Rapunzel: The One With All the Hair Read online

  I sing the song once more, then begin to lather up. It takes a few minutes of scrubbing to wash off all the grime that has accumulated since my imprisonment. The water quickly turns gray, then black. Mother would faint if she saw this, but I feel almost like myself again. A hungry version of myself, but myself nonetheless. Before the dirt has a chance to latch back onto me, I stand up and dry myself with the towel. It is a good thing that my hair is under some sort of bewitchment that keeps it lustrous and golden besides causing it to grow, because truly it would have taken hours to wash it, and rebraiding it would take more energy than I could possibly muster right now. I slip one of the last clean dresses over my head and search for the armholes. Suddenly, in a rush of words and images, it comes to me. I stop moving, the dress stuck over my face. I KNOW HOW TO BREAK THE WITCH’S BOND WITH STEVEN! Even though I am twelve now and too old for such behavior, I jump up and down with glee. Of course, it is generally better to do this when not temporarily blinded by a dress over your face, a lesson I quickly learn as I fall forward and nearly launch myself headfirst into the black water.

  One more day until the hunt. Father suggested I practice shooting arrows into bales of hay, and I had to eagerly obey so as not to raise suspicion. So far, while aiming squarely at the hay, I have narrowly missed two ducks who were innocently floating in the pond, one lady-in-waiting out for a stroll with a squire, and the village cobbler, who has come to make Annabelle her first pair of leather-soled shoes.

  I am truly hopeless. Andrew assures me the men will be too busy worrying about who will bag the biggest stag to bother with me. I hope he is right. Our whole plan depends on it.

  I tried to keep my eyes open throughout the night so that when Steven came to collect the tub, I could share my new plan. At one point in the night, I actually had to use my fingers to hold my eyelids open. Alas, I must have succumbed to sleep even without my daily dose of sleeping powder, because the squawking of the birds has just awakened me. The tub is gone, Sir Kitty is playing with the scab on my chin, and it is almost dawn. With a sigh, I blow out the lamp and store it away in the trunk. Before my imprisonment, I saw this time of early morn only during harvest time with Father. Who will help him this year if I am not back? I shake the thought out of my head. I will be back. I have to be!

  Belly growling, I pick up Sir Kitty and we go to the window to watch the birds soar over the dew-covered treetops. Soon the last stripes of pink and orange in the east have been burned off by the sun’s glow. No doubt as thirsty as I am, Sir Kitty has discovered she can lick the dew off the window ledge. As I stroke her back, her fur suddenly stands on end and her ears flatten. That can’t be good.

  “You have been busy,” a voice cackles from behind me. It is not the voice I had hoped to hear.

  My heart begins to pound. What does she mean by that? Has she found out that I know about Steven? Clutching Sir Kitty so tightly she mews in protest, I slowly turn around to face the witch. She is standing in front of my cottage on the wall. She spits onto one of her gnarled fingers and wipes it across the scene, smudging the drawing as she goes. I cringe but refuse to cry out. After all, I have a plan now that will bring me back to the real cottage. I put Sir Kitty down and she runs under the wool blanket. I would, too, if I could. The smell from the pot of meat pie the witch left on the table draws me like bees to a honeysuckle shrub. Truly my mouth is watering. Garlic and mustard fill the room till I feel almost faint from it.

  When the witch is done ruining my sketch, she turns and peers right into my face. My body tenses, but I do not move. She gives me a slow once-over and I try to keep my heart from leaping out of my chest. It occurs to me that after my bath I must look quite changed.

  “Hmm,” she says, tapping one finger against her long, square chin. If I weren’t so terrified, I would laugh, because the finger she is tapping with is the one covered in ash from my drawing. She is making quite a mess of her face. “You look different somehow. I cannot place it.” She continues to look, even asking me to turn around. As I turn, I see out of the corner of my eye that Steven is slithering silently down the rope. I am glad I am now facing the other way, because I am sure my expression would give him away. Why is he risking the journey? For one brief second, I wonder if he is going to sneak up on the witch and toss her out the window.

  The witch barks at me to turn back and face her. As I do, I see Steven climbing back up the rope. In one hand he is gripping the towel I had used to dry from my bath. Hurry, Steven, hurry, I plead silently. He just has time to reach the top and pull up the rope before the witch turns around.

  “What are you looking at?” she demands, whirling back to face me.

  “Noth … nothing,” I stammer, quickly returning my gaze. “The cat startled me, that is all.”

  “I expect your full attention, young Rapunzel. Or I will be only too happy to clear this room of distractions.”

  “Yes, witch,” I say, then hurry to correct myself before her glare deepens. “I mean, yes, Mother Gothel.”

  “Your sleep,” she says, her voice taking on a lilting quality that on anyone else might be considered pleasing. “I trust it has been deep?”

  “Yes, Mother Gothel.”

  “And your meals, they have been satisfactory?”

  “Oh, yes, Mother Gothel. Very much so.”

  “So you would agree that your accommodations have been good?”

  I know by now what she wants to hear. “Um, yes?”

  She grins widely, and her broken and stained teeth almost make me gag. “I knew you would be happy here. I never had a child of my own before, you see. My line of work is, shall we say, solitary.” She cackles like she has just told a joke, then starts to cough. I turn my head as the green phlegm flies from her mouth and lands on the front of her black cape. Charming.

  I do not have anything to add, so I keep silent. Where the witch is concerned, silence has proven best.

  She continues. “One of these days, you and I shall have a lovely chat about your future. You won’t be attending school anymore, of course, so there will be plenty of time for you to learn how to hem my clothes, clean my shoes, and so forth. Yes, we have much to discuss.”

  I can keep quiet no longer and blurt, “What do you mean, I will not be attending school anymore? My parents told me that an educated woman is a rare jewel.”

  The witch throws back her head and laughs. I truly hate it when she does that. I cross my arms and wait for her to stop.

  “I am your only parent now,” she says, jabbing her finger at my chest. “And the only rare jewel I care to own is one I can wear around my neck. Now go to the window and mind my words. You have one future ahead of you, and it is mine.”

  My mouth set in a straight line, I march to the window, stamping my feet as I go. I cannot think of a more horrid future than the one she’s described. I count to ten, turn around slowly to confirm the witch has gone, and run to the table. I set the sardines and milk down on the floor, and Sir Kitty pops her head out from under the blanket. She nearly trips over her little legs jumping off the “bed.” I barely taste the meat pie as it passes my lips. I am sure Steven took extra care with it, because the smell of the herbs wafts through the air as I eat. The tray is now empty except for the lid of the pot. I lift the lid off the tray to place it on top of the empty pot, and as I do, something green catches my eye. In the spot where the lid had been rests a small plate of mint jelly and a tiny silver spoon. Steven must have hidden this from the witch with the lid! I pick up the spoon and am surprised at its weight. This is surely a valuable piece. I peer closer and see a tiny letter S on the handle and wonder if Steven made this himself. I am now so used to eating with wooden utensils and keeping watch for splinters that I am not sure which is the bigger treat, the jelly or the spoon. I take the time to savor each bite. Everything tastes better when eaten with a silver spoon given by a new friend.

  MIDDAY

  I had fully expected Steven to appear once the witch was gone from the tower. But by th