Maruska plucked flower after flower from the viridian patches beneath her feet until she had amassed a collection of violets worthy of the most finicky and disagreeable of stepsisters. After thanking each of her new friends with an affectionate kiss to the cheek, she hurried happily home, nearly colliding head-on with a gypsy tinker who had made the mistake of calling in at the trailer to offer his knife-sharpening services.
Already annoyed at having yet another potential husband slip through her fingers, Holena was even more put out upon seeing Maruska and her lavish offerings. A scowl of dismay took root upon the faces of both daughter and mother as a beaming Maruska came prancing through the front door, the sweet perfume of violets overwhelming the cramped rooms of the trailer within seconds of her arrival. “Wherever did you manage to find them?” choked Holena, rubbing the fragrant petals between thumb and forefinger as if suspecting they might be fake.
“On the top of the moor. There are hundreds of them!” cried Maruska, her joy at having been able to bring pleasure to her family streaming from her eyes.
Alas, such a joy would be all too fleeting. The very next morning Maruska was once again summoned by her stepsister, who, along with the mother, refused to be thwarted in their goal of ridding the household of this unwanted sibling. “Maruska, I do believe I fancy some strawberries. And I fancy them now.”
“But, dearest sister, wherever shall I find strawberries growing in all this snow?”
“You worthless good-for-nothing! You dare to answer me back?” roared Holena, her homely features distorted with hatred. “If you refuse to do as I ask, I shall beat you to a pulp—and, indeed, take great pleasure from doing so.” The stepmother grabbed hold of an astounded Maruska by the scruff of the neck and hurled her outside into the freezing cold, the trailer’s screen door clanging cruelly shut behind her.
Without even a dressing gown to warm her, Maruska roamed the moors for hours, the thin nightdress cloaking her shivering form clinging to her like a sodden skin. She thought of the old wood stove at home and the figures of her mother and sister in a cozy huddle before it with their third hot toddy of the day. The sky chose that moment to open up its gates, spilling still more of its snowy burdens onto this lone wanderer. Surely she would perish out here in the cold and wet, for there were no strawberries to be had, and yet she dared not return to the trailer without some. Just when all hope seemed lost, she saw a reddish-yellow light at the top of a craggy hill—in fact, the very same light that had drawn her to it the day before.
Maruska followed the familiar pathway up the snowy slope on two frozen sticks of leg, praying she would locate the warmth she sought before Death stole her away. She found the twelve months seated in their usual circle before the campfire, with January continuing to occupy the tallest of the rocks. “Kind brothers, may I be allowed to share some of this heat with you?” she asked respectfully.
January beckoned for the quaking figure to move closer, only to recognize the charming seeker of violets who had stopped by the previous day. “And what brings you here again, pretty one? You should be at home and in bed, since the bed is what you are attired for!” he chuckled good-naturedly, winking meaningfully at his brothers. As if to confirm his words, a pair of tiny nibs the color of port thrust through the thin bodice of Maruska’s snow-saturated garment, hitting home to the brothers just how long it had been since they had last been in the company of a female.
“I am looking for strawberries,” explained Maruska, suddenly feeling very silly standing about in a wet nightdress expressing so absurd a venture.
“Strawberries?” January reiterated in disbelief. “But strawberries do not grow beneath the snow.”
Maruska nodded in defeat. “Nevertheless, my stepsister wishes for me to pick some strawberries, and if I do not, I shall be punished most severely. I beg you, kind January, to direct me to the nearest patch lest my poor bottom be tanned by the leather of a strap.” And indeed, Maruska was not overstating the fact, for Holena owned a whole assortment of leather straps, which she kept conditioned with a special oil to guard against the cold. She kept them inside her hope chest along with a gas mask and a black silk negligee that had yet to see wear.
The brothers took to mumbling among themselves, especially the younger of the twelve. For these springtime months possessed a more randy disposition than their elders who, by virtue of age, had gained more experience in the world and had thereby learned to better temper their masculine desires. A whisper began at one brother’s ear, making its way around the campfire until it reached the last brother’s ear. All nodded in silent agreement, their eyes riveted to the two points visible through the strawberry-seeker’s sopping garment. The month Maruska presumed to be April because of his youth and uncompromised handsomeness seized her hand in his strong fingers, asking, “And what will you give us in return if we decide to aid you in this quest of yours?”
Maruska stared humbly down at her slippered feet, which had become wet through from her long trek in the snow. It shamed her that she had so little to offer when her new friends had already given her so much. Why, she could not even extend to the brothers an invitation for supper, since the family’s trailer was far too small to accommodate so many guests at one time. “I do not know what I can possibly offer, for I am without wealth or possession. However, I place myself entirely at your disposal.”
This would be all the jaunty month of spring needed to hear. Maruska next found herself straddling his lap, her legs draped awkwardly to both sides of the rock upon which he was seated. Something rigid burrowed into her tender place, making it wet and sticky and even a little sore. The hem of her nightdress had been turned into a collar for her neck as April’s smooth hands squeezed the exposed knolls rising outward from her chest, his fingertips tweaking the port-colored prongs that crowned them until they tingled with heat. As he bounced enthusiastically up and down upon his rock, Maruska bounced right along with him, oblivious to the commotion her presence created and likewise oblivious to the indecorousness of her pose, for the other months commanded an unobstructed view of yet another port-colored prong that had earlier been hidden by her nightdress. Occasionally the brother whose lap she occupied would roll it about with a fingertip, evoking many a wriggle and giggle from its genial proprietor. Never had Maruska imagined that sitting upon a lap could be so enjoyable.
Maruska made her way from season to season, leaving each month to lean back against his rock for a much-needed rest. After a time, the branches that she had so scrupulously tended only the day before lay wilted and defeated in the laps of all twelve brothers, oozing with a sticky sap. Had it not been for the corresponding presence of sap at her tender place, Maruska would never have believed any of it possible!
“What did you say you were looking for?” queried a breathless January, who wondered how many more of such visits he could possibly survive.
Maruska tidied her rumpled nightdress. “Strawberries, kind sir.”
“Ah, yes…strawberries. Brother June, I beseech you to take my rock.”
June, who still had considerable energy remaining and many notions of how to make use of it with their pretty guest, grudgingly exchanged places with his elder. Accepting the club, he waved it over the fire until the snow surrounding them melted away, leaving not a trace of frost in its wake. The song of birds filled the air, along with the fragrance of strawberries. From north to south and east to west, it was summer.
Conscious of June’s tenuous hold over the elements, Maruska moved quickly, gathering the little fruits in the hem of her nightdress until it could hold no more. Waving her thanks to the twelve months and sending a kiss through the air for June, she set off with her tasty treasures, her heart filled with happiness at the thought of how pleased her stepsister and stepmother would be. As she made her way across the once-again-wintry moorland, a warm liquid trickled down the insides of her thighs, only to freeze when it reached her knees, puckering the skin and making it awkward to walk. No sooner did the firs
t sticky trail crystallize than another went cascading over it. Yet Maruska paid this bothersome phenomenon little heed, secure in the knowledge that she would soon be safely at home basking in the warmth of the stove and the praise of her family.
Seeing the crop of fresh strawberries tucked into the hem of her stepsister’s garment, Holena’s equine jaw dropped to the floor. Maruska had barely gotten a snow-caked toe in the door before their sweet aroma permeated the little trailer, overpowering the strong scent of leather coming from Holena’s room. “Wherever did you find them?” screeched the older girl in horrified disbelief. Although she very much desired to savor their delicious flavor upon her tongue, the desire to be rid of this detested family member was significantly greater.
“On the top of the moor, dearest sister. They are so plentiful that my slippers are stained with their juices!” To prove the truth of her words, Maruska upended a foot to proudly display its pinkened sole.
Snatching up the strawberries, Holena and her mother consumed the fruits until their well-fed bellies could accept no more, not even deigning to offer a single one to the hungry waif who had brought them.
The next morning as Maruska prepared a pie from the last remaining strawberries, Holena unexpectedly appeared. The elder sister rarely darkened the kitchen with her presence. Like her mother, she preferred to leave any form of domestic labor to her younger sibling. “Sister, I do believe I have a craving for red apples.”
“Red apples?” gulped Maruska, her mixing spoon clattering to the floor.
“Go and fetch me some this instant!”
“But wherever shall I find apples in the wintertime?”
“You dare to answer me back? Perhaps your lazy bottom might like to be introduced to a leather strap, aye, little sister?” snarled Holena, her eyes gleaming with sadistic malice. Indeed, she was most keen to try out her newest strap, which had arrived just that morning by special delivery. Unhappily, when she had shown it to the delivery boy in hopes of enticing him inside the trailer, he had taken off down the moor in a sprinter’s run.
“No, Sister,” answered Maruska in a frightened whisper.
“Then do not show your ungrateful face again until you have brought me some apples. And do not presume to bring green ones, as I shall accept only the shiniest and reddest of reds.”
Once again Maruska found herself being hurled out the trailer door and into the bitter cold by her stepmother. Clad only in her nightdress stained with the pink of strawberries, she stumbled across the harsh moorland, her slippered feet sinking deeper and deeper into the snow. Yet rather than wandering aimlessly about as she had done in the past, Maruska made directly for the welcoming light on the hill, where a blazing campfire awaited her—as did the twelve kindly brothers.
Seeing the bedraggled figure staggering through the snow toward them, January’s fluffy white eyebrows shot up in surprise. Had not the girl already gotten her fill of both his and his brothers’ company? “Now what might you be doing out in weather like this?” he inquired.
“I am looking for red apples,” croaked Maruska, whose voice had frozen inside her throat.
“Surely you realize that apples do not grow in the wintertime.”
“Yes, but my stepsister sent me to collect some, and if I fail, my bottom shall receive a terrible beating with a leather strap!”
“A leather strap, you say?” repeated January, his words strangely garbled.
Maruska nodded miserably, feeling the phantom sting of leather against her tender flesh. If she returned to her family empty-handed, Holena would see to it that she could not sit down until the arrival of spring—or even summer.
“And where might this strap be applied?” asked October in a high-pitched squawk.
“On my bottom,” mumbled Maruska, hanging her head in disgrace. “Oh, can you not help me, dear brothers?”
She was answered by twelve nervous clearings of throats, followed by a good deal of fidgeting about upon their rocks by the brothers. At last January broke the tense silence, for he appeared to be the only one who still had any command over his vocal cords. “Perhaps it might be helpful if you show us the precise location in which your stepsister plans to beat you so that we can gain a clearer understanding of the situation.”
“Yes, show us!” piped the younger months, suddenly finding their voices.
Maruska pulled up the back of her nightdress, bringing into exposure a pair of gentle rises that together formed the shape of a heart. “I think I am beginning to get the picture,” January replied thoughtfully. As the girl moved to let down her hem, he stopped her. “No! Leave it thusly so that we may contemplate your fate and decide how best to alter it.”
By this time the throat clearing had turned to a low rumble as the brothers discussed the situation, apparently reaching a swift and unanimous decision. January bade the anxious apple-seeker to approach. Unlike the occasion with the strawberries, he preferred to exert the seniority of his position rather than placing matters in the hands (and in the lap) of a subordinate. “We are all of a mind to assist you. But for us to be successful, you must be willing to do your share as well.”
Maruska exhaled with relief, grateful to have found such caring friends so willing to help her—and to help with little thought toward any personal gain to themselves. “I shall do whatever work is needed. I can cook and clean and darn and weave; pray, tell me what it is you require!”
The twelve months chuckled in unison, causing Maruska to blush pinker than the strawberries she had fetched for her sister. Could it be that the brothers considered her guilty of braggadocio? Yet she had put forth no claims to which she could not live up. Just as she was about to set them to rights on the subject, January interrupted. “I do not believe any of those tasks will be necessary,” he proclaimed. “For all we require is your charming company.”
“Yes, your company!” cheered July, who tumbled off his rock, so great was his enthusiasm.
“Come, sit upon my lap to warm yourself,” invited the senior brother, flinging his long white beard out of the way. A gnarled branch with a fluffy copse of curls at the base sprang into full view—as did those of the other months as they, too, pushed their beards to one side. Those who did not wear a beard or whose beards had not yet attained such spectacular lengths merely needed to alter the drape of their garments to accommodate the growths in their laps. The months of spring possessed the straightest and, indeed, the most upstanding specimens; therefore these youngsters sat proudly upon their rocks, basking in the envious glances of their elders, who looked back with bittersweet fondness to days when similarly endowed.
As Maruska lowered herself onto January’s lap, she groaned with the strain. Never had she experienced such terrible difficulty in the simple act of sitting. Sensing her troubles, January fitted his hands to her waist, guiding her slowly and steadily downward. Little by little the crooked limb disappeared until all that remained was a thicket of snowy white, which tickled Maruska like dozens of tiny fingers, summoning from her an impish giggle. Perhaps, she mused, January had planted his misshapen old bough inside her bottom so that it might be given an opportunity to grow as long and straight as the smoother-barked versions of his younger brothers. For what other reason could there be for its presence in so peculiar a locale?
Maruska next discovered herself impaled upon February’s lap as he, too, endeavored to entrench himself as deeply as had his brother. This sowing and reaping continued with each of the months, although it would be the youngest of the twelve who caused the most problem. Indeed, Maruska could not fathom why such mighty limbs should even be in need of cultivation. (It so happened that the following morning when she awakened in her bed, Maruska fully expected to find a tree growing out from her bottom. Instead, the sole evidence of the previous day’s energetic tillings was a sticky puddle of sap on the sheet beneath her—a puddle she dutifully gathered up with a spoon. Just imagine what a treat it should be for her family to enjoy some on their griddlecakes at breakfast!
)
As Maruska pried herself off December’s dwindling lap with a distinctive thwock, January suddenly remembered why she had come to their hilltop encampment in the first place. “Brother October,” he called, “come and take my place.”
Accepting the club offered him by his senior brother, October waved it over the fire. The flames leapt higher and higher, their increasing heat melting the snow. A brisk wind blew in from the north, turning the moors a deep orange. Autumn had arrived, bringing with it an apple tree that dangled two shiny red apples. “Hurry!” urged October, his voice cracking with the exertion of holding off the encroaching winter.
With a kiss to all and both apples tucked safely inside the hem of her nightdress, Maruska hastened through the newly falling snow toward home, where her stepsister and stepmother waited—indeed, waited with the smug certainty that this time their undesired relative would not be returning. Holena had already drawn up blueprints to convert the cramped room Maruska slept in into a torture chamber. However, a familiar pounding on the trailer door set their hearts to sinking in their chests. “But how? Where?” croaked mother and daughter in astounded accord when they saw the shiny red bounties the ecstatic girl carried within her garment.
“They were on top of the moor. Is it not wonderful?” Maruska cried excitedly, waiting for the praise that was surely her due.
“Why did you bring back only two?” barked Holena, who scraped at the skin of the apples with a fingernail to determine if its vibrant color had been painted on.
“It is all the tree had to offer.”
“You selfish good-for-nothing! You must have eaten the other apples. Perhaps I shall go myself and collect some more.”
“Yes,” urged the mother. “Do that, daughter dear. For it is clear that this ungrateful wretch has stolen them from our hungry mouths.”
In Sleeping Beauty's Bed Page 24
