Sleeping Beauty: The One Who Took the Really Long Nap

  Besides two ladies-in-waiting, Sara was the only one still in my room. “You’ll be in my favorite guest quarters next door,” I told her, staring down at the circular pattern on the rug. Once she left, I would pretend to sleep and then head down to the cellar.

  “If it wouldn’t be too much of an inconvenience,” Sara said softly, “I’d rather stay in here with you. I’m so used to sharing a bed with my sister, I don’t think I would slumber if left alone. And your bed is so big you could fit ten of me and twenty of my sister and still not notice we were there.”

  I looked up in surprise. I could not wipe the smile off my face. “Fifty of you and a hundred of your sister!” I replied.

  “Two hundred!” she shouted.

  “THREE HUNDRED!” I yelled.

  I decided right then and there to give Sara all the presents the other girls brought me, which sat unopened downstairs. Sara had already given me the best gift I could have asked for. “Sara?” I said as she began wiping the bright lip paint off her lips with a piece of damp cloth.

  “Yes?”

  “Do you think I’m quite strange?”

  “Of course,” she replied. “That’s why we’re friends. I’m strange, too.”

  “No, I don’t mean strange good, I mean strange bad. Because of them?” I tilted my head into the sitting room where the last two ladies-in-waiting sat.

  She did not answer right away. Then she said, “Well, I do not think it is the customary thing, but your parents have good reason to worry after you. And to be truthful, with my father gone and my mother working all hours of the day and night, I wouldn’t mind it if people looked after me every now and again.”

  “I shall look after you,” I declared.

  She smiled. “You will need those seven-league boots for that.”

  Sara had once told me a tale about magical boots that allowed the wearer to cover seven leagues in just one step. She figured if I owned them, I could reach her house from the castle in a little more than three steps.

  It turned out I did not need magic boots to look after Sara. A few weeks after my birthday party, Sara learned that her mother was going to marry a blacksmith in another part of town. She was selling the farm and moving the family. The blacksmith had five children of his own, and the house was tiny. Sara was distraught.

  I immediately asked Mama if Sara could stay with us. Mama said of course she could. But Sara insisted she could not simply be a guest. She wanted to be useful. So I said good-bye to long-suffering Becca, and hello to Sara, my new lady-in-waiting who also happened to be my best friend.

  At nine years old, my favorite food was roast mutton. For months I would eat nothing else. Having a hearty meat-eater for a son pleased Mother, but the kitchen staff was beginning to worry.

  One night Father’s trusted chamberlain was helping him prepare for bed and muttered something under his breath. When Father asked him to repeat it, he at first refused. Father asked again. It is impossible to say no to my father twice, so the chamberlain was forced to repeat his comment. “All I said, sir — and forgive me my boldness —was to wonder aloud about your son’s, ah, eating habits.”

  Father looked surprised. “Many children have strange tastes. Why, when I was the Prince’s age, I would eat only quail eggs and strawberry jam.”

  “I am sure you are right, Your Highness. It is probably only a phase. Let us put on your nightclothes now.”

  The chamberlain held up Father’s dressing gown, but Father narrowed his eyes and said, “You do not believe it is a phase, do you?”

  “I am sure I don’t know, Your Highness,” said the chamberlain, no doubt wishing he had never mentioned anything.

  “You think he may be part ogre, like the Queen.”

  The chamberlain chewed on his lip and didn’t answer. Father sighed and sat down on the edge of his bed. “I admit, I have wondered the same thing.” He put his head in his hands. The chamberlain awkwardly patted Father on the shoulder.

  “Er, it will be all right, Your Highness. I am sure your first theory was correct. So the boy likes mutton? A lot. So what? I haven’t seen any other ogre-ish tendencies in him.”

  “Nor have I,” Father said, raising his head slightly. “But how can we be certain?”

  The chamberlain paced the room, unused to being taken into the King’s confidence in this way. “We can devise a test,” he suggested. “Although we don’t know what day, or days, of the month his ogre-ish blood will rise to the surface — not that I’m saying it will — but if it does, we need to be prepared ahead of time.”

  “What kind of test?” Father asked miserably.

  The chamberlain shook his head. “I am not sure. Perhaps you could consult with the castle chaplain? He could pray on it.”

  Father stood up and clasped his chamberlain on the forearm. “That is an excellent idea. I shall do that first thing in the morning.”

  The chamberlain nodded and began dressing Father in his nightclothes.

  “And by the way,” Father continued, “you’re fired for being so impertinent as to speak to me about my son.”

  The chamberlain gaped and turned white.

  “Ha-ha, just kidding, old man,” Father said. “You’re not fired.”

  (Besides my mom’s “issues,” my dad’s “sense of humor” was also why it was hard to keep good help around.)

  The next morning Father went directly to the castle chaplain, and together they devised a test for me. They found as many strangers as they could, and each day invited a different one to have lunch with me and Father out on the Great Lawn. Mother always had committee meetings at lunchtime (she was very active in the community, part of her whole “beloved by the masses” thing), so Father knew the newcomers to the castle would be safe.

  I was so thrilled to be spending time with Father that it never even dawned on me to suspect anything. As the month was winding down, Father had run out of strangers and had to invite the same ones back again. Even though I loved spending time with Father and felt important for the first time in my life, the lunches were deadly boring. By the time the guests started to repeat, I tried desperately to get out of going. Father agreed that all I had to do was show up and shake the person’s hand. Then I could be on my way. This was fine with me. Not that I had any grand plans for my free time. I longed to immerse myself in my studies, but no tutors stayed around long enough for me to get through a whole geography or history lesson. Most children would probably be pleased with that, but I was often bored. I wanted to learn about the outside world, but no one was there to teach me. I spent much time in the aviary with the falconer, who let me feed the birds that accompanied Father when he went out hunting. Even though they had very sharp beaks, they never bit me. The falconer said I was his favorite visitor. I happened to know I was also the falconer’s only visitor, but I appreciated him trying to make me feel good.

  On the last day of the month, with the last lunch a few hours behind us, Father found me playing with my toy soldiers in the library. He sat down next to me on the floor, something I can’t ever remember him doing, and said, “Congratulations, my boy! You don’t have a drop of ogre blood in you!”

  I stared at him. “What do you mean?”

  Then he told me about the test, and how I had passed by apparently not attacking any of the guests.

  “But why did you think I might have gotten some of Mother’s ogre blood? Have I done something terrible?” My heart began to race at the thought of it. Perhaps I did horrible things and didn’t remember them! Why had I never considered that I might have inherited her ogre ways?

  “Oh, no, nothing like that,” Father assured me. “Actually, it was the mutton.”

  “The mutton? What mutton?”

  “All the mutton you eat at every meal. We thought perhaps the fact that you were drawn to such a meat-filled meal indicated you had a thirst for … for … other meaty things.”

  I shuddered at the thought. “To be honest, I am getting very tired of mutton. I was goin
g to ask the cook to make me something different, like quail eggs.”

  “Excellent idea,” Father said. “I’ll alert him myself.”

  I thought about all those special lunches. I couldn’t believe all the trouble they went to. “Did you ever consider just bringing me something of beauty? Flowers? A nice painting or two? If I liked it, that would have proved I wasn’t an ogre.”

  “Hmm,” Father said. “Hadn’t thought of that. Sure would have saved me from a lot of boring meals.”

  “You thought they were boring, too?” I asked.

  He smiled and tussled my hair. “Of course. I don’t know how your mother does it, all those luncheon meetings with the same groups of women.” He shuddered. “It would drive me mad.”

  I had a question I’d wanted to ask him for years. Considering this was the longest conversation the two of us had probably ever had, I figured it was the right time to ask it.

  “Father?” I began.

  “Yes?”

  “Do you ever talk to Mother about, you know, what it’s like for her? The whole part-ogre thing?”

  Father shook his head. “When she first told me, I asked some questions, but she never wanted to talk about it. She’s ashamed. I told her that no one can help what’s in their blood. It is not their choice.”

  “That’s how I feel, too!” I said eagerly. “I don’t blame her. I just wish she didn’t shut me out so much.”

  Father nodded. “Me, too, son, but that’s just the way she is. It doesn’t mean she doesn’t love you.” He reddened a bit as he said the last part. We were not a family that tossed the love word around in casual conversation.

  I wasn’t so sure of Mother’s love, but I said, “I know.”

  Father uncrossed his legs creakily and stood up. Before he left the room he said, “A new page is transferring to our castle tomorrow. He’s about your age. How about he becomes your personal attendant? You could use a close friend around here.”

  I nodded. A friend wasn’t the same as a parent, but I’d take it. “Father?” I called out, surprising even myself. He turned around and stuck his head back in the room.

  “Father, how come I don’t have a name?”

  He didn’t answer for a moment, then said, “When you were born, we wanted to make sure things were going to, shall we say, work out. Everyone simply referred to you as the Prince, and eventually that became your name.”

  “That’s what I thought,” I replied. “I just wanted to be certain.”

  I went back to setting the toy soldiers up for battle. I thought Father had left but then heard, “Would you like a name?”

  Startled, I dropped the soldier in my hand. It hit the rug with barely a sound. I nodded.

  “How about you pick your own?” Father said. “Come to me when you’ve chosen.” With that, he left me.

  I was quite taken aback. It is not every day one is told they may pick their own name. What a huge responsibility! Mortimer? Octavian? Rex? How would I choose? By dinnertime (quail eggs and strawberry jam, which was delicious) I had landed on Rhyan. A solid, strong-sounding name. By dessert, I had changed it to James. By the time I climbed into bed, it was Lucas for sure. When I woke up, I couldn’t even remember why I liked Lucas. I obviously wasn’t ready to saddle myself with a name yet. Instead of me finding my name, my name would just have to find me.

  I laced up my ballet slippers and flexed my ankles in preparation for my performance. Each year since I could walk — which you recall was at quite a tender age — Mama and Papa had invited the lords and ladies of the kingdom to the castle to watch me sing and dance and play musical instruments. My parents figured that since the fairies were kind enough to bless me with these gifts, I owed it to high society to share them. I never gave much thought as to whether I enjoyed these performances. They took almost no effort, since everything came naturally to me. I knew it made my parents proud, and that was enough for me.

  My eleventh birthday had just passed. I had long ago given up on having parties. I was happy to celebrate with my parents and Sara, who had become more like a sister to me than a lady-in-waiting. She went to visit her real sister, Amelia, every month at the blacksmith’s house, and Amelia often came to the castle, too. In fact, she was in the audience tonight. The cute page I had admired when I was younger (who went by the name of Clive) had become a squire. I saw him every now and then practicing with the knights. Sara wouldn’t admit it, but she lingered by the thick glass windows whenever he was jousting out on the Great Lawn.

  Mama had ordered red velvet drapes, which she’d fashioned into a makeshift curtain. I would stand behind the curtain, and then when it was time for my next piece, the curtains would open dramatically and I would begin my routine. It all came across as quite professional. I had already sung ten minutes of an opera that night as my opening act. I was glad that part was over. I liked singing little wordless songs as I strolled through the gardens or helped Cook bake her delectable desserts, but I could not stand opera. It was very odd to be so excellent at something that I didn’t even enjoy.

  The curtains drew apart and I began my ballet dance. My mind was utterly detached as I flitted and fluttered across the stage (really some boards of wood the castle carpenter had nailed together, which caused my mother to nearly faint until he assured her the pointy ends of the nails were underneath the stage and would not harm me).

  At appropriate intervals my arms arched upward and out to the side like butterfly wings, and my neck tilted back so my hair flowed down like a sheet of silk. I closed my eyes and twirled on my tiptoes, never losing my balance. The crowd was hushed, watching me. Meanwhile, I was thinking about the adorable little snail I had found on my window ledge that morning. What a trip he must have had to crawl all the way from the ground, three stories below! I had just determined to call him Rex when the song ended and the applause began. For the first time, I felt a bit guilty about accepting such adulation. For truly it was almost none of my doing.

  Sara helped me change out of my ballet outfit and into a long yellow gown for the last part of the concert. “You were excellent,” she whispered as she fastened the bow behind my back.

  “Thanks,” I said, not really feeling it.

  “Is something the matter?” she asked.

  There was no keeping anything from Sara. She could read me like a book. But I wasn’t quite sure what I was feeling so I shook my head. “It is time for me to go back on,” I said.

  I played an original medley on the piano, then moved to the flute, and finally the viola. The piece would have sounded even better had all three instruments been played at the same time, but the fairy’s gift stopped short of giving me that ability. This time after the usual round of applause (and a standing ovation and an armful of thorn-free roses) I felt tears prick my eyes. No doubt the audience thought they were tears of joy and gratitude. They were not. I felt hollow inside.

  That night after Sara hung up my gown in the wardrobe, she sat down on the edge of my bed. “Speak,” she instructed.

  I pretended not to know what she meant. How could I explain that I felt like I had not earned any of the praise that was constantly heaped upon me? My tutors always gave me the highest marks in our little class, even though the other students worked much harder at getting the correct answers. My gracefulness gave me excellent posture, so I always walked taller than the others, which made me seem haughty. How could I complain about the bounty of gifts heaped upon me, when Sara had so little? How could I explain that no one —not even me — knew the real me, the person I would have become without the fairies’ help?

  “May I take a guess at what is troubling you?” Sara asked.

  I sighed and nodded.

  “Do you not like being the center of attention on that stage? Do all those eyes make you uncomfortable?”

  I shook my head. That part of it had never bothered me. I was so used to being watched. Besides my special situation, a princess is going to be looked at wherever she goes. It comes with the terri
tory.

  “Were your ballet slippers too tight and squeezing your toes?”

  I laughed a little. “No, they were fine.”

  “Did that nobleman in the front row have such bad body odor that you couldn’t concentrate up there?”

  I laughed harder. The man had desperately been in need of a bath, but I shook my head.

  Sara threw up her arms. “I give up, then.”

  “I am fine, truly,” I insisted. “I shall see you in the morning for our usual walk.”

  “You’re the boss,” she said, heading off to her own room next door. She had learned to get used to having a bed to herself.

  We both smiled at her parting words. We knew exactly who the real boss was. Sara still watched me carefully according to Mama’s orders, but she gave me much more freedom than any of my other ladies-in-waiting had. For that I was grateful. I climbed under the blanket and decided I would take it upon myself to discover the real Rose. I had no idea how, but something had to change or I was in danger of losing myself completely.

  The new page at the castle — Jonathan — became not only my trusted companion but also my teacher, woodland guide, and protector. He and I were the same age, born only days apart, but he had seen more of the world than I imagined existed. By the time we were twelve, he had taught me how to fish, how to figure out which berries were safe to eat, and which would turn your insides to mush, how to use mud and straw to build a perfectly sturdy hut, and how to best avoid Mother on the second and fourth Thursdays.

  The reason he spent so much time educating me on the ways of the wild was that I tended to run away often. The first time was when I was ten. Mother had forgotten to wipe the blood from her chin at breakfast, following her “meal” the night before. (Luckily, I realized it was not human blood.) For the first time in my life, I felt revulsion toward her. This is not a nice feeling to have toward my own mother, who, truly, had never done me any harm. I felt so terrible that I knew I could not stay. I put on my sturdy leather boots, took an old potato sack from the pantry, stuffed it with a few tunics, a cloak, some apples, and a chunk of hard cheese, and took off for parts unknown. I did not tell anyone I was leaving. Jonathan had been with us not quite a year at that point, and I, being so unfamiliar with friendships, had been too shy to exchange anything other than pleasantries.