1 Dewitched

by E. L. Sarnoff

The apple orchard is exactly as I remember it. Hundreds of trees ripe with fragrant red fruit line the base of the cliff. As I stand in its midst, memories mingle with madness.

  I’m going to sue that Midas bastard. Take him to court. With luck, I’ll get that whack-job judge, and she’ll take off his head.

  On second thought, forget about suing. It’ll take too long. I’m going to hunt him down and destroy his life the way he’s destroyed mine. Poison him if I have to. Whatever it takes, I’m going to get my castle back.

  “How about we have a contest to see who can pick the most apples,” says The Prince, oblivious to the rage blazing inside me.

  “That’s ridiculous,” scoffs Marcella.

  For once, she’s right. I’m in no mood for fun and games to say the least. Unless the prize is Midas’s heart.

  “Papa, I’m going to win!” shouts Calla who’s already running to a tree abundant with fruit. Using a long stick she’s found, she knocks off several apples.

  “Look, Papa!” she says with excitement. “I already have five apples!”

  “Excellent!” says The Prince.

  Marcella rolls her eyes. She clearly can’t wait for this day to be over. Neither can I.

  The four of us scatter around the orchard. I spot The Prince and Calla in the distance, but Marcella’s nowhere in sight. She’s probably gone back to the coach to read her tabloid.

  I wander aimlessly from tree to tree. Rage mixed with shock is ravaging me. Just wait until I get my hands on that Midas!

  My heart skips a beat. Straight ahead of me is that one unforgettable tree--the tree that bore that one unforgettable perfect apple. The apple I picked and dipped into poison. The apple I gave to Snow White.

  Calla, carrying her basket with Lady Jane, runs over to the tree.

  “Don’t pick apples from that tree!” I sprint up to her, almost knocking her down.

  “What’s wrong with this tree?” asks Calla, puzzled.

  “Nothing.”

  Yes, nothing. Except the thought of eating apples from this tree is making me even sicker to my stomach. Ignoring my plea, Calla shakes the tree, and an apple falls into her basket. A big red rosy apple. Exactly like the one I gave to Snow White.

  “Jane, look at this apple!” exclaims Calla. “It’s perfect!” She raises it toward her rosebud lips.

  As her mouth descends on its shiny exterior, I yank it out of her hand and toss it as far as I can.

  Calla gives me another bewildered look. “Jane, you’re acting all weird today. Are you feeling sick?”

  “No, I’m perfectly fine.” Perfectly fine? Chances are I’ll never make it through this day.

  ***

  What has this madman Midas done to my castle? I’m desperate to find out.

  When Calla skips off to check on her father, I hurry off. Every nerve in my body is charged with anticipation as I stomp up the steep, winding road that leads to my home. Yes, my home! Kicking rocks and debris in my way, I’m surprised how easy it is for me to make the climb. The daily trek up to Shrink’s office has gotten me into better shape than I’ve ever been. I can be thankful to Faraway for that. But that’s all. Shrink led me to believe I could go back to live in my castle, but now that’s just another wicked lie.

  The cloud cloaking the castle lifts as I make the ascent, and by the time I get to the top, my home is in full view with its myriad of towers, spires, and towers.

  My heart plunges. Walls are crumbling; windows are cracked; the vegetation runs wild. It’s a ghost of its former glorious self.

  As I circle around to the rear, I hear whistling. And then I see them. Seven little men busily working away. Hammering! Sawing! Bashing! Trashing! I can’t believe my eyes. It’s those abominable dwarfs! First they wrecked my life. Now they’re wrecking my castle!

  Desperation overtakes me. I furiously gather up an armful of rocks. I’m going to pummel those runts before nothing remains of my former life.

  Then one of them spots me.

  “Hey, lady, what are you doing here?” he says, not recognizing me. “This is a construction zone.”

  What am I doing here? Hey, Grumpster, this is my property, and you’re destroying it! I should get you arrested and thrown into jail! That same dark, dreary dungeon you sent me to!

  I aim a rock at his ugly oversized head but stop when, out of the corner of my eye, I notice one of the home wreckers hauling something out of the back entrance. My heart goes haywire. It’s my magic mirror!

  “Where are you going with that?” I cry out.

  “Taking this piece of junk where it belongs.” He sneezes, blowing boogers all over my beloved looking glass.

  Letting go of the rocks, I race after him, but it’s too late. He hurls the mirror into a dumpster. I hear it shatter.

  A loud voice inside my head urges me to leave. “Jane, don’t go there!” it says. It sounds like Shrink’s. I ignore it.

  Frantic, I hoist myself up into the dumpster. On top of the rest of my bashed up furnishings is my treasured mirror. I heave a loud sigh of relief. It has only broken into six chunks. I’m able to piece it back together.

  My magic mirror! We’re together at last. Unable to resist, I look into it. And scream. I’m horrified by my reflection. The cracks, snaking across my skin, have disfigured my face. I’m dizzy, weak. Almost faint. It’s as if the mirror is possessing me. Tell me:

  “Mirror, mirror once on the wall,

  Who’s the fairest one of all?”

  Silence. I bet it doesn’t recognize me. How could it?

  I ask again, this time louder. “Tell me!” I scream. “TELL ME!”

  The mirror at last responds. Its voice sounds strangled.

  “You, My Queen, are still fair, I suppose;

  But the answer to your query is Calla Rose.”

  “Calla?” I gasp. “What happened to Snow White?”

  No response. I grow impatient. “Tell me, you smart-ass looking glass!”

  To my horror, the mirror’s cracks multiply. A terrifying cobweb of cracks spreads across my face. I’m a monster! As I shriek, the mirror shatters into a million little pieces. Tiny shards of glass are scattered everywhere. There’s no way I can put it back together. It’s beyond repair! Ruined! Gone forever!

  Shaking all over, I climb out of the dumpster. Shock gives way to rage. Everything inside me is screaming. That two-timing, worthless piece of glass! It betrayed me again! My former best friend, still nothing but a traitor! And now, I have to compete with Calla!

  Still trembling, I take one last look at my castle. Someone behind me tugs my arm. I spin around.

  It’s one of those damn dwarfs. The tiniest one. He’s holding a shovel that’s double his size.

  “What do you want from me, you little twerp?”

  The dopey-looking runt says nothing. He keeps pointing to the ground as if he’s trying to tell me something.

  I glance down and gasp. Winding its way toward me at wicked speed is a monstrous green and yellow snake. I take a giant step backward. Then another and another…until I’m standing at the cliff edge of my property. A nauseating feeling of déjà vu shoots through me. There’s nowhere I can go--but down! But this time, there’s no river to rescue me.

  Picking up its pace, the snake slithers right up to my feet. It fixes its unblinking yellow eyes on me. One hiss and I know. I’m going to be history!

  The snake flicks its forked tongue on my ankle. It tickles, but I desperately want to scream. Frozen with fear, I can’t find my voice. It flicks its tongue again; I don’t need to look down to know it’s going to strike. And then, just as its venomous fangs prick my skin, the tiny dwarf charges toward me with his shovel. In one swift, seamless move, he scoops up the snake and tosses it over the cliff.

  I’m too stunned to say anything.

  The mini-mute makes a wavy motion with his free arm, snaps his teeth, and rests his head on his hands as if pretending to go to sleep.

  What is he trying to tell me now?


  Confused, shaken, and wanting nothing to do with any of these Snow White fanboys, I flee. And don’t look back.

  ***

  Back at the orchard, my jittery fingers pluck out slivers of glass embedded in the threads of my dress. I wish we had never come here. My castle belongs to another, and my magic mirror has betrayed me again. In the course of a few minutes, my emotions shift from despair to anger and then to self-pity.

  A voice coming toward me distracts me, and I stab my thumb. Damn that mirror!

  “Guess what! I think I won the contest! Look at how many apples I have!”

  It’s Calla…Calla with her cascading curls, her angelic face. She is fairer than me. But why am I not consumed by that insane, flesh-eating jealousy that used to besiege me? Why do I feel a lightness in my heart as I watch her skip toward me?

  Full of energy and excitement, she pokes her head into my empty basket. “Jane, don’t worry. I’ll give you some of my apples so that you don’t come in last.” She fills up half my basket with her apples.

  I don’t get it. I’m supposed to hate this child--want her out of my life--but I don’t. I can’t. How could anyone loathe a child so sweet and pure?

  I wish I’d never talked to my mirror. My stupid, stupid big mouth mirror.

  Calla adds a few more apples to my basket. The cherubic smile on her exquisite face completely melts me. I kneel down beside her so that we’re face to face. I can see my reflection in her twinkling eyes. The image of the person I have become.

  And then it hits me. The truth. Hard. Direct. Pure. Shrink was right. My mirror was never magic. It was just a worthless piece of glass that messed with my head. And played with reality. Why could I not see this before?

  I draw Calla closer until we’re heart to heart. Every part of me tingles. Calla is what’s magic.

  She adds yet another apple to my basket.

  “Thank you, my sweet girl.” Thank you for everything.

  “Time is up. Let us determine a winner,” calls out The Prince, striding up to us.

  I spring to my feet. So much of me wants to share my amazing revelation with him. But he’d never understand. He’d probably think I’m a nutcase and have me confined to some mental institution. Ha! Faraway!

  The Prince’s basket is loaded with apples, but he clearly doesn’t have as many as Calla. Even after sharing her apples with me. We each do a count. Calla comes in first, The Prince, a close second, and me, a not-so-distant third.

  “Hooray! I won! I won!” exclaims Calla, jumping up and down.

  “Not quite yet, My Little Princess,” says Gallant. “You shall have to wait and see how many apples Marcella has gathered.”

  On cue, Her Royal Skankiness staggers toward us. A thick coat of dirt covers her from head to toe. She must have taken a fall.

  Calla cups a hand over her mouth to suppress her giggles. I risk a smile. Gallant, too, is amused.

  The little girl runs up to Marcella and then races back to us.

  “Six! I counted them! Marcella only has six apples, and they’re all rotten! That means I’m the winner!”

  “Get me out of here!” screeches Marcella. She flings her basket, sending the apples flying in all directions.

  Fighting her clingy gown and high heels, she inches toward the coach.

  Calla calls out, “Watch out for that--”

  Rotten apple. But it’s too late. Marcella trips over it. She lands face down, smack on her cannonballs.

  This time Calla cannot contain herself. She explodes with laughter. I adore this child; I really do. Screw my stupid, piece-of-junk mirror! I’m glad it’s history.

  “What are you laughing about?” Marcella struggles to stand up. “Can’t you see I’m hurt?”

  She brushes herself off, adjusts her gown, and begins to hobble. She’s faking. I know because it’s exactly how my mother taught me to feign a limp. To over-exaggerate it and make believe you’re in a lot of pain. “Pity breeds generosity,” she preached. Her scheme worked like a charm. Whenever I begged for money, passersby would always give me an extra coin, thinking I was a cripple. She even forced me to carry a crutch, which came in handy the day she kicked me hard in the shin.

  “My love, I don’t think I can make it to the coach,” moans the PIW.

  Gallant wraps his strong arm around her, letting her lean on him for support. I want to ram her back onto the ground.

  “Papa! Look over there!” exclaims Calla, pointing straight ahead of us.

  Out of the clearing comes a young spotted deer--Bambi! I’d recognize him anywhere. Recognizing me, he prances over to us. The sweet animal eats one of my apples. With gleeful laughter, Calla offers him one of hers.

  He nibbles her apple, then butts his budding antlers against Marcella. She freaks. “My love, save me from this flea-ridden beast!” She takes several giant steps backward. So much for her twisted ankle.

  Still falling for her act, The Prince gallantly sweeps the bogus bitch into his arms. I want to puke.

  “Papa, can we take him home?” begs Calla. “Please! Pretty Please! He could be my prize for winning the contest. Or my birthday present!”

  “My Little Princess, I’m afraid he already belongs to someone else.”

  At the edge of the clearing, another elegant young deer appears. Bambi leaps over to her and nuzzles her head. She must be his new mate. Side by side, they prance into the orchard.

  The Prince carries Marcella back to the coach. “My hero,” she says, with a smug smile directed at me.

  Calla and I exchange a despondent look. She takes my hand in hers, squeezing it gently.

  I glare at Gallant. He, too, belongs to someone else. I have another startling revelation. No, it’s not Calla I envy. It’s Marcella.

  CHAPTER 27

  Thank goodness for Winnie. She’s planned Calla’s entire surprise birthday party right down to the party favors. After yesterday’s apple-picking excursion with all its extreme ups and downs, there’s no way I could have handled it, even if I’d had the time. My battered heart has shut me down.

  As I sit on the edge of Calla’s bed, braiding her hair, I wonder for the umpteenth time: what am I doing here? Shrink promised that I could go back to my castle if I completed my apprenticeship. But now, what’s the point? My castle belongs to that Midas creep, and my mirror is no longer of any use to me. When Marcella (walking perfectly fine) flung a shoe at me this morning for not delivering her daily Fairytale Tattler to her in bed, why didn’t I throw it back and just call it quits?

  “Do you think Papa’s going to get me a puppy?” asks Calla, snapping me out of my funk.

  Gallant. I can’t get him out of my head. Though I’ve tried to avoid him, he did mention at breakfast that he and Marcella had something very important to do today, and now they’ve been gone for hours.

  “I hope so,” I sigh. “I’m sorry I haven’t had the time to get you something,” I add with remorse.

  Instead of a frown, Calla’s lips curl into a dimpled smile. “You are a gift.”

  Her unexpected, beyond-her-years words light up my heart, and I smile despite myself.

  Calla has no clue about her surprise birthday party. My job has been to keep her occupied until Winnie gives me the signal to bring her into the courtyard. We’ve played checkers, read a book together, and given Lady Jane a bath. In my gloomy state, it’s not been easy, and I’m running out of ideas.

  Just as I finish with her hair, a rock hits Calla’s bedroom window. Finally, the signal.

  “Come on, birthday girl. Let’s get some fresh air and play hide-and-seek.” Calla reaches for Lady Jane, then takes my hand.

  The warmth of her little hand in mine radiates throughout me. She’s the reason I’m still here.

  ***

  “Surprise!” shouts Winnie and a group of one hundred or so children, mostly boys, I’ve never seen before.

  “Happy Birthday, Calla!” I say, joined by the others.

  Calla is overwhelmed. “Wow!” is all she c
an say.

  Wow is right. Winnie, dressed up as a fairy godmother, has created the ultimate Princess Birthday Party. There’s a magic castle playhouse, pretend tiaras and crowns for all the children, and a pony ride. She’s even brought along that giant dragon from the toy store. How did she manage to get it here? I’m probably better off not knowing.

  “Who are all these children?” I ask.

  “They’re from the local orphanage,” replies Winnie. “I thought it would be more fun for Calla if she had other children to play with.”

  Despite Winnie’s good intentions, my blood runs cold. I bet they’re from that Midas Orphanage for Lost Boys. I hate that Midas!

  I recognize one of the children--that unruly boy I saw the other day at Mother Goose. Much better behaved today, he’s showing Calla how to make the dragon roar by stepping on its foot.

  “Who’s that?” I ask, pointing at him.

  “That’s Curly,” says Winnie.

  “He’s an orphan?” I’m surprised. “Didn’t I see him with his nanny the other day?”

  “Oh, that was his latest foster parent. He’s been in and out of the system for years. No one wants to keep him.” Winnie pinches her lips together and shakes her head. “It’s sad because he’s really not a bad kid.”

  The boy makes Calla roar with laughter. After her initial shock, she can’t get enough of the fire-breathing dragon. What a wonderful birthday she’s having. Sadly, I can’t remember turning seven. In fact, I can’t remember any of my childhood birthdays. It was just another day to scrub floors and beg for money. My mother didn’t give a damn. She didn’t buy me a thing; she was too busy shopping for new clothes for herself and seducing men. In a way, I was an orphan too. Maybe, worse off.

  Winnie forces me back to the present by bringing two youngsters over to meet me, a boy and a girl. “These are my children, Hansel and Gretel.” Of course! They look just like her with freckled faces and flaming red hair. The little girl’s the spitting image of her brother, except she has long thick braids. I bet they’re twins.