Sleeping Beauty: The One Who Took the Really Long Nap Read online

  I couldn’t take my eye away from that peephole. I had a feeling I was missing something important. I searched the room once more, trying to make out the objects on the shelves, hoping they might offer up some clues as to what had happened there. I saw a statue of a horse atop the mantle, a pile of books on a side table, a painting on the wall of a girl reading on the grass, and a set of marble bookends in the shape of lions. My eyes swung back to the painting and locked.

  I stared until my eyes began to burn. I rubbed them and looked again. There was no question. That painting was the exact same painting as in our castle! It hung in the exact same place along the right-hand wall. In fact, it wasn’t just the painting that was identical. I could have been looking into our own library. The entire room was identical, down to the books on the table and the pattern of the rug. Although it was impossible, seeing as this castle was much older than ours, the objects in the room were brighter — the colors in the painting were not as faded as ours, and the rug had retained much more of its color. If ours hadn’t been dulled by the sunlight, Mother surely would have tossed it.

  I let myself sink down to the grass and leaned my back against the castle wall for support. I thought I might faint dead away. I knew there was a mystery to be found, but I had never expected anything like this!

  I spent the night in one of my forts, tossing and turning on the bed of feathers and leaves, snacking on the occasional blackberry, pondering what all this could possibly mean. By daybreak I knew I needed to cut my trip short. I needed Jonathan’s knowledge of the world to help me find some answers. I lay my hand on the wall of the old castle and felt a pulse of energy run through my arm. I yanked it away, then felt foolish for doing so. I lay my hand back on the vine-covered wall but felt nothing.

  Leaving my potato sacks behind, I took off in the direction of home. In my haste, I tripped over what I thought was a bush. My knee banged against something hard. Bushes weren’t supposed to be hard. I turned around to examine it, my hand beginning to shake as I recognized, nearly hidden beneath a tight layer of leaves and branches, the unmistakable shape of a mermaid fountain. And unless I was going crazy — which at this point I certainly considered a possibility — there was water in the bottom of it.

  I reached the castle as my parents were finishing breakfast.

  “Back so soon?” Mother asked. It was the fourth Friday of the month, so she was in a good mood from whatever she had done the night before. It was unusual for me to be gone such a short period these days, but I couldn’t very well explain.

  I made some sort of noncommittal grunt, pulled out my chair, and shoved some boiled goose eggs into my mouth. “Do you know where Jonathan is?” I asked between bites.

  A quick look flitted between the two of them, and I could see the sympathy in their faces. I sat up in alarm. Had something happened? Had Mother scared him off? Or worse?

  “Do not worry,” Father said, clearly sensing my fear. “Jonathan is fine. He wanted to tell you himself, but he only had time to pack up his things before the coach came for him.”

  “He’s been promoted to squire and transferred to another kingdom to train for the knighthood,” Mother explained. “He was sad to leave here, but this is a very good opportunity for him.”

  I was stunned. I knew I should be happy for him, but all I felt was abandoned. I slowly rose from my chair; the eggs in my belly felt like rocks. In a daze, I made my way up to my bedroom suite and closed the door firmly behind me.

  A note on my dressing table caught my eye. I recognized Jonathan’s handwriting and hurried to open it.

  “Prince, I am sorry I had not the time to find you in the woods. Everything has happened so quickly. I hope we shall keep in touch, although I know not where this journey will take me. One day when I am a knight, I hope you shall be my king. Your friend, Jonathan.”

  I lay the letter down on the dresser. My teacher, my guide, my protector, my only friend. All gone in one moment. Now more than ever, I needed to find out the story of the old castle. I needed something to take me away from here. The old castle was the only future left to me.

  As much as my bad/terrible/awful painting pleased me, it did not have the same effect on my mother. For months after the painting incident, I often caught Mama looking worriedly in my direction. Since in my family unpleasant things were never really discussed, it took me a while to get up the strength to confront her. Finally, after she had spent almost an entire meal looking at me as if I were a little child whose pet kitten had run away, I had to say something.

  When we were alone in the library after supper, I asked, “Mama, why do you appear so sad whenever you look at me? Have I disappointed you terribly?”

  Much to my surprise and horror, she burst into tears! I rushed into her arms to comfort her. She stroked my hair and said, sniffling, “Oh, baby, no, don’t ever think that. I had always believed the fairies’ gifts would protect you and make life easier for you. It helped to soften the terrible blow of the curse hanging over your head. But when you painted that picture, it pained me that you should feel any disappointment or sadness or pain in life. I wanted you always to believe you were the most special, talented, wonderful girl in the world.”

  “But why?” I asked. “Why do I need to feel that way? Wouldn’t you rather I find out who I really am, without the gifts to guide me all the time?”

  She sighed. “Honestly? No. I don’t want to think of you struggling with anything. I’m not saying it’s rational. This is a mother’s love talking.”

  We sat in the two comfortable chairs, holding hands. There wasn’t much left to be said. I could not blame her for how she felt. I wondered if someday I would have a child to love as much as Mama loved me.

  Later, when she kissed me goodnight in front of my bedroom door, I called down the hall after her. “Mama, for my birthday next week I thought I would cook supper for the family.” I hurried through the door before she had a chance to answer. In the morning when I awoke, Sara handed me a note on Mama’s personal stationery. It said, No knives!

  Cook was not as pleased as I thought she would be about my offer to relieve her of her kitchen duties on my birthday night. She argued that she always made something special for my birthday. Was I sure I wanted to mess with tradition? I told her now that I was almost grown up — I was turning fourteen, after all, the age some other princesses were engaged — I really did not need a fuss to be made on my birthday anymore. I had spent the last week working out the menu, and I handed her a list. She read it, grimaced slightly, and nodded.

  The morning of my birthday I was up before dawn. I dressed myself since Sara was still sleeping. But instead of my usual gown, I put on an old pair of Papa’s nightclothes that he had given me for playing in the garden when I was younger. At first Mama had been horrified that I wanted to wear pants to swing on the swing that hung from an old tree next to the mermaid fountain, but I convinced her I was much less likely to fall without my skirts getting tangled up in the chains. “Safety before fashion,” I pointed out. How could she argue with that?

  Papa’s old nightclothes also made an excellent cooking outfit. I planned on getting dirty today. Sara came in the room, rubbing her eyes and yawning. “Why are you awake so early? The rooster has not even crowed yet.”

  “Did I not tell you? I am the castle’s new cook!”

  “Sorry?” she said. “I must have wax in my ears.”

  I laughed. “I’m cooking our supper today. For my birthday.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’ve never done it before. I want to see if I can.”

  “Like painting a picture?” she asked, taking my hair-brush off my vanity table and directing me to sit down.

  “Yes, painting a picture.”

  As she brushed my hair until it shone, she said, “You know, your painting was not that bad.”

  “It was supposed to be the garden below my window,” I replied.

  “Oh.” Then after a pause she added, “Well, I’m sure y