by Scott, Lisa
“Yes,” she said in a thick voice.
He kissed her again and set her down.
“What do we do now?” Greta said. “Our parents are nowhere to be found.”
“We go home. For some reason, they didn’t want to sign the deal. We’ll figure something out…together.” He pulled her in for another kiss. “I don’t give a damn about that deal. I only care about you.”
Right then she wanted nothing more than to go home—with him. “You’re right. It’s time to leave.”
He twisted his lips. “Can we go on the Ferris wheel first?”
She laughed. “Of course. You’ve been locked up in that candy shop for days. You haven’t seen anything. Come on!” Greta led him down the midway to the Ferris wheel. They climbed on board and held hands as the giant ride slowly turned in the sky, giving them a perfect view of the fairgrounds.
“Are you sure you want to go back to our tiny town after seeing all this?” Greta asked.
“I do. This is all too much. Too busy. Goose Valley is comfortable. It’s where we belong. It’s our home. Besides, there are so many places I want to kiss you there—in the barn, down by the creek, under the stars in my back yard. I’ve been wanting to look at the stars with you for a long time.”
She sighed and Hans kissed her again as the Ferris wheel swooped toward the ground. His lips pulled away from hers and he gasped. “I think I just saw your mother!”
Greta spun around in her seat to check out the crowd, but the ride rose into the air. She shaded her eyes. “I do see a woman with red hair down there.”
The Ferris wheel brought them to ground level again, but the woman was too far away to see. They had to wait for five more rotations of the big wheel before they could finally get off and run down the midway.
Greta held Hans’ hand as they darted through the crowd, trying to catch a glimpse of that fiery red hair again. “There!” Hans pointed ahead of them.
They jogged toward the woman who was walking next to a man, pushing a small cart. The sign read: Piper’s Pickled Produce.
“That’s them!” Greta cried. “Mom! Mr. Piper!”
The older couple turned around. Greta’s mom’s face turned white, while Mr. Piper’s eyes bulged.
“What are you doing?” Hans asked. “Why did you take off and leave us?”
Greta’s mom wrung her hands. “Oh, I know we shouldn’t have done it. But we just didn’t want to sell our recipe. And it was so hard to say no and turn down all that money. To disappoint you two.”
“But why say no? I don’t understand,” Greta said. “We were going to be able to quit farming and canning. Spending all those long hours at the farmer’s market.”
“I know. But we love doing all those things. And if we sign away the rights to my recipes, then what will be left to sell?” Greta’s mom said.
“But why run off?” Hans asked.
“We didn’t want you to talk us out of it,” Greta’s mother said.
Mr. Piper set his hand on Hans’ shoulder. “I’m sorry son. It was my idea. Margaret always talked about the summer she came here when she was a child. I wanted to bring her back here and we thought it would be a great place to sell our stuff.”
“I’ve looked everywhere for you two. How long have you been here?” Greta asked.
“A few days,” her mom said.
“I can’t believe I missed you all this time.” Greta shook her head, laughing softly. “I’m just glad we found you.”
“What are you going to do now? You’re going to run out of stock soon,” Hans said.
Her mother shrugged. “Then we’ll go home and make more. But we do need to talk to you two.” She reached for Mr. Piper’s hand and squeezed it. “Peter and I would like to live together. And we’re not sure how you’re going to feel about that. He wants to move in with me.”
Grinning, Hans put his arm around Greta. “Then you should know that Greta and I are a couple now. And someday, Greta can move in with me. We’ll get married and have a bunch of kids and sit around the fire at our pickling parties.”
Mr. Piper slapped his knee. “I knew it. I knew you two would smarten up one of these days.”
“Yeah, turns out we were both too stupid to admit what we really wanted,” Greta said. “And we might not have realized it if you two hadn’t run away. So thanks.”
“You’re not upset about the Golden Egg deal?” her mom asked.
Greta squeezed Hans’ hand. “I’ve got something even better.”
Hans wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against him. “And I’ve got some new ideas for things we could sell at the farmer’s market. You see how they fry everything here?”
“One of these stalls has a fried stick of butter for sale, I swear it,” Greta’s mom said.
“Well, we’re going to do that with sugar: candied beets, candied pears, even candied pickles. It’ll be huge, I just know it.”
“Where ever did you get that idea?” Mr. Piper asked.
“This shop where I’ve been working. Women really love sugar. Come on. I’ll show you,” Hans said.
“No!” Greta stopped. “I’m not sure I can get you out of there alive again.” She looked at their parents. “That’s a long story for another day.”
“So when will we see you two back home?” Hans asked.
“When we run out of stock,” Greta’s mom answered.
They said goodbye to their parents, linked hands, and walked along the midway. “What now?” Greta asked.
Hans grinned at her. “A few more rides? I like it here. We should make the trip more often—we’ll just steer clear of Fantasy Candy.”
Greta laughed and nodded. “Let’s stay a few more days. You didn’t get to see much while you were locked away in the candy shop.” She lifted a shoulder and tried to hide her smile. “But…we’ll need to get a hotel room.”
He stared at her, and his grip on her hand tightened. “Yes, we will.” He cleared his throat and lowered his voice. “Maybe we should start looking now.”
Breathless, she nodded. “Absolutely.”
He grabbed her hand and they hurried toward the luxury hotels along the beach to begin what they should’ve started long ago.
Let Down Your Hair
Rachel stood backstage and peeked out at the audience gathered for her show. Half the seats were filled, so she scanned the crowd to pick out the cutest guy. During her performance she liked to imagine the guy she’d chosen was hers. Sometimes the pretend boyfriend even came up on stage. But they were always disappointing jerks. Neverland Island didn’t seem to attract the sweet, wonderful men she read about in romance novels.
She spotted a beautiful couple in front holding hands. The guy was wearing a T-shirt that said “Piper’s Peppers.” I’ll bet they’re hot peppers, she thought. With his wavy blond hair, faded jeans and cowboy boots, he could be on the cover of one of her romances. He’s the one. She’d let her imagination run wild with him while she endured the show.
It was the second week of the season, and already she was bored. She gathered her hair and draped it over her outstretched arm as she waited behind the curtain for her mother’s cue. Onstage, her mother told the tale of a forlorn princess from a faraway land, who was hoping to find her prince. The poor girl was too despondent to even cut her hair until she found her one true love.
Rachel was no princess, but the despondent part was right. Or maybe it was more like resigned. She hated working the carnival circuit. Sure, once upon a time when she was a kid it had been fun. A perfect distraction from the reason they’d left their tiny town to live on the road. But she wasn’t a kid anymore. She wanted to attend college now that she’d finished her home schooling. When Rachel had brought up that idea, her mother lapsed into a fit of tears, accusing Rachel of leaving her penniless. “How will I live without you? How can I make money without you and your hair? I’ve worked so long and so hard to keep you safe, and now you want to leave me?” Plus there was that horrid thing—that ho
rrid thing Rachel hid because it left her undesirable for any man.
So that’s why at age twenty Rachel was still playing the part of the forlorn princess. Maybe that was the right word. Forlorn. She was definitely forlorn.
Overhead, the music soared. Rachel waited for her cue. Finally, it came. “And some say she is the most beautiful princess in the world.” She glided out onto the stage in her pale blue gown, dramatically rushing from side to side, as if looking for someone. She let her long, blond hair fall to the ground, shading her eyes with her hand so she could scour the crowd for Mr. Right. The audience always gasped as her hair tumbled out of her hands, and today was no different.
After a few more minutes of sweeping about the stage to show the true, amazing length of her hair, she snuck a peek at the blond hottie. He was holding his girlfriend’s hand. Kind of ruined the mood. Rachel settled onto the throne in the middle of the stage, her hair spilling over one side of the chair. She tried to look sad. It wasn’t hard.
“Poor, poor Rapunzel,” her mother said. That was the fancy princess name her mother had made up for her. She hated it, but her mother had commissioned the sign to be made before asking Rachel for her opinion, so there was no changing it. They’d been doing this show since Rachel was twelve, when her hair had grown down to her feet. Now it was five feet longer and dragged behind her. Her mother insisted on washing and drying it daily—a four-hour job.
And the worst part? Rachel couldn’t even walk around Neverland Island between her acts because her mother felt that would give people a free show. Plus, staying in the RV meant staying safe. At least, that’s what her mother said. So Rachel was confined to their RV. The only time she ever left it was when they were on the road in-between shows. Even then, her freedom didn’t last long.
While the audience ogled Rachel, her mother looked out over the crowd. “Are there any noble men here who might be princess Rapunzel’s true love?” she asked.
Lots of hands went up. This was the part of the show where men jumped onstage performing silly tricks to earn the chance to kneel before Princess Rapunzel and see if she would deem them worthy of her love. She never did of course, but it was a great photo opportunity for the crowds. When the show was over, people lined up to pose next to her for five dollars a picture. Luckily, as part of her woeful act, she wasn’t forced to smile. It was hard to remember the last time she had.
Blond hottie didn’t volunteer, but a college-aged guy came up on stage. Even sitting a few feet away, she could smell the beer on him.
“And why should Princess Rapunzel choose you?” her mother asked in her fake somewhere-from-Europe accent.
The guy rolled up his sleeves and flexed his muscles. That’s what most guys did. Sometimes, they’d dance. One guy even did a few flips. But for the most part, men thought flexing their muscles would suffice.
The guy continued his pathetic display while girls in the audience chanted, “Take it off! Take it off!”
Rachel rolled her eyes as the guy pulled off his shirt. He was nicely built, with tanned muscles, but if Rachel were to ever choose a boyfriend, it wouldn’t be a show-off like this bozo. She wanted someone quiet and strong. Someone who didn’t have to be the center of attention. This guy was more jester than knight. Rachel wanted someone who would take her away from all this. Perhaps she spent too much time reading those silly love stories, but that’s what she dreamed of.
Once the guy finished flexing for the crowd, her mother commanded, “Kneel before royalty and see if Rapunzel will have you.”
Fighting back a smile, the guy strutted over, knelt in front of her and whispered, “I’ll have you out back after the show if you’re interested.”
Rachel wanted to kick him in the head. Instead, she looked away and shook her head no while his buddies gathered in front of the stage taking pictures with their phones. The guy pretended to be dejected and stood in front of the crowd, while soaking up the ‘awws’from the sympathetic audience. Then he jumped off the stage and met up with his friends, who clapped him on the back.
Rachel looked out over the crowd, wondering who’d be next. She did a double take. A guy stood in back wearing a suit of armor. The stage lights glinted off his helmet. There was a knight in literal shining armor right there in the crowd. Was this some idiot thinking a stunt like this would get her to deem him worthy of her love?
But he didn’t join the line of men waiting to meet her on stage. After denying three more suitors, she looked for the man in the armor, but he was gone.
She posed for pictures with kids from the audience, and endured dozens of strangers fondling her hair. Some yanked on it to be sure it wasn’t a wig. Finally, the last picture was taken and she went backstage. She changed out of her heavy gown into the robe she’d left in a heap on the floor when she’d gotten dressed.
“You seem distracted tonight,” her mother said. “What’s wrong?”
“There was a guy in the audience wearing armor. Are you adding something new to the show?” Rachel asked, winding her hair around her arm like a silky python.
Mother’s thinly plucked brows raised. “No. I didn’t see him.”
“He was there for at least ten minutes,” Rachel said. “It was weird. No one else noticed him because he was standing in the back.” Once all of her hair was twined around her arm, she slipped out her hand and tied the loops with a few strong ribbons so the bundle wouldn’t unfurl. She carried it under one arm like a coil of rope. Sometimes she put it in a shoulder bag as if it was a purse pooch.
“That is strange. I’ll see what I can find out. I’m going out with friends tonight after dinner. What do you want to eat? A corndog?” her mother asked.
“Can I look around and see what they have this year?” Rachel asked.
Her mother laughed. “And give everyone a free show? I don’t think so. Besides, what if someone saw your…”
Rachel held up a hand. “I know. But it’s all covered up.”
Mother inspected her perfect nails. No matter what their financial situation was, mother always had a manicure. “Baby, I’m just trying to protect you.”
“You can’t protect me forever.”
Mother didn’t react to the desperation in her voice. “But for now I can.” She patted Rachel’s hand. “So what will it be? Pizza or a corndog? That TV show you like is on tonight. And I got you all those new books.”
Rachel kicked at a pebble. “I’m sick of being in the RV all the time.”
Her mother looked up at the sky and sighed. “We’ve been over this. The life we live is the best way to keep you safe.”
A scream was working its way up Rachel’s throat, and she swallowed it back. “It’s been so long since The Woodsman came after me. We’ve never had any indication he’s onto us.”
“Because of all the precautions I take!” Her mother pinched the bridge of her nose. “You’re so ungrateful. What I wouldn’t give to be able to sit around and relax all the time. When I was your age I was taking off my clothes to support you. And here you have the gall to complain about being treated like a princess. Literally, being treated like a princess. That’s your job. People would pay for the privilege.”
Rachel sighed. It was hardly the luxurious life of a princess. It was more like being locked in a prison. “I’m sorry. I just get lonely. Sometimes it’s really boring being by myself. I’ll read a good book or something tonight. And I’ll have pizza for dinner.”
“See? You’re the princess and I’m your servant. You’re a very lucky girl.” Her mother kissed Rachel’s head. “I’ll be back soon. Now, get inside.” She held open the RV door and waited for Rachel to climb inside it.
Rachel gripped her coils of hair and walked up the three steps into her dungeon. She listened for the snap of the lock, as her mother shut her in for the night.
Rachel went to her bedroom and took off her robe and boots, being careful not to look at that “horrid thing” as her mother called it. She slipped on a long nightgown that also covered tha
t “horrid thing” and sat on her bed. She pushed back the curtain and peered through the window, her cheek pressed against the cold metal frame. She couldn’t see much of the bustling alleyway known as Side Show Row. But, sometimes she saw interesting situations in her sliver of the world, so she grabbed the camera off her desk to take a closer look with her zoom lens. She focused on the tiny section of activity between their stage and the trained house pets show next door.
Once in a while she’d hear a cat meow or a dog bark, but they mustn’t have minded being locked up after their shows, because she didn’t hear them too often. Last year, she’d snapped a picture of a loose cockatoo trying to fly away. It only made it as far as her trailer because of its clipped wings. The same thing would probably happen to her if she tried to run—she wouldn’t get far. Anyway, where would she go? Who’d want her? This was her life, and as her mother liked to remind her, it wasn’t that bad.
She examined people as they walked by, getting only a two-second glimpse of them. She snapped a picture of a girl holding a giant stick of cotton candy that had to have been half as big as she was. Next, a guy walked by with his arm slung around a woman, kissing her as they walked along. Rachel liked seeing couples best of all. She spent hours imagining what it would really be like to be in love. She hadn’t a clue beyond what she read about in books and saw on TV.
After Rachel finished taking a few more pictures, Mother returned with a slice of pizza and a cherry slushee. “A feast for a queen,” she said, handing Rachel the food. “Now don’t stay up too late. It’s hard to get rid of those dark circles when you aren’t rested. And spend some time on that exercise bike. Your zipper seemed a bit snug today.”
“Yes, mother,” Rachel said, still sitting on her bed. She took the food and leaned against the wall. She didn’t even turn on the TV. She closed her eyes and listened to the outside noises: shouts of laughter, cries of the seagulls, the drone of vendors hawking their goods. Of all the carnivals they visited each year, she liked the sounds of Neverland Island the best. Their RV was situated far from the games, but was close to the merry-go-round. The sound of the carousel music always lulled her to sleep.
