I was silent for a moment, taking this in. “Maybe it’s just a side effect of all this wizardry,” I suggested. “Something that will wear off.”
“I’m not so sure I want it to,” Rue answered, with an honesty that would have made her mother proud. “It’s safer not to feel anything, don’t you think? Besides, I’m used to it by now.”
I thought of the life to which I’d been accustomed, just one short week ago. Having it all yanked away so abrupedy had definitely been painful. In spite of the fact that I felt I could almost see time racing by me, I decided to go slowly now.
“It may have to wear off, sooner or later,” I suggested gently. “The curse does say something about awakening your heart.”
“Oh, so now you’re the expert?” she asked, her tone ever so slightly sarcastic. “What makes you think you know anything about it? You’re not the one who’s been stuck up here for time out of mind.”
Okay, I thought. So much for going slow. If this was the way things were going to be, might as well throw myself off the tower right this second and be done with it. Better yet, I’d throw her off.
“For someone who claims she doesn’t feel anything, you’re awfully quick to pick a fight. “I remarked.
“Am not.”
“Are too.”
Rue gave a sudden snort and looked up then, her violet eyes laughing. “I suppose you think you’re pretty smart.”
“No, I don’t,” I said. “If I was smart, we’d both be out of here by now.”
I could have kicked myself as I saw the laughter drain away as if I’d poked a hole in a bucket full of water.
“I wouldn’t worry about it very much if I were you,” she said. “We both know I’m never getting out of here anyhow.”
“We do not know that,” I answered, stung. “Why is there nothing to sit on in this stupid place?”
At this, the smile returned, though it wasn’t a very cheerful one. “There’s a stool at the loom,” she said. “You could try that.”
I fetched it and placed it where I could sit facing her.
“We are going to do this,” I said firmly. “We’re going to figure out the way to get you out. Putting you here was wrong and cruel. It should never have happened in the first place.”
I could feel her resistance start to waver, even as I watched her shore it up. I was familiar with the sensation.
“If you say so,” she replied.
“There you are, doing it again,” I cried. I got to my feet, in spite of the fact that I’d just finished sitting down. “Acting as if you’re the only one who’s ever had to face a problem. I’ve got news for you: You’re not. What’s the matter? Are you so afraid you’ll fail that you’d prefer not to try at all?”
Oh, right, Rapunzel, I thought, even as I heard myself speak. As if the thought hadn’t crossed your mind.
“Of course not,” Rue answered, her cheeks coloring. “It’s just . . .” She swallowed then, a convulsive motion of her throat, and I realized how close she was to tears. “I’ve been in this tower for as long as I can remember. I’m afraid to ask how long. What if I can’t remember how to live like other people? What if I’m broken and can’t be fixed? What if I . . . you know.”
“I don’t,” I said, which was the absolute truth.
“Love,” she said loudly, causing Mr. Jones to give a startled and indignant meow. “What if I can’t fall in love?”
“Of course you can fall in love,” I said.
“You don’t know that,” she countered.
“Okay,” I said, as I sank slowly back down upon the stool. “All right. Officially, maybe I don’t. But you said you wanted to learn to love Mr. Jones. I’d say that’s a good sign.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Rue said quickly. “Nobody’s ever going to want me anyhow.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked.
“Look at me,” she cried out. “Look. Look. Use your eyes!”
“Let me tell you what I see,” I said. “You have skin as fine as any angel cake I ever baked. Your eyes are a color poets dream of writing about, and your hair is as golden and bountiful as a dragon’s hoard. You may see these things as posing a problem, but believe me, you’ll be the only one who does.”
“You think this is beautiful?” Rue said. She shot to her own feet now, seizing her long, golden braid with both hands and shaking it as if it were a snake that she would like to choke the life right out of. Mr. Jones leaped from her lap in alarm and disappeared out of sight down the great curved staircase.
“You try living with it for a while. I trip over it when I walk. Get tangled up in it when I sleep. I can’t cut it—the wizard took care of that. My own mother has to climb my hair just to come and visit. If this doesn’t make me a freak, I don’t know what does.”
“At least you have some,” I said.
“Have what?”
“Hair,” I replied.
At this, all the fight seemed to drain right out of her. She rubbed a hand across her brow.
“I don’t understand a word you’re saying,” she said.
I reached up for my kerchief, pulled it off.
“Oh,” Rue said, and her mouth made the exact same shape in surprise. Slowly she sank back down to the floor. “Oh, my.”
“That’s one way of putting it,” I said. In that moment, I realized how tired I was. “How about this,” I proposed. “Let’s both avoid the word ‘freak,’ shall we?””
“Good. That sounds good,” Rue nodded. She fell silent for a moment as we gazed at one another. “I suppose I can see now why Mama thought this might work,” she finally remarked. “There is a certain symmetry involved. Does it hurt?” she asked, her question the exact same as my own just minutes ago.
“No,” I said. “Not unless I get clumsy and run it into something hard and unyielding.” Sort of like you, I thought. I put the kerchief back on.
“This really might work,” Rue said cautiously after another moment. “Given the actual circumstances, I mean.”
“I suppose,” I said. “It might.”
“Not that it means we always have to get along.”
“Thanks goodness for that,” I said.
She gave a snort. “Naturally you would agree with that.”
“Perhaps I haven’t any sense,” I said. “Maybe it goes along with not having any hair.”
“Oh, I know you haven’t any sense,” Rue replied. “If you had, you’d have climbed down all this unnecessary hair at the first available opportunity.”
“I couldn’t do that,” I said. “I made a promise.”
“To my mother, you mean.”
“No,” I said. “To myself.”
We were both silent once more, while this thought slowly circled inside the tower, then came back to rest between us.
“Can you really make an angel cake?” Rue asked.
I nodded. “As tall as the oven door. I’ll bake one for you on your wedding day. How would that be?”
She smiled then, a neither-here-nor-there sort of smile. Not quite joyful, but not sad, either. A smile that left the future open.
“I think that I would like that. Thank you, Rapunzel.”
Before either of us could say another word, a new voice floated up the length of the tower.
“Parsley,” it shouted. “What in heaven’s name have you done?”
Thirteen
“Oh, dear,” I said, as I shot to my feet. “I was afraid of this.”
“Who on earth is that?” Rue asked as she, too, stood up. “And why is he calling you Parsley?”
“Because he’s a wretched tinker’s boy with no manners whatsoever,” I said. “His name is Harry.” And the last time I saw him, he kissed me in my own front yard.
“I know you’re in there, Parsley,” Harry’s voice shouted once more. “I met the sorceress and Mr. Jones along the road. If you’re not out where I can see you by the time I count to ten, I’m coming up to get you myself.”
“He can
’t do that,” Rue said.
“I know that and you know that,” I said. “Even Harry may know. It’s not going to make a single bit of difference. Harry is the reason somebody somewhere invented the word ‘stubborn.”’
“One,” his voice floated up from the bottom of the tower.
“I’m going to have to go out there,” I said. “He’ll only do something foolish and hurt himself.”
“I’m not stopping you, am I?” Rue asked.
“Two. Threefourfive,” Harry’s voice said.
“Gee,” I said. “Thanks for your support. It means the world to me. All right, Harry,” I called back, lifting my voice so it would carry. “You’ve proven you can count. I’m coming.”
With that, I simply moved to the pane of glass that seemed closest to the sound of his voice and pushed it open. Fifteen steps took me to the edge of the balcony. They only felt like about fifty this time around. When I got to the edge, I could see him standing far below. Our horse cropped the grass at his side. I was so relieved to see that he was safe, I almost forgot to be annoyed.
“So there you are. Parsley,” he said. “It’s about time.”
“That’s a fine thing for you to say,” I came right back. “You’re the one who’s late, tinker’s boy.”
“I thought you were going to stay out of trouble,” he said.
“I’m not in trouble. I’m in a tower,” I replied.
“Oh, ha-ha,” he said. “Very funny. You promised, or don’t you recall?”
“Of course I do,” I said. I remember everything about the day we said good-bye. “I’m not in trouble, Harry. Honestly, I’m not. I’m doing something for Melisande.”
“Staying with her daughter,” he nodded. “I know. I told you. I met them on the road. That’s why I was late. I had to make a detour around a band of soldiers. Some unrest is brewing in this land. I’m not so sure it’s any safer than the one we left behind.”
“You’d better catch up with them, then,” I said. “It might not be safe for you to be on your own.”
Harry shook his head, and even from high above I recognized the stubborn set of his jaw.
“Not until I know that you’re all right,” he said.
“Harry,” I said, doing my best to sound patient even when I didn’t particularly feel that way. “I’m fine. This tower is protected by a wizard’s magic. No one can get up here unless they know how to ask properly.”
“The sorceress said there was a password,” he admitted. He kicked irritably at the perfect swath of grass that surrounded the tower. “She wouldn’t tell me what it was.”
“That’s as it should be,” I said. “Now go away and come back with Mr. Jones and Melisande.”
“Stop doing that,” he suddenly said, and he used the foot that had been kicking grass to get in a good old-fashioned stomp. “Stop treating me as if you were all grown up and important and I’m no more than an irritating child. I haven’t seen you for six days. I worried about you, dammit.”
“I worried about you, too,” I said.
“You might have waited for me, you know.”
“I’m sorry, Harry,” I said. “I didn’t think I could.”
He gave the grass one last stab with his toe.
“So, what’s she like?”
“Who?” I said.
“Don’t be stupid, Parsley,” Harry said. “The sorceress’s daughter, of course.”
“As beautiful as an angel,” I said.
“Fine. Don’t tell me.”
“I’m telling you the truth,” I protested. And then a thought occurred to me. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
“Rapunzel, wait,” Harry called. But by then, I’d already turned and marched back inside the tower. Rue was standing beside the window I’d left open, staring out as if she could see Harry far below.
“I need you to come outside,” I said.
Rue backed up a step, her eyes growing wide. “What are you talking about?” she asked, as her already pale cheeks turned the even paler color of chalk. “I can’t go outside. You know that.”
“Not outside outside,” I said. “Just out onto the balcony. I want Harry to see you, so he knows I’m all right.”
Rue shook her head, the light dancing across her hair the same way it did upon water.
“I can’t go out,” she said again.
“Can’t, or won’t?” I asked. I put my hands on my hips as a sudden suspicion occurred. “I’ll bet you’ve never even tried.”
She opened her mouth, seemed to think better of whatever she’d been about to say, and closed it with a snap.
“You’re right,” she admitted after a moment. “I’ve never even tried. There were times when I thought I wanted to. But then I thought, I feared, that if I tried and failed, it must surely break my heart.”
Because her words made perfect sense, I moved to her and put a hand on her arm. She flinched, ever so slightly, though I don’t think she minded the gesture. It was that, compared with the chill of her skin, mine felt so warm. My first impression had been right, I thought. The sorceress’s daughter was like a plant held in thrall by a sudden frost. I would have to find the way to thaw her out. In this moment, I thought I saw how to make at least a start.
“What if you tried and succeeded?” I asked. “What might that do to your heart?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea,” she said. “But...” She took a breath and looked me straight in the eye. “If you ask me to go, I’ll do my best.”
I gave a quick laugh almost before I knew what I had done.
“That does seem only fair,” I said. “Not to mention very sneaky of you. But very well: Will you please accompany me out onto the balcony, Rue?”
“Are you coming with me?” she asked.
“Absolutely,” I answered.
“In that case, I think I would like to try.”
“No changing your mind at the very last minute,” I said. “If you do, I’m just going to drag you out anyhow. By all that hair, most likely.”
“Thanks for your support. It means the world to me,” she said, parroting my own words. But I could see the fear, rising like a tide in those lovely violet eyes.
“It’s just a few steps, Rue,” I said, as I linked my arm through hers. “You can do this.”
“Okay,” she said. “If you say so.”
It was all of about six steps from where we stood to the pane of glass that let out onto the balcony. I solemnly swear they were the longest steps I’d ever taken in my life. Longer even than the time it had taken me to get from the balcony to the tower. How long the distance felt to Rue, I cannot tell.
“Just one more step,” I finally said. And then, at last, we were standing outside. Rue raised a hand to shield her eyes.
“It’s so bright,” she said. “Okay, I did it. I think I’d like to go back in now.”
“You have not done it,” I said firmly, as I kept ahold of her arm. “We have to go all the way to the railing, so Harry can see you.”
“Rapunzel,” his voice floated up at precisely that moment. “What’s happening up there? What’s going on?”
“Just another minute, Harry,” I called. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.” I turned back to Rue. “It’s only fifteen paces more. We can even count them out, if you think that will help.”
“There’s no need to treat me like a child,” Rue snapped.
“Fine,” I answered. “Then stop acting like one.”
There’s a reason that daring people to accept a challenge almost always works. Put fear and pride head to head, and pride will win almost every single time. At my words Rue lifted her chin, even as her eyes continued to squint against the outdoor sunlight, and yanked her arm from mine.
“I’m not a child,” she said. “I’m not.” Then, gathering up as much of that fat golden braid as her arms would carry, she marched the fifteen paces to the railing and looked down.
“You must be Harry,” she said. “My name is Rue, an
d I’m very pleased to meet you.” She let her hair drop down onto the balcony with a thunk.
There was a pause. In it I could hear the wind moving through the trees of the forest. The water of the river moving over stones. The croak of frogs at the water’s edge. Birdsong.
Then Harry said, “Thank you. That’s right. Harry. Yes. Harry. Thank you very much.”
At that, I made it to the railing in record time. Fifteen paces that actually felt like less. Because, as Harry had spoken, I’d felt my heart give a sudden clutch. I gripped the railing, staring downward at him. He had lifted a hand as if he were dazzled, as if he were staring straight into the sun, when, in fact, it was behind him. Then he dropped it, and I could see the expression on his face.
Merciful heavens, I thought. What have I done?
It was Rue, of course. Even inside, she’d seemed to give off her own light. But in the true light of day, she was all but blinding. Her hair caught the sunlight and sent it back so that it gleamed like an enormous heap of newly minted coins. Even her dress, which I had thought as plain and simple as my own, I suddenly discovered to be shot through with golden thread, so that it glinted with every breath she took. Her face, so fearful and uncertain just moments before, was now filled with an intrigued delight.
I could almost hear the crack of the ice that had contained her, could almost see it be swept away, even as I saw Rue herself begin to come to life.
Beautiful, I thought, just as I had when I had seen her for the very first time. The most beautiful thing I’d seen in my entire life. And all of that beauty, all that awakening light, was streaming straight down at the young man I loved.
I turned away then and sank slowly down to the stone of the balcony, my back pressed against the railing. For I was afraid that, if I stood up straight for one moment longer, I would fall. That’s what my heart was doing, a long slow tumble through space on its way to I wasn’t quite sure what destination. Uncertain outcome.
When had it happened? I wondered. When had my heart decided that what it felt for the tinker’s boy was love?
Had it been the day he’d given me the kerchief? The kiss, so unexpected and so sweet, that last day in the yard? Could it even have been that very first night we’d met, when I had seen the way his fingers had reached up to gently stroke the nose of the horse he’d convinced himself he wanted to steal but knew in his own heart of hearts that he would not?
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