With a glance behind me to make sure I wasn’t being followed, I ran across the Great Lawn into the woods. Once I knew I was out of sight of the castle, I slowed down. The woods were nice and cool. I loved how the tops of the trees met across the paths, making a canopy for me to walk under. One good thing about not studying life in books was that it forced me to pay more attention to my surroundings. I loved being out in nature and watching the animals and the bugs and even the grass growing. Father caught me once, just lying on the lawn, alternately watching the grass and the formations of the clouds. He asked me what I was doing, so I told him. He raised his brows and muttered, “My boy is an odd duck.”
I did not know what he meant by that, so I took it as a compliment and kept studying nature in all its forms. Even in the dense woods alone, I felt very confident. Before I knew it, I found myself in front of the mysterious overgrown building. The sun was still high in the sky, so I decided to walk fully around the building to get an idea of its shape. I first munched on an apple for sustenance, then left the sack behind so I would know where I started from.
I was still unable to break through the vines to see any more than the occasional glimpse of the gray stone walls. Here and there I saw a glint of a windowpane. Every time I turned a corner I expected the building to end, but it did not. It was much more massive than I had ever imagined. When I finally returned to my starting point, an hour had passed. How was it possible that such a huge structure could be on the grounds of our castle without anyone knowing what it truly was or how to get inside? I backed up a few yards. From that distance, the building looked like no more than a clump of trees and leaves. I could see that if one wasn’t looking directly at it, one could miss it entirely. I felt a little tingle as I approached it again. I wondered if something magical had taken place on this spot. There was something slightly otherworldly about it. I still believed in magic and fairies, although I had no proof of their existence, only old fables.
There was something sort of familiar about the place, too. I could not put my finger on it. Now that I had a sense of its shape, I felt like I had been there before, and not just the time I had run to escape Mother. It was getting darker now, and the air had cooled by at least ten degrees. I affixed my cloak over my shoulders and struggled with the clasp. Normally a chamberlain would have dressed me (when one bothered to show up to work), but I liked being able to do things on my own. I envied how Jonathan seemed to be able to tackle any task. I knew that in order to be a knight he had to work very hard to master many skills. It appeared all I had to do to be a prince was not get eaten. I doubted that anyone at the castle even knew I had gone.
I gathered some fallen leaves into a pile and burrowed inside. I finished off the other apple and all the cheese and wondered what to do next. With dusk came the animals who had hidden during the sunlight hours. An owl hooted so loudly I was sure it was right next to me. Normally I found the sounds of the animals soothing. Now, however, they sounded unfamiliar and even predatory. My stomach rumbled. I was used to Cook’s five-course meals. If I strained really hard, I could almost smell the food cooking from where I was standing. I let my mind wander over all the possible items on tonight’s menu. By the time I started picturing peach cobbler with a mixture of Cook’s special spices on top, I had to forcibly hold myself down. I had not thought of how long I planned to run away for, but there was no way I was giving up after only one afternoon.
An hour passed. Then another. It was now pitch black. The sliver of moon between the tops of the trees was barely enough to allow me to see my hand in front of my face. I began to hum the tune of one of Father’s favorite songs. He always requested it of the traveling minstrels. It was an old song, and no minstrel sang it exactly the same way. The one thing the versions had in common, though, was the part about a sad princess who had a long time to wait for her prince. I never gave the words much thought, but it had a sweet tune.
I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I knew it was dawn. Most of the leaves had fallen off me, and there were fresh tracks right next to me. They could have been from a coyote or a mountain lion. I was very lucky the beast had left me alone. As my stomach growled again in protest, it occurred to me that I had not planned very well. Next time I wouldn’t make the same mistakes.
Wearily, I headed back toward the castle. Before I was too far from the mystery building, I turned to give it one last glance. It hit me like a bolt of lightning why the place felt so familiar. It was an exact replica of our own castle! Or perhaps our own castle was an exact replica of it? Surely this one must be ancient to be so fully covered by the forest. Perhaps Father knew when our castle was built. I hurried back toward the path that would lead me home. Halfway there, Jonathan appeared, hands on his hips.
“Were you sleeping on the forest floor all night?” he asked.
I nodded. “I put some leaves on top of me.”
“I see you managed not to get eaten by a wolf,” he said.
“That is true, I was not eaten by a wolf. There were some tracks near me when I awoke, but I was fine.”
He shook his head. “You must have a fairy godmother. The forest is full of animals who could eat you in one bite. Speaking of food, did you have enough?”
At this point in the conversation, I did not feel like revealing any more of my failures, nor did I want to tell him about the old castle, so I just shrugged. I began to walk again, and he fell in alongside me.
“So,” he said, “am I to expect you will be running away often?”
“I would say that’s a good possibility,” I answered honestly.
“Well, in that case I’m going to have to teach you better survival skills. You were lucky this time.”
“Fine,” I replied, trying not to show how excited I was. I was finally going to learn something!
Thus our lessons, and our friendship, began in earnest. After admonishing me for my actions, my parents paid extra attention to me. That lasted approximately a day and a half, and then things were back to normal: visits to the aviary in the morning, followed by lessons with Jonathan in the afternoons. Father claimed not to know exactly when our castle was built but said he believed it was sometime between the days of King Bertram and our family’s reign. When I inquired as to why they had to build a new castle when most castles could last a thousand years, Father shrugged and said he had to meet with the bailiff to discuss some important kingly business, so I had better be going.
The next time I ran away, a few months later, I was much better prepared and lasted three full nights in the woods. I was still no closer to getting into the old castle, even with the tools I had brought. Those vines were seemingly impenetrable. It was a mystery, all right — a mystery I was getting more and more anxious to get to the bottom of.
Project: Discover the Real Rose
The first thing I did was to make a list of the things I knew I could do well.
Sing (anything, like a songbird)
Dance (ballet, tap, ballroom)
Play music (there is no instrument I cannot master)
Be graceful (I never, ever trip, including when I walk backward while blindfolded)
Be smart (I only have to glance at a page of a book and I can recite it a year later. My head is full of information I shall never, ever need to use.)
Be beautiful (long hair that never tangles, clear skin that never pimples, a pleasing aroma even when I don’t bathe)
So now I knew my strengths. But my weaknesses? I had no idea. It took me some time to get up the nerve to find out what I could do on my own. I suppose I was afraid that without the magic gifts I was nothing at all.
When I turned thirteen I finally got up the nerve to tell Mama that I didn’t want to do the annual performance anymore. I offered to still sing and dance for the family and invited guests on feast days.
“But why?” she asked, a look of concern flitting across her eyes. “Are you ill?” She reached out to rest the back of her hand against my forehead. “You do
feel a bit warm. Shall I call the castle physician?”
“I’m not ill,” I told her. “It is simply that … it is just that I … er …”
I still could not explain my real reasons, and thankfully she did not press me. I knew she was disappointed, but something had changed inside me. I was ready to face whatever disappointments or failures came my way. I needed to try things I had never attempted before. Things where the gifts would not give me an unfair advantage over others.
I spent the afternoon walking the complete length of the castle, inside and out. When Sara got tired, another lady-in-waiting took her place. I was pretending to do some sort of inventory of our belongings, but really I was watching everyone go about their daily business to see what interested me. I watched the carpenter fix a bench in the rectory, and the physician minister to a baron’s son who had tripped while chasing a rooster. I clapped when the glassmaker completed a beautiful piece of stained glass that would replace a cracked piece in one of the upstairs windows. I shed a tear when a farmhand helped a cow to deliver a baby calf. That calf reminded me of myself. Born into a destiny it could not escape.
I stared at the tapestries that lined the hall walls and floors in the lower parts of the castle. The details were so intricate: the tiny blue eyes on the babies; the foam coming out of the mouths of the horses in battle. I could not imagine how anyone could create such a thing using only a needle and thread. Of course I did not know anyone who did anything with fabrics, seeing as I had never in my life so much as laid eyes on a spinning wheel or a loom or a needle.
I tasted the vegetable broth in the kitchen that would be part of that night’s soup, and watched the squires as they raced one another on horseback as part of their daily exercises (Sara wasn’t too tired of walking to come along with me on that one!). I watched the winemaker stomp on grapes with his bare feet and made a mental note not to have wine ever again. I even watched the dung cleaner clean the dung chutes. Needless to say, that was one area in which I did not feel the need to test my skills.
At the end of the day, I made a list of the tasks that interested me the most.
I love the tapestries, but since I dare not try to sew, I can do the next best thing and try my hand at painting.
I’ve always enjoyed helping Cook to make desserts, but all she ever lets me do is add a pinch of sugar here, a dollop of honey there. I should like to try making a whole meal for the family.
The squires looked so free and alive while on those horses. I should like to try riding. Mama is always afraid to let me, but I know how to be careful.
I waited patiently for Sara’s day to visit her family, then had one of the coachmen take me into town to purchase art supplies. One of the other ladies-in-waiting would normally have accompanied me in Sara’s absence, but I assured her the coachman would keep a very good eye on me.
I had no idea what I needed to buy, other than some paint and something to put it on. These items were not as easy to find as I would have hoped. It appeared the townsfolk did not have much leisure time to engage in the arts. I caused a bit of a stir by turning up unexpectedly at so many shops. The whole princess thing combined with the whole most-beautiful-girl-in-the-world thing made me quite a spectacle. Little children leaned out of their windows to see me. Shopkeepers tried hard to sell me things I did not need. Women stared admiringly at my clothes. Finally I wound up with a pallet, five jars of crushed pigment, oil to mix them with, three brushes of different sizes, an easel that folded up, and a small canvas stretched onto two pieces of wood.
I smuggled my goods back into the house. This was no easy task, either. As soon as I returned home, the questions began.
Mama: Where did you go?
Papa: Whom were you with?
Mama & Papa: Are you all right?
I told them I had gone into town to get supplies for an anniversary gift I was making for them. As soon as I said it, I knew I wasn’t even lying. Mama said, “But our anniversary isn’t for another ten months.”
“Well, think upon it as a belated anniversary from the last one,” I said, then hurried upstairs with my bundle wrapped up in my traveling cloak.
I knew my only alone-time would be at night, so directly after supper I told the newly returned Sara that I was turning in early. I managed to be in my room alone while there was still light in the sky. I set up the easel in front of the largest window and mixed my first jar of pigment. It was messier than I expected, and clumpier, too. But soon I had a pretty blue color with which to color the sky. I had decided to paint the garden in the courtyard below my window. That way I wouldn’t have to go outside to do it. I had a perfect view from my room.
I did not know which brush to use, so I chose the smallest one. That turned out to be a mistake, since it was starting to get dark out and I had a lot more sky to paint. I switched to the largest brush, and that went much faster. It also used up more of the pigment, so I had to keep adding water to thin it out. The result was that the canvas looked like it was going to tear in a few places from being too wet.
It was now completely dark out, and I had to finish the sky from memory. I wanted to add a white cloud, but whenever I put the white pigment over the blue, it merely made a lighter blue. Clearly, this whole painting thing was much more complicated than it at first appeared. When Sara came in the next morning to awaken me, she asked, “What is that horrid odor?” Then she lifted one of my arms and took a quick sniff.
“Very funny,” I said, pushing my arm back down. I had stashed my work-in-progress under the bed, out of sight from prying eyes. I hoped a corner wasn’t sticking out, but I didn’t dare look or Sara would immediately catch on. As I hurried to the bathing room I added, “I do not know of what odor you speak.”
“Sure, you don’t,” she said, reaching into the wardrobe for my clothes. “I may not know what you’re up to yet, but I’ll find out.”
I was in the middle of gargling with lemon water and pretended not to hear her.
The next night I tackled the garden. I mixed the rest of the pigments — red, green, yellow, and brown — but before I began to paint I used a charcoal pencil to first lightly outline the edges of the garden that separate each plant from its neighbor.
I started with the red roses, since they were, of course, my favorite flower. Even using the smallest brush, I found it hard to get the detail of the flowers quite right. The petals tended to blend into one another. The stems were easier. When I was finished with all the flowers, I took a few steps back to admire my work.
Hmm. Well. It was colorful. Perhaps that is the best thing I could say about it. I signed P.R. (for Princess Rose) in the lower right-hand corner, because I knew that was what artists did. I slid the painting under the bed to dry and washed out my jars and brushes, nearly staining the porcelain sink in the process. It took two hours of scrubbing with lye and sandpaper to get out the reddish color.
The next day I requested Mama, Papa, and Sara wait in my sitting room, facing the other way, while I prepared to show them what I had been working on. With their backs still turned, I unfolded the easel and set up the painting.
“You can turn around now,” I announced.
At first no one said anything. Three jaws opened slightly, then promptly closed again.
“Um, what is it?” Papa asked, peering closely. “Is it a duck?”
“Hush,” Mama said. “It’s obvious. It’s a bonnet.”
“A bonnet!” I exclaimed. “Where do you see a bonnet?”
“Right there,” Mama said, pointing to the garden patch. “That is clearly a bonnet, lying on the floor of a blue room.”
“Is that what you see, Sara?” I asked.
“Uh, not exactly. I think it’s a girl in a colorful dress. She’s, er, reading a book? On the grass? Is it a self-portrait?”
I marched over to the painting and lifted it off the easel. “Happy anniversary,” I told my parents happily.
“Er, thank you, darling, it’s lovely whatever it is,” Mama said,
taking it from my arms. “We’ll have to find a special place to hang this, won’t we, Bertram?”
“Oh, yes, yes, a special place indeed.”
That special place turned out to be a storage closet in the attic behind a dressmaker’s mannequin that was no longer needed following my christening. It did not bother me, though. While it would have been nice to find something I had a natural (not fairy-given) talent for, I had found something I was NOT good at instead. For the first time in my life, I had failed.
It felt great!
By the time I was fourteen, I had run away so many times, and returned safely each time, that my parents had given up trying to stop me. Father once asked me where it was that I went. I promised him it was not far, and that proved a good enough answer. I had moved on from one potato sack to three and now had the muscle to carry everything in one trip. I built two semipermanent forts in the woods, one that kept me cool in the summer and one warm in the winter. Both were in sight of the old castle and well hidden from my own.
On my last trip, I finally discovered something new. During my usual journey around the perimeter of the building, I found a button-sized area over one of the windows where the vines had separated slightly. It definitely hadn’t been there on my last visit. The glass was clear and sharp, not dusty or cloudy like I would have thought after so many years without a cleaning. I could clearly see inside into what appeared to be a typical castle library. I saw a tall fireplace with a mantle, two large chairs, a few benches along the walls, a large rug on the floor. The odd thing about it was that the room seemed lit from within, which I knew was impossible. No oil lamp could possibly still work after so long a time. Yet there was so much light in the room it was as though daylight was shining right through the windows instead of being completely blocked from entering by the vines.