The White Mask & The Red Rose

by P Rose Weaver

  The White Mask

  &

  The Red Rose

  ( A FAIRY TALE RETELLING)

  P.Rose Weaver

  Copyright © 2015 P.Rose Weaver

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN:

  ISBN-13:978-1511650496

  DEDICATION

  To my family who ask no questions when I’m typing away for hours in my own world. For my children, words of treasure for you to cherish when I am long gone. To my fellow medical professionals at Kaiser San Jose, you ARE the BEST! To the unofficial BOOK CLUB group, READ ON and ENJOY! :)

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Cover art design by Sara,

  coverdesigner88@

  fiverr.com

  1

  " Have mercy, my lord. I did not know!" Mr. Thomas Hardy pleaded, his voice trembling with both fear and anxiety.

  The voice that replied was harsh as the master of the castle did not mince his words, "You foolish old man! We opened our doors so that you would be sheltered from the storm. We fed you well and built you a fire for warmth and this is how you repay our kindness?! I have killed men with far less offensive crimes. That rose which you carelessly plucked is no ordinary flower. "

  The flower was at his feet, wilting before his eyes. Its radiance fading away as it lay limp on the floor. Mr. Thomas Hardy, merchant of Amstel, had seen and taken the most beautiful rose for his favorite daughter, Isabelle. Now here he was kneeling before the grand lord, pleading for his life. It was only hours ago when he was passing through the area, unaware that his life and the life of his daughters would soon change in a most dramatic way.

  He had come looking for shelter when one of his wheels broke off the wagon. A storm had come on suddenly as he was making his way home and it was unfortunate that his wheel gave way then. He felt so cold and miserable and all he could think of was the fireplace back home, roaring with fire and warmth. His daughters would pamper him with hot tea and crumpets as he sat in his big armchair. Isabelle would read out loud while he dozed off and Rosabelle would be tucking a blanket over him. Now, his favorite hat was drenched with water from the pouring rain and was utterly useless. He was soaked through and through. He came upon the castle by chance as lightning brightened the sky with its spastic lighting. It almost seemed to appear from nowhere. He had not seen it when he passed through the same pathway earlier. But then again, it was dark in the forest and he only had his lamp from his wagon. The castle seemed large and foreboding as another lightning flashed but he did not care. His tired bones were aching with each movement as he made his way up the grand stairs leading to the front doors. He pushed against the doors and murmured a silent prayer of gratitude as the giant doors swung opened slowly.

  “Hello? Is there anyone around? My wagon broke down--”. He took a hesitant step inside when no one answered. At least it was dry here, he thought. He looked guiltily at the puddle of water dripping from his clothes and into the carpeted front area. The carpet made squishing noises as he stepped over it. He took off his drenched coat and hat and wrung out the excess water outside the door. He could not find a coat rack so he laid out his wet things at the side of the door.

  The castle was dark when he entered but he saw an open room nearby where a great fireplace was roaring with fire. The light from the fireplace was like a beacon. It beckoned him to dry himself before the fireplace. He looked around but no one was about. The room was empty and it was quiet except for the crackling fire. He sat himself in a big chair placed in front of the big fireplace where a thick blanket was laid out. It almost seemed that whoever lived here knew he was coming. He wrapped the blanket around him and sighed with delight at the warmth seeping through his damp clothes. It took a few minutes before his shivering stopped. And before he knew it, he dozed off to sleep. He woke up and found a table filled with food and wine behind him. He had not heard or seen anyone but he assumed that the feast was for him. His clothes had dried a little and he was more comfortable than he previously was. He helped himself to the spread on the table and was amazed at how delicious and sumptuous the food was. When he had his fill, he returned to the big armchair and slept peacefully through the night. In the morning, he woke up with the fire down to its ember and the morning rays starting to come in through the dark drapery.

  He had wandered out the room, curious if he had the opportunity to thank his benefactor in person. He then notice the garden where he found the most beautiful rose blooming in splendor in one of the greenhouses in the corner. The rose was mesmerizing and almost hypnotizing in its beauty. His first thought was of Isabelle and the delight she would show when he handed the flower to her. His precious daughter Isabelle. He would give anything to make her daughter happy. His hand reached out and he plucked it from the bush, snapping the stem off. His hand wavered as he heard a growl of warning behind him. But it was too late, he had managed to cut the flower and drop it on the floor, surprised that there was somebody in the garden with him. He then just realized he was at fault when he fell on his knees. He had taken something which was not his and had abused his host's hospitality. He was ashamed. He was usually a virtuous man. What had he done? And as he was pleading, he noticed that the man before him was wearing a mask. A white phantom mask that hid his face. It looked creepy and menacing as he heard the lord's voice coming through the mask.

  “Forgiving you is too easy. You deserve to be locked up with the keys thrown away!"

  Two men came and roughly took him by the arms, prepared to drag him to the dungeons.

  Thomas Hardy gulped with the news of his punishment, resisting the pull of the two men. He clasped his hands together and tried once more, "Mercy! I have children waiting for me in the village of Amstel. Please do not deprive them of their father."

  The lord of the castle hesitated and said, "Very well. Because of your age and fragile state, I shall release you on condition that you bring the thing that greets you first when you go home. A carriage will come for you on the second day you arrive. Do not fail me."

  Thomas thought for a moment and replied in the most humble way he could muster, "I give you my word, Master. Thank you, my lord." He bowed low in gratitude after the men loosen their hold on him.

  And as he bowed, he thought of his loyal dog Bruno who never failed to meet him at the door in time. The dog’s keen sense of smell was so sharp that he could smell his master hundreds of feet away. And although he would regret losing the family dog, his life for his daughters was far more important. Especially so for his beautiful Isabelle who was the spitting image of his late wife, Claribelle.

  The man in the phantom mask waved him away, dismissing him in obvious disgust. Thomas Hardy wasted no time running as fast as he could away from the castle before the frightful lord changed his mind. He gathered his things which he saw was now hanging on a coat rack beside the grand entrance. They were cleaned and dry, ready for his haste departure. He saw the wheel of his wagon was fixed as he clambered down the stairs. His horse stood still hooked to the wagon and ready to go.

  Grateful that his wagon got fixed while he was fast asleep, Mr. Thomas Hardy wasted no time in getting away. His horse obviously well rested and fed, happily pulled the wagon away from the dark castle. It had been two weeks since Thomas left his home and it was long and tiring. The recent turn of events filled his mind with dread as he thought of his debt of payment to the lord of the castle. Both Thomas and his horse could not wait to get home, back to a place he knew where he was safe and loved.

  The young lord looked at the wilted flower in his hand. He had returned to the greenhouse and picked it up when the old merchant left the vicinity.

  "Is there any hope, Pedro?" He asked his gardener but the look in t
he other man's eyes answered his question.

  Pedro took the flower gently from his hands and examined it. He shook his head in disbelief. Their hard work lay crumpled in his hands.

  They were back to square one.

  "We are doomed." The young lord spoke through his white mask, his voice coming out with dread.

  2

  Rosabelle Hardy opened their pantry and surveyed its contents. She wanted to make something special for their father. He should be returning home soon from his business trip and always loved the taste of a strawberry shortcake. She frowned and made a list of what she needed. She would have to go to the mercantile today which was earlier than her regular marketing day this week. She wanted to be prepared in case Papa came home early.

  She gathered her shawl and her small purse, calling out to her sister, "I'm going to the store for some baking supplies. I will be right back, Isabelle!"

  There was no answer to her call which Rosabelle expected. Her sister was usually immersed in her own dream world, engrossed in one of her books.

  She walked to the mercantile shop which was at the center of the village, nodding to neighbors and townsfolk.

  The village of Amstel was a small one situated between two kingdoms. It had only one main store and it sold most of what they needed on a daily basis. Farmers usually brought in their wares and bartered with the owner.

  Their father was a merchant, trading whatever he can buy and sell. He was good at it and usually came home with something interesting. Isabelle would usually get books and Rosabelle would get an assortment of things like a fan or a handkerchief. Papa never did know what to give her. She couldn't blame him for not knowing. She had no particular interest. It wasn't because she had no inclination to anything in particular but it was because she did not have time to devote herself to a hobby. She had a household to run. They needed to eat.

  Rosabelle opened the shopkeeper's door and the bell sounded signifying her entry. She pulled on her head scarf closer to her body, holding it in place, keeping her right side from anyone's full view. It was more of an automatic defense mechanism. She always felt self-conscious when there were other people around.

  "Hello, Mr. Piazza!" She gave out a greeting to the man behind the counter.

  "Hello, Rosabelle. How can I help you today?"

  Rosabelle handed him her list, "I just need some things to make the strawberry shortcake. Papa is coming home soon and you know how he loves his dessert."

  "Let's see, flour, sugar, shortening...I will get this filled for you, Rosabelle. It will only be a short wait. I will call out when I am done with your order."

  Rosabelle murmured her thanks and went along the aisle, looking at the new products displayed. Mr. Piazza's mercantile shop was the largest shop in town and most of the people congregated there to gossip or to exchange pleasantries.

  There were other people in the shop and Rosabelle acknowledged them with a small nod. She usually did not converse with the townsfolk especially after the accident. She did not like the stares the women were giving her. She knew she looked different because of the scars on her face and arm. She pulled her shawl closer to her instinctively as she looked at a cookbook. The men were different as they would just tip their hat and leave her be. She would have sent Isabelle to the store but her younger sister usually got easily distracted with all the different things she would see. And besides, her sister usually did not want to come to town for fear of bumping into---

  "Gaston! I did not notice you come in." She exclaimed in surprise as she saw a large man standing before her, blocking her way. He was a ruggedly handsome young man who was one of the most haughty person she knew. He was obviously aware he looked good and had the village women fawning over him but he had eyes only for Isabelle, her younger sister. She was the most beautiful woman in the village and she was his prize for such a prime specimen of manhood.

  "Hello, Rosabelle. Fancy bumping into you today. You usually do your marketing midweek."

  "I needed some ingredients for a cake Papa loves."

  "Ah, I see. How is your pretty sister, Isabelle? I have not seen her lately. Is she well?"

  Rosabelle gave him a small smile, "She is well. She's just busy with her studies."

  "Studies? When she marries me, she does not have to worry about her foolish studies. She will be too busy taking care of the young Gastons every year until past her bearing age." And then he laughed at his own statement as if imagining the little children he would have spawned with her sister.

  That left a bitter taste in Rosabelle's mouth but she controlled her disgust. Gaston prided himself too much. He was after all the squire's son and his standing in this society was highly esteemed. Rosabelle knew one thing for certain and that is Isabelle had better taste in men.

  She hastily excused herself when Mr. Piazza called out that her order was ready. And not a moment too soon, Rosabelle thought.

  Gaston gave a final say though before she could escape, "Give Isabelle my regards. I will call on her probably this weekend. See you then."

  Rosabelle just nodded, thankful to get that meeting over with and went to the counter. Her items were placed in a clean grain sack, not too heavy for her. She paid Mr. Piazza and carried her sack out of the store but not before seeing Gaston flirting with the other ladies in the store. The women did not mind Gaston at all. They were giggling in delight, flattered at the attention the handsome young man was giving them.

  She took a deep breath and exited the shop. She would have to warn Isabelle about Gaston's pending visit this weekend. Hopefully, Papa would come sooner and be their buffer. Papa would observe utmost diplomacy and would invoke a certain decorum during Gaston's visit. She did not know if she or Isabelle had any more restraint in regards to that conceited man.

  She walked the small distance to their house, a cozy two-storey cottage near a grove of trees. They were secluded from the main town and that was what Rosabelle preferred. It was private and cozy with a small gate. She went through the back door and kitchen area where she put down the sack. It was almost time to make dinner. She washed up and started on dinner, deciding on a pot of beef soup. Once she placed the beef bone in a pot of water with onions. She went to look for her sister. She walked inside their common room where she saw Isabelle in one of the chairs, immersed in her book, oblivious to everything about her. She was not even aware Rosabelle was back from the market or worse, that she had left.

  Rosabelle eyed the messy table in the room and sighed, “Isabelle, how many times must I tell you about keeping your books back in the shelves after you’re done reading them? It is hard cleaning up the table when it’s littered with clutter!”

  Her beautiful sister, Isabelle, looked up from where she was sitting at the fireplace. She stood up and gave her an apologetic smile,”I’m sorry, Rosabelle. I got caught up in the story about a princess with a long hair.”

  Rosabelle kept her silence as she watched her sister put away her books. Isabelle was the younger of the two sisters and the one who was the apple of their father’s eye. She was the spitting image of their late mother and had always been their father's favorite. Isabelle was very graceful and pretty but she was always in a corner reading, drifting away in an imaginative world. Whereas, Rosabelle, the older sister, was the more sensible one. She was in charge of the household, making sure there was enough bread for the day, tending the garden for their fresh produce or going to the market for whatever they needed within their budget. Sometimes, she missed their mother who passed away in a tragic accident years ago. She would know what to do. Her mother would have taught Isabelle a thing or two about running a household. But whatever fault her sister had, she loved her dearly.

  Rosabelle went back into the kitchen where she was simmering the pot of beef onion soup. She gave the soup another stir after she added her spices. She set the lid down once more. She then walked to the nearby sink to wash some vegetables.

  The sun was almost setting as she caught her shadowy reflectio
n in the window. If she squinted her eyes in a particular way, she noted, she could almost not see the scars on the side of her face and neck. Well, almost. The ones on her right arm and hand were very prominent even if she wore long sleeves to hide them. They did not hurt as much during the cold days of winter. But when they hurt, she would be silently curling herself in bed, in deep pain. She would sometimes apply a special balm on it but it did very little. Her mind wandered to the people who would look at her differently. She was used to the long stares of the village people as she went to the market to buy food or bolts of clothing. She could hear the whispered words 'the ugly one'. It used to hurt her a lot to hear herself being compared to Isabelle but she tried not to let it bother her. For one thing, she did learn to be stronger. She learned to be more tolerant to the gossips.

  “Do you sometimes regret saving me from that fire years ago? You could have saved Mama instead.” Her sister’s voice broke her reverie. Isabelle had come into the kitchen and had seen Rosabelle checking her reflection.

  Rosabelle turned to her sister and dried her hands quickly on her apron,”Isabelle, if I had the power to do it again, I would have saved both of you. What’s happened has happened and we should not live in that past. Mama would not have it any other way.”

  Her sister looked at her with teary eyes,” I am grateful, sister, for all that you do. I hope I am half as brave as you. That's why I bury myself in books. I admire the heroine for their courage, hoping it would rub on me too.”

  "Courage or the happy ending part?" Rosabelle teased. Her sister was a hopeless romantic.

  "Both but it's the happy ending that always gives me hope. We could have our own happy ending, Rosabelle!"

  Rosabelle gave her sister a hug, “Stop. Let’s not dwell on that anymore. Don’t forget to feed Bruno before we eat dinner. You know how he paces back and forth when he’s hungry.”