PRAISE FOR MELANIE DICKERSON
“The Goose Girl, a little retold fairy tale, sparkles in Dickerson’s hands, with endearing characters and a charming setting that will appeal to teens and adults alike.”
—RT BOOK REVIEWS, 4½ STARS, TOP PICK! ON THE NOBLE SERVANT
“Dickerson is a masterful storyteller with a carefully crafted plot, richly drawn characters, and a detailed setting. The reader is easily pulled into the story. Does everything end happily ever after? Read it and see! Recommended for young adults and adults who are young at heart.”
—CHRISTIAN LIBRARY JOURNAL ON THE NOBLE SERVANT
“[The Silent Songbird] will have you jumping out of your seat with anticipation at times. Moderate to fast-paced, you will not want this book to end. Recommended for all, especially lovers of historical romance.”
—RT BOOK REVIEWS, 4 STARS
“A terrific YA crossover medieval romance from the author of The Golden Braid.”
—LIBRARY JOURNAL ON THE SILENT SONGBIRD
“When it comes to happily-ever-afters, Melanie Dickerson is the undisputed queen of fairy-tale romance, and all I can say is—long live the queen! From start to finish The Beautiful Pretender is yet another brilliant gem in her crown, spinning a medieval love story that will steal you away—heart, soul, and sleep!”
—JULIE LESSMAN, AWARD-WINNING AUTHOR OF THE DAUGHTERS OF BOSTON, WINDS OF CHANGE, AND HEART OF SAN FRANCISCO SERIES
“I couldn’t stop reading! Melanie has done what so many other historical novelists have tried and failed: she’s created a heroine that is at once both smart and self-assured without seeming modern. A woman so fixed in her time and place that she is able to speak to ours as well.”
—SIRI MITCHELL, AUTHOR OF FLIRTATION WALK AND CHATEAU OF ECHOES, ON THE BEAUTIFUL PRETENDER
“Dickerson breathes life into the age-old story of Rapunzel, blending it seamlessly with the other YA novels she has written in this time and place . . . The character development is solid, and she captures religious medieval life splendidly.”
—BOOKLIST, ON THE GOLDEN BRAID
“Readers who love getting lost in a fairy-tale romance will cheer for Rapunzel’s courage as she rises above her overwhelming past. The surprising way Dickerson weaves threads of this enchanting companion novel with those of her other Hagenheim stories is simply delightful. Her fans will love it.”
—JILL WILLIAMSON, CHRISTY AWARD–WINNING AUTHOR OF THE BLOOD OF KINGS TRILOGY AND THE KINSMAN CHRONICLES, ON THE GOLDEN BRAID
“Readers will find themselves supporting the romance between the sweet yet determined Odette and the insecure but hardworking Jorgen from the beginning. Dickerson spins a retelling of Robin Hood with emotionally compelling characters, offering hope that love may indeed conquer all as they unite in a shared desire to serve both the Lord and those in need.”
—RT BOOK REVIEWS, 4½ STARS, ON THE HUNTRESS OF THORNBECK FOREST
“Melanie Dickerson does it again! Full of danger, intrigue, and romance, this beautifully crafted story will transport you to another place and time.”
—SARAH E. LADD, AUTHOR OF THE CURIOSITY KEEPER AND THE WHISPERS ON THE MOORS SERIES, ON THE HUNTRESS OF THORNBECK FOREST
OTHER BOOKS BY MELANIE DICKERSON
A MEDIEVAL FAIRY TALE SERIES
The Huntress of Thornbeck Forest
The Beautiful Pretender
The Noble Servant
YOUNG ADULT FAIRY TALE ROMANCE SERIES
The Healer’s Apprentice
The Merchant’s Daughter
The Fairest Beauty
The Captive Maiden
The Princess Spy
The Golden Braid
The Silent Songbird
REGENCY SPIES OF LONDON SERIES
A Spy’s Devotion
A Viscount’s Proposal
A Dangerous Engagement
The Orphan’s Wish
© 2018 by Melanie Dickerson
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, or other—except for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Published in Nashville, Tennessee, by Thomas Nelson. Thomas Nelson is a registered trademark of HarperCollins Christian Publishing, Inc.
Thomas Nelson titles may be purchased in bulk for educational, business, fund-raising, or sales promotional use. For information, please e-mail [email protected].
Scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version.
Publisher’s Note: This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. All characters are fictional, and any similarity to people living or dead is purely coincidental.
Epub Edition May 2018 9780718074845
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Dickerson, Melanie, author.
Title: The orphan’s wish / Melanie Dickerson.
Description: Nashville, Tennessee : Thomas Nelson, [2018] | Summary: In medieval Hagenheim, Germany, Aladdin, a poor orphan from the Holy Land, tries to rescue and win the heart of Kirstyn, the Duke of Hagenheim’s daughter, his friend since childhood who is now pursued by greedy men seeking her father’s fortune.
Identifiers: LCCN 2017060978 | ISBN 9780718074838 (hard cover) Subjects: | CYAC: Characters in literature--Fiction. | Orphans--Fiction. | Nobility--Fiction. | Social classes--Fiction. | Love--Fiction. | Middle Ages--Fiction. | Germany--History--1273-1517--Fiction.
Classification: LCC PZ7.D5575 Or 2018 | DDC [Fic]--dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017060978
Printed in the United States of America
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CONTENTS
Praise for Melanie Dickerson
Other Books by Melanie Dickerson
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 Nineteen
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
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Discussion Questions
An Excerpt from The Huntress of Thornbeck Forest
About the Author
CHAPTER ONE
Summer 1401
The Holy Land
Ala ad’din’s mother’s eyes were closed as she lay on her funeral bier.
People whispered and stared, but no one spoke to him. Just a few days ago his mother sat cross-legged on the floor while she sewed. Sometimes she would lay aside her work. He would crawl into her lap and gaze up at her as she sang to him.
There was no one to sing to him now.
Then someone walked up behind him.
&nbs
p; “She won’t wake up.”
A man with wispy black hairs growing above his top lip and on his chin stared down at him. His face was bland as he squatted in front of Ala ad’din. “She won’t wake up. Not ever. She’s dead. Do you know what dead means?”
Ala ad’din nodded.
“Don’t you have a father? A grandmother? Any family?”
Ala ad’din shook his head. His chest ached as tears stung his eyes.
“How old are you?”
“Five years.”
Some men came and picked up the funeral bier and started carrying his mother’s body away without even a glance at him.
The man put his hand on Ala ad’din’s shoulder. “You should come home with me, yes? I have a bed for you. Many other children are there, children for you to play with. Come.”
Ala ad’din went with him. But when they reached their destination, the bed he’d mentioned was a thin pallet on a dirt floor. He sat on it with several other children, all of them dirty, some of them smelling of urine, while several men passed out food to them. They ate fried bread and shriveled dates and then slept like puppies piled haphazardly against each other.
The next day, when the sun was high, the man with the wispy whiskers—Mustapha—took Ala ad’din and another boy, Zuhayr, out to the bazaar.
The sun was hot and bright, and the pungent smells of turmeric, cumin, cinnamon, and cloves tickled Ala ad’din’s nose when he passed the spice merchant’s stall. Other smells—camel dung chief among them—wafted in and surrounded the dusty, heated marketplace.
Zuhayr was a few years older than Ala ad’din. Mustapha stopped them both, holding on to Ala ad’din’s arm, his fingers gripping too tightly.
“Watch,” Mustapha said in a raspy voice. “Zuhayr will go and take the fat purse hanging from that merchant’s belt. Do you see it?”
Ala ad’din tried to follow Mustapha’s line of vision.
Zuhayr nodded and took off, running as though he would pass by the merchant’s stall with a few feet to spare. But at the last moment, he darted toward the merchant and snatched the purse, breaking it off of the leather belt it was tied to.
Zuhayr did not even slow down as the merchant yelled and gave chase. But he was much too old and heavy to catch Zuhayr, who ran like a flash of lightning.
“Stop him! Thief! Stop him!” The merchant’s face seemed to swell with rage as he pointed after Zuhayr’s thin figure.
Mustapha pulled Ala ad’din by his arm away from the scene, threading around shoppers and finally stopping in a narrow alley between sandstone buildings.
“Where is Zuhayr?” Ala ad’din’s heart trembled at what would happen to his new friend.
Mustapha grinned. “Look! There he is.”
Zuhayr hurried toward them, panting. He handed the purse to his master.
“And that is how it is done.” Mustapha’s thin lips twisted as he grinned down at Ala ad’din. Then his grin disappeared and he gripped Ala ad’din’s arm even tighter, giving it a shake. He showed his bright-white teeth as he said in a harsh tone, “And you must do the same.”
“But that is stealing. My mother told me stealing is bad.”
Mustapha leaned down until his nose was almost touching Ala ad’din’s. “You will do whatever I tell you or I shall turn you over to the Sultan’s guards, tell them you stole this purse, and then they will cut off your head.”
“My head?”
“Yes, your head. They will slice through your neck with their long, sharp scimitars.” He drew his finger across his throat from one side to the other. “Do you want to lose your head?” He grinned, and it was even more frightening than his scowl.
Later that day, when Mustapha was occupied with talking with a man in the bazaar, Ala ad’din asked Zuhayr, “Will they really cut off my head for stealing?”
Zuhayr patted him on the shoulder. “They won’t cut off your head, but they will cut off your hand.”
Ala ad’din gasped.
“But that’s only if they catch you. You have to run fast, understand?” He stared into Ala ad’din’s eyes.
“But I don’t want to steal.”
“You must.” Zuhayr’s dark eyes were solemn. “If Mustapha gets angry, he’ll beat you. Just do what he says and he will feed you and not hurt you.”
The next day Mustapha took Zuhayr and Ala ad’din out to the marketplace again. They passed a stall of plump fruits, including clusters of purple grapes. He could almost taste their sweet, juicy insides bursting on his tongue.
Mustapha’s eyes narrowed at him. “You want those grapes, don’t you?”
“No.”
“Liar. Steal a big bunch of them.”
Ala ad’din shook his head.
He squeezed Ala ad’din’s arm so hard he yelped.
“Zuhayr, you distract the vendor while Ala ad’din steals a bunch. After you take it, Ala ad’din, put it under your shirt and walk beside me.”
Ala ad’din looked at Zuhayr and nodded.
Zuhayr walked over to the vendor and started asking him a question, pointing behind him at another fruit seller. Meanwhile, Mustapha walked Ala ad’din toward the stand. As they passed the grapes, Ala ad’din reached out and grabbed a large cluster and shoved it under his shirt, while Mustapha kept up his steady pace.
They walked around the corner into a small side street, and soon Zuhayr joined them.
“The little rat is good at our game.” Mustapha laughed, throwing back his head. He reached under Ala ad’din’s shirt and pulled out the grapes. “Eat some.” He shoved them into Ala ad’din’s face.
The boy picked a grape from the bunch and put it into his mouth. Tears flooded his eyes. Could his mother see him? Was she sad that he was stealing grapes? The grape turned bitter in his mouth as he crunched into a seed.
Mustapha laughed again, then held up the bunch of grapes and ate one right off the vine.
They ate all the grapes and left the stems on the ground. As they walked back out into the bazaar, Mustapha stopped them and pointed at a boy who was perhaps nine or ten years old. He walked with a merchant who wore a snowy-white turban studded with jewels and bright-red silk shoes that curled over the toes like the liripipe from a foreign pilgrim’s hood, the ones the Christians wore on their way to Jerusalem.
The man rested his hand lovingly on the boy’s shoulder. He wore the same style of clothing as his father, a miniature man dressed in fine fabrics.
“You see that boy? His father is rich. He will never have to steal. But you—” Mustapha pointed at Ala ad’din and then at Zuhayr. “You will never be like him. You have no father, and you will steal and run all your lives, wallowing in dirt and filth like rats until the Sultan’s guards catch you and throw you in a hole to die. Unless you do as I say.” He grabbed the front of Ala ad’din’s shirt. “You’re a thief, and you’ll never be anything but a thief. And unless you want your hands chopped off, you cannot ever get caught. You understand?”
He let go of Ala ad’din’s shirt, grabbed his arm again, and pulled him around the outskirts of the market, keeping out of sight.
Day after day Ala ad’din and Zuhayr stole for Mustapha. Other men and children resided in the large house with the dirt floor, but Ala ad’din and Zuhayr belonged to Mustapha. He took them out every day in the hot bazaar, and then one day, while they sat in a shady spot eating fried bread drizzled with honey, Mustapha suddenly slapped Zuhayr’s side.
“What are you hiding there?” Mustapha roughly drew up Zuhayr’s shirt. A pouch dangled on a string from the boy’s shoulder. Mustapha struck Zuhayr’s cheek with his open hand.
“You little rat! You were keeping back part of what you stole! How dare you?” He slapped him again.
Zuhayr raised his arms over his face, and Mustapha took the pouch and turned away from him. Zuhayr was breathing hard, the red mark of Mustapha’s hand and fingers showing on his cheek.
That night, as they lay on their thin pallets, when most of the other children were asleep, Zuhayr
whispered to Ala ad’din, “When you see your chance to get away from Mustapha, run. Find some kind people who will not beat you and stay with them.”
“Have you found some people like that, Zuhayr?”
“No, but I am older. I can take care of myself. Before long I will go to another town, away from Mustapha, and live by my wits.”
“Can I go with you?”
“No. You still have your baby fat. Someone will take you in, but no one wants me. Go to sleep now, before Mustapha hears us talking.”
Ala ad’din was too tired to ponder long what Zuhayr had said. But then he awoke the next morning to Mustapha shouting and searching through the house.
“Where is he? Where is Zuhayr?”
The other men laughed. “Your street rat has run away from you!”
Mustapha’s gaze fell on Ala ad’din. “Where is he?”
“I don’t know.” Ala ad’din started to shake.
“You will tell me, you little rat!” Mustapha grabbed Ala ad’din’s shoulder with one hand and slapped him across the face with his other.
“I don’t know.” A tear slid from Ala ad’din’s eye.
Mustapha let go of him, drew his hands into fists, and roared with rage.
Ala ad’din knelt on the floor and covered his head with his arms.
It took Mustapha a while to stop yelling. But when he finally did, he took Ala ad’din out to the bazaar, proclaiming, “Now you’ll have to steal twice as much, my little beggar.” He jerked Ala ad’din’s arm as they skulked around the edges of the stalls.
“There.” Mustapha pointed at a Christian knight’s horse and saddle. The knight’s back was turned while he argued with a vendor over a price.
“Slide your hand inside that leather saddlebag.” Mustapha squatted beside Ala ad’din. “I saw him drop his purse in there. Get it. Hurry.” He pushed Ala ad’din forward.
Ala ad’din approached the Christian knight’s horse and saddle. He jumped up on a large bag of something hard and lumpy and stood on his tiptoes to reach into the saddlebag. He drew out a small purse, heavy with coins.
“Halt!”
Ala ad’din jumped down and ran—right into a large belly.
Hands clamped around his arms. Ala ad’din struggled, kicking and lunging, but his skinny little body couldn’t pull free.
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