A Pearl Among Princes (8 page)

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.

“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!

“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

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.

Lu and Nuff come each day for tea and gossip.

“The PITs were comical indeed dancing with brooms and mops in Madame Bella's class,” Nuff reports. “Sir Richard swept around the room as if he was star-smitten mesmerized with his raggedy mop. ‘Oh my lady, what lovely white locks you have. And what is that sweet perfume? Soap you say? How delightful.'”

Lu and I burst out laughing.

“Then the Muffets pushed open the door,” Nuff says, “nearly toppling on the floor, all fancy in dresses and their matching pink shawls.”

“How do they get out of work so easy?” I ask.

“This year they'll do anything,” Lu explains. “Their mothers cover for them at the mill, so desperate are they for their daughters to marry into money. And I heard Janey Derry boasting that she had the whole summer free from milking too.”

“Speaking of Janey,” Nuff continues with her story. “She asked Madame Bella if the Muffets could assist with class. ‘Surely the princes would prefer beauties to brooms,' she pleaded, batting her doe eyelashes, twirling her frilly parasol. But smart Madame Bella scooted them away. ‘You'll have your chance at the ball,' she said.”

The only person who does not come to visit me is Mackree. Surely Tattlebug told him about my royal suitors.

Waking early, hours before Father, who is such a sleepybear, grumpy if awoken too soon, I head to the beach for my morning walk. Like the forest, the sea has much to teach us, Mother said. “Never miss a chance to walk beside it, daughter, and let its wisdom soothe your soul.”

“Hello, Pumpkin,” I say to the little orange cat with the striped stumpy tail who saunters out of the brush to greet me. Cats run free all over the island. I've given names and food to many.

Pumpkin purrs and stares at me expectantly.

“Here you go,” I say, filling the dish I bring with oats. Pumpkin gobbles it up quick.

The rhyme flits in and out again. The cat's green speckled eyes meet mine and I can read the thank you therein. I picture the little girl's face I saw in my mind's eye when I snuck aboard Captain Jessie's boat. She's hungry. That's it.

I pack up the bowl and set off up the beach pondering the meaning of this. I walk briskly, breathing in the good fresh air of a brand-new day. I walk for good health and exercise. I walk with an eye for colorful shells, which I will fashion with string into wind chimes to sell on Trading Day. People favor my sea-chimes very much. I usually sell out by noon. When a good wind blows, you can hear my sea-chimes all over Miramore.

As I walk, I look for signs. Mother said the angels bring us each three signs a day—harbingers of things to come, clues about paths to take, reminders of how precious we are and how very much we are loved.

My gaze is drawn to a small gray rock, standing out from the thousands of pebbles and shells tossed upon the sand. I pick the stone up and study it, appreciating its smoothness and softly curved edges. It resembles the outline of the Madonna and child in the village chapel, the lady's head tilted downward, her arms wrapped protectively around her baby.

I put the first sign safely in my pocket and keep on walking.

The sky is the blue of a robin's egg. The cool waves tease my toes. The sun has cast off the filmy residue of its birth and is now a ball of flame in the heavens.

Thank you, God, for letting Father get better. Please help his heart grow stronger. A traveling band of little sandpipers scampers fast along the beach before me, leaving itty-bitty three-pronged prints in the sand.

Something catches my eye. A second sign. I bend to pick it up.

A small but sturdy branch of pine. The wind must have carried it from the forest, as there are no pine trees such as these by the water's edge. There are two cones attached to the branch. They are connected, married, I think, smiling. I rub the long green needles and touch my fingers to my nose, breathing in the scent that holds such meaning for me.

I stick the second sign in my pocket and continue.

Picking up my pace, pumping my arms, I feel my heart beating strong within. Up ahead a gull nose-dives in and away from a mound on the sand, another gull dives in, then another.

When I reach the mound, I see that it is a mighty silver fish. There is a jagged hole in its side and two gulls are pecking off choice bloody bits for breakfast. As I get closer, the birds squawk angrily off, bothered by my interruption of their morning meal.

I stare at the dead fish's glassy eye. I feel a chill. “No,” I say aloud, glad for one simple choice. “That will not be the third sign.”

I turn and run up onto the boulders. I hop from rock to rock, out to a place where the waves surround me. I sit on the flat-topped outermost rock and wrap my arms about my knees. I close my eyes, breathe in and out, in and out, feeling the rhythm of the waves, hearing the ocean's voice like a giant snoring, ahh . . . shhh . . . ahh . . . shhh.

The thought of a giant makes me smile.

I smell the blood of an Englishman
. . .

Walking home now, back up the beach, I am drawn to pick up another object. It is a perfectly flat skipping stone. Nothing special about it, except it reminds me of Mackree. How I used to collect bags of these for him. I bring the stone to my lips and kiss it gently.

Into my pocket the true third sign goes. What was that I made Lu and me pledge? Dream a dream and believe it. Design our own destiny. I shake my head.
No, it can't be
.