The Daughters Grimm

by Minda Webber

  “Hmph. I’ll buy a fur-lined cloak,” Rolpe managed to say. But he didn’t take his eyes off Greta as the children piled into the carriage. “I enjoy my bachelor existence and sampling the charms of each pretty new face. Alas, my old friend, I am not yet ready to be tied down. I like holding a different woman whenever I want, and taking my leave when I’m ready. No one female will ever be enough, not even her. Not even Greta.”

  Fen smiled. Rolpe was a ladies’ man, charming all with his wolfish wit and intensity. Yet it appeared that, ready to be tied down or not, the trap had already been sprung; his good friend was just too stubborn to see he was caught.

  “Did I mention I’ve acquired a new cuckoo clock?” Fen asked.

  “I wonder what Greta’s fortune will be?” Rolpe remarked. “With her propensity for stirring up trouble, I wouldn’t be surprised if Fräulein Hines draws the Death card.”

  “It’s very rare,” Fen said, holding his clock and staring at it. “Only a dozen were ever made.”

  “She knows Spanish, did you know that?”

  “It cost a bundle. The cuckoos are purple. With a dragon’s face on half of them,” Fen added, amused by the prince’s total obliviousness. It was evident to everyone but Rolpe that he had caught the scent of his mate and was on the prowl. “Probably should be called a dragon clock. It can actually fly at the witching hour, too!”

  “Ah, that’s good. Did you know that she was seen waltzing two waltzes with that Herr Mozart fellow last night? Of course, she is taller than he is, and the man never speaks of anything beyond sonatas and marches, so I think—”

  “I’m going to say good-bye to my brood.”

  Rolpe watched Greta climb back inside her large traveling barouche; then his attention was drawn back to Fen. “What did you say?”

  “I’m going to wish them good-bye.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Rolpe said. “I didn’t get to say hello to the children when I arrived.”

  “Of course.” Fen did not break stride, nor did he crack a grin. The older Grimm girl might be just the woman Rolpe needed…and wanted, as well. Yes, the charming, roguish prince’s bachelor days were numbered. Fen could see the writing on the wall.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Are We There Yet?

  “He was mad about my prank, very mad. But it all worked out in the end,” Rae whispered to her sister as they rode.

  Greta smiled. “I knew the baron was a reasonable man.”

  “That’s debatable. He thinks I’m jealous,” Rae said petulantly, wanting to spell it all out for Greta. But she was all too aware of the little ears here, there and everywhere. Of course, the little ears were most likely too busy listening to howls of complaint as the barbaric brood shoved each other around the barouche. “I’ve never had to be jealous of a man before.”

  Greta ducked, dodging another flying elbow. As she did, she wedged her body further back upon the seat. She was crammed in the carriage so tightly that she felt she was back at home with her mother lacing up her stays, but she managed to say, “Well, there’s no time like the present. Besides, I do believe he might be worth it.” Then she watched in rather stunned disbelief as Rae’s hat was knocked from her head and her curls spilled everywhere. Instead of pouting or crying, Rae simply reached out and cuffed Ernst on his devious towhead.

  Merri, sitting beside Rae, flapped her arms and complained for the tenth time, “I don’t like it in here. It’s too crowded, and I want a window seat. I think this is a stupid idea.”

  Poppy asked for the sixteenth time in the four miles they had come, “Are we there yet?”

  Greta again replied kindly, “No dear, just a few more miles.” She had hoped to sit back in the carriage and think of Prince von Hanzen. Her heart had leapt with joy today as he stood by the carriage with the baron and wished them a good journey. Ha! Good journey, indeed.

  “Are you sure we aren’t there?” Poppy asked, hopping up and down. Ernst stuck his tongue out at her. Nap rolled his eyes, along with Quinn.

  “I notice that the prince watched you as we took our leave,” Rae murmured, dodging a flying knee. “Poppy, the carriage is too small for leap frog. Ernst, stop sticking your tongue out at your sister. Nap, quit laughing and watch your elbows.”

  “Do you think so?” Greta asked. “He seemed to pay equal attention to all of us.”

  “Not quite equal, because he watched the carriage as we left. I think he finds you very attractive—which should make me pea-green with envy,” Rae said as she pushed Alden gently back down on his seat. “Alden, don’t chew on your lamp. It looks bad enough already.” Turning her attention back to Greta, she added a tad sourly, “You do realize that if you wed with him, you’ll be a princess. Everyone in Cornwall will think I’ve gotten my comeuppance. I was to be the one to marry royalty.” A tiny frown turned her mouth downward.

  The grin disappeared from Greta’s face. “Whoever said anything about weddings? The prince is nothing but a womanizing rogue.”

  Rae regretted having embarrassed her sister with her silly complaint. “You’ll make a lovely princess, and I hear that rakes make the best husbands once they find their way. And by the way he watches you, I do believe the poor prince is smitten.”

  Greta returned Rae’s smile, then moved her knees so Ernst could step around her and look out the carriage window.

  “Oh, do sit down, Ernst!” Rae demanded. “A view of your backside is not so pleasant. And please stop stepping upon my feet.”

  “I’m telling Papa you said backside,” Shyla said. “And we don’t like your backside, either.”

  Rae let out a chuckle. “That’s perfectly fine by me.” Your father certainly does, she didn’t add, lust filling her heart. He fondled it all night long. For the first time in a great while, Rae was well and truly content with her life. Mayhap being a princess wasn’t as exciting as it sounded.

  Patting her sister’s knee, she added sincerely, “You just wait. I see weddings—perchance a June bride?”

  Alden, who had been born a little tyrant, took exception to being ignored by his siblings and pretty new stepmother. Crawling to her ankle, he tried to bite, only to encounter hard leather; so with a devious glint in his eyes, he leapt up at his stepmother’s soft white hands. Just as quickly Rae jerked back from the jaws of doom, frowning down at the vicious little creature.

  “So, it’s now my hands, is it?” she asked. Evidently, since she was wearing sturdy boots, the littlest Schortz was looking for an easier meal. Apparently she would have to wear the boots morning, noon and night to remain unbitten.

  Gently she tapped the child with her muff. “Don’t bite the hand that feeds you,” she said, giving the ravenous little creature the evil eye. “Even if she is your stepmother.”

  “If you act mean to us, Papa will send you to bed without supper,” Ernst warned, relishing the thought.

  Rae fought the sudden urge to stick her tongue out at the little heathen. “How wonderful. Then I can feast upon little plump children with blond curls in the dead of night,” she replied, her expression intense as she eyed the little boy with a ferocious grin.

  Unfortunately for both Grimm sisters, Alden’s bite was on par with his howl, and at Rae’s comment he chose to do just that. Not to be outdone by his howl, Shyla squealed at the top of her lungs in false terror. Soon Poppy and Ernst joined in the merrymaking.

  “She’s going to eat us all up!”

  Greta winced, feeling sweat form on her brow, her heart hammering in her chest. As another fist flew by her face, she shrank back against her seat, feeling as if she were under attack by a horde of pillaging Vikings or fire-breathing demons. As she did so, she noted that the little girl with the perfect golden girls and pretty pink frilly smock had some very formidable lungs.

  “Don’t wrinkle my pretty new smock. It has pink ribbons,” the girl cried.

  Greta wanted to howl with both annoyance and laughter. Rae’s marriage was not only a financial gain; it was the making of
her. Greta was actually in awe of her composure. She was handling this situation with great aplomb and cool daring. Military commanders could take lessons.

  “Ouch! I’m not a pastry, Alden.” Rae yanked a curl out of the child’s grubby little fist, for he was attempting to chew it. Turning to glare at the deviant little feaster, she then shook her head and turned back to Greta. “I certainly hope no one of import is at the fortune-teller’s, for my hair is a mess and my dress is wrinkled. But then, so is yours.”

  Greta had to shout to be heard. “How can you stand it?”

  “What, all this? Why, sister dear, I fear for my very life, not to mention my sanity. This is some of their better behavior.”

  “But why in heaven’s name aren’t you sulking?” Greta asked. She’d been pondering that very question for the last five miles. Carefully, she studied her sister’s content expression. “At any rate, I must say that your change of heart is delightfully refreshing.”

  Rae smiled a secret smile.

  Poppy clearly wanted to comment. She leaned over Rae’s shoulder and patted her on the head, saying to Greta, “We’ve gotten a pretty new stepmama. She lets me play with her kitten that Quinn gave her, and she sleeps in Papa’s bed now.”

  “Oho!” It hit Greta like a bolt of lightning that Rae had done her wifely duty. Which meant not only was her sister happy, but that she’d be perfectly able to tell all about the wedding night and wifely duties. Greta grinned merrily. Rae looked radiant.

  Greta wanted to question her sister thoroughly about the mysteries of wedding nights and closed bedchamber doors; however, she reluctantly managed to restrain her curiosity, knowing full well that the carriage had ears. Underage ones.

  “Ja,” Rae whispered, smiling. “Better than ja. It’s beyond wonderful.”

  “You’re learning German? Will wonders never cease!” Indeed, it was a miracle. Her sister was changing, growing, and Greta would have clapped her hands with joy if the little girl Merri wasn’t sitting on one of them.

  “Come down from the window, Poppy, you wretched little monkey. A lady doesn’t show her limbs,” Rae instructed, pulling on the little girl’s leg. Her command was firm if her eyes were lit with affection. “Remind you of anyone—such as Taylor?” she remarked to Greta. Both sisters grinned as they recalled their sister’s youth.

  “Nein. You’ll eat me all up,” Poppy teased, clinging to the window and enjoying her view. “I’z an eagle.”

  “I’m hungry. I’m tired and I think I’m going to be sick,” Merri grumbled. “Carriage rides always make me sick.”

  “Merri, Merri, quite contrary,” Nap taunted.

  Leaning over, Rae patted the girl on the shoulder. “Just be patient. I’m sure the gingerbread house will have plenty to offer.”

  “I could eat the whole house,” Ernst boasted.

  “No you can’t. But I can,” Quinn argued, laughing. “My stomach is bigger than yours, and Papa always says I eat more.” Quinn patted himself proudly.

  As Nap shoved Alden off, a number of complaints filled the carriage.

  “Get your knee out of my rib cage, you tiny little blighter!”

  “Stop biting my elbow, you little monster.”

  “Wipe your mouth—good grief, not on my new muff!”

  “Nap, stop rocking the carriage right this minute!”

  “Was that your foot in my backside, Ernst?”

  “I’m telling Papa you said backside!”

  “Are we there yet?” the second youngest asked again.

  “Yes!” Rae and Greta announced in unison, for indeed they had finally arrived at the gingerbread house. One of the boys climbed halfway out the other window to take a gander, while inside, cries of “Stop pulling my hair” were heard by one and all.

  Fräulein Hines, who had heard the ruckus outside her little cottage, bravely opened the door. She stood on the front porch studiously surveying the odd scene. Her companion and maid stood there wide-eyed, her mouth forming a perfect O.

  From his lookout, Quinn called, “It’s not real gingerbread, and there’s no lemon drops!”

  A great deal of shoving, howling and groaning accompanied this gloomy declaration, and then came a gradual unloading of the swaying vehicle. Fräulein Hines watched a small boy of no more than four crawl out the window and be helped down by the driver. Next a little girl exited, her skirts rucked up about her knees as she waved gaily. “Are you the wicked witch?”

  “Don’t be rude,” said a stunning woman with a messy hairdo as she stuck her head out the carriage window. “I’m sorry about that,” she apologized. “She has few manners. I’ve only been her stepmother a short while.” The head disappeared back inside the carriage, and more complaints burst forth.

  “If you’d move your foot I think I can manage to pry you loose, Sister.”

  “I want candied apples!”

  “I think I’m going to be sick!”

  At last, the carriage was empty. And Rae wasn’t sure, but she thought the house cringed as the children approached.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  The Death Card

  For want of a nail, the shoe was lost. For want of a shoe, the horse was lost. For want of a horse, the battle was lost. For want of a good cookie, a temper was lost—and then the kingdom, which was Fräulein Hines’s mantra. Thus her pretty little house was always filled with the smells of baking gingerbread and light fluffy cakes.

  As her guests were seated, Fräulein Hines filled a plate with fresh gingerbread men and set it down, a sacrificial offering amongst a gluttonous horde of children. Greta had meanwhile pulled Rae aside, confiding, “I want to hear everything as soon as these prying little ears are out of sight.”

  Rae blushed, but nodded. “But, Greta, don’t you mean out of hearing?”

  Now that the children were occupied, Fräulein Hines seated Rae and began to read her fortune. Greta studied her as the woman shuffled her tarot cards. The fräulein was at least in her seventies, with very bony, long fingers and a thin pinched face scored by dozens of wrinkles. The first card she turned over was the Chariot. “This is the card of movement. Movement that has made you ill at ease.”

  “Well, I have had more pleasant carriage rides,” Rae replied.

  “That is not what I speak of. Ja, there has been great change in your life recently, and I think you were not happy about this at first.”

  Both Rae and Greta glanced at each other, and then Rae shrugged her shoulders. “You could have heard this from gossips. I was recently forced into marriage.”

  “Ah, but there is no force involved anymore, is there?” the fräulein asked, turning over the Fool.

  Rae blushed, and Greta smiled.

  “This man you did not seek for a husband is exactly the husband you need. The baron is your destiny.” Fräulein Hines glanced over to where the children were busy consuming another pan of gingerbread that the maid had set out. Two of the boys were rolling on the ground like demented raccoons, while the others were chattering and howling with laughter. They were making enough noise to make her glad she had never married. “These children…Their loss was great. Their mother was very special. But even broken hearts mend with kindness and love.”

  Rae smiled at Greta, then turned back to the table. The old woman turned over the last card. A frown appeared as she said, “This one is the Devil, and it warns of trickery, deceit and treachery.”

  Rae nodded sagely. “How true. You’ve just described life with them.”

  Fräulein Hines studied the younger woman, a strange glint in her eye. She opened her mouth to speak, then decided to remain silent.

  “Is that all you can tell me? What of my husband—will he grow to love me? Will we be happy together? Will my sister, Faye, find a husband?”

  The fräulein held up a hand. “Some things I cannot see, but I will tell you this. You must search your heart. All things are possible with hope and love. Baroness Schortz, you are more fortunate than most in your marriage. The baron
is a man who will move aside to let his wife walk beside him if he feels true affection for her. And yes, your sister Faye will marry—in the not too distant future.”

  Rae sat back, smiling, and Greta was impressed with the old woman’s words. Still, this kind old dear was not a witch, although she did have boiling cauldrons in the room—Greta knew this because in her first moments inside the cottage she’d managed to sneak a peek into them. But she’d been doomed to disappointment, for all they contained were little balls of rolled dough. Also, the old Prussian woman’s cat was deep orange in color, not black.

  Suddenly, Shyla and Merri appeared at the old woman’s side. “Can you tell me if I’m going to marry a king someday?” Shyla asked. “I’m very beautiful; everyone says so. So I should marry a king or at least a prince, because he will want to marry the fairest maiden in the land.”

  Greta looked over the little girl’s head at Rae. Her sister raised a brow.

  Rae mouthed, “Surely I never sounded like that!”

  Greta nodded.

  The old woman shuffled her cards for the young girl and drew the Star. “You will marry well, and your husband will be of a royal house.”

  Shyla smiled, content. Turning to Merri, she nudged her. “See, Merri? I get to marry a king because of my golden locks and pretty blue eyes. You have brown hair and funny gray eyes, so you’ll have to marry a blacksmith or a peddler.”

  Greta shook her head, her lips fixed in an amused smile. “My, my, just like old times.”

  Ignoring her sister, Rae corrected her stepdaughter. “That’s not polite, Shyla. Fräulein Hines didn’t say you would marry a king. Besides, kings want to marry ladies who are as kind as they are beautiful.” Putting a gold coin on the table, she stared hard at the fortune-teller and said, “I would guess that Merri will marry a prince or mayhap a duke.”