She put her hands on her sisters’ and something happened. Her hands started to glow, just a little, like the rapunzel flower, and the light was spreading into her sisters like cascading fireworks. The light started to grow within them, causing them to glow, just a little, making them look more alive, the color returning to their faces.
“Hazel! Primrose! Are you there?” They didn’t answer. They were quiet and still. They were dead. But the power of the flower was doing something. Gothel looked down at her hands and saw that they were old and withered again, like bone covered in skin. Her sisters had taken all of the rapunzel’s healing powers from her. She ran to the chests to see if one of her mother’s mirrors was packed away, and found one she didn’t recognize among some of her mother’s other things.
She gasped. Her hair was entirely silver, and her face was withered and gray, like an old apple doll. She was so much older than she’d even realized. If she didn’t get to the flower now, she would die.
She went to the cellar door to listen for voices. Maybe she could sneak out and get the flower before the soldiers came. But she heard Mrs. Tiddlebottom talking with someone in the kitchen.
“Oh, a glowing flower, you say? Well, I suppose you will find it out there with the other wildflowers. I sometimes see something glowing in the field out there, but I just thought it was fireflies. You’re more than welcome to go out and look for it, kind sirs. By all means, if the King wants it, he is welcome to it! I’m just an old lady surrounded by beautiful flowers. What’s one flower to me if the King wants it?”
The soldiers laughed. “You don’t seem like a demon witch of the dead to us!”
Mrs. Tiddlebottom laughed with them. “My goodness, no! Whatever gave you that idea?”
“We were told the queen of the dead took refuge here with the last of her flowers, but clearly that information isn’t correct.”
Mrs. Tiddlebottom laughed again. “Imagine me, queen of anything!” She was laughing heartily until she saw an old beggar woman creeping in the far end of the field near the sea cliff. “Oh!”
“What is it?” asked the King’s soldiers.
“Oh, nothing, dears. It just occurred to me that you’re likely hungry and thirsty after your long journey. Please sit down and have a slice of hazelnut cake and some tea.”
“Oh, we can’t, ma’am, but thank you,” said a lanky soldier. He seemed to be all arms and legs, like a giant friendly scarecrow with straw yellow hair.
“Oh, I insist, good sir! The flower will still be there when you’re done. I can’t send you back to the castle with empty stomachs! What will the King think of poor old Mrs. Tiddlebottom if she sends his soldiers back with rumbling stomachs?” Mrs. Tiddlebottom took out the cake tin and opened it. “Now just look at this cake and tell me you don’t want a slice. It’s chocolate hazelnut!”
“Maybe just one slice,” the lanky soldier said, taking a seat at the kitchen table. “Can we manage some for my men as well?”
“Oh yes! And some tea! You can’t have cake without tea! I’ll put the kettle on! Now sit yourselves down right here while I make it!” She sat them with their backs to the window facing the field, where she saw a woman hovering over the glowing flower, its light becoming more pronounced as she spoke to it. Then the woman, old and haggard, saw Mrs. Tiddlebottom looking at her, so she quickly hid her face in the hood of her cloak and covered the flower with a basket.
“Now who is that?” muttered Mrs. Tiddlebottom, doubting it was Gothel as she had feared.
“Who is what, ma’am?” asked the guards, turning around to see what she was looking at. “Do you know who that is, ma’am?”
Mrs. Tiddlebottom shook her head as the soldiers ran out the kitchen door to the field. “It might be someone trying to take the flower!” she yelled, hoping if it was Gothel, she would hear her and hide herself away before the soldiers reached her.
Within moments Mrs. Tiddlebottom could see the light of the flower coming nearer and nearer as the soldiers made their way back to the house. “Ah, so this is what all the fuss is about?” asked Mrs. Tiddlebottom. “I never even knew I had it in my garden.” The soldiers seemed to be eyeing her differently than they had before. “Now that you have your flower, would you still like that piece of cake?” she asked, pretending she hadn’t noticed the change in their demeanor.
“Who was that in the field?” asked one of the soldiers. He was a hairy beast of a man, a bit like a great bear, with one long eyebrow.
“I wouldn’t know, dear!” she said offhandedly. “Come back inside and have your tea.”
“And you wouldn’t be trying to distract us with cake and tea so someone could take the flower right out from under us, would you? Trying to hoard it for yourself?” he asked, giving her the eye.
“My goodness, no! I don’t even know what the flower does or why the King would want it! I didn’t even know I had it!”
“Is that so?” asked the hairy soldier, but before she could answer, they were distracted by a terrible crash.
“What was that?” asked the lanky blond soldier, looking toward the cellar.
Mrs. Tiddlebottom started to panic. “Oh, just rats! I have the cellar locked up until I can get the rat catcher here. They’re terrible, those rats! I’m afraid to go down there!”
The soldiers were still giving her the eye. “Perhaps we’d better go down there and check,” the lanky soldier said, but Mrs. Tiddlebottom changed the subject.
“So, this is the flower, is it? The source of all this fuss. So tell me, what does it do?”
The soldier clutched it a little tighter as Mrs. Tiddlebottom went near him. “It heals ailments, including old age,” he said, looking at Mrs. Tiddlebottom’s heavily lined face.
“Ah! I wish I’d known I had it, then! I might have used it on myself!” she said, laughing, and the soldier softened to her once again. “I don’t know anything about magical flowers, but I do know a thing or two about regular ones, and I know they can die unless they’re potted properly. Let me go get you something to transport the flower. I won’t be more than a minute! We don’t want it dying before you get it to the Queen.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” said the soldier, clearly feeling foolish for suspecting such a sweet elderly woman.
She returned with a flowerpot filled with soil. “Now let me take care of that!” she said as she snatched the flower out of the soldier’s hands and proceeded to tuck the flower’s roots gently into the soft soil.
“This will do fine!” she said, hoping they had forgotten about that noise they’d heard in the cellar.
“Now, who wants a piece of old Mrs. Tiddlebottom’s famous chocolate hazelnut cake?”
The soldiers had taken their time eating cake and drinking their tea. It wasn’t until sunrise that Mrs. Tiddlebottom saw them off with baskets bursting with ham and cheese sandwiches, a walnut cake, chocolate cookies, and other baked treats. “Thank you, Mrs. T!” called one of the soldiers as they started back to the kingdom.
“Good-bye, dears,” she said, waving them away with a big smile on her face until she saw them disappear over the bridge. Gothel was waiting for her at the cellar door when she opened it.
“You poor dear! Come out of that cellar!”
“You were very impressive with those soldiers, Mrs. T! You really were! I think you’ve dispelled any notions that the queen of the dead lingers here.”
“And does she?” asked the old woman. “Never mind,” she said. “I don’t want to know.”
“I’m the queen of nothing,” said Gothel, sitting on a chair and catching her breath.
“Was that you lurking out there in the field, my lady? I thought it was you, but…”
Gothel sighed. “I’m afraid that’s another question you’d rather I not answer.”
“Too right! Well then, what will you do now?” she asked, getting fresh teacups from the shelf and taking out the tea tin.
“I’m going to take the flower back! I’m going to the kingdom, I’m
going to sneak in the castle, and I’m going to take the flower back.”
“After all of this? After letting them take it, you’re going to go right after them and take it back? I’m sorry, my lady, but are you batty?”
“We’ve come to a point where you’re either going to hear the entire story or you agree to trust that I know what I’m doing and not ask me any questions. We can’t have it both ways.”
“Even if you do steal it, what makes you think they won’t just come back here looking for it?”
“And bother the sweet little old lady who sent them home with half the larder? An old woman who didn’t even know she had the flower to begin with? I don’t think so!”
Mrs. Tiddlebottom seemed to be taking what Gothel was saying into consideration. “True. True,” she said, filling the kettle with water and putting it on the stove. “I think you’re right.”
“Now listen, you don’t have to stay if you don’t wish. I wouldn’t blame you, Mrs. T. What you did last night was very dangerous, and I appreciate it. I really do. So if you’re uncomfortable with what I’m about to do, I completely understand. Just do me this one favor. Please stay here until I get back? You are free to go after I return if you’re afraid the soldiers will put it together that it was me who took the flower.”
“Has this to do with what you have hidden down in that cellar? Do I want to know what it is?”
“I will tell you if you really want me to.”
“No, Gothel. I don’t think I do.”
It had been weeks since Gothel ventured to the kingdom, leaving Mrs. Tiddlebottom alone to manage the house and be the keeper of the keys. Gothel had given her the keys to the cellar and the library to add to her ring of household keys, but told her not to enter either room. Mrs. Tiddlebottom felt like the French fairy tale bride who was given the keys to the chateau and told she was welcome to enter any room she wished except one. Of course, the French bride did it anyway. But that is another story altogether.
Unlike the French bride, Mrs. Tiddlebottom didn’t want to know what was in the cellar. The way she figured it, the less she knew, the better. Oh, she had her theories. And if she had allowed herself to sit down and think about it, she would have put it all together, and in reality, she had, but she chose to put it out of her mind. Over the years, Mrs. Tiddlebottom had become very good at avoiding trouble, and she wasn’t about to go falling into a deep pit of it now. Because that was what she foresaw: trouble. Not that she was a witch and saw things in that way, but she had common sense and could see Gothel was about to bring trouble upon all their heads. No need to make more trouble by going into that cellar. I don’t need to know what’s in there.
Besides, she knew what happened to the bride in that French fairy tale when she entered the forbidden room. She lost her head when her husband came home, and ended up in the bloody chamber with his other headless brides. The memory of that story gave Mrs. Tiddlebottom the shivers. Thinking of those poor girls’ bodies hung on rusty hooks in that room, their heads sitting under bell jars…Put it out of your mind, she told herself. She didn’t think Gothel would do such a thing to her, but Mrs. Tiddlebottom had made it her business not to go around tempting fate. Or getting her head chopped off. Not if she could help it.
Fairy tales are written for a reason, she thought.
They were cautionary tales. And Mrs. Tiddlebottom might have been an old woman, but she wasn’t stupid. She spent most of her days busying herself with the baking of pies and cakes. The kitchen was bursting with them, but she found that baking calmed her nerves, and she was, after all, very worried about Gothel. More weeks passed than she supposed might for Gothel to travel to the kingdom and back, and still there was no sign of Gothel. So Mrs. Tiddlebottom baked more pies and even more cakes and gave them to anyone who would take them.
And just when Mrs. Tiddlebottom started to worry something terrible had befallen her lady, Gothel arrived with a baby in her arms just like it was any other day.
“And who is this?” Mrs. Tiddlebottom asked, looking at the beautiful little creature in Gothel’s arms.
“This is my flower,” said Gothel. “We should probably find someone to care for her until she is older.” She handed the baby over to Mrs. Tiddlebottom like she was a sack of potatoes.
“Your flower looks an awful lot like a baby….”
“A baby whose mother ate my flower.”
“You mean this is the Princess? Gothel! What in fairy wings were you thinking of, taking this baby?”
“I didn’t have a choice! What would you have me do? Her father’s army destroyed my kingdom for something that didn’t belong to them, and gave it to his queen, who bequeathed it to this creature! She is the only flower left! If my mother were alive, she would have destroyed them and their entire kingdom! They’re lucky the only thing I took was their child!”
“I don’t know about this, Gothel! What must they be feeling now? It’s one thing to take your flower back, but to take their child…I just don’t know!” said Mrs. Tiddlebottom.
“She is my flower! The only one left of its kind. They destroyed almost everything I had and took my only hope of ever seeing my sisters alive again! They’re not the victims here, Mrs. T! I am!”
Gothel could see Mrs. Tiddlebottom wanted to ask her what she meant about her sisters but stopped herself. She seemed to be considering Gothel’s words for some time while looking at the little wriggling creature in her arms. Finally, she spoke.
“And what should we call her?”
“Rapunzel,” said Gothel, walking away from the old woman and the child and descending into the cellar without even looking back.
“Well then,” said Mrs. Tiddlebottom to the baby. “What are we going to do with you? We can’t very well hire some gossipy wet nurse, not when it’s certain you’ve been spirited away from the royal family.”
Gothel had become more reclusive since the odd sisters’ last visit, and since “the situation,” as Mrs. Tiddlebottom had called it. And she became even more so after she brought Rapunzel into their lives. She spent most of her time either down in the cellar or in her library. She would pop out once a day, take the baby into her arms, sing her a little song, and then rush back to whatever she was up to in the cellar.
With the help of her sister, Mrs. Tiddlebottom found a wet nurse for Rapunzel, one they paid handsomely to keep quiet about the baby. Mrs. Tiddlebottom had made up a story about one of Gothel’s sisters having the child out of wedlock and said that was the reason for the secrecy. Mrs. Tiddlebottom thought it was the perfect ruse. She knew her sister wouldn’t be able to keep the secret and would spread it far and wide. Gothel’s sisters were often mentioned by wagging tongues in the village, and Mrs. Tiddlebottom made sure lady Gothel was made out to be some sort of saint for taking on her sister’s burden. By all accounts, everyone in the village thought Gothel was like a fairy godmother to the child. Mrs. Tiddlebottom had made sure they paid Mrs. Pickle, the wet nurse, well, promising her the position of governess once the baby was older. And Mrs. Pickle was a marvel, which was a miracle to Mrs. Tiddlebottom, who needed more help than ever around the house. Mrs. Tiddlebottom often thought Mrs. Pickle had been sent to her from the gods to help her raise the baby. And Mrs. Pickle was happy to have a child and a family to care for, and a place to call home. She took the small room upstairs and shared it with Rapunzel so she would never be too far away from the child. She watched her like a hawk and was ferociously protective of her. She never spoke of it, not even with Mrs. Tiddlebottom, but the old woman knew that the poor Mrs. Pickle had lost her family in some tragic way, and that she was happy to have a means to occupy her time and fill her broken heart.
And so it went for many years while Rapunzel grew and flourished under the care of those doting women. Mrs. Tiddlebottom stuffed her with treats and smothered her with kisses at every opportunity, and Mrs. Pickle saw to her meals, baths, and daily excursions through the wildflower fields—always careful not to venture too far away from
home, else Lady Gothel would become anxious. And every day, like clockwork, Gothel would swoop in on the child once nightly before her bedtime to sing her a song and brush her hair, and then she would go directly back into the cellar, where she would spend her nights.
If it hadn’t been for the child, Mrs. Tiddlebottom likely would have left the household. Her mistress had become so peculiar, and she was so artificial when she spoke to the child, calling herself Mother, singing that same song, and never calling the girl by her name, always calling her “my flower.” It was all too odd for Mrs. Tiddlebottom, all too morbid. She couldn’t help wondering how Rapunzel’s parents had felt, how they must have missed their little girl, but she didn’t dare bring it up to Gothel, who by the year resembled her sisters, Ruby, Martha, and Lucinda, more than ever.
Gothel had taken to wearing her hair in ringlets and painting her face the way she remembered seeing those odd sisters of hers painting theirs on their last visit. It was as if she was trying to conjure them by dressing like them. A form of sympathetic magic. Gothel went on and on about bringing her sisters back when she saw fit to speak with Mrs. Tiddlebottom at all, which brought Mrs. Tiddlebottom nothing but confusion and vexation. But she decided to keep her thoughts to herself and focus her energy on giving little Rapunzel all the love and care she deserved, because she surely wasn’t getting it from her supposed mother.
Mrs. Tiddlebottom felt more than ever that she was an old woman trapped within a fairy tale, and the last thing she wanted was to end up hanging on a rusty hook in the bloody chamber. Or in a cellar.
And the very last thing she wanted was her head to end up in a bell jar.
No, that wouldn’t do, not at all. Not for Mrs. Tiddlebottom.
The years flew by at a manic pace. It seemed like only yesterday that Lady Gothel had brought the baby Rapunzel home, but before they knew it, Mrs. Tiddlebottom and Mrs. Pickle were preparing for Rapunzel’s eighth birthday celebration.
“Can you believe our little girl is turning eight?” asked Mrs. Tiddlebottom.
Mother Knows Best: A Tale of the Old Witch Page 15
