. I surface and fill my lungs to the full and dive again, deeper this time. I reach out to touch the yellow tang and then a blue striped starling. A giant sea turtle moves silently past me and I watch as it pecks delicately at the rough coral, sending bits of pink snow to coat the mermen's shaving brushes sticking up from the ocean floor.

It is an entire other world under here, every bit as beautiful as the one above. The grandfather turtle's murky eye meets mine and I think of Professor Pillage and the hounds and the hunt. Be safe, my furry and featured friends. You know the forest better than he.
Hide
.

Back on the beach, I dry off and lie back on my towel. I close my eyes. Soon I am dreaming.

I am standing alone up high in a tower looking down. A multitude of faces are gazing up at me. I am speaking. What am I saying? The people are listening. What am I saying? Suddenly the people are smiling, their hands clasped jubilantly in the air.

I wake feeling excited. This is a new dream, one that breeds hope in my heart. Perhaps there can be joy without Mackree. I slip my skirt and blouse over my now dry bathing clothes and walk the beach hoping for words of wisdom from Mother, but she is surprisingly silent.

I look for signs, but it seems each thing that calls to me, upon examination, is just one of the thin, flat stones Mackree once loved to skip. Out of habit, I pick them up. One, two, three. It seems all today's signs are pointing one way. I gather more and more skipping stones. I find myself needing to see him desperately. But I will not break my silent promise to myself or to him, and so the weight of the foolish stones hangs heavy in my pockets, nearly as heavy as my heart.

CHAPTER 22

The Sabbath

I peel an orange and make a pot of tea. I open the sack of sweet pastries Nora Baker brought yesterday along with the fresh roasted turkey, conch chowder, and corn.

“The sweets are fer you,” she said. “Don't be feeding them to Cook. He's gotta watch his diet.”

That was nice of Nora. I bit into a fig muffin. “Mmmm . . . Delicious.”

“Just day-old stuff I'd be tossin' anyway,” the old woman had said, but I could tell it was more than that.

I stuff two rolls in my pocket for the cats and head to the beach for my walk. No need to rush this morning. It is the Sabbath, the day of rest and renewal and gratitude.

The rhyme rings in my head as I walk. I was born on Tuesday.

What day of the week was Mackree born on? Why don't I know that? Not that it matters. I must put him out of my head . . .

When I reach the water, the sky is shrouded dark with clouds, and the foamy white caps on the waves let me know a storm is brewing. A breeze swirls toward me, throwing stinging sand up against my legs. I see Captain Jessie at the docks covering up his boat. I wave to him and he waves back. Such an odd goose he is. I don't see him mixing with the royals or the men of Miramore either.

The beach is strewn with clumps of black-green seaweed. I stoop to pick up a small yellow heart-shaped rock. There is a tiny white pebble, it almost looks like a pearl, imbedded in the middle. I try to dislodge it with my fingernail, but as hard as I try, the pearl won't budge.

Overhead, a sleek black duck screeches by, and then a second one flaps up behind it. Side by side now, they fly off together. I stop and watch the pair until they are but small black dots disappearing into the veil of fog.

The wind whips my hair out behind me. A powerful gust sweeps gritty sand up into my face. I wipe the stinging specks from my eyes and gathering my collar tighter around my neck, I set off for home, my heart-shaped sea-sign to ponder.

As it is Sunday, I do not have to scoop coal or pick vegetables or toil in the kitchen under Nora's command. The bells of the chapel pierce the quiet morning air and I nod and smile hello to friends and neighbors as they walk toward the carved wooden entrance door, the smell of incense and the sound of music intensifying in the village air each time the heavy door is opened. One of the Muffets, Clarissa Porter, passes by me with her family, raising her nose as if she is better, superior to me.

When I reach home I am surprised to see Father leaving the cottage with Nurse Hartling, who is donned in a pretty blue dress and a straw hat with a flowered scarf. “Time the patient gets some exercise,” she says to me as they pass.

Father winks at me and shrugs his shoulders. “Following Doctor's orders,” he says. He extends his arm to Nurse Hartling and I swear she blushes as she accepts it.

Well, I'll be.
I smile. Lady Jule has serious competition. She'd better bring more sweets tout de suite.

Inside the cottage, I busy myself filling up the straw baskets. Each Sunday I bring them to villagers who might need cheering up. Mother started the Sabbath tradition and I continue it still.

Lining each basket with a cloth napkin, I put in some of Nora's baked treats, and a few pretty shells, fresh sprigs of flowers from the garden. Nothing fancy. “Your presence, not the presents,” is what Mother says matters.

First to Sister Varley, my kindergarten teacher, ninety-something now and slow-moving from arthritis, but her mind is still sharp as a sword. I make us some tea and she sets up the checkers. “I've looked forward to your visit all week,” she says.

Next to our neighbor Rowena, bed-bound with the flu. I tell her funny news about the PITs and about the whale Mackree and I saw spouting.

“You've brightened my day, Gracepearl,” she says.

I look up the path toward Mackree's house. Nuff is coming down it. My heart clenches. When she reaches me she says she's sorry but she must hurry home. Her mother is expecting her.

When I have delivered the last basket, I head back home. Nurse Hartling has gone and Father is reading.

“Oh good, daughter, come,” he says, motioning to me to sit beside him. “We had another visitor while you were gone.”

“Another lady calling on my handsome father?” I say, teasing.

“No, as a matter of fact. It was a suitor for you.”

The first name in my mind is Mackree.

“One of the princes, a most impressive young man.”

I cannot hide my disappointment, though this is what I have wanted. “Who?”

“He asked my blessing before he asks you for your hand in marriage.”

“Which one, Father?” Pray let it be Peter.

“You mean there could be more than one?” Father says, grinning.

“Stop teasing me, Father.” I push his arm gently, so he knows that I am serious. “Name him.”

Father laughs heartily. He clutches his fist to his chest, a flash of pain crossing his face. “I am not teasing you, Gracepearl,” he says, smiling. “Although you indeed have many virtues, daughter, patience is not among them. The prince asked that his identity be kept secret so that he may profess his intentions to you at the ball.”

“Oh, Father, just a hint then?”

Father laughs again. “Let me suffice to say, daughter, that I found this young man to be a most decent human being of the noblest sort who clearly has your best interests in mind, and after conversing with him at length, I said that if your heart's desire matched his, then who am I to stand betwixt a couple and Cupid's arrow. And with that, I gave him my blessing. The decision, of course, is yours, Gracepearl. Yours and yours alone.”