The Unbreakable Curse: A Beauty & the Beast Retelling

by Jenna Thatcher

  He studied her as she took her small bites and waited for him to start. He let out a breath, which ruffled her hair, and his teeth showed. “You smell too.”

  She stopped the bite on her way to her mouth. “I do? Are you sure?”

  “Of course, I’m sure. My sense of smell is much better than yours.”

  “Yes, but you smell so very strongly, I was sure it would overpower anything I smelled of.” She covered her grin by taking that bite, staring him down, but then finally laughed as he shook his mane. “Alright, what do I smell like?”

  “Something soft. Floral. Perhaps that flower with the unfortunate name.”

  “Stock?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s not too bad, then.”

  “No.”

  She reddened, looking down at her plate.

  “We were at the bottom of my pit.”

  She looked up. “But you are there no more, I think.”

  “No, dear Helen, I am not.” He whiffed at her hair. “I do seem to prefer light hair, but lately I find a particular preference for ‘honey and jam’.” He looked back at his plate, batting his loaf before continuing. “I will not tell you of the details, for they are dark and do not show me in a kind light. I can only say that enough time has passed now for me to look on it without making it rain.”

  “That is it? That is the end of this story?”

  “I loved her once, and the horror of our ending is not happy. But it is in the past.”

  “Then you harbored no hope or…”

  “I could not, so that became I cannot, which became I will not, and now I do not. It may not make sense, but when you have lived as long as I have, you see it is a way of coming to peace with yourself. You have brought me a gift, you see. I now know what happened, that she is safe and cared for, and that our lives are no longer woven together.”

  “And despite that, do you hope for the future?”

  “I did. Once upon a time.”

  “Sixty seven women, Luke, is not once upon a time.” She ate for a while, not sure what to do with this new idea that he did not cling to the memory of Genevieve, but had no hope for the future.

  “Helen, you must understand, you are the first woman to be a guest in my home in over fifty years.”

  She dropped her bread. “Fifty? Years?”

  “Yes.”

  “But…why?”

  “As I said before, I had tried again and again. Some attempts were perhaps doomed before they began, but there were true efforts made as well. Some women stayed for weeks. One, for seven months.”

  “Seven months, and yet she did not –”

  “No.”

  Helen absorbed this information that explained so well his lack of faith, and then found a question remained. “Why me?”

  “Your supposed father came and partook of my hospitality. He marched in the front door as if he was entitled to whatever I had to offer, and then stole anything he could carry. When I confronted him, he was so petrified, he didn’t even try to lie as you told me he can do so well. He said I could have whatever I wanted, but of course I wanted nothing. And then I thought…I thought perhaps if he had a daughter….it was a ridiculous request.” He swatted his loaf once more and then grabbed it in his jaw and began to chew.

  Helen frowned. “I think he never intended to really give you his daughter. She is very beautiful, you know. But she is Rose, from my story, and I think even if she could have broken the curse it would not have been worth it, for she is a horror to live with.”

  Luke looked up, his mangled loaf forgotten. “Your stories are real.”

  Helen shrugged. “Well, yes, as I said before.”

  “Helen, don’t you see? Your father offended Manwaring, and because he was angry he got lost in my woods. He has a daughter, but instead stole you when I could have easily gotten the spoiled brat.”

  “I’m grateful it was me instead of her too, Luke, but I’m not sure I see how it weaves together.”

  His tail flipped once, twice, as he continued. “But then Manwaring used your father’s invention, sure he would never ruin his water machine, but it made Rose sick and as a result the prince didn’t end up with her, instead resulting in Sir Paxton releasing Genevieve from her curse. Don’t you see, Helen, our lives have been interwoven this whole time. We are bound together just as we have known, only now we can explain how.”

  His excitement was contagious, and she smiled back. “It’s true, there’s too much for any of it to be a coincidence. There’s more, though, I can feel it. As if we are in a story and the ending hasn’t been written yet.”

  He leaned down and touched his nose to hers, making her laugh. “I know, dear heart, and some day we will know what it is, but for now I can only say I’m sorry you were stolen from your family, but I confess I am daily grateful for your company.”

  Helen’s smile turned bittersweet as she turned back to her lunch.

  Helen,

  Pa has gotten worse. Paul says he’s dying, and it’ll be soon. Couldn’t you come for just a day or so? Paul never smiles anymore, and he’s beginning to look old. We need you HoneyJam. Please say you’ll come.

  Jack

  The Unbreakable

  Curse

  The storm raging outside was her only hint.

  “You must leave.”

  Patterned streaks clawed at the window, where she stood staring, mesmerized, only able to voice one question. “Why?”

  He didn’t answer, and slowly she turned around, her other senses reminding her that her father was dying and there was no right choice.

  “You must go home.” He faced away from her; an attempt to distance himself.

  “I don’t understand. Just like that? You’re making me leave?”

  “I’m asking you to leave.”

  “Why? Why would you want me to leave? I thought…”

  “Helen.” And then he was there, facing her, so close, his eyes expressing so much that he could not seem to say. “You must go live your life. Be with your father and your brothers. Find someone to share your love and grow old with. This is no life for you.”

  “What if it was a short visit? I could return quickly, I’m sure of it.”

  “And if your father passes away, then what? Your brothers will need you even more, and you could not return to shackle yourself once more to this prison. No, Helen, it will never end. It’s as she said – it was never designed to work and this is my eternal damnation. I would not have you share in that while your body ages and your mind reaches for all it could have been. You will soon realize you have wasted your whole life just to keep me company.”

  She was crying now, tears falling and blurring her vision. He butted his head up next to her and she threw her arms around his shoulders while she sobbed. “I know you’re right. I do. But I cannot leave you this way. I cannot, my dearest friend.”

  “I am asking you to, sweet Helen. Please. Let me live this life knowing you lived yours. Write me letters. Tell me of your children and your grandchildren. Let me live through you, my love.”

  At length, she stood and looked at him. “I will do as you ask.” Her hand brushed his shoulder as she left the room.

  Stella was in her bedroom, her face white as she handed Helen a small bag.

  “How do you know already?”

  Stella tilted her head toward the window. “We knew before you did, dear Helen.”

  “I’ve brought the rest of the paintings for your book.” Susan stood in the doorway, her hands clasped too tightly around a packet.

  “Oh Susan. I’m sorry.”

  “There’s nothing to say, Helen, we knew this day would come.”

  “Here are the paw prints from the summer festival. I saved them.” Stella sniffed, wiping away tears. “I’ve also laid out the lace dress for you to take. No one should wear it but you.”

  Susan reached out with her hand. “You should probably pack away your bracelet so that no one mistakes…”

  Helen tou
ched the bracelet she hadn’t removed since Luke had given it to her. “No. I will wear it, and they can think what they will.”

  Together they packed, each addition bringing fresh tears. With an unsteady sigh, Helen tied on her cape, then grabbed the bag and made her way downstairs.

  The servants stood at the front door waiting to say their goodbyes. Some were openly crying, while others stood stoic.

  Nate gave her a hug as he whispered. “Cook’s making bread and says she hasn’t the time for a goodbye, but it’s just her way of showing she’s that upset about you leaving.”

  Helen nodded, too afraid to say anything as she lifted the hood over her head, then walked through the doors and into the pouring rain. The door shut behind her with a bam!, and she flinched, hating how her heart felt split down the middle.

  “You must come, dear heart. It’s time.” Luke stood at the bottom of the stairs next to the stone lions she’d once made fun of for being a fraction of Luke’s size. She walked through the curtain of rain to stand in front of him.

  “Luke, I must tell you before I go, you are as dear to me as I am to you. Never doubt that.” She hugged him once more. “I will write you as often as I can, and I will make sure to send you plenty of stories.”

  With the epitaph, she let go, and made her way through the wrought iron gate. A horse was saddled and ready to take her to a small town that had a carriage for hire. It was only a few more days until she arrived at home where she was overwhelmed by the sight of her family, the concern for her father, and the memories that followed her everywhere she went.

  To love in true faith

  Dear Luke,

  You guessed right, I am constantly annoyed when the sun passes behind a cloud. The first week I was here there was a storm that came in the middle of the night and I woke up and went looking for you. Jack thought it was funny, but Paul said it was disturbing. Perhaps it’s a little of both.

  I’m sorry to hear you miss my croissants. You’ll just have to bully Cook into making them; I’ve left the recipe with Stella should you succeed.

  Enclosed you will find my book of stories that Paul had published. There is another copy for Susan. There is a clipping from the newspaper with a review of it where the editor raves about her illustrations, but said nothing about the stories. I would have been put out, but Paul was so pleased, he burst a button.

  Pa grows weaker by the day, and each night I am certain it is his last. Somehow his soul hangs to this world, as if to share these last sweet moments with me. I try to stay by his side, and as a result am inside most of the day. There are neighbors and friends that come to say hello, though, and Judy came again last week with both dinner and excellent conversation. She is a sorely needed friend at this difficult time.

  I hope you are well, dear friend. I will write again soon.

  Helen

  ***

  “Why must the sun mock us?” Helen glared out the window as she ignored the crowd in black circling in the street.

  “Come on, Helen, it’s time to go.” Paul held out his arm for her, and together they left their house to step into the bright sunshine.

  “It rains for three days and then all of a sudden, bam, there’s the sun?” Helen clenched her jaw.

  “Helen, we don’t make the sun shine or the clouds rain.” Paul looked at her as his worry lines piled thicker.

  She sighed. “I’m sorry Paul, it just doesn’t seem right. Jack?” She turned to the left as Jack came forward to take hold of her other arm.

  Together, they moved forward into the mourning circle. Round and round they stepped, one circle for each year her father had lived. They finally finished, stretching into one long line to lead the way to the cemetery. There they buried their father, their faces dry in the face of too much sorrow.

  ***

  Dear Helen,

  Luke says there’s something wrong, so we’re to send two letters this week in case he’s right. He tells me I was supposed to just say he knew there was something wrong, and to hurry and let him know what it is.

  Cook wants to know what you put in your lemon sauce, the one for the fish, and Stella says to tell you she’s trying to learn to play the piano and it’s just as hard (only she said awful) as you said it was.

  Do write and tell us you’re alright.

  Susan

  Dear Luke,

  My father died three days ago. Each time I think of him, my heart breaks, and when it does I still find myself overwhelmed by the pain I can still feel. Three days I have felt his loss, and yet it seems as if it happened long ago.

  A woman said there was something wrong with us that we didn’t cry at his funeral. I told Paul she can’t know what it’s like to lose someone. She doesn’t know how you do cry, it’s just in the times when you realize he won’t be there when you come home, or that you’ve turned to tell him something but he isn’t there to hear it. Then you break down until your head hurts and pounds and you feel a new pain to distract you from the one in your heart.

  I’m not alright. But I will be someday. And that is what I wait for.

  Helen

  ***

  “Hello?”

  Helen shook her head to clear it as she looked up. “Hello Bill, how are you? Won’t you come in?”

  He folded his hat in his hands as he entered. “Paul said you might be home.”

  “Won’t you sit down?” She gestured to the stool, but then regretted it, wondering if it was too soon for someone else to be sitting there instead of Pa.

  But Bill sat, his face serious as he said, “How have you been?”

  “I’m...” Helen’s attempt at a smile failed. “Much as you’d expect, but things are slowly getting back to normal.”

  The silence stretched and pulled until he looked up again to say, “Paul explained about your bracelet.”

  Helen looked down at her right arm, her face clearing. “Did he.”

  “I would like to hear your story one day. When you’re ready to tell it.”

  She looked up, startled, as she let go of the bracelet. “Oh. Well, yes. It’s quite a story, I suppose.”

  His kind eyes pulled her in, distracting her from too many memories. “I had wondered if, well, you see, there’s a dance in a couple days and I wondered if you might want to go.”

  “Dancing?”

  He flushed, his hat twisting first one way then the other in his hands. “Paul will be playing his flute and they say Mrs. White will be bringing a cake.”

  Helen laughed, her first since her father’s passing. “I think I might bear anything for a slice of Mrs. White’s cake.”

  Bill grinned. “Me too. I…I could come by to get you after dinner if you’d like.” He turned pink again.

  “Are you alright, Bill?”

  “What? Oh, yes.” He stopped twisting his hat about and stood up. “So I expect I’ll see you Friday evening then?” He held his breath, his eyes expectant and Helen furrowed her brow.

  “Yes, I guess so. Thanks for coming by, Bill.”

  “Oh, yes. Well, good bye now.”

  “Good bye, Bill.” Helen stood at the door watching him walk away, baffled by his reaction. Shaking her head, she went back to her chores to think on the delightful question of whether Mrs. White would bring chocolate or apricot cake.

  ***

  “Helen, what’s this I hear about you going to a dance?” Paul’s grin stopped Helen in her tracks, and his smile fell. “What’s the matter?”

  “I…I haven’t seen you smile in two weeks and now you’re grinning ear to ear.”

  Paul sat down, his feet up on a neighboring chair.

  “Tsk.” She slapped his feet with her dish towel. “Don’t you go getting mud on my clean chairs, Paul.”

  “Helen’s going to a dance?” Jack walked into the room his easy smile something he hadn’t lost for long.

  “I don’t see what all the fuss is about. Bill came to tell me about a dance. Something about Paul playing the flute and Mrs. White making
cake and – ”

  Jack nudged her side. “And courting too, don’t ya know.”

  Helen swatted him with her towel. “Don’t be silly, I’m not being courted by anyone.”

  Paul shook his head and held up a hand to stop Jack’s teasing. “Helen, who came by to tell you about the dance?”

  Helen stopped, confused at their mutual smiles, and at her, no less. “Bill.”

  “And is Bill dropping by to escort you to said dance?” Paul’s look was knowing.

  “Well, yes, but –”

  “And…”

  Helen sat down. “He did get all flustered when he talked about it, but I didn’t think…”

  Paul and Jack exchanged glances. “Helen, Bill’s been holding his hat for you since you showed up last month.”

  Jack guffawed. “Literally.” He giggled until Helen swatted him again.

  “Do you think…”

  “Yes, Helen, I do.” She met Paul’s eyes, grateful they didn’t need words to explain.

  Sighing, she stood. “I suppose that means I have a suitor. I just didn’t realize, and…”

  Paul followed her and watched as she opened her closet door. “Helen, you don’t have to let him court you.”

  “It’s not that, it’s…Paul, I’m twenty years old and I have more experience with the harshness of life than Mrs. Baxter next door, for all she’s ninety-three. And yet I don’t know a thing about how men come calling or…well, anything about,” she waved her arm, “any of that.”

  “It’ll come, Helen, and no better than a man like Bill. He’ll treat you well, even if you decide he’s not for you.” He hugged her. “Now what are you going to wear?”

  Helen laughed. “Maybe I should have Judy come tell me.”

  Paul pulled on the arm of her blue lace dress. “This one.”

  “What?” Helen caught her breath.

  “I can just tell you’ll look beautiful in it.”

  Helen pulled it out, the memories racing about her head as she laid it on her bed. “Alright. This one.”

  ***

  The dance was lively with an energy that lifted Helen’s spirits. She danced with Bill, her smiles coming quicker and wider as the evening wore on. They shared cake and stole an extra slice when Mrs. White wasn’t looking, and when she asked to leave before it was over, he didn’t mind as he offered his arm to walk her home.