A Merric's Tale

by Margs Murray

  I recognized a half-truth to her story. Grandma had left home right after her brother went to war. The family went to church, but Grandma, who was only eighteen at the time, had claimed she felt sick. When they returned home, she’d gone, off to lands unknown to live her dream of being a folk singer. A neighbor saw her performance poster a few years later and word got back to them, but for so many years, they didn’t know what had happened to her.

  “Lothaire stole every single dance. So handsome.” Grandma often spoke of Lothaire, her delusional love and the Prince of France. She continued, “You’d be surprised how many princes aren’t handsome. When I arrived at court, I thought I’d see so many handsome princes, but ugh! Now the Prince of France and the Prince of Denmark were dashing, but the rest were hideous. The Prince of England had a wide red face, and it was always shiny. Most days he looked more like a melon than a royal. The Russian tsar had the most crooked nose that turned both to the left and the right in a zigzag. I don’t think he could breathe out of it. Imagine the snoring. The Prince of France, though, he was something special. Everyone believed he had his eye on Mary Laurel, but no—it was me! Everyone was jealous of me that night. Who wouldn’t be with that prince? He had a wave to his hair—so fashionable. So giving. So kind. You believe me, don’t you?”

  I nodded to her, and she added, “He presented me a gift. Do you want to see it?”

  “Yes,” I said, and she left me sitting on the ottoman.

  Grandma opened the jewelry box on her dresser and plowed around for her piece. Years ago, Mom had snuck all of Grandma’s real jewelry out of the house and left behind only some cheaper odds and ends: a few pendants, a pair of knock-off earrings, a bracelet and several rings. Anything of value was safely in a bank deposit box. Over time, I had added costume pieces to her collection to sparkle things up and enhance story time. Grandma always knew better but appreciated the additions.

  “It’s not here,” she said.

  “No, Grandma. It’s okay.”

  “Wait! I remember,” she said, and she turned and went to the closet. She fished her hand into her winter coat and took something out.

  This was new. Never had Grandma gone to search for jewelry in her closet.

  “Is everything okay?”

  She returned to my side, broad smile across her face. She extended her hand to me and placed a wad of used tissues and syrupy cough drops in my hand.

  Gross. This was the first time Grandma had ever done anything, well, so mentally unwell. Everything always had a small amount of logic. But this? It made little sense. I discreetly held my hand over the trashcan when I noticed something round and hefty in my palm.

  Hesitantly, I opened the napkin. There I found a ring with a large green emerald, a perfect circular gem set in exquisite gold. The quarter-sized stone had a dull shine, and while I didn’t know much about gems, I guessed it might be a real emerald in need of cleaning. An antique. I turned it in my hand, overcome with a feeling of dread. If real, I had thousands of dollars in my hand. Even more. “Grandma. Where did you get this?”

  “I told you, the Prince of France. He gave me the ring and necklace on the Rhone. I can’t find the necklace. You’ll find it and bring it back to me.”

  “Grandma, what?” I had no clue what she was talking about.

  “You will. The fortune teller told me all those years ago.” Grandma said with an unusual intensity. She squinted her eyes, and she had the look of a person remembering information from years past. “The fortune teller said you’d understand. She said you’d find a cure. You’d go and find the cure. Death will die again. That’s what she said. I must go behind the shadows and death would die again.”

  Death will die again? A cure? “What, Grandma?”

  “She said you would find a cure for me.”

  “For your illness?” There couldn’t be a cure. This made no sense. “Find a cure? There’s a cure? What are you talking about?”

  She gazed directly into my eyes and placed her hands on my shoulder. “Oh, when will this war be over?”

  “What war, Grandma?” Of all her years of stories about Prince Lothaire and the royal kingdom, not once had she mentioned this ring, a necklace, or a cure. Heck, Grandma barely even acknowledged her illness. “Where? What am I supposed to do?”

  Her eyes were clear and open. “She said you’d find the cure and I would be better. She said, ‘find the necklace, find the words’.”

  “Words? What words? Like a formula for medicine or something?” I asked. This made me pause. Could this be true? At that moment, this sad, hopeful, and insane part of my brain lit up. I’d risk anything to cure Grandma. My father had warned me for years not to buy into anyone else’s crazy, but here I was in the dangerous territory of believing Grandma.

  Grandma shook her head. “Find the necklace, find the words,” she repeated. She took my face in her hands, and in those eyes, I saw a person I hadn’t seen in years. “Be good, sweet child, be good. Don’t make shadows, please, please! Don’t make shadows, don’t make shadows, don’t make shadows.”

  “I won’t. I promise.” My voice shook from her intensity.

  She let go of my face, and like a cloud blocking the sun, her eyes clouded, and she was gone again. “What was I saying? Oh yes, oh yes, the prince danced with me all night. I’d been poor my whole life. I’d wanted to be special, and then he mentioned marriage and he was so charming, so rich, how could I resist? We’d even made plans, but when Mary Laurel fell in love with Hector, I knew I could not. The mirror doesn’t lie, you know.” She took one look at me and said, “You look worried. What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing.” I put the ring safely into the little pocket of my pjs. “I love you.”

  “And I love you.”

  I headed to my bedroom and sent Sasha the SOS.

  ~*~

  “Wow, that’s a lot to digest.” Sasha pulled a thread on my comforter.

  “What should I do?” I handed her the ring. “I mean, it’s crazy, right? Fortune tellers, rings, medical formulas, my uncle’s offer. Did I step into a different dimension or something?”

  “It can’t be real.” Sasha gave me a nervous laugh. “I mean, it’s nuts. That ring’s probably a piece of junk, right? What did your mom say?”

  “I didn’t want to go to them until I wrapped my brain around what it means myself. Oh, and got your opinion.”

  Sasha stood up. “Well, it is the one that matters. Okay then.” She turned the ring over in her hand. "What we know. First, Lothaire isn’t real. Second, psychics are fakes.

  “But—“

  “Third, everyone makes shadows; they’re side effects of light. Now, Lothaire and Leo both begin with L. Can’t just be a coincidence, right? Your grandma most likely replaced your grandpa in her memory with the prince because Leo was so wonderful when he was alive; it was like he was her prince.”

  “I’m not so sure,” I replied, certain that wasn’t the case. “She never described them both the same way. Lothaire was tall with jet-black hair and a rather impulsive romantic. Grandpa was short with dirty blond hair and one of the most down-to-earth people you’d ever meet.”

  “No, I’m sure I’m right.” Sasha put the ring down on my nightstand and picked up my framed picture of my grandparents. “Besides, not romantic? You’ve got to be kidding me. Your grandparents have the most amazing love story. It’s like out of the movies. The Great Helena Tripps looks out into the audience one hot August night. As she sings the first words of ‘Big Rock Candy Mountain’, she sees a handsome stranger in the crowd. Their eyes lock. He stands and moves to the stage. Helena, lost in the moment, jumps straight from her performance into the music pit. Flooded with broken fiddles and harmonicas, Helena fights her way from her pit of despair and into her true love’s arms.”

  “Not exactly,” I said, pulling at a random loose string on my pillowcase. “No way my grandmother jumped into a pit of musicians. It goes something like they caught each other’s eyes and Grandpa stayed in
his seat until everyone had left.”

  “The ring is a sign of his love,” she replied.

  “Grandma never made it big as a singer. Grandpa was a farmer, Sasha. He had no money for a ring like that.”

  “He saved for years and begged, stole, and borrowed to buy Helena the ring she deserved.”

  Grandpa Leo loved his Helena more than anything, but this couldn’t be true. “I’m telling you, if they had that kind of money, they would have put a new roof on the barn.”

  Sasha, ever the romantic, ignored my rational truths, put the frame back, and picked up the other photo from the nightstand, a picture of my parents. “And how can we forget the love story of Simone and Matthew? Mashed potatoes piled high on his plate, unsuspecting Matthew Wilson enjoyed his college cafeteria lunch. When hark, a fair maiden enters the arena and—”

  “Arena? Sasha, please! They’re my parents.” I hit Sasha with a pillow.

  Sasha pantomimed pain, recovered, and then jumped to my bed. She held her hand to her heart and continued, undeterred, “Their eyes meet. Love: hypnotic, pure, unending love.”

  “A little over the top.” I threw down the pillow and jumped up on my bed, straining to wrestle my parents’ college photo out of her hands. “Good-looking girl, nice-looking guy see each other, inseparable ever since.”

  Sasha, being nearly five inches taller than me, easily swatted my hands away. “I like my version better,” Sasha said matter-of-factly. “I wonder what your story will be. I bet it will be just as romantic.”

  “Romantic? I’ve got enough to worry about, thank you.” I picked up the ring from where Sasha had set it on the nightstand. “You aren’t taking this seriously.”

  “Not really, Waverly. It’s some old knock-off ring.”

  “Sasha, I’m serious. This ring is something else.”

  “You should see what your mom says. I mean, for all you know it’s your mom’s ring and your grandma picked it up and put it in her old coat pocket.”

  “Ha! How much do you think teachers make? I googled this for hours last night. If it’s real, it would be worth at least ten grand. I found a huge ring like that valued at over six figures. If it’s fake, it’s the best-looking knockoff I’ve ever seen.”

  “Come on, as best friends, we agreed to tell things straight, right?” Sasha said, and I nodded. We had an agreement to always tell each other how we felt no matter what, and if that meant telling each other unlikable truths, so be it. The next part would be unpleasant, and I braced myself for the blow.

  “First, the internet is great and all, but I’m not so sure even a week of searching would make you a gem expert. Second, it’s like you want to believe it’s real because if it’s real, it’s further proof something else is going on with Helena, and that is why you didn’t ask your parents,” Sasha said.

  “No,” I said, slipping the ring back in my pocket. “I already know something other than Alzheimer’s is going on with my grandma.”

  “Okay, then ask your parents, and while you’re at it, do me a favor and put them out of their misery and tell them you aren’t going.”

  I nodded. I needed to tell them, I did, but that little part of my brain that understood the existence of zebras and lottery winners told me to hold to the impossible for a little longer.

  Chapter 3

  Treason In the Kitchen

  Downstairs, the kitchen smelled like a coconut cake and fresh coffee. A sunbeam bounced off the lemon-yellow wall tiles and hit the center of the slopping worn wood floor. Dad sat at our kitchen table, but he wasn’t alone. His three best friends, all former teachers of mine, joined him. Hincho, Naugle, and Wilbur wore t-shirts and basketball shorts, and Hincho rested a foot on the basketball from their abandoned game. They roared with laughter, but they stopped as soon as they saw us.

  All four rose from their seats. Dad stepped over to Sasha, whispering in her ear, while the other three came over to greet me.

  “Afternoon!” Mr. Wilbur gave me a half-hug. Embracing Wilbur was like squeezing a sandbag, not a lot of give with those muscles. He whispered, “Yesterday’s got your dad in a tizzy.”

  I nodded up at my advanced calc teacher. “Yeah.”

  “Commander.” Mr. Naugle gave me a military salute like always.

  A smile broke onto Mr. Hincho’s chiseled face, and he ruffled my hair, adding, “We’ve made your dad angry.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  Before they responded, Dad interrupted them. “Look at you three with my kid. You’re more like uncles to her than Bollard. You’ve gone to every dance recital, every musical, graduation. You’ve come to dinners, dropped her off after football games. If one of you asked to take Waverly somewhere, I wouldn’t hesitate.” Dad had a point. The three men had become permanent fixtures in my life. They were like uncles—well, uncles I still called by their last names.

  “That’s part of her great-uncle’s point, right? Bollard wants to get to know her, and getting to know Waverly is a delight,” Mr. Naugle weighed in.

  “Waverly is far from the issue,” Dad said, giving Mr. Naugle a sideways glance.

  Hincho spoke up. “The guy‘s loaded. He’s got to be, right? He pays for private nurses for Helena, and he pays for the specialist. I bet he’d set this kiddo up with a bright future.”

  The room was silent as Hincho and Naugle turned to Wilbur, waiting for him to say something. “Oh yeah. I would have loved as a kid to have a rich uncle offer me a job,” Mr. Wilbur offered.

  Dad’s face reddened, and he kept looking from one to the other, waiting for the punchline.

  “Well, I for one think it’s a terrible idea,” Sasha said, hands on her hips. “Not sure what you three are thinking.”

  “At least Sasha hasn’t lost her mind.” Dad put his arm over my best friend’s shoulder in solidarity. “I don’t trust him, either. I can feel it in my gut. He’s a real snake in the grass—a total jerk—so no, my daughter will not be going with him.”

  “Don’t say that about him. Never say that,” Mr. Hincho added. All three nodded in agreement and stared down my dad in awkward silence. I was witnessing treason in the kitchen. My poor dad.

  I had to step in.

  “Bollard’s different, but anyways, I’m not really thinking about going,” I told them, settling the matter. Dad took a deep, relaxing breath as I added, “I have a lot planned for summer, and Bollard isn’t anywhere on that list. I do, however, have something to show you.” I fished around in my pocket for the ring, but before I got it out, Grandma shuffled into the room.

  All three teachers bowed.

  “Your Highness, it is always a pleasure to see you,” Mr. Naugle said.

  Grandma’s eyes sparkled at him. “Such a polite young Libratier and one of America’s military finest. Once, long ago, I led an army of Libratiers. Together, we conquered the sea at Beaufort. This was before Queen Mary Laurel completed the southern sweep of the Northern invaders. We beat them to the ships, and they had no choice but to surrender.”

  Naugle smiled at Grandma. “By the time I joined the Libratiers, we were in the Heyday of Good Fortune, but my father would tell stories of the Northern Invaders and the defeat of Canada.” Fake military stories were a special talent of my Family Consumer Science Teacher. He never admitted it, but everyone said Mr. Naugle had a military background. To be honest, between the muscles and height, all three teachers resembled special operatives or at the least, pro wrestlers. Naugle continued with his tale, “If it hadn’t been for the royal family, we would have lost America to the North.”

  If Dad rolled his eyes any harder, he’d hurt himself. As an American History teacher, he hated the notion of America having a royal family. (‘We fought a war to end that oppression!’) Still, I saw the weight lift from his shoulders.

  Sasha mouthed Show him the ring. I shook my head. Not in front of Grandma.

  “Is Matthew still yammering on about our princess going to the kingdom?” Grandma asked the teachers.

  Mr. Hin
cho put his arm around Dad’s shoulder. “My friend, you’re missing the bigger picture. You and the missus will finally get some free time. Travel to Europe. You two are constantly in the honeymoon phase. Now imagine that in the city of love.”

  “I don’t understand why you’re still on the subject,” Dad said, and he shrugged off Hincho’s arm. “You heard her. She isn’t interested.”

  Grandma disagreed with a tsk. “Waverly will go to a ball, and she will see my Lothaire.” She took my hand. “You are so beautiful. So beautiful.”

  “I love you,” I said. Sometimes there was nothing else to say.

  Dad looked down at his watch and groaned. “Okay, I’m kicking everyone not genetically related out.”

  My three teachers all put their hands up in the air in submission. “We’ll see you later,” they called as they left.

  Dad squared in on Sasha. “Oh, me too?”

  “Trust me, Sasha, I’m doing you a favor.”

  “Yeah, right, Mr. Wilson.” She pulled her car keys from her back pocket. “But it’s weird that they were so gung-ho for Waverly to go. I mean, why do they care? And then to defend the guy. What gives?”

  “It’s one more weird thing to add to the list,” Dad replied, massaging the bridge of his nose. “I wish today was already over; I have a massive headache coming on.” And he turned to me. “Your mom will be relieved. She’s out getting ice cream, not that Bollard will eat any of it.”

  “Not eat ice cream? Who doesn’t like ice cream? Weird.”

  " Not unusual at all. Bollard must be cautious. Caution is vital for our family’s survival. He's the regent, you know. "Bollard never ate anything around us. Ever. Not even a cracker.

  Dad ignored Grandma and continued, “The good news, Wavy can tell her uncle 'no’ from the start of the meal and maybe he’ll get up and leave. Then we can get back to life as normal.”

  I smiled. We disagreed over Grandma’s diagnosis, but our normal was good. Better than good. If I ever needed someone, Dad was my it guy. During the summer, we attended archeological digs at the Susquehanna River. We played cards. He taught me interesting historical facts about the Gilded Age and Industrial Revolution. He walked me through changing a tire, taught me to drive.