Rapunzel: The One With All the Hair Read online

  To Norman and Adaya for the Florida sun; and to Lisa, Gail, Betsy, and Pat for helping Rapunzel’s hair to grow

  CONTENTS

  TITLE PAGE

  DEDICATION

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINTEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  COPYRIGHT

  I seriously CANNOT BELIEVE what has happened to me today. I am currently throwing a tantrum on the pile of straw that is supposed to serve as my bed (!) and — this is the most unbelievable part — I am LOCKED IN A TOWER IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FOREST!! In case I am never rescued and blackbirds fly through the one tower window and pick my bones clean, I hope the tragic circumstances that have befallen me on the dawn of my twelfth birthday will not go forgotten by history. Kicking and screaming in frustration is not doing me much good. Truth be told, my body is beginning to ache from the effort.

  My candle sheds just enough light for me to see the strange shadows dancing on the walls. The only reason I am not lying in complete darkness is that the witch (yes, WITCH, complete with scraggly hair and hairy wart) did not know a handful of candles was in the trunk along with the meager possessions she allowed me to pack.

  My day started out fine. Mother was preparing a special morning feast to celebrate my birthday, and I was setting up the stool and shears that she was going to use later to cut my hair. Now that I turned twelve, this was to be my first official haircut and I couldn’t wait. Once it was shortened, I could finally wear my hair loose instead of tied upon my head. It was so long I could sit on it!

  From the kitchen window, I could see Father out back, tending the garden. He is famous in our village for the rampion herb that refuses to grow in any yard but ours. In the heat of summer, the orders for fresh rampion pour in and we live high off the hog (or herb, as the case may be) right through the autumn harvest. Then, in November, I help Father dig up the stalks and he rides off for a fortnight to deliver the herb as far as the riverbank on the other side of the Great Forest.

  Some ladies boil it and apply it to their cheeks for a smooth complexion. Mostly, though, it is made into salads along with lettuce and spinach. I’ve heard whispers that there’s something not natural about rampion, that it can make feeble old men strong again and will keep your breath fresh even if you bite into a clove of garlic.

  Mother had finished spreading honey on the almond pies that would be my special birthday breakfast, and told me to go fetch Father. When I pushed open the heavy wooden gate that protected the garden, I was shocked to see that Father was not alone. In twelve years of life, I had never seen an outsider in the garden. The stranger wore a black cape with a hood, even though it was deadly hot out. I could not tell whether it was a man or a woman, only that he or she wasn’t much taller than I.

  Father and the stranger looked to be in heated debate. I dared not move closer lest the bells on my belt alert them to my presence. Soon the gate behind me banged open and Mother appeared. I could tell she was about to scold me for dawdling when her eyes lit upon the stranger. Her hands flew to her mouth. She gasped, and the sound caught their attention. The stranger turned and I saw immediately that it was an old woman with beady, penetrating black eyes, white hair, and a long nose. Three large flies circled around her head but she did not wave them away. I felt a cold shiver run down my spine.

  Mother grabbed the sleeve of my special yellow birthday dress and tried to pull me back into the house. It was no use. Our feet were suddenly stuck to the ground. Mother started to cry. Father buried his face in his hands. I was too shocked to do either of those things; I just gaped at the woman.

  She crept toward me. “You must be Rapunzel,” she said in a raspy voice. “I’ve waited a long time for you.”

  Father rushed over and stood between us. “You cannot have her,” he said firmly. “We made that deal before she was born. Surely you cannot hold us to it.”

  Mother paused from her crying to yell at Father. “It was not WE. It was YOU! YOU made that deal!”

  Father yelled back, “You wouldn’t eat anything other than the witch’s rampion! After we prayed for a baby for all those years, I couldn’t very well let you starve when you needed your strength for the birth!”

  I turned my head between the two of them. Mother pursed her lips and didn’t respond. A witch?! A birth? Did they mean me? I managed to make my mouth work enough to ask my parents, “Will someone tell me what is going on? Who is this … this person?”

  The old woman made a loud cackling sound. I think it was a laugh.

  “Stupid man,” she said to Father in a dark whisper, “you don’t make a bargain with a witch and expect her not to hold you to it. Our deal was clear: your freedom for your daughter. You stole the rampion from my garden, and I did not destroy you for your thievery. I’ve made you a rich man all these years. Now that she is a maiden, I have come for her.”

  She did mean me! My eyes widened. The old lady grinned and her wart stretched along with her lips. Don’t even ask me to describe her teeth, because what was left of them was not pretty. She must be a rather poor witch if she can’t even fix her own appearance. I mean, honestly, even the apothecary in town can cure a wart.

  Things happened quickly after that. My father picked me up in his arms (and I’m no little thing anymore) and tried to run. He, too, found that his legs refused to move. With a swoosh of the witch’s arm, all the green stalks in the garden fell to the ground and shriveled up like they’d never sprouted at all. With alarming physical strength, the witch pulled me from my father’s arms and dragged me into the house. Mother’s shrieks followed us. The witch seemed to know where my room was, because she led me straight to it and ordered me to pack my bare necessities in the wooden chest. I tried to dart from the room but she blocked the door. Then I did as she instructed … because what else could I do? I grabbed what I could until she slammed the chest shut.

  In an instant I was blindfolded and found myself lying across the seat of a swiftly moving carriage. I tried to scream but my voice had left me. Being familiar with the pathways of the village, I tried to follow the turns of the streets but soon was lost. I felt very drowsy and had to fight to keep my wits about me.

  The next thing I knew, I awoke on a pile of straw. The blindfold now off, I could see in the fading d