by Alex Flinn
Her hands gripped me like pincers. This was impossible. Still, if I did what she asked, she would let me leave, so I said, “Can I please . . . I have to see Karl.”
I expected nothing. Yet suddenly my face disappeared, replaced by a scene that looked like one from a book, a room with floors that shone like the river in sunshine and lights that hung from the ceiling, surrounded by showers of diamonds. A palace! Through it all walked a young man I did not recognize at first. He was dressed in the blue uniform of a Prussian army officer. As he drew close, I realized it was Karl.
He passed another man. The man bowed down.
“Your Highness,” the man said.
Only then did I realize where he was, what I was looking at. I had seen it before on walks with my mother as a little girl. We had stared in admiration, though of course I had never been inside. The palace!
Karl was the son of our king! A prince!
The mirror fell from my hand. I heard it shatter before I hit the ground.
4
“Young woman! Young woman! I am sorry, but I do not know your name, though we have met so many times, I feel I know you.”
I cracked open my eyes. The dark sky swam up toward me, and I closed them again.
“Oh no,” I said, for I knew Karl, a prince, would never marry a miller’s daughter. My life was over! But it wasn’t true. The mirror couldn’t really have shown me Karl. It was some sort of trick.
The bookseller held out the mirror. Miraculously, it was unbroken. I gaped at her.
“I can’t . . . I don’t understand.” But I seized the mirror. I did not understand its magic. Perhaps it was a trick. Maybe it wasn’t really Karl I had seen.
“I need to see Karl!” I hoped that the mirror would show me something different.
Another room took shape in the mirror’s mists, another beautiful room with walls of gold. But the face was the same. Karl. My Karl. He was talking to someone, likely a servant.
Karl looked down, perturbed. “I require a moment alone.”
“Yes, Your Highness. But dinner is soon to be served.”
“Alone,” Karl repeated.
The servant left and closed the door. Karl paced upon the crimson carpet and, for a moment, it felt wrong to spy on him, But we had been lovers. He had loved me.
Had he not?
As if in reply, Karl settled onto a large chair and buried his head in his hands.
He sat a few minutes. Then he straightened up his shoulders and called for his servant to dress him for dinner.
“You must go there,” the bookseller said. “Go to him.”
“How can I? What can I say?” Yet I was already planning it. I would wait to see if he came next week. But if he didn’t, I would go to him, storm the palace, demand that he be with me, with our child.
But how could I? I was only a girl.
As if reading my thoughts, the bookseller said, “If he does not come next week, come to me. I will help you.” At my questioning look, she said, “In case you haven’t realized, I know a bit of witchcraft.”
I nodded. At least she was an ally, though a bizarre one.
She held out the mirror. “And borrow this, to talk to me. If you get lonely or confused, ask to see me. Kendra.”
I took it from her. It was dark, and I needed to go home. Father would be angry at my lateness, angrier still if he knew the truth. If Karl forsook me, I might not have a home to which to return.
I did not see Kendra when I walked into the bookseller’s stall. The male clerk was there, as usual. His eyes brightened when he saw me, and he picked up a book.
“It is new!” he said. “It just came in yesterday, and I thought you might like it.”
It had a green cover with gold lettering. The title was Faust: A Tragedy.
My life was a tragedy. I remembered that I had spoken to him the very day I had met Karl. If only I had tarried, read another book that day instead. If only I could turn back time.
I had barely survived the week, doing chores, though I was sick each morning and terrified what Father would do if he found out. All day long, the river called to me, asking me to become one with it, like the sailor in the story. I was already of the river. We had grown up together, like siblings. It would be easy, so easy, the ripples overtaking me, sparkling like diamonds, turning me into a diamond, bright and dead.
I waved the clerk off.
The young man’s face fell, and he pretended that he had merely been shelving the book. He dusted it off, even blew on it. I did not see what he did next, for I turned away. I was looking for Karl.
He did not come. He did not come. I searched from one side of the stall to the other. I walked outside and all around. The brightly colored wares hurt my eyes, and the merchants’ chatter assaulted my ears. He did not come. He would not come. My life was more tragic than Faust’s, whoever he was.
Suddenly I felt something touch my shoulder, light as a butterfly. Kendra.
“He did not come.” It was a statement, not a question.
I shook my head, more of a twitch, really. I did not want to think about it, much less admit it.
“Then you must go to him.”
“How?”
“I will help you.”
She told me she had heard (she omitted how) of a large party of dignitaries and their servants who would be visiting the palace in the coming days. Kendra would use magic (the mirror was just the beginning of her powers, apparently!) to help me gain entry as one of this party. Once I did, I could confront Karl.
Or, rather, his father, the king.
“But what will I say to them?”
A drop of rain fell onto my cheek with a splat. Then another on my shoulder. I didn’t care. I was like the rubbish left out, rubbish to be rained upon.
Kendra ushered me inside the stall, waving off the young assistant’s curious glance.
“Tell the truth, plain and strong. They will surely listen. What parent could ignore his own grandchild?”
“He is a prince.” I was weeping. “They will want him to marry a princess, someone . . . special.”
Kendra stroked my hair and said, “They will love you. And, if all else fails, tell them you can spin straw into gold.”
“What?” I looked up at her, certain I had misheard. She had turned away, looking at the young assistant. When she saw me, she looked back.
“Nothing, dear, nothing.” She produced a handkerchief, seemingly from nowhere. “Nothing. I am certain they will love you on sight.”
The party was to arrive on Saturday afternoon. Early Saturday morning, I snuck out before Father even woke and met Kendra outside her stall. There, she used magic to outfit me as a grand lady, much like in Mr. Perrault’s story of Cinderella. She handed me a small satchel with a change of clothing and the mirror. “If you have any trouble, contact me.”
She led me to the town, to the castle, where the crowds stared, where I once had stared, hoping for a glimpse inside. I felt ill.
“How will I get inside?”
Kendra gestured toward the gates, and, as she did, the crowds parted, allowing me through. At the front of the crowd, there was a party, wealthy and grand.
I surveyed the group of travelers. The gentlemen wore wigs and coats embellished with gold braid. The ladies were all fashionable, with low-necked gowns displaying their pearls and jewels. I glanced at my own chest. Though Kendra had outfitted me as a wealthy woman in green velvet, my only jewelry was a cross from Father and a small ring that had been my mother’s. They would know I was not one of them. They would know their own party, of course.
I glanced at Kendra to tell her this.
She was gone.
I wanted to run, and I was going to, but my feet felt as if cast in plaster, and I could not move.
At that moment I felt a light touch on my shoulder. I turned, expecting Kendra.
It was not Kendra but a young woman my own age, tall and gawky, with carroty hair and freckles dotting a bumpy nose.
&n
bsp; “There you are, Sophie.” She looked right into my eyes.
I started a bit, still unable to move, to speak even.
“Sophieeee . . .” She tugged upon my arm. “Come. They are going inside. We need to hurry, the better to procure adjoining rooms.”
“Adjoining . . . ?”
“Silly! If our rooms are too far apart, it will be much more difficult to sneak around and gossip about him.”
“Him?”
“The prince!” She giggled. Did she think I was her friend?
I felt myself giggle too, and somehow, I knew this strange girl’s name. Dared I to say it? What if I was wrong?
Yet I knew I was not wrong. Kendra’s magic made it so, made this strange girl believe I was her dear friend . . . Magic!
“Sophie!” She grabbed my hand. “Did you not hear me?”
“Oh, Agathe!” I said, using the strange girl’s name. “I am sorry. I was just thinking about meeting Prince Karl!”
Her reaction let me know I was correct. I squeezed Agathe’s hand, and together, we fairly vibrated with excitement. Or rather, she vibrated with excitement. I trembled with fear. I could not help but wonder about Sophie. Was there a real Sophie? What had happened to her? Was she trapped in a cupboard somewhere? Or did Agathe merely believe she existed? Was I an illusion? Did I still look like me? And, when Karl saw me, would he recognize me?
I wanted to take the mirror from my satchel, both to examine my face and to ask Kendra all these questions. That’s when I realized I did not have the satchel anymore. I glanced around. A servant in a black uniform had my bags.
Agathe said, “I know. I cannot wait to meet the man I am to marry!”
My mouth fell open, and I dropped her hand. I felt cold, as if I might freeze into a block of ice and fall over. To marry Karl? I stared at the girl. She was not pretty, not really, but she had a neat figure, and she was rich. She was smiling, for she was to marry Karl!
I wanted to scream out everything, but she would not believe me. She thought I was her dear friend Sophie.
I had to be alone, to speak to Kendra. This could only be accomplished if I unfroze myself, placed one foot in front of the other, and walked into the castle.
I smiled, though I felt as if my face would crack when I did.
“Of course.” My voice shook, but I steadied it. Perhaps she merely meant she wished to marry Karl. I held out my arm to the lovely, rich Agathe. “Let us go.”
And we linked arms and walked into the palace.
This too was dizzying, for it had pillars as large as the hundred-year-old chestnut trees that grew near our mill. When we entered, I nearly gasped. The gold on the ceiling and walls was blinding.
Agathe gave me a sharp look. “What is wrong with you?”
“It is so beautiful!”
She shrugged. “No more beautiful than our palace at home, and you have been there hundreds of times.”
I recovered myself. I was a young lady accustomed to entering palaces, apparently.
“Well, that is beautiful too. This is just different.” I assumed all castles did not look alike.
“True. Our castle is much older. This one is more modern.” She nodded happily, surveying the room like one who expected to live there.
There was an elaborate luncheon, but I ate little of it. I searched for Karl. He was out, hunting, they said. We would meet him at dinner tonight. And a ball. Agathe grabbed my hand when this was announced. I felt the tiny bit of venison I had consumed threaten to come up. I stood, attempting to breathe.
Finally, finally, I was alone in my bedroom. I peered into the mirror. I looked like myself, but a heightened version of myself, dressed beautifully, with hair that had been curled with great care. I could be a princess.
Except I was not a princess.
“Show me Kendra.” I wondered if the tremble in my voice had become a permanent condition.
She appeared in the mirror.
I burst into tears.
“What is it, dear?”
“He is to marry that Agathe! He was never going to marry me!”
“You do not know that.”
“I do.” Now I saw it clearly. “He went to the market dressed as a peasant, to meet some peasant girl to . . . to . . .” I could not form the words. “I was nothing to him but a bit of fun before his marriage to a noblewoman. And he was everything to me!”
I thought of the book Karl had sent me. I had loved it but, more than that, I had loved the idea of it, the fact that Karl had understood me so well that he had picked the perfect book, the very book I had wanted. He did not believe me a stupid peasant, or at least, he did not seem to. He found me a smart and accomplished young woman! It had been the book that had made me certain of him, the book that had made me love him. That and his face.
“It was all a lie,” I said, sobbing. “If only he had not sent that book.”
“Book? What book?”
“He sent me a book of history. It was that which made me fall in love with him.”
A shadow crossed her eyes. “A book of history?” She frowned, then seemed to recover and reached her hand forward as if trying to touch me through the mirror. “It will be fine.”
“What shall I do?”
“I will tell you, but you must be calm. Be calm.”
Her voice was soothing like wind in autumn leaves, and I felt myself relax. My neck began to droop, and even my feet felt heavy, the way they felt at night before sleep overtook me.
“Mmm . . .” It was the only reply I could manage.
“All right then. Tonight at dinner, you will see him. He will pretend not to recognize you. Perhaps he will even hope he is mistaken, but you must remain calm. Understand?”
“Calm.” I nodded and took a shaky breath.
“As you file in, you will be introduced to the king. You will curtsy, and you will be called upon to make some small talk. When dinner ends, you will play your hand.”
I must have misheard her. There must be more. But no, Kendra was nodding as if it was decided.
“That is your plan?” I asked. “That is your magic? Sneak me into the palace only to reveal myself over dinner? They will throw me out.”
Kendra frowned. “The king may be sympathetic. After all, it is his grandchild you are carrying.”
Again, her voice soothed me like a glass of Riesling. “Of course.”
“But if it does not work, you have still your secret weapon.”
“Secret weapon?” My voice was like a clock’s pendulum, regular, false. I did not know I had a secret weapon.
“If all else fails, tell him you can spin straw into gold.”
“But I can’t spin straw into gold. Why would I say that?”
“Just tell him you can,” Kendra said, as if it made perfect sense.
And I agreed, because I wanted it to.
Kendra Speaks
Poor Cornelia! Poor little fool! For a miller’s daughter to fall in love with a prince was dumb. And for a miller’s daughter to sneak off to the woods with a man she barely knew was sheer idiocy. This was how the foundling homes got filled, and how young women were cast out by their families. And yet my heart went out to her. Life was hard for a young woman of limited means. The men had all the power.
Cornelia might have thought I didn’t know her, but I did. She had been coming into my stall for some time, first with her mother, then with her sisters, and finally, by herself. She loved the books there. And my plain, dour assistant fancied himself in love with her. For hours each day, I listened to him wax rhapsodic about her beauty! Her brains! The talents he was certain she possessed, though we had seen no evidence of them at all! Every Thursday morning, he came in smelling of cologne—men’s cologne was a new invention, and he bought it by the bottle! If she came, he followed her like a pup, and if it rained and she did not come, he moped for the next week.
In fact, I knew that it had not been Karl who had sent her the history book. Perhaps you, dear reader, had guessed it too
, but I knew for a fact. Indeed, I had been the one to sell it to my lovestruck boy!
And it was because of this lovestruck boy that I told Cornelia to say she could spin straw into gold. I have mentioned that my assistant possessed a rather rare ability. With it, he would help Cornelia—one way or another.
Well, back to her!
5
Cornelia
So that is how I, a mere miller’s daughter, ended up in a barn, far from the castle, with the chickens, expected to spin straw into gold.
I would much prefer not to narrate the dinner. Perhaps you think you can imagine the horror? You cannot. I wish I could rip it from my own memory as well, but I am afraid it will haunt me forever.
Once, when I was little, my mother took my sisters and me to a play. It was a wonderful entertainment about a clever girl named Finette who outsmarted an ogre, gained a magical chest of clothing, and married a prince. I loved the story so, and for weeks, even months after, I could close my eyes and see it before me, Finette chopping off the ogre’s head, the king offering his son’s hand in marriage, Finette in all the finery from the magic trunk, as if it were still happening. It was a wonderful thing!
This story is less wonderful by far. Yet here, too, I live it over and over and over in my head.
An hour before dinner was to begin, a woman knocked upon the door. She was, it seemed, my maid. Sophie’s maid. And she had come to dress Sophie and do Sophie’s hair, even though my dress and hair were already more wonderful than they had ever been, better than I had looked at my sisters’ weddings.
Thankfully, I was too dumbstruck to say any of this. Rather, I accepted her ministerings as if they were my due. It reminded me of when I was a little girl and my mother used to braid my hair. In an hour’s time, the perfectly perfect pink silk dress I wore was traded for an even more elegant blue one, and my blond hair was brushed and fussed with until it shone like straw spun into gold. I looked in the mirror and knew that, when Karl saw me, he would love me, even if he never really had before.
Finally, my maid said, “The time, milady,” and I emerged from my room.
