“C’mon,
Apple. We’ve got to get home or father
might get sicker.” Beauty urged her horse on, her heart trembling as they
picked through the dense forest surrounding her house. She couldn’t remember why she had been in
the woods in the first place, but while she was there, she had gathered the last
of the herbs that would ease her father’s discomfort.
Apple
whinnied nervously, continually swinging his huge head back to glance at her
with concern in his big brown eyes.
She’d never seen her sweet-tempered horse so agitated before either…
best to get home before whatever Apple was nervous about decided to reveal
itself.
At
that moment, the thatched roof of the cottage materialized between the black
tree trunks and bushes. Beauty’s heart
wanted to leap for joy, but something held it back.
Nerves, she told herself. You
always let your imagination get the best of you. Now stop thinking fairy tale and see to your father.
Apple
sighed heavily as she slipped from the saddle, as though he’d been trotting all
day instead of just an hour or so.
“Lazy thing.” She teased him with a smile as she removed his harness and
hung it up. “I’ll have to take you for
a gallop tomorrow before you whither away on me.”
As
she untied the pocket where she had stashed the herbs, her brow furrowed. Saddlebags?
If she had gone no further than a mile from her home, as usual, why on
earth did she have saddlebags with her?
An even better question was why were they near bursting at the seams
with things?
She
shook her head, this was more than slightly odd. Why couldn’t she remember her ride in the forest? Come to think of it, she couldn’t remember
picking those herbs… or leaving the house in the first place. Maybe she’d received a bump on the
head. She’d heard stories of people knocking
themselves silly and then not remembering things. A head passed hastily over her head assured her that there were
no bumps or sore spots to answer that question.
Forget it.
Just get inside and make up the soup for father, yes? She took a
deep breath and resolved not to think about it anymore… she had a job to do.
“Hello! I’m back!
I’ve got the herbs we need!” she called as she ran towards the front
door, unsure as to why it looked so wonderful when nothing had changed.
A
split second before she reached the door, it swung open on familiarly rusty
hinges and Alice stood there with her mouth agape. Beauty came to a screeching halt before crashing into her,
pausing to catch her breath.
“Beauty?”
Alice whispered to the handkerchief pressed against her mouth. “Is that you, sweetie?”
“Of
course it’s me!” Beauty was indignant.
“Who else would I be? Let me in
the doorway, Alice.”
She
pushed her way past her oddly frozen sister and met Elizabeth in the tiny
hallway to the kitchen. “Did you put
the hot water on like I asked you to?” she asked, not sure if she had indeed
asked her sister to put water on, but assuming that she would have.
“I…
um… you…” Elizabeth stammered. “Beauty…
oh, Beauty!” Elizabeth embraced her suddenly and tightly, as though she’d been
gone for months instead of hours. Alice
soon joined from behind, the two older girls nearly lifting their youngest off
of the floor.
“I’m…
happy to see you two as well.” Beauty asked in almost question. “But the reunion can wait. Is Father feeling any better?”
“Ah,
so that’s why you’re back. How did you
know that Father was sick, though?” Alice asked, releasing Beauty from her
death grip.
“What
do you mean how did I know? How could I
not know?” Beauty shook her head in mock-dismay. Actually… why did she get the feeling that she shouldn’t know?
“Can we stop the inquisition now? I have some broth to make for Father.”
Alice
and Elizabeth looked at each other in confusion, as they often did when Beauty
was purposely being silly. However, at
this particular time, Beauty was as frustrated with herself for not remembering
what was going on.
“Are
you going to help me or what?” she asked, taking off for the kitchen to escape
their concerned looks.
“Yes,
of course, dear.” Elizabeth offered, the first to recover from her bout of
silence. “Don’t mind us… it’s been a
long week with Father so sick and all.”
“Don’t
I know it.” Beauty agreed. Oh, do
you? You can’t even remember what you
did the past three hours, silly. Just
make the broth and get on with it would you?
@>----,------‘----------------,--------
Rayven
watched her through the glass of swirling, moonlight-colored wine, his heart
already achingly conscious of her absence.
She was back with her family now, where she belonged and where he could
never follow… she was safe. But as
surely as he had set her free, so had he slammed the prison door on himself,
tossing the golden key far beyond his feeble reach. He would certainly perish now, condemned to die in this
unnatural, beastly form… his soul past salvation. His was remorseful only for the sake of his servants… but with
time, the forest would reclaim the castle and all trace of him would be gone
except for the stories… another hundred years and even the rumors would be
dust. Beauty would never remember him
again.
“Master…
was that wise?” Jacob’s voice pulled him reluctantly from his morbid musings.
“I
could think of nothing else to do. I
couldn’t keep her here or her father would’ve died… and she would’ve hated me
for keeping her from him.” He sighed heavily.
“You
could’ve let her go for a time and then let her return here shortly.” Jacob
suggested soulfully.
“And
dangle her freedom in front of her, like water in front of a man in the
desert? Show her all that she will
never see again? I am not so cruel,
Jacob. I have accepted my fate… death…
will be a blessing after so long.” Rayven whispered more to himself than to his
right-hand hound.
“Maybe,
sir… maybe not.” Jacob shrugged as only a dog could. “Shall I have the chef prepare you something to eat? It might take your mind from such thoughts.”
“No,
thank you, Jacob… I prefer this.” Rayven shook his shaggy head mournfully.
Jacob
turned and ambled out of the room with as much dignity as any hound could. Rayven continued to stare out the window,
searching the gardens for the perfect spot.
The bench by the fountain might be comfortable, but it was too open…
there were too many forest creatures by the water…
Ah… what remains of the rose garden. He realized with a twinge at the
irony. That will serve me well. The
beast should die where he lost his love, parting with a breaking of a stem.
@>--------,-------------‘---------
Beauty
bolted out of her sleep upright, panting as though she’d just run in all the
way from town, her heart pounding a war drum in her chest, and tears running
down her face. Her room, she was just
her room above the kitchen with its familiar blankets and comforter of goose
down. Her books were piled in one
corner and her paints in another, the moonlight illuminating them silver.
Shakily,
Beauty crept from her bed and lit a candle.
What on earth had scared her so?
She didn’t remember a nightmare and there was nothing dangerous in her
little room. Why was her heart pounding
out enough beats for two people to survive on?
Setting the candle on her night-table, Beauty sank into the comfy chair
and drew her knees up to her chin, looking up only when Mama padded in, licking
her whiskers after having caught a night’s worth of mice.
“Here,
kitty kitty.” Beauty patted the cushion next to her. The cat jumped up eagerly and nuzzled Beauty’s arm in a request
to be pet, a request that Beauty readily indulged. “I don’t know what’s going on with me, girl. I can’t remember anything of the last few
months! It’s like someone has erased
part of my memory… what happened to me that someone wouldn’t want me to
remember?”
A
loud purring was Mama’s only response.
“And
why am I talking to you as if you might answer me? You’d think I spent the last months talking to animals or
something.” Beauty wondered aloud, rising to fetch one of her books. She was about to pull out her copy of Romeo and Juliet when she noticed
something odd.
A
thick layer of dust covered her books, her paints as well upon closer
inspection… as if she hadn’t touched them in months! But she used her paints almost everyday! And even if she had been too busy to paint
in past months, her books would certainly have been touched! She read Romeo
and Juliet every night before going to sleep!
Questions
bombarded her mind, why did her plain, woolen blankets chafe her suddenly? Why did the practical, everyday fare of her
sisters’ cooking seem too rough for her tastes? Why had they insisted on not letting her do any work for the past
few days? Why had she taken up talking
to all of the animals as though they understood her? Why was she waking from horrid nightmares that she couldn’t
remember any more than she could another’s memories? Why did the touch of Mama’s fur seem strangely comforting where
it never had before? Why were all of
her things covered in dust as though she hadn’t used them in a long time?
What
on earth was going on?