“That poem,” he will say
Did you write it for me?
In an offhand, curious, intimate manner
Full well knowing the answer.

“Oh, that?” I will say
Nonchalantly undermining the countless revisions
And struggle and hair pulling from two years’ time
Trying to get it right.

And not letting on
About the thousands more
Written at dawn and descending from dreams
When I throw away the key.

“Oh, that?” I will say then give it away
And grin because it’s always about him
But I hesitate for the answer will in every way
Underestimate how much he is loved.

© 2012

I know right where to find you and when. You quietly nibble something from the ground that has mesmerized you–something so tiny it’s practically invisible to my naked eye. I hoist the dog under my arm for tranquility’s sake, but you remain tethered to the grass, pecking, unappreciative of my efforts. Creeping through your midst, I take 30 photos while you remain oblivious to us in your drunken patch. My dog’s nose and eyebrows wiggle as he breathes in your feathers and excrement. This is his poppy field. So long for today my badelynge, flock, bunch, paddling, brace, team, raft–my dover of ducks.

I haven’t written much in a few months. In fact, ever since I took that acrylic painting workshop a few months ago, it seems that all I want to do is paint and not write. I still write snippets but my heart is in painting. I don’t think it’s a phase, but then again I never know these things in advance. It’s just that it hit me so hard. I’ve even built myself a “Like’ page on Facebook, and I never did that as a writer.

I want to improve and be able to paint hands. So far, I have had to cover up two pairs of hands in two different portraits because I couldn’t get it right. In one, I placed a blanket over part of the hand, and in the other, I painted gloves where the hands should have been. It was believable only in that it was an outdoor shot and the person was already bundled up in overcoat and scarf.

Oils might be easier, because you can massage the oils for days to get it just right. With acrylics they dry in a few minutes, then you’re stuck. When you go over it, it becomes thick and overdone. I am on the look out for a portraiture workshop where I can concentrate on faces, hands, and feet.

I majored in Art in college in the early ’80s, because I followed my heart. I then proceeded to kick myself for decades afterward when I could never make a proper living. The Graphics field had only just begun. Prior to that, in my junior college, I majored in Advertising Art, pre-Graphics, where you worked with a T-square, cut and paste, and hand-drawn illustration. But I didn’t have a plan as to how I would really make ends meet once I got out of school.

It recently dawned on me, after taking the painting workshop, that since the time of art college, I’d been forcing my brain to work on the side that it didn’t particularly enjoy, the left side. My stint in Nursing school during my mid-40s crisis was the breaking point. Having never studied Chemistry or advanced Maths, I found myself in a constant state of high stress, trying to memorize everything on short-term memory. It took me ages to get over the fact that I didn’t pass the third quarter of the two-year accelerated RN program.

Needless to say, no other job that I’ve taken has been artsy enough to give me a sense of pleasure in my work. So when I started painting again, a joy that had lain dormant was reawakened, and I began to channel myself as that 20-year-old art student, living from the correct, right side of her brain where things clicked. As I drew, painted, viewed art pieces, and wandered through art stores, a feeling of sheer happiness came over me. The world was right. In time that contentment became a chronic state. And how I welcomed it.

I tried not to lament of the time I’d spent not syncing with my brain, not doing the things I should have done over the last 30-something years. But maybe I really did do everything I was supposed to do after all.

The rituals of the leaves

In haste, in between two rows of trees losing orange-pink leaves,

I stepped on the fallen–though not on purpose.

I sidestepped with the balls of my feet,

When I realized it was no ordinary street.

Endless pastels in fruity tints spiraled downward,

And landed on the grass with outstretched arms as if to sigh.

A few in deep maroon curled up in surrender,

But I couldn’t turn back time, so I walked on by.

A pile of billowy fluff on a drainage pipe waited,

Ill fated, increasing discomfort their numbers mounted.

On the sidewalk were buffers of trampled, crushed, and soiled,

who toiled while the rest fell onto sacrificial plumes.

That was Saturday;

The leaves continued to fall all night and into the morning.

Two hundred twenty-seven from 2:00 a.m. until the clock fell back to 1:00,

When another 274 fell from 1:00 a.m. to 2:00, and I counted them in mourning.

I should have enjoyed the extra hour’s sleep,

Instead of being besieged by the rituals of the leaves.

So to avoid further grief on the shedding side of the street,

I plan to find relief in counting merry, woolly sheep.

~~

FALLBACK – by m.medler copyright 2011

Image by beaumontpete via Flickr

I’ve never hosted anyone on my blog–other than my pets–so please give a warm welcome to a talented painter and writer, Mike Medler. I loved the passage about the moon climbing up in an awkward motion from branch to branch and the way he sees planets as females. Please leave your comments. He’d love to know what you think. You can read more of his work at mukilteoarts.org on the Writers Group link.

Elemental

Five hours since the sun died

Though she lives on beyond my vision.

Half a world away by now,

She watches men die for unknown reasons.

I remember this twilight

Where the clouds saw the sun and caught her.

Her rage and fury wrought out hues

Unknown to me with my limited views.

The moon, like the sun’s silent sentry,

Rises through the branches of my birch tree.

I watch her awkward climb,

Scrambling branch to branch.

Finally she leaps to the sky

Alone in a throne of clouds.

I love this night world

In all its ghostly splendor.

I love the chill north wind

Though I can never catch her.

I throw arms wide to embrace her,

But she has passed me by.

I wonder, could she love another?

Mike Medler Copyright 2011 All Rights Reserved

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Image by flavijus via Flickr

My mother and sisters and I visited my grandmother on occasion, and since it was my father’s mother and not my mother’s mother we didn’t visit often. My mother put up with my grandmother’s unsolicited advice and sat quietly out of a sense of duty with a politeness the way mothers did back then, but she mostly demurred at having to ready three young girls and driving an hour only to land into an awkward and uncomfortable situation.

Every so often a friend of my grandmother’s was there.  I’ve forgotten her name, but she and my grandmother addressed each other as “darling” in a class accent that amused me. My grandmother and her friend were beautiful, older women and full of pride. Her friend was what you’d call a handsome woman with chiseled cheekbones that had lost their youthful rounded softness and eyes that had sunk into deep wells. Her medium brown hair, meticulously dyed, was set into large and soft waves and was perfectly arranged. Her voice was kind and clear, and she made it a point to engage me into conversation even when we said very little.

At least that’s what my grandmother’s friend was like on our previous visit. I hadn’t realized a couple of months had gone by since we’d seen her until my mother mentioned something about her having “cancer.” My mother was on a phone call and I pressed her for details but it was the 1960s, and it wasn’t for a child to interfere with adult issues. I knew it was a terrible disease and that people died from it, but I figured I would learn more about it when someone deemed it appropriate enough to explain it to me. That’s how it went in our family. And, I reckoned, that was how it was supposed to be.

We next visited our grandmother on what would have been an otherwise unremarkable day. My grandmother’s friend was there. I went to greet her with more enthusiasm than usual, the way one does after an extended absence. As I approached, her silhouette became disjointed. I blinked, but the shape of her face didn’t change back to what it should have been. What seemed wrong from a distance became distilled up close. I tried to act stoic like I hadn’t noticed, like nothing was different, but I couldn’t avert my stare. I studied it–that part of her that was missing and the part that was still there.

My wide eyes may have given it away. I may have inhaled or gaped my mouth. But she forced her gaze into my eyes and kept me on track by talking to me the entire time. I responded with one-word answers and nods while she kept me on my feet. She was a genius. She spoke out of the good side of her mouth, and I had to look there to read her lips. Emotion welled up inside of me, but she was so strong that I couldn’t let myself crack. Her courageousness was breathtaking. I maintained my equanimity because of her selflessness. She made a seamless transition from handsome woman to a disfigured beauty. She was still the epitome of beauty, yet it was more than just a superficial, handsome appearance. She taught me a valuable lesson about Inner Beauty that day through her bravery and tragedy.

Afterward, I found out that the right side of her jaw had been removed due to bone cancer. Why didn’t they warn me and prepare me for the shock, I wondered. My family’s communication skills were mind-numbingly dysfunctional and caused an ache in the pit of my stomach.

As a mother, I’ve taken the opposite approach with my children. I’ve over-explained even when they haven’t asked. Sometimes they tease  me about saying more than they want to hear.

“Too bad,” I tell them.

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I walked along the concrete path with a slower gait than usual while a hammering dirge of dull chords played rhythmically with my footsteps. The door to Borders bookstore looked normal, but what would I find on the inside? It was already three weeks after the start of their liquidation sale and the beginning of an era where paper books were finding their unscheduled demise. It wasn’t supposed to work out like this. The death of books–the killing of books, really. With markdowns of 40- to 60%, I thought the store would be half empty from the desperation to rescue these books by the armloads. I entered the store with a pang of trepidation that I’d be too late, that the books would be gone, and that it all would be a shambles.

At first glance, there were plenty of books and magazines on the shelves. But school supplies and stuffed animals were in disarray. The store looked incredibly bland, stripped of advertising, and left ocher-bare.  The adjacent cafe was closed up and out of business.

I took a closer look and walked down every aisle, starting with the Health section through the Diseases to the Cookbook section where I lingered for a half hour. I found a French cookbook with a forward by Ruth Reichl. I didn’t go there to buy–just to look and get an impression of the place, I told myself. Every aisle was stocked with books, but I was selfishly disappointed when I couldn’t find any volumes of Julia Child’s left. At least some early sale-goers got it right.

I thumbed through Civil War books, and one in particular caught my eye with detailed explanations and unique photos. I could really learn from this one, I thought as I put it down and moved on while yearning at the books alongside it.

The Literature area held me captivated for another hour. I thumbed through stories and read a few pages from several works that I’d been curious about. When my wits returned I realized how futile it was to stand there and enjoy books, because I was there to witness their extinction. And to dream.

I dreamed of what my paper library would have been if only I could buy all the books I’d ever wanted. I’d pet them, stare at them, dust them, and even read them. I’d pass them down to my children and grandchildren and tell them how great they were, that this one changed my life, that one made me wiser, and the other one made me laugh. They’d each have part of my story besides the story the book itself contained. But there wasn’t time for any of that, because books were dying all around me. Surely books everywhere were suffering a similar fate. This was the second Borders in our area that had gone out of business. Aren’t less books being produced? More books being destroyed? And more bookstores going out of business?

I remembered the way bookstores once were when books were fresh and sought-after like gold. When the smell of their paper and the aesthetic beauty of their covers drove you like The Rapture to lose yourself within their leaves and bindings and scents. When occasional chairs had people sitting in them reading for the longest time without threat of having to budge an inch.  Lines of folks were eager to buy. No one thought twice about the bookstore, because it would be there tomorrow. Now the books are dying before our eyes. I can almost hear them crying. I suppose I just wasn’t ready to witness it this soon.

I wondered if they were going to be piled high and burned in pyres at some nondescript dump site away from society’s eyes where they couldn’t be mourned.

They responded softly in various tones, “Borne of dust, filled with dust, ending in dust.”

No, the end is too soon! I began to say, but I caught myself talking aloud to books in my mind before my breath turned into sound.

Compelled to aid the books in some way, the simple solution struck me: Return to buy an armload and you’ve done your part. I couldn’t be sure if the books told me to do that or if I’d thought of it.

I left hearing sighs and applause all around, but surrounding me were nothing but books. Dying books. Precious books. Books that would one day find a home upon the grand walnut shelves of my paper library.  And I would dust them.

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Mother took me to the Vet a couple of days ago, and I’ve gained three pounds since she adopted me from the Animal Shelter. She’s had to bribe me with treats during my walks. It’s not my fault; I freeze up for no reason. I pop out of it when she gives me a treat, then I frolic like a lamb in a green meadow.  Lately, she’s begun to watch my figure and is contemplating other methods such as patience and carrying me and diligence. Even though I don’t want to become another fat-Dachshund statistic, I can’t help but want an aromatic treat every now and again. I’m not that different at heart from my brethren. Why hasn’t she asked me how I’d like to be trained?

Mother is writing short stories and taking her computer outside the door without me. Oh, she takes me out on walks or to the beach first  and wears me out with fun. By then I’m too drowsy to care, burrowed inside my blanket, surrounded by my toys. My favorite one is a long, furry, stuffing-free weasel that I carry around by mouth and shake. It used to have a squeaker before I broke it. Now it has a rattling thing. I have two other long, furry toys that rattle, too. When I got my weasel, I was so happy I wiggled my whole bottom, not just my tail.

Today, before she left without me, she turned the Animal Channel on. Victoria Stilwell was trying to train a Chihuahua on there. I have a Chihuahua friend called Peanut. Victoria said that dogs don’t kiss you on the mouth and nose for love, that it’s only to taste the salt. Only! I disagree. Sure, we like the salt, but we kiss for love first, then we enjoy the tastes and smells second. I like Mother’s lip gloss and hanker to kiss her when I smell that. You see, it’s not all about salt. But if I didn’t love her I wouldn’t want to kiss her at all! I might write a Letter of Complaint to Victoria’s staff for the misconceptions–after I’ve had my breath biscuit, that is. It’s filled with eucalyptus and parsley. And Mother might have some lip gloss on. You can’t be too careful.

Until the next,

Korey the Dog

I waited behind the maroon curtain, a place where nerves ran amok every night. You could count on that. Performers tried to suppress their fears by immersing themselves into their craft, repeating lines and gestures until they melded together into a mumbled symbiosis making sense only to the stagehands, who expelled the excess energy into the universe through their nimble, tidying movements. As they adjusted and rearranged things, pointed to their watches, and reused protocols that they’d used the previous night on an even tighter schedule, the tension drew closer. We called it Curtain Time. 

When comedian and audience became one, the combined force made you feel like a superpower on stage. Just once was all it took. And even if you thought you died on stage you were bound to return to try it the next night, because you’d tasted its power.

I watched Jimmy from the other side of the stage. He suffered with pre-stage jitters as most of us did. But it hit him harder for some reason. He studied his lines with furrowed brows and hung his head down like he was rehearsing a eulogy. The manager began to warm up the crowd, which meant Jimmy had two minutes. He stashed crumpled notes in a trouser pocket and looked up to the ceiling. Most of us prayed inconspicuously but not Jimmy. He made the sign of the cross then jumped up and down in place like Rocky warming up for a fight.

“Here’s Jimmy!” said the announcer in Ed McMahon style. Jimmy pulled the curtain apart with two hands in one grand gesture and entered the stage with a broad, toothy smile. A used-car salesman was what I thought of every time he went out there. The audience loved him. They couldn’t see the broken man underneath, the scared kid, the comedian that was back for more. All they saw were the shining brilliance of teeth. They heard the loud introduction on the microphone with the band playing in the background, horns and symbols clashing together in recognition of this man on stage, who would drown their sorrows for the next hour. They witnessed the force but could not feel its power.

The clapping was intense. I peered out to get a look at the audience. It had filled in nicely since the first time I’d peeked, 15 minutes earlier. The drapery hung by my nose while I tried not to sneeze. The dust mixed with the smell of 30-year-old rancid popcorn lay inside my sinuses while the nicotine remnants reminded me that in decades prior this place had been a fashionable and vibrant theater where popular plays were held.

The tinge of alcohol that wafted through every night christened The Comedy Cavern’s curtains for their current purpose. Jimmy and I and the other comedians were still trying to figure out what that purpose was, but it seemed that Curtain Time held some sort of magic over everyone that crossed its threshold. There were no spirits or ghost sightings we could pin it on, but we all felt “it.” Yet no one ever mentioned it by name. No one called it “the force” or anything else. It was simply a part of show biz. But we all shook our heads over it. And we came back for more despite our own best interests.

It was an uncomfortable night, too warm and humid. The waitresses made their rounds to the tables that had begun filling up with an expectant crowd eager for a laugh. The smell of gin and beer started to waft to the back, pleasing me, not because of the odor, but because I waited for that signal prior to my show to alert me that the audience was almost ready. Since I couldn’t drink on the job to settle my own nerves, they must. One of us had to be inebriated in order for my jokes to work.

I peeked again. The full crowd was loosening up, enjoying Jimmy’s show. Rose, the oldest waitress, was really working it, laying the drinks down, putting cash into her pockets, and chirping orders to the other waitresses. The heavy-set man at the front table was on his second drink. Good. Rose knew how I liked them to be situated.

The air conditioner kicked on. The blessed, cool air made me forget all about the age and deterioration of the place. As my adrenaline surged, I became acutely aware of my lines–the lines I’d created in the oddest places and times. I wrote them all on bits of paper or talked them into my phone’s recorder where I transcribed them onto more pieces of paper. Ideas hit while I walked dog, took a shower, laid half asleep in bed, or drove the car. Once assembled, the scraps became a monologue of which I would add or detract dependent upon what worked or bombed on any given night. My lines were so much a part of my life that I held them in my hands when I prayed and I called upon God to help me with the force that I might put on a good show. I knew it was all wrong and had nothing to do with His Will, but I did it anyway, such was the strength of the force and its grip upon me. At least I wasn’t blatant with it, making the sign of the Cross while praying about the force like Jimmy did, I reckoned to myself.

The Comedy Cavern held comedians to a contract. Once signed, we were committed for four nights per week. There were several comedians that headlined and even more that were first acts, unknowns, who would come through town and audition for the manager. If he chuckled long enough, he’d say, “You got it, kid,” and would offer them a small contract. If he wasn’t sure, he’d let them try it for one night only. But there was no such thing as “one night only.” Once they swung past the curtain and felt the power, they always tried to come back, sometimes begging. And he’d relent. The manager had been a comedian in the early days when the Cavern opened up, before his doctor ordered him to quit. He never spoke about the details. He didn’t have to.

Jimmy was one of the manager’s favorites. He’d come from Anaheim with a full repertoire revolving around Disneyland. The manager laughed a lot about it but coached him to branch out. “I tried to ride on those Autopia cars, but, man, I’m from L.A. Why would I want to get into another car for fun? Especially one that small? I’m 6’4″! Rolling around on a track in just as much traffic as the Hollywood Freeway at rush hour just isn’t MY IDEA of fun. Worst yet, the propensity of getting rear-ended is much greater on those things! Whose idea WAS THAT, Walt?”

I peeked out again from the side of the stage. The heavy man at the front table was smiling. His second drink was gone. Most people were still emptying their first drinks or beginning their second. Three tables were filled with regulars from the local tech company who’d shown up straight from work. There were a few new, middle-aged couples. And three tables full of ladies, my regulars.

My act revolved around women’s issues, and tonight’s was all about aging–it could go either way, funny or horrific. I only hoped the women in my audience weren’t shot up to the hilt with Botox and fillers and would stomp out, taking it personally. If so, I saved the harshest words for the end. If they made it that far, maybe they had thick enough skin, pardon the pun, or maybe they were enjoying it. Worried about how they’d take my bluntness, I wished they’d hurry up and have a third drink.

“You should do stand-up with these,” my friend, Holly, said when I showed her a few of my first notes. At times like this, when I’m behind the curtain waiting, I curse myself for taking her up on that advice. I sometimes wonder if I’m going to have a heart attack from fright. Death would be a believable alibi. Even if your heart is giving out, you push yourself to go on, because that force is stronger than you can imagine and drives us past our own good sense.

May God strike me down, I thought after uttering a silent prayer. I’d pushed too many buttons this time. It had gotten worse. In my quest for laughs and to please the force, I’d taken more chances lately and experimented with raunchier jokes. Now I was worried if I’d upset my three tables of ladies. I might have crossed the line this time. And that thought terrified me. What have I done? I thought.

The big guy in front was at the end of his third drink. A female sat next to him, possibly his designated driver. He was chuckling. He liked Jimmy. There are signs on every table that say, “Please do not heckle the comedians” but people still do, especially when they’ve had over two drinks. When he called Jimmy, “Dumbo,” per the Disneyland theme, he did so provokingly, because the sign was right in front of him. Rosie must have heard his comment, because she was at his side asking, “Is everything all right?” She had a way of calming customers down, babysitting them without them realizing; he simply thought she was flirting.

Jimmy was on his last joke. Butterflies shot through my abdomen and out through my extremities. My ears burned. I jumped up and down like Jimmy did. The audience clapped as solidly as cacophonous, drunk people could possibly do, but this time I couldn’t look. I waited instead for them to stop. Where was the air conditioner? I wondered.

A part of me heard the announcer call my name and that same part of me walked onto stage having opened one side of the thick, maroon curtain with my ghostlike hand. In spite of the ethereal quality of my body, I maintained utter confidence. My stage-fraught self, the other part of my soul, remained safely behind the red-womb drapes, wrapping myself up in them, seeking comfort in their musty layers. The humid air had built up since the air conditioner switched off, but that part of me preferred to stifle.

No one could find me as I’d wound myself up in the curtain. “Where’s Donna?” said the manager to Jimmy who was getting ready to leave. Surprised, Jimmy must have felt something was very wrong and came back upstairs to look for me. As I lay there entwined in musty fabric, the show went on for the force wouldn’t let me rest even though I was incapacitated.

I watched myself on stage and thought, She’s grand, knowing all the while it was me. That figure was “she” and “me” all at once. But how did we split apart in the blink of an eye? The audience was clapping for her out there but I enjoyed it in both spots at once. I grasped the curtain and held it to my nose and finally savored it and at the same time took the microphone off the stand and gripped it in one hand like a pro. I almost wanted to chew the curtain out of pride when I saw myself speak on stage. And while I delivered my lines, I remained enveloped within my own cocoon like a newborn baby swaddled in fluffy cotton

“Thank you. Thank you,” I quipped as I giggled to myself backstage. Oh, I’m good, I thought, becoming even more dreamy-eyed than I’d been the last moment. I was all settled in to enjoy myself and all of the jokes I’d created in all of those odd places. Funny how content I feel, I thought as I watched myself onstage. I watched myself scanning the crowd while keeping track of the big guy, but between both of us, we wouldn’t miss a move. I’d been sizing him up from both angles, and from both perspectives his heckling would only serve to entertain me.

I stood on stage and focused on the table of nerds who’d wooted long past the time the clapping had stopped. I gave them my quizzical glance, an expression that could draw a laugh all by itself. Engaging with the crowd was becoming my specialty, I thought as I hugged the curtain.

“Thank you so much for that great applause. It’s almost like you know me or something?” I said, mid-stage, with the spotlight shining down. I gave a look of disbelief, another one of my funny expressions, while I scanned the audience. The big guy in front was not laughing, however. He’d been sizing me up with long, hard glances. I wondered why, but I didn’t care. Maybe he’d had too much gin.

“As some of you know, I’m from Seattle–” a few hands clapped, and a few whistles shot out—“

At which point I woke up in Jimmy’s dressing room mouthing the words, “….from Seattle.”

“Are you okay, Donna?” he asked at close range, looking into my eyes. I wasn’t cuddly anymore. I was perspiring and hot, covered with a blanket and lying on a lumpy vinyl couch. I felt like vomiting. I didn’t want to wake up. I wanted to watch myself perform with the force upon me.

“The ambulance is on the way,” Jimmy said.

“Thanks, Jimmy,” I said. ”Thanks.” I closed my eyes and realized that I could let go. The show wouldn’t have to go on after all, because my alibi had finally arrived.

Copyright 2011. All Rights Reserved.

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Once upon a time in a kingdom left ravaged and smoldering by the swords and fire of war, three lovely princesses laid breathless under the eldest princess’s bed. They could hear the rebels’ voices in the hall. The middle princess raised her head to listen and bumped it on something protruding underneath the Imperial rug. Instead of crying out she grasped her head and held it tightly.

The eldest princess said, “Come on,” to the others as they all scrambled out from under the bed and quickly pushed it aside. They threw the carpet off the lump jetting up from the floor. It was a brass handle attached to a hatch door on the floor.

The eldest princess grasped it and pulled to open the hatch, but it was stuck. “Help!” she cried in a whispered desperation. The mens’ voices had grown louder outside their chamber, and there was no time to spare. She quietly instructed her sisters and they eagerly complied; each one grasped a section of the brass exactly where the eldest sister directed. Then they lifted it up with all of their might.

Fortunately, it began to budge, but it took longer than they anticipated since the mass was laden with damp. The princesses weren’t used to lifting heavy objects. When they’d propped it open, the eldest princess peeked into the hole and quietly said, “It’s a tunnel.” She was agog with the new-found prospect of their escape. “Let’s go–” she began, then stopping herself, she realized they couldn’t leave without bringing a few essentials. She corrected herself and added, “–but first we have to pack.”

Wrapping as many possessions as possible into three silk sheets, each princess began to bundle her own load to carry into the secretive chamber. Thinking as princesses, they packed the most expensive items first. First, they ran to their jewels; secondly, they grabbed their heady colognes and soaps and wrapped them in toweling; finally, they stopped at their closets to choose their favorite gowns and shoes. “That’s enough! We must leave!” cried the eldest princess, throwing hairbrushes, candles, and biscuits into her own bundle as an afterthought.

The princesses knotted the ends of their silk bundles and ran to the tunnel hatch where they took turns climbing down the ladder and passing the packs down to one another. The eldest princess went down the hatch last, pulling the carpet next to the trapdoor so that she could drape it back across the top while closing it. This way, the rebels might not notice the handle, she thought.

Thus, the three princesses descended into the dark and dank tunnel of their unknown future in search of safety. Once the hatch was securely closed behind them, they chattered continuously to each other in order to keep their minds off the tunnel’s rat- and roach-riddled walls. None of them liked the smell of mold and frogs one bit. Toward the end, when a small shaft of light appeared, they drew a collective breath and shouted, “Oh, look, Sisters!”

They followed the beam on the tunnel’s gradual descent to a dead end where a six-foot ladder awaited. By this time, through the battle, the shock, and their eventual escape, they’d lost interest in being princesses and keeping themselves clean. They didn’t even mind that their gowns were hardly intact. Their hands and faces were filthy and their silk dresses had snagged and ripped on the jagged rocks along the way. They were too tired, cold, and hungry to worry about petty manners. And, anyway, no one else was alive to judge them on social graces.

The eldest princess tried the exit ladder first. She was, after all, the eldest and it was fitting. When she reached the top, she found a wooden hatch similar to the last, but this one contained a keyhole where a single beam of brilliant sunlight shone through. She pushed with all of her might, hoping against hope that she wouldn’t need a key to open the hatch from the outside. If a key was needed, who would insert it into the lock and open it? With these worries swirling through her mind, she continued pushing against the hatch until, at last, it gave way. Her sister, the middle princess, handed her a large stick with which to prop the door ajar while the eldest princess climbed through.

By the time the muddy hem of her gown made it through the hatch, the eldest princess had already begun surveying the area. She quickly gave the all clear.  “Yes, come up!” she called to her sisters. The two younger princesses climbed up, handing their bundles up, happy to finally reach fresh air. The three princesses stood wide-eyed at their surroundings.

The trapdoor exited onto the thickest part of a forest, a silent place darkened by more lush greenery than the princesses had ever seen. Until then, they’d only ever been allowed outside of the castle grounds for excursions on horseback trails, but those were boring days by comparison and usually meant droning lectures about the family’s vast estates and miles of redundant rolling hills. But here, squirrels frolicked on the ground and flew across tree branches. A plethora of exotic-sounding birds sang side by side. Strange fruit such as the princesses had never seen hung from trees. It was indeed an exotic land.

Quickly, the princesses began unfolding their bundles and sorting their possessions. It was as if there was no other place in the world they should set up house but in that exact spot. Why, it seemed as though it had been picked just for them.

~~~~

They made a small fire, remembering tricks their father had taught them during their outdoor excursions about flint, a rubbing stick, and the driest type of kindling that almost explodes into a fire with the smallest spark. It took them what felt like ages, but soon a tiny puff of smoke appeared followed by a real flame. With practice, they became handy fire starters and grew fond of operating the wood pit in every aspect, even down to the gathering of the wood. They preferred this important chore to the one the eldest sister performed at mealtime: the hunting and skinning of animals for supper. They considered themselves lucky to finally be able to get dirty without having to apologize for it; they loved the variety of aromas in the different types of woods and learned how to smoke meats into dried jerky to keep during the winter months when the weather precluded the eldest daughter from hunting.

The eldest princess caught her first squirrel by tricking it with a piece of biscuit. When it was busy nibbling, she threw her shoe at it, knocking it out. The squirrel didn’t know what hit him and had a lovely last meal, she thought. The eldest princess had no compunction when it came to skinning and cooking meat; she’d watched the chefs in her father’s kitchen since she was a little girl. She knew the provenance of her meals and their many hearty banquets. The fields and forest contain everything we need, she thought, as she gathered familiar dandelion greens and dug up root vegetables that looked like parsnips.

When she was finished cooking, her sisters smothered the small fire. The forest canopy caught the trickling smoke twirls, but the scent traveled, hooking the nose of a lonely hunter, who was caught in the midst of the rebellion and sought refuge in a nearby patch of woods. Immediately, the hunter collected his sword, his bow and arrows, and knives and began his search.

The princesses, relieved to have eaten and landed in the middle of a natural beauty spot, began to tidy their living space. They swept their dirt patch free of dead leaves and debris and created a floor using pebbles for the walkway and palm leaves for rugs. They stuffed fresh leaves into their sheets to use as bedding, filling them until they were the desired firmness. They were so tired by then that the younger princesses fell onto their beds in two great heaps, their heads whooshing down happily on leafy mattresses.

They missed their parents and nannies more than ever, especially now at bedtime. The eldest princess consoled them by making up a fantastic story about a mythological creature that shot fire out of his eyeballs and could lift any amount of weight. She only realized they’d already fallen asleep when she started telling them the details about the creature’s son.

The eldest princess heard a rustling in the bushes and turned her head to look. Her eyes were keenly adjusted to nighttime by then. She moved with the acumen of a jaguar in the dark. Another crunch of leaves underfoot perked her cat ears. She inhaled slowly. She had no inclination to wake her sisters. That would alarm them, and they’d already been through too much.

The figure moved toward the middle of their camp not even pretending to hide. In full view in the dark, she could tell he was young by his silhouette and the way he moved. He stooped over the campfire and sniffed; it had been smothered for hours. There aren’t any leftovers, she mused. She’d dug a hole and buried the squirrel carcass. She’d burned everything else in the fire afterward. Her heart pounded. He began to walk toward the younger princesses’ beds.

“Stop!” the eldest princess hissed, not wanting to wake her sisters.

The hunter stopped in his tracks. “What do you want?” she asked in the firm voice she’d heard soldiers use to ensure their orders were obeyed.

The hunter wasn’t used to hearing a woman speak with such authority, particularly in the middle of the woods, and he calmly replied, “Nothing, Miss. I just smelled your stew–I mean, your fire, and wondered who was here. I mean no harm.” He took a step backward, then the princess ordered him to step back again. He complied, taking another step back.

“Who are you?” the eldest princess inquired with what she imagined was a reserved strength in her voice.

“A lowly hunter. I managed to survive the rebellion, but I have nothing. Want nothing.”

“Very well. You must leave the way you came. Now!” growled the princess through gritted teeth.

The hunter nodded and took a canteen from his shoulder. “Here, you’ll probably need this,” he said, and laid it on the ground between them.

The eldest princess squinted at the ground between them. She couldn’t make it out in the darkness. “What is it?”

“Water,” said the hunter.

“Oh. Thank you. And where is the river from which it came?” asked the eldest princess in a softened tone.

“Half a day’s journey on foot to the west,” said the hunter, pointing. She couldn’t see where his arm was pointing, but she knew her directions. “Now I’ll take my leave,” said the hunter. And then he left, still hungry but satisfied with the knowledge that he’d discovered the creator of the heaven-scented stew. It smelled just like Mother’s, he thought.

The hunter arrived back at his camp, relieved at not having run into any rebels. He decided to move closer to the river to perchance run into the eldest princess, knowing she would need to search for water soon. You can’t live without water, he deduced. And they had a lot of washing to do. He’d given her directions, after all.  Yes, he would pack up and move first thing in the morning. Why me? he wondered, fearing that his troubles had just tripled. Now he’d have to worry about three extra mouths to feed and three more lives to protect. But it was better than being lonely, he reckoned.

The next morning, the princesses ate a grand breakfast of fresh quail eggs and blueberries gathered from the generous game- and fruit-filled forest. The eldest princess then ordered her sisters to remain at camp while she stuffed as many blossoms as possible into her frock. She would scatter them on the ground behind her in order to find her way home from her journey.

“If I’m not back by sundown, don’t let it worry you. Whatever you do, stay here at this safe spot and don’t come to search for me. Do you hear?” She repeated this to her sisters five times in five ways. The younger princesses were nervous, but they obeyed, having no one else to trust.

The eldest princess left, acting more bravely than she felt, on her quest for water. She sniffed each petal before dropping it behind her. After half a day’s journey, she sat down to rest, not having found water but having stumbled into the hunter’s camp instead.

“Hello?” said the eldest princess, as if calling out to an empty house.

“Oh, hello!” the hunter replied as he poked his head out from underneath a stove he was building.

The eldest princess walked over to get a good look at him in the daylight. So this was the man who approached our forest bedchamber last night, she thought. Hmmm. He seemed an honest and upright soul. She knew she had been a bit gruff the previous night, but she couldn’t fault herself for trying to protect her sisters.

“I was looking for the river–” she began to say, but he had already blurted out his response.

“It’s farther west. You’re almost there. Would you like me to show you?” he said without a hint of deception in his eyes for which she had been watching. No, he meant to show her the river and nothing more. Of that she was certain. Or at least fairly certain. What do I know of the world, after all? she asked herself. But she was learning. That much was true.

“Yes, please,” she replied and nodded as she thought of the two knives she’d brought. One was for protection again any type of fearsome forest creature, and the other was her cooking blade.

She watched him gather his supplies. There were several canteens, a bow, arrows, and knives that clearly put hers to shame. Then he put a sword into his sheath. She felt there was something dashing in the manner in which he did so, but she was startled, nonetheless, to find a lowly hunter with so much armament.

“You never know what we might find,” the hunter said, looking at the princess with what he meant to be reassurance, finding instead a hint of trepidation in her eyes.

They walked to a tree where a mule was tied up. The eldest princess, amazed, cried, “I didn’t know you had a mule?!”

“You don’t know a lot of things,” he said in a matter-of-fact manner as he tightened the packages on the mule. Then he winked at her, which made her blush. She hadn’t blushed since she was on an excursion with her father, the King, when one of his aides slipped a bouquet of fresh-picked wildflowers to her. She quickly told her father that she’d picked them, but having to lie threw her off her equilibrium. She never wanted to be in that position again, so she tried to maintain a middle ground where she was in control with no surprises, ups, or downs.

That was one of the reasons she hadn’t told the hunter she was a princess. He would never have guessed it, judging by her tattered appearance. She didn’t want him to know, not until she could feel like one–if she ever would again. She had no parents to call King and Queen, no castle, no army, and no land. The three princesses had been relegated to a slice of forest with no water and now a wary dependence on a strange, young hunter who, however handsome and enthralling, appeared to be full of himself. Still, there was something reminiscent about him that brought comfort to her. She decided to let a few walls down and follow her intuition. She allowed him to lead her for a change. To water, for now.

She thought of her sisters and asked, “Can we make it back to my camp by sundown?”

“No, but we can try,” he replied honestly, and she appreciated that.

The hunter tied three extra deerskin vessels to each side of the mule in addition to the canteens, and they began a comfortable journey with amiable chat, trying to adjust to one another without displaying how awkward they felt. The eldest princess did her best to steer the conversation away from personal questions so that she wouldn’t have to divulge her identity. However, the young hunter felt there was something special about her as he studied her countenance and poise, but he just couldn’t place it; she was still covered in mud and road dust.

They reached the river and began filling all of the containers with water and tying them back onto the mule. The sun was already beginning to set, but neither one would leave before all the vessels were filled. They plodded back to her camp, a wearisome, quiet journey, arriving just before midnight. The two princesses had lain awake, worrying, crying, and morphing into despair as the hours ticked by, fearing the worst. They’d expected her back before sundown and were happily singing during that time of evening. “If only you’d arrived then!” the youngest princess sobbed.

“Cup of tea?” the hunter asked the distraught sisters, who were locked in a hug. He pulled a package of loose-leaf black tea from a pack on the mule. “I usually trade this stuff for blankets or clothes, but it seems a good time for it.”

At that, the princesses, who hadn’t had a cup of tea since they left the castle, released each other to prepare the brew. The eldest princess carried a canteen of water to the wood pit where she poured it into a pot, placing the lid over the top. The younger princesses started the fire and tended the pot while the eldest princess went back to help the hunter unload the rest of the vessels from the mule.

“Look! Now we can bathe!” cried the eldest princess to her sisters, but they didn’t care. They weren’t bothered about being caked with dirt. They just wanted a cup of tea.

“Seems you’ll need more water,” said the hunter to the eldest princess, rolling a piece of dried grass in his mouth and analyzing the situation.  “Have you thought of moving closer to the river?”

“We–we love it here. I don’t know if we could–” said the eldest princess with halting speech. She knew it made sense. They needed water, but they would have to tear themselves away from their perfect spot in the forest, and she knew it would break her sisters’ hearts to leave.

“We’ll help you. The mule and I, that is,” said the hunter with another wink.

The eldest princess found his willingness to help charming. But the winking bothered her, because it threw off her equilibrium. She had decided to resist his winks after the first one made her blush. Now she noticed that a dimple appeared in his cheek when he winked, an irresistible combination.  She felt herself growing weaker and thus, doomed to his charms. It made her uncomfortable, but she realized that he would help them to the ends of the earth if she allowed it. Maybe this was their chance. We can’t live without water, she determined.

“Yes, we should move,” the eldest princess relented, forcing herself to say the words aloud, realizing that water was more important to them than losing her sense of control.

“Girls,” she said, “We need to move house closer to the river.” The younger princesses looked at one another as if they were leaving their childhood home when it had only been a two-day encampment in the midst of the forest. The eldest princess knew she had to become more assertive and decreed, “We’ll leave tomorrow morning then,” in a most royal fashion.

The hunter’s ears twitched. He looked at her for a very long time, intrigued. Underneath all the dirt, she’s very much like Mother, he surmised. Yes, that was it.

~~~~

The castle had been burned to the ground and before that it had been ransacked so that there was nothing left but piles of cold ash and stone. A boulder had fallen on top of the place where the princesses had lain under the bed, and they would have been dead were it not for the secret hatch that led to their escape. As the rebels fled out of the territories, opportunists swept through pilfering whatever remained. When they were finished, the castle and all of the surroundings were considered unusable, a veritable ghost town, a place where no man wanted to live and no harvest could grow.

It remained a lost, desperate area while things actually did grow. Within months, seeds beneath the topsoil took root and found their way upward winding past the stones and inner walls of the castle where there were no ceilings or roofs to block the sun from penetrating down. As years passed, plants and trees began to cover the castle and surround it, eventually blocking the entire castle from sight.

It was then that a boy of 12 happened through the area on a hunting expedition with his cousins who were both 14-years of age. The older cousins were racing their horses against one another and lost the younger boy. It was difficult to say if they’d done it on purpose or if they just forgot about him during the excitement. In any case, the boy found himself alone and trotting through heavy foliage that appeared to be part of an old ruin. He never knew the rubble existed until he crossed through the trees and trampled over it. It was a crumbled labyrinth, and the deeper he ventured into it the more interesting it became.

The rubble was such that he had to dismount and lead his horse by the reins. He stopped when he found a tree with shaded grass underneath where he tied his horse. He walked up to the stone castle entrance where, undoubtedly, a wooden door would have hung but had since turned to ash and blown away. In its place were rising vines and weeds reaching upward. He marveled at the plant-covered walls and open sky. The sun was still bright. He had plenty of time to find his way home. He sat down on a boulder to rest.

He began to hear a clanging sound underneath the ground. He couldn’t understand it. Then he heard voices. How many? Two? Three? He heard rapping again but this time the vibrations bounced off the boulder that he was sitting on, sending a chill up his spine. It was as if the dead were trying to rise again, calling out to him. He stood up and looked at the boulder and wondered if he could move it.

He pushed it, but it wouldn’t budge. He knew he’d have to bring his cousins to help. Together they could free whomever was trapped underneath.

~~~~

The eldest princess and her sisters climbed out of the trapdoor exit and wiped the excess mud from their dresses.

“I knew we shouldn’t have tried that again,” said the middle princess in despair.

“You never know unless you try,” said the youngest princess, trying to act sage even though she was equally disappointed.

“At least we gave it our best effort,” said the eldest princess, summing it up.

They had no idea why the original trapdoor entrance wouldn’t open, and that fact bothered them very much. They didn’t know what was on the other side after all of these years. Had the castle been rebuilt and the door sealed shut? Had another castle been built on top of it? They had so many questions, but their main question was how would they ever open that hatch again?

“The worst part was smelling those frogs the entire time!” said the youngest princess.

The other two nodded in agreement.

“We’ll try again–with a better plan,” said the eldest princess.

They all went to wash themselves with canteen water and soap, to get the acrid stench off of their skin and hair. They changed their clothes and made plans to do the washing at the river the next day.

“Maybe we’ll see the hunter tomorrow,” said the eldest princess, as she thought about his wink and dimple.

~~~~

The boy and his cousins were riding their horses fast to the castle. The older cousins craved adventure, and when they heard the story of people crying out from under the boulder and knocking on the it from the grave, they had to find out what was going on. It seemed that they’d never get there, but their parents made them do all of their chores first. Since they lived on farms, there was little time for fun, which was why they craved it so much.

When they arrived at the castle, the boy showed them the spot where he tied up his horse, and they did the same. They mimicked the boy quietly so as not to disturb the spirits lest anything go awry. The boy led them to the bedroom of the princesses, which didn’t look like a bedroom at all, and he sat atop the boulder that blocked the trapdoor.

“This is it,” said the boy, as if he’d found a chestful of buried treasure.

The older cousins looked all around the boulder sizing it up for weight and mobility.

“I don’t hear anything,” the cousin who was almost 15-years old said.

“Neither do I,” said the middle cousin, who had just turned 14. “Let’s move it.”

The boy was still sitting on it and felt it was way too soon to start moving it before the spirits had a chance to make a peep. “Wait! Just give them a chance.”

The older cousins acquiesced and stared off into the open space and plant-covered walls, not believing that a spirit would knock or say anything in the first place but wanting to move the boulder in any case.

When five minutes had elapsed, the boy relented and descended the boulder. The three of them pushed it until it rocked, then they rocked it some more on its uneven bottom until it threw itself off to the side.

“What’s this?” said the middle cousin. And he crouched at the line demarcating the hatch.

“Maybe that’s their grave!” said the boy, who became fearful that there really was something under the boulder that he’d been sitting on.

“Let’s try to pry it off,” said the eldest cousin. They all tried various sticks to pry the edge so that they could pull it off.

“I got it!” the eldest cousin announced as he grasped the edge with his fingertips that were turning white from strain. “Help me!”

All 30 fingertips pulled the door up bit by bit revealing a dark, dank place that hadn’t seen light since the day of the rebellion.

“What is it?” asked the boy. “A cellar?”

They leaned over it, and the eldest cousin poked his head inside. It wasn’t a cellar at all. “My God! It’s a tunnel!” he exclaimed.

The middle cousin stood with his mouth open. And the boy beamed.

~~~~

The princesses were sunning by the river in the early spring when the youngest princess declared, “I’m bored. Let’s take a trip.”

“You know we can’t go off to uncharted territory, Silly,” replied the middle princess.

“The hunter can chaperone us,” said the youngest princess.

“We can ask him if he knows of a safe area,” said the eldest princess. “He’ll be here soon. He’s trading tea and biscuits for those shirts we sewed.”

“I hope he brings different biscuits this time,” said the youngest princess, pouting. “I’m bored of the last ones.”

“We have to take whatever he has, Silly,” said the eldest princess.

“Yes, quit being spoiled. Does this look like a castle to you?” said the middle princess.

“Very well. I shall eat all the biscuits and get very fat. Very fat indeed,” the youngest princess said snottily.

“Then what are you going to wear?” replied the eldest princess, casting the youngest princess a look of displeasure. She could only tolerate impudence for so long.

“A palm leaf,” the youngest princess replied.

“Better make that two,” retorted the middle princess.

“Is the tea ready?” said the youngest princess, changing the subject after noticing the countenance of the eldest princess.

“Not unless you’ve made the fire,” said the eldest princess, then added, “Have you?” after realizing she could do with a cup.

The youngest princess got up to start the fire. She would have preferred to take a nap or to eat different biscuits or to take a trip to a new place, but making a fire was a task she enjoyed, after all.

“Tea will be ready in 10 minutes,” she called out.

“Lovely!”

“Lovely,” responded her sisters.

I do love them, the youngest princess thought and wondered what she’d ever do without them.

He looks so handsome, the eldest princess thought as the hunter rode up to their camp by the river.  The other princesses thought the same thing, but they didn’t think it quite as loudly and it didn’t show on their faces like it did on the eldest princess’s. She watched as he tied his horse to a tree and walked up to her. He gave her a kiss on the cheek.

They hadn’t married because there was no one left alive in their realm to officially marry them. The town had been wiped out including the church and clergy. So the princesses and the hunter became mutually reliant upon one another. The eldest princess knew that her father’s allies would have taken them in had they known the princesses were alive and fending for themselves in the wild, but she wouldn’t feel at home anywhere else. It was bad enough that they had to move to the river from their forest patch, but to move to another kingdom or another country felt altogether too scary.

There was only one place the princesses truly wanted to visit, and that was their old home, the castle. The eldest princess still hadn’t told the hunter that she was a princess. If she told him now, would he even believe her or would he be angry she kept it from him for so long?

~~~~

The boys hit the walls with walking sticks as they made their way down the tunnel in the darkness. Their voices and the sticks echoed and trailed after them as they marched and shouted. They smelled the mold and frogs, which didn’t bother them at all, and they enjoyed the mud and insects. When they got to the point where they could see the tiny shaft of light they ran toward it until they reached the end of the tunnel where the six-foot ladder stood.

The eldest cousin climbed up and pushed open the hatch to let himself out. “Wow!” he exclaimed as he looked around at the lush greenery that had once been a lavish living space. He walked to the fire pit without considering his two cousins who were still inside the tunnel.

The middle cousin climbed out and looked around while holding the hatch open for the boy, who had just reached the top.

“Where are you?” the middle cousin called to the eldest cousin.

“Over here, next to the fire pit!” the eldest cousin shouted back. The younger cousins ran to him.

“Look at this place. Wonder if someone lives here?” said the eldest cousin.

The boy, confused, asked, “What is it? a campground?”

“Yeah, kind of,” said the middle cousin trying to act knowledgeable yet equally confused.

The boys scattered around the small campsite to inspect its accommodations but were soon bored. They decided to return back to the castle where their horses awaited. “I know!” said the eldest cousin having come up with a plan, “We’ll have a sleepover and say we’re staying in the barn, but instead we’ll come down here and stay in the forest!”

“Dunno about that,” said the middle cousin, more worried about goblins than getting caught.

“Your barn stinks. It’s not like we’d stay in there anyway,” said the boy.

“We can clean it up first. Come on, fellas. Where’s your sense of adventure?” said the eldest cousin.

The middle cousin and the boy looked at one another and mulled over the idea. It might not be that big a deal. The two younger cousins could always blame it on the eldest cousin if they got caught. It might be fun. They shrugged. It sounded scary and creepy, but at least it wasn’t boring.

~~~~

“May I tell you something?” said the eldest princess.

“Of course,” said the hunter.

“You might not be happy with me. In fact, you might be angry with me,” said the eldest princess.

The hunter looked at her and wondered how he could ever be angry with her to any degree, because he’d never been so taken with anyone in his life, especially after she cleaned herself up from all of the dirt.

“You see, I used to live somewhere else–” the eldest princess began.

“And–” the hunter said, growing restless.

“–it wasn’t the usual place, and I can only hope that you find it in your heart to accept me–”

“For heaven’s sake, would you just–” said the hunter.

“I used to live in the castle.”

“In the castle?” said the hunter as he took a gulp and thought she must have been a handmaiden. So that’s where she got all of those fancy manners, he thought.

“Yes, in the castle.” She looked at him to see if he understood.

“You mean as a maid or something?” he asked.

This was going to be more difficult than she thought. She looked away. Maybe it was wrong to tell him at all. How would he take the news? She feared he would see her differently from now on, that her whole world would change without him. But she couldn’t lie to him.

“No, I am a princess–the eldest princess, the daughter of the deceased King and Queen.”

The hunter took a step back and put his knuckles to his teeth. All of this time he’d been treating the princess like she was his sister or some common street girl, full of mud, something others would loathe. But he took it upon himself to be kind to her and eventually he saw something in her. No wonder. She turned out to be–the eldest princess! He’d never seen this particular princess before, but he’d heard many accounts of the three lovely princesses. But what would she say when he told her his story?

He took her hand in his and knelt down before her. He kissed her hand ever so gently and looked up at her. She nodded her head to him in the way she’d done countless times but with a genuine fondness for him that couldn’t be disguised since at its heart bore a spark of true love.

He stood up and announced, “I am not a hunter.”

The eldest princess recoiled and drew in a breath.

“Yes, I hunt,” he began reassuringly, “and I was hunting the day I met you in the woods, but I am the son of your father’s ally from the old country. I am a prince, having been sent into the middle of the woods for safety during the revolution. My men were supposed to rally to find me, but they were either killed or–”

“Or what?” said the eldest princess, searching his eyes.

“–they might have come for me while I was at your camp. I felt it was better to make sure you were well rather than go back to my castle where I might be called a coward. If I had come back from battle with my men, they wouldn’t have known I spent my time hiding out in the woods. As you can see, I might as well call myself a hunter since I am nothing like a prince. I didn’t feel wrong telling you I was a lowly hunter. I hope you won’t hold all of this against me. I know it’s a lot to bear.”

The hunter saw that the eldest princess’s face had grown white. She looked ready to faint, so he sat her down by the river’s edge and lowered her head onto the grass. There she looked up at the clouds and said, “What has become of us?” in such a pitiful way that he knelt down and kissed her lips.

~~~~

The boys scrambled to clean out the barn. It hadn’t been used in ages except by the owl that had taken up residence in the rafters. Old hay needed to be carted outside, and they hated that chore, but it was their only ticket to the tunnel. They swept and scrubbed until the place smelled good enough to sleep in. The eldest cousin was so proud of the result, he called on one of the old farmhands to have a look.

“Oh! Hasn’t looked that good since ’74,” he declared.

Now the cousins had to convince their parents that they were actually going to sleep in the barn. They’d spread fresh hay down for their beds and brought in an oil lamp and set it in a corner on the moist ground. The eldest cousin brought his father to the barn.

“Dad, I know this sounds odd–” started the eldest cousin.

“Hm?” said his father, eager to hear the plan.

“–but my cousins and I would like to spend the night in the barn. We just cleaned it. Have a look.”

His father stood at the door to the barn and noticed the smell had improved 100-fold. It was clean and tidy. There were three separate mounds of hay for bedding topped with blankets and a pillow.

“When’s this then?” his father asked.

“Um, tomorrow night?” asked the eldest cousin.

“Oh, okay. I guess that’s all right. As long as it’s okay with the other boys’ parents. No smoking or mischief, you hear?” And his father gave him a long stare to prove his dominance. When his father was satisfied that he’d frightened his son about any repercussions that would ensue, the father walked away and switched his mind to farm duties.

The eldest cousin got on his horse to tell the other boys. He had to ride two farms away to get to one cousin and three farms to get to the other, but it was all worth it for the tunnel.

~~~~

“I have a stomach ache,” said the boy.

“Not again!” said the eldest cousin.

“Sorry. I ate too much pudding tonight,’” said the boy.

The other cousin hoped the night wasn’t going to continue that way. They had a huge plan and they didn’t want it spoiled.

The eldest cousin said, “We have to go now or the sun will be gone. It has to be light at the other end of the tunnel.”

In summertime the sun hung around until 9:30 p.m., so they had plenty of time to make it to the forest if they didn’t dilly-dally. They tied up their horses at the neighbor’s farm next door so they could sneak out and walk down the road quietly.

“We should have brought snacks. You know, in case we get hungry later,” said the middle cousin.

“Oh, right. I didn’t think of that. But then again, we shouldn’t have food on us in a forest in case there are bears,” replied the eldest cousin.

“Bears?” said the boy.

“Yeah, but don’t worry. They don’t like people,” said the eldest cousin.

When they got to their horses at the neighbor’s, they stopped to smell the air.

“Mm, what’s cooking?” asked the middle cousin.

“I don’t know,” said the boy, who was still digesting his dinner.

“Let’s go check first,” said the eldest cousin.

They retied the horses and sneaked around to the house where a woman was cooking fried chicken. There was a pie in the window cooling. The boys looked at each other with wide, mischievous eyes.

“You divert her and I’ll grab some chicken,” the eldest cousin said to the middle cousin.

Before the middle cousin had a chance to respond, the eldest cousin had gone around to the side door and let himself into the house. The middle son went to the front door and knocked, not knowing what he was going to say if anyone answered. The boy stood beside him quietly.

“Yes, Son. What is it?” said an elderly gentleman to the middle cousin.

“Oh, hello, Sir. Is the lady of the house home?”

“Why yes, she is. Hold on a minute.”

The two boys looked at each other and while the gentleman went to get the lady, the boys ran to their horses and untied them. They had plenty of time, because the old man walked slowly and the lady had to take the chicken off the stove and wipe her hands. Then she took her apron off and straightened her hair, not knowing who was at the door. By the time they got to the door, the boys had galloped to the road beyond the trees where they waited for the eldest cousin and the chicken.

“Hope he hurries,” said the boy.

“Me too. My stomach’s growling,” said the middle cousin.

The eldest cousin tore through the pasture and slowed only when he reached the road. “Got it! And a pie!” he said.

The two boys wondered where the chicken and pie were but were afraid to ask.

“Where did they go?” asked the lady as she and the old man gazed out from the front door. She wondered if it was one of his senile spells again.

He wondered the same thing and walked over to rest in his easy chair. The old man rubbed his forehead and thought, what in the Dickens?

~~~~

The eldest princess lingered with the kiss on her lips while the hunter watched the color reappear in her cheeks. There was a mountain of information to process, and after having nearly fainted she wasn’t up for any of it.  She stood up and took the hunter’s arm in hers. They walked slowly back to her room, and the hunter made sure she was safe then kissed her forehead goodnight.

“May I ask you a favor?” she said.

“Of course, my darling,” he replied.

“Would you come to the castle with us? We tried to visit once and we couldn’t lift the door.”

He looked at her trying to envisage the three of them opening a door on the outside of the castle, not realizing she was talking about a tunnel and a hatch. But she was too overwhelmed to explain anything further.

“Of course, I will,” he replied, ready to do anything for her. Now that their secrets were revealed, he felt a new world had opened up for them.

~~~~

The boys rode to the castle and tied up their horses in the usual spot. They went to the place where they’d pushed the boulder aside and opened the hatch, which was easier to do this time. Then the eldest cousin lit the oil lamp.

“Hey, where’s that pie?” asked the middle cousin.

“Oh, right here.” The eldest cousin lifted his shirt to reveal a kitchen towel inside of which a pie had been folded in half upon itself.

“And the chicken?” inquired the boy.

The eldest cousin reached behind his back and patted it on the outside.

“Super!” shouted the middle cousin.

“When can we eat? asked the boy who’d already digested his pudding.

The eldest cousin squinted and said, “You can have it later. We don’t want you getting another stomach ache. We have things to do.”

The boy nodded and understood. The eldest cousin repacked the pie and stuffed it back inside his shirt and tucked his shirt into his trousers, securing the pie with his belt so that it wouldn’t fall out during the traipse through the tunnel.

The eldest cousin handed the oil lamp to the middle cousin and said, “Hand this to me when I get to the bottom rung.” The middle cousin then handed the lamp to the eldest cousin who reached up for it. He then descended to the floor of the tunnel, which was fully lit at this point. “This is more like it,” said the eldest cousin, who was able to see every slithering cockroach and slug on the packed mud walls.

The middle cousin descended second, and the boy followed. They walked along at a brisk pace, occasionally noting vermin eyes. “Wait!” said the middle cousin who noticed something shiny reflecting off the muddy ground. He found an earring, just a little disappointed that it was a girly item, and he put it in his pocket. It wasn’t just an earring, though. It was a Royal Ruby, a one-of-a-kind gemstone, given to the middle princess as a gift by visiting royalty.

The boys continued down the tunnel until the boy cried, “Stop!” and he bent down to pick up a gold bracelet. There was writing on it with Roman numerals but he couldn’t read, so he just put it in his pocket without saying anything.

The middle cousin paused without saying anything and quickly picked up the other earring when he found it lying on the side of the tunnel. He put it in his pocket without a word.

The eldest cousin slowed to a stop as he saw something twinkling. Since he had the oil lamp, the other cousins slowed and stopped in back of him. “What is it?” asked the middle cousin.

“Dunno. Looks like a diamond,” said the eldest cousin in wonder as he turned it around, admiring all of the facets against the lamplight.

“Let’s go,” said the middle cousin, unimpressed with jewels, more interested in the adventure. They only had to walk a short distance before they were able to distinguish the tiny shaft of light filtering down from the keyhole at the end of the tunnel. They picked up their pace.

They reached the end where eldest cousin handed the oil lamp to the middle cousin. The eldest cousin pushed the hatch and propped it up with the same stick that remained from the previous trip. Then he jumped out. The middle cousin climbed up three rungs and handed the oil lamp back to the eldest cousin, who snuffed it out. The last two cousins hopped out of the tunnel, relieved that part of the trip was completed. They looked ahead and thought they were dreaming. Standing before them were three of the loveliest ladies they had ever seen.

“Who are you?” asked the hunter from the periphery, shocking the eldest cousin out of his stupor.

“Excuse me, Sir. We didn’t know you were here. We’re farm boys from the other side of the tunnel.”

“What brings you here at this hour of the night?” asked the hunter.

“We planned to camp here, Sir. I apologize since we thought it was vacant–”

“Camp?” said the eldest princess quizzically.

“What’s on your shirt? Are you hurt?” asked the youngest princess to the eldest cousin. The eldest cousin looked down and saw that the cherry pie had leaked out of the towel and had run all over his shirt.

“No, that’s just pie,” said the eldest cousin.

“Pie?” said the eldest princess, looking at her sisters as if the boy was a lunatic.

The eldest cousin decided to prove it really was pie and not a mortal wound, so he began pulling his shirt tails out of his trousers.

“Stop!” shouted the hunter. I won’t have you disrobing in front of the ladies.

“I’m only taking out the pie,” the eldest cousin said simply.

“Very well, take it out over there,” said the hunter, pointing to a group of trees.

When the eldest cousin came back with the towel, everyone gathered around. They dug into the remnants of the cherry pie until it was gone.

“Superb!” said the hunter, and the princesses all agreed, licking their fingertips.

The eldest cousin then whipped out the nine chicken legs from behind his back. They all said, “Ooh” and took one, but the eldest cousin and the hunter took an extra one claiming they needed it for their larger stature. When they were done eating, it had become semi-dark and the eldest princess said, “We can’t let you leave now. Please stay and camp as you would have done. You can have that area.”

This made the cousins very happy. They’d done a lot of work to get to that point in the forest, and now it wasn’t all for naught. They laid their blankets down and the eldest cousin put his cherry-pie laden shirt on the other side of the wood so that insects or bears wouldn’t bother him. They went to sleep not at all bothered by the laughter and banter of the hunter and princesses adjacent to them.

The princesses fell into a pleasant slumber with the happy memories of their old home in the woods dancing through their minds. No one stirred until dawn broke. The middle princess woke up first and decided to start breakfast. She made a small fire and gathered quail eggs and blueberries like they’d always done. She was loading the second basket of berries when she heard a huffing noise. She turned around and saw a giant Black Bear that had steam coming out of its nose and mouth. I must have ventured into its berry patch, she thought, and dropped to the ground, feigning dead, throwing the baskets of berries off to the side.

The bear grabbed the berry bush and shook it. It walked to the baskets and began woofing down the contents in giant snorts. She remained still while listening as it picked up the remnant berries and smacked its lips. The sound of its breath made her heart pound. Then it began to wander off. She continued to lie there until its steps were no longer audible. Ever so slowly she crept back to camp.

“A bear!” she shouted.

“Where?!” cried the eldest princess.

The middle princess re-enacted the event with great airs and gestures until she remembered the sleeping boys.

Startled, the eldest princess cried, “Let’s check! Get the hunter!”

The hunter heard the commotion and was already loading up his gear. With knives, sword, bow and arrows, they left together to ensure the boys’ safety. When they arrived, the boys were sound asleep with no bear in sight.

“We’d better stay in case the bear were to come.” The hunter said as he perched himself on a tall boulder. The princesses left to finish preparing breakfast without the berries. They sang and carried on in a chirpy manner, which helped to further drive the bear away.

In a matter of minutes, the boys began waking up to the singing and laughing and chatting, unaware they’d been in mortal danger. And they smelled the eggs that wafted through the forest.

“Good morning!” said the hunter in a cheery voice. The boys looked up, surprised to see him sitting on a tall boulder, fully armed.

The hunter explained about the bear and how they would all have to stick together. But first they had breakfast after which the hunter presented the eldest cousin with one of his own river-washed shirts. “You can’t go anywhere with a cherry-stained shirt,” he said. The boy lit up. He’d never seen a shirt with finer tailoring and sturdy yet soft cloth. He changed into it, admiring the fact that it was too big and he’d have years left to wear it. He thought it would probably last his whole life.

“Thank you,” said the eldest cousin to the hunter. The hunter nodded politely. The eldest cousin remembered that there was something he had to give to the hunter in return. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the diamond broach that he’d found in the tunnel. “Here, take this,” he said to the hunter. I found it in the tunnel. The hunter examined it. Then a glint of recognition appeared over his face, and he smiled. The broach belonged to his mother, the Queen. How did the boy acquire this? he wondered. Was it stolen and sold on the open market?

The two younger cousins stepped forward and reached into their pockets, pulling out the jewels that they’d found in the tunnel. The middle cousin handed the hunter two Royal-Ruby earrings, and the boy laid a gold bracelet with writing that he couldn’t read onto the gemstone pile rising out of the hunter’s palm. The hunter saw the inscription on the bracelet and recognized it as the one his father, the King had given his mother, the Queen. The earrings were also hers.

The hunter called to the three princesses, who were busy snuffing out the wood-pit fire and doing the washing from breakfast. “Ladies! Please come over here. I have something to show you!” said the hunter.

It wasn’t like the hunter to interrupt them, so they rushed over to him. When they were all standing in front of him he held his hand in front of them and opened his palm. He expected them to “ooh,” and “ah” over the jewels. Instead, they cried out in a possessive manner.

“My broach!” said the eldest princess.

“My Royal-Ruby earrings,” said the middle princess.

And the youngest princess cried out, “My gold bracelet!”

At this the hunter was confused and a bit put off and demanded answers. “What are you talking about?” he said.

“We were wearing those the night we escaped! I’d completely forgotten about my jewelry,” said the eldest princess.

“B–but this used to be my mother’s,” stammered the hunter not understanding how the princesses were claiming them as their own.

“We were given them during a Royal visit, from the King and Queen from the next kingdom,” the middle princess piped up.

A light of clarity swept the hunter’s face. “That explains it,” said the hunter, who redistributed the jewelry to their rightful owners.

The eldest princess, with diamond broach in hand, walked to the eldest cousin and said, “Take this. Give it to your mother as a gift from the princess.”

The hunter became silent and dumbfounded, watching the jewelry travel to yet another rightful owner before his eyes.

The eldest cousin trembled and said, “Thank you, Miss.” He thought it only appropriate that he try to bow his head even though he’d never practiced it before. He didn’t know if he did it right, but she didn’t laugh at him. He put the diamond back into his pocket, and the eldest princess walked back to where she’d been standing.

The middle princess followed suit and walked to the middle cousin. She took his hand in hers and said, “Please give these Royal-Ruby earrings to your mother. She can do with them what she pleases. Tell her they are from the middle princess.” And she waited in case he was going to attempt a bow, but he didn’t. He froze in place instead, unable to move or speak. Then the middle princess walked back to where she was standing previously and stood quietly, watching the middle cousin in case he were to faint. The middle cousin regained his life force and looked around wondering what was going to happen next.

The youngest boy stood waiting for his turn, anxious to get his jewelry back. The youngest princess looked around and felt pressured by this time. All eyes were upon her to give her jewelry away. She walked up to the boy and said, “This is for your mother, dear boy. Please tell her it is from the youngest princess and before that the Queen of the next Kingdom. She may do with it what she pleases.” And she placed the bracelet into the boy’s waiting hand only the boy didn’t thank her.

“Miss?” asked the boy. “What does it say?”

“It says, ‘To the loveliest one in the kingdom. God Bless the Queen.’ I’m sorry, I can’t read the date. It’s been scratched off.”

“Thank you, Princess,” said the boy. He bowed his head and stood until he felt safe enough to move.

“That was lovely. Lovely!” said the hunter and motioned to the cousins that it was their time to bid farewell. When everyone had said goodbye and the last boy was safely inside the tunnel, the hunter closed the hatch.

“That was lovely,” he said again to the princesses as he tried to hold on to every moment that had just transpired, the beauty and generosity of which clung in the air.

“They can sell the jewels to help with expenses on their farms. We don’t need jewels here,” the eldest princess explained.

“You are the jewels,” said the hunter. I have known the three of you as lovely princesses thus far. But your generosity and kind spirits have moved me beyond anything I have heretofore seen. For here you are with nothing, having been given back your own possessions, yet you think of others before yourselves. I have been shamed for even considering keeping the jewels. I now declare you a whole new level of lovely, and that is SuperLovely. You are indeed SuperLovelies!” said the hunter and bowed deeply toward the three princesses.

“And you, my darling, are my own SuperLoveliest,” he said to the eldest princess, taking her hands within his. “This forest isn’t your sacred place anymore, not with the children and the bears.”

“He’s right,” said the middle princess.

“Let’s go back to the river. That’s our home now,” said the eldest princess to her sisters and the hunter.

“Unless you want to come home with me?” asked the hunter.

The eldest princess gasped. Going home to his castle would be risky. They might call him a coward or he could get killed for treason. And who knew how the King and Queen would react to his three princesses in tow.

“Are you sure?” asked the eldest princess.

“How couldn’t I be sure? I’m bringing the loveliest princesses of all time with me–the SuperLovelies! They already adore you as shown by the gifts they bestowed upon you. Due to that, they might smooth things over with me. That is my hope, that we can all live happily ever after in the castle. Are you brave enough to try?” And with that, he winked at her and smiled, and she found it hard to resist even with all of the risks.

But it was worth a try. There was a chance that it could work, wasn’t there? After all, when life is a fairytale, you can choose to end it the way you want. And she liked the idea of living in his castle happily ever after. Wouldn’t you?

Copyright 2011. All Rights Reserved.

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