“But Momma, why does she look like that?” he finally shrieked.
Anyone in the village market who had not been staring at the trio before was. The woman whose cart they were standing in front of turned as red as the tomatoes she was selling.
Pearl could feel every pebble in the ground beneath her thin shoes. Like tiny daggers they pierced her feet, rooting her to the spot.
The mother of the child was still trying to hush him, but with little success. She looked at Pearl “Sorry,” she muttered.
But she wasn’t sorry Pearl could tell by the way she stared at her. She lets her child ask the question that she’s too polite to ask herself. Still, they all wonder why I look as I do; they always have. The other girl turned and hurried off with her son still thrashing about in her arms. The other villagers slowly returned to their shopping, murmuring low as they bent over the various carts arranged around the edge of the village square. Even though Pearl couldn’t hear them, she knew they were talking about her.
A chill danced up her spine and she turned to see the blacksmith staring at her. There was something intense in his gaze that unnerved her. She turned around quickly. Shivering, she picked out a tomato, paid for it, and headed for home.
As Pearl walked through the village toward home, she passed the village square. The village square was built around a tall post sticking up from the ground. Ancient traders had erected the post long before the village even existed, as a sign that this place was a crossroads and a good place to meet with other merchants. From those beginnings, people had begun to actually settle near the area of trade and the village had sprung up.
A hundred years earlier, the king of Aster had built the magnificent castle that sat on top of the cliff that towered above the rest of the village. The village itself was on the bottom of the slope. Half of it actually sat on the slant, and the other half on level ground.
On the other side of the village the ground again began to slope, heading down toward the ocean, and a path ran from the village toward the shoreline. It was this path that she walked now. Her father, Finneas, was a fisherman, and she was grateful they lived just outside the village, close to the sea.
Once home, Pearl’s shaking hands pulled from her basket the food she had purchased. She removed the tomato and stared at the vibrant red color. It stood out in stark contrast against her pale skin.
She put the tomato away and walked slowly outside. She held her hand up to the light and stared at it. Her skin was so pale, she imagined she could see right through it to the blood and bones beneath. She pulled her braid forward over her shoulders. The hair shimmered against the dark blue of her dress. Her hair, too, was pale, nearly silver.
No wonder the little boy stared. No wonder they whispered. What am I? She stared up at the heavens, but no answer came.
She sighed and began to walk toward the beach, dragging the toes of her shoes. The act of walking to the ocean usually filled her with joy, but her heart was too heavy.
What am I?
When she finally crested the little hill that hid the ocean from her home, she spotted a tall figure staring out to sea. She felt her heart skip a beat as she saw him standing there.
When she was halfway to him, he turned. “There you are!”
She smiled despite herself, wondering how long he had been waiting. His black hair was wildly tousled, indicating that he’d been there quite a while, pacing and thinking. He stood, every inch of his body alert, as though he was a predator poised to pounce on her. Oh, that he would, she thought before she could stop herself. Appalled, she pulled her thoughts away from such visions.
James was her best friend, her only friend. She had known him since they were both children, and he was the only one who had never treated her differently because of the way she looked. Perhaps it was because he, too, knew what it was like to be treated differently, to have people whisper and stare, and he disliked it as much as she did.
“Good afternoon, James. How are you?” she asked when she reached his side.
His blue eyes danced, specks of light shimmering in them like whitecaps upon ocean waves. “Impatient. What the devil kept you?”
“Me.”
He frowned. “What do you mean by that?”
“I think there’s something wrong with me.” She sighed, dropping down to sit on the sand.
His eyebrows shot up in surprise, and he took a seat beside her. “Now, what on earth would make you think that?”
“Look at me! Can you honestly say that anything about me is normal?”
“Normal? Where’s the excitement in that?” he snorted. “Besides, who’s to say what’s normal, anyway?”
“You probably could,” she answered.
He waved a hand dismissively. “I would much rather have a life filled with magic than one filled with the mundane.”
She couldn’t stop herself from laughing. “You are forever searching for magic, James, and I am afraid you shall never find it.”
“Well, you certainly won’t, not with that attitude”
“Good, I have no need of it.” The sun beat down upon her skin, and she could feel her tense muscles slowly begin to relax. She breathed deeply and tasted the salty air.
The tide was ebbing, and all along the line of wet sand that the waves had retreated from were little speckles of white shells that had found their way into the shallow water only to be abandoned.
James shook his head at her. “We all need a little magic in our lives, Pearl. We need something to lift us out of our everyday lives and give us something to hope in.”
“That’s what God is for,” she answered defensively.
“Yes, but God is busy. We can’t leave it all up to Him.”
“Father Gregory would disagree with you.”
He snorted. “Father Gregory doesn’t believe in anything unless he can see it with his own two eyes or read it in the Bible. Even then I’m not so certain. I think if an angel ever appeared to him he would faint.”
“James, how can you be so disrespectful?” she admonished. She was shocked, but also secretly amused. She shouldn’t have been surprised. James had had an irreverent streak since she had known him.
He grinned. “I guess it’s my birthright.”
She couldn’t help but blush at that. She dropped her eyes, suddenly too shy to look at him. He noticed the motion, though, and put a hand under her chin. The contact sent tingles along her skin, and when he pushed her head up she found herself pinned by his stare.
“Don’t duck your eyes in front of me, Pearl. You know I don’t want that.”
“Sometimes we do not always get what we want,” she answered before she could stop herself.
Her heart stopped for a moment as he stared at her. “I know,” he finally answered softly before dropping his hand and looking away. Her heart began to beat again, but now it was pounding so loudly, she was sure he could hear it.
Silence stretched between them and she slowly began to breathe again. They had known each other long enough that the silences were comfortable. Many a time they had sat here for hours not speaking a word, just watching the ocean.
“You know, it was ten years ago today,” he said after a moment.
“What was?” she asked.
“That we met,” he said, with a short laugh. Surely you remember.”
“How could I forget? I came here to look at the ocean, to be alone with my thoughts, and there was a boy here.”
“I was terrified that you were going to tell my father where I was hiding”
“I didn’t even know who your father was.”
“And I found that so appealing.”
“Is that why we’re friends?” she teased.
“Well, that and the fact that I found you fascinating”
She remembered the day well, though it seemed but yesterday and not ten years past. He had been so funny that she had laughed nearly the entire time they were together. Even when he had tugged on her hair and told her that it
reminded him of the color of the full moon, she hadn’t minded somehow. Maybe it was because he wasn’t afraid of me, or judging me.
“We’ve been meeting once a week ever since, so over ten years that’s about five hundred twenty times.”
“Probably more—some weeks we’ve met twice,” she reminded him.
“True,” he said, cocking his head to the side as though trying to calculate the exact number.
“What’s your point, James?”
He looked at her, suddenly serious. “You know me better than anyone else—sometimes, I think, better than I know myself I just wanted to say happy anniversary.”
She swallowed around the sudden lump in her throat, not knowing what to say. He took her hand and squeezed it gently. A new kind of silence stretched between them, and it was far from comfortable. Her skin prickled as waves of emotion rushed over her.
He broke the silence suddenly enough to startle her. “You want to go for a swim?”
She shook her head, relieved to change the subject.“No, I’ll just sit”
“Every week I’ve asked you and every week you refuse. What is it? Are you shy?”
“No.”
“Afraid that I’m a better swimmer? Don’t want to be embarrassed?”
“I know you are.” She laughed. “I don’t swim.”
He stared at her. “How can that be? You love the ocean.”
“I love to look at it, I don’t go in it.”
“Well, I’ll teach you.”
“No!” She winced as she heard the sharp tone in her voice.
He looked shocked. “My father’s the only one who’s ever taken that tone with me.”
“I’m sorry,” she mumbled, dropping her eyes. “Forgive me?”
“You know I do.” He paused for a moment and then asked, “Why won’t you let me teach you?”
She glanced from him to the ocean. She wanted to say yes, to have him take her out into the ocean and teach her to swim. What would it feel like to have the waters rushing against my skin? And would I ever want to come back? Surely with James by my side I would be safe, he wouldn’t let anything happen to me.
The waves called to her. Below their steady roar and crash there was a singsong voice that she alone seemed to hear. She had tried pointing it out to James and her parents, but none of them heard it. She closed her eyes and listened to it now. The ocean whispered to her, speaking in words that sounded strange and yet achingly familiar to her. Maybe I’ll just put a toe in the water. I could do that.
She sighed, frustrated, knowing that that wasn’t true. She knew that if she put her toe in the water, it wouldn’t stop there: Next she would place her whole foot, soon to be followed by the rest of her, and then—then she’d be lost. Forever.
She opened her eyes and looked up at James. He had an expectant look on his face. She shook her head. “I can’t go in the water.”
“Why not?”
“I just can’t,” she stammered.
“Why?” he pressed.
“Because if I go in the ocean, I’ll die.”
He stared at her. “What makes you think that?”
She shook her head, helpless to answer him.
“Did your parents tell you that?”
She shook her head again.
“Do you think that because of what happened when you were little?”
Again, she shook her head. She had no idea where the knowledge had come from, but she was as certain of it as she was her name.
“Tell me again,” he whispered, so faint that she could barely hear him.
“What?”
“You know.”
Pearl leaned back on the sand. “I’ve already told you the story, several times.”
“Yes, but I enjoy hearing it.”
She sighed exaggeratedly. “Okay, but this is the last time.” Self-consciously she closed her hand around the black pearl she wore. “Thirteen years ago a fisherman found me in the ocean during a storm. He pulled me into his boat and took me home. He and Mary have raised me ever since.”
“And all you had with you was that pearl?”
She stroked the dark, shiny orb and nodded.
“And you still have no memory of your life before that?”
“None.”
“It is a great mystery.”
She grimaced. “I think the only mystery here is why you are so fascinated by the story.”
James peered into her eyes. “Look, Pearl. You might not want to know where you come from, but I do.” He leaped back to his feet. “For all we know, you’re descended from Fairy folk.”
She laughed out loud. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“Well, it would explain your hair.”
She felt as though she had frozen inside. He must have seen the look on her face, because he told her, “I know you wish your hair was a different color, brown or red maybe, but I think it’s wonderful. Any other color just wouldn’t suit you.”
He sighed and gazed at the setting sun. A shadow crossed his face, and he looked suddenly older. When he spoke, even the resonance of his voice had deepened slightly. “I should go if I’m to be properly dressed for dinner.”
“Who’s going to be there tonight?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know—a duke, I think.”
She grinned. “You don’t fool me. Not a person comes or goes at the castle that you don’t know who they are and what business they have.”
He smiled faintly. “That’s true. I just don’t like to think about it when I’m with you.” He waved his hand to encompass the ocean, the beach, and her. “Here, I don’t have to worry about all of that.”
She scrambled to her feet and hastened to shake the sand from her skirt. “That’s why we do this. So we both can be ourselves. I should go too. I’ll see you next week.”
“You’ll see me tomorrow if you’re in the village.”
She smiled. “Yes, but then I’ll have to call you ‘Your Highness. ’” She began to walk up the beach away from him.
“You wouldn’t have to, you know”
“We both know that’s not true,” she called back over her shoulder. “You are the prince of Aster, and I am just a fisherman’s daughter.”
“You don’t know that for sure. You might be a princess, for all we know,” he shouted.
She waved at him and continued on. “In my dreams. Only in my dreams,” she whispered to herself. She heard her father playing the flute, its faint sound tinkling on the wind, and realized that it was later than she had thought. She picked up her skirt and began to run.
Finneas sat outside the cottage. She slowed to a walk as she approached him.
“You’re late,” Finneas remarked, putting away his flute.
“I’m sorry, Papa.”
He raised an eyebrow, but didn’t question her.
Pearl slipped past him through the open door into the cottage. For as long as she had lived there, she had only seen the cottage door closed twice during the daytime. Both times it had been shut up against storms. The rest of the time it was open, letting the sea air flood in. For Finneas, the sea provided more than just his livelihood; it was a part of who he was. Mary would sometimes tease that salt water ran through his veins instead of blood.
Inside, Mary glanced at her while stirring the dinner that was boiling in a pot over the fire. “You’ve been to the beach again.”
“How did you know?”
“You’ve got sand in your hair. What is it you do there, anyway?”
Pearl blushed. “I sit by the water and think.”
Looking satisfied, Mary turned back to the table.
Pearl stared at her back for a moment, longing to tell her of the prince and the time they spent together. She opened her mouth to speak, but Finneas came in.
“Everybody wash up,” Mary instructed. “I won’t have dirty hands at my table.”
“Already done,” Finneas declared, planting a kiss on his wife’s rosy cheek.
Pearl
ducked outside and went to the water basin, where she washed her hands and face. It hurt to keep her friendship with James a secret from her parents. Still, she wasn’t sure what they would say if they knew. Commoners and royalty didn’t speak with one another, everyone knew that. Yet once a week it happened, right on the beach just steps away from her home.
Every week since she was seven, she had met with James. The first time they had met at the oceanside, James had sworn her to secrecy. She had not known who he was, only that he had escaped from some people he called his “keepers.” Months later, when she found out he was a prince, she was frightened, for royalty was not supposed to mix with peasants. Still, she had gone to meet him, for he was the only one she could call a friend. Each week he had had to devise more elaborate plans to escape from the castle and his tutors, and she had always laughed until her sides hurt when hearing about his escapades.
The years had passed, though, and eventually there was no longer a need for the secrecy. He was grown up and allowed the freedom to come and go from the castle pretty much as he chose. His father had tried in vain to send personal guards with him, but James always managed to lose them and so his father had at last given up sending them. Still, the meetings had remained their secret. Of all the secrets in my life, it’s the nicest, she thought.
She went back inside to take her place at the table. Before she reached her chair, though, she caught her foot on the leg of the table and ended up sprawled on the floor. Embarrassed, she scrambled back to her feet. Finneas and Mary were already seated, and she thought she saw Mary suppress a grin.
“Did you trip over your feet again?” Finneas asked dryly.
“No, not mine, this time. It was the table’s.”
Once she took her seat, they bowed their heads and Finneas began to pray. “Father God, keep us this day. We thank ye for your bounty and pray your forgiveness on us. Bless us and keep us, O Lord. Amen.”
They ate in silence. Mary glanced from time to time at Finneas, who stared resolutely at his food. Lost in her own thoughts, it took Pearl several minutes to notice the uncharacteristic silence. She glanced warily toward Mary. The older woman held her gaze for only a moment before averting her eyes. With a mounting sense of unease, Pearl turned to Finneas.
Midnight Pearls Page 2
