Blind Beauty and Other Tales of Redemption Read online

  One day, it was announced that the duke and duchess were expecting a child. Over the next several months, Sauda’s illness lifted.

  Then disaster struck yet again.

  Chapter Six

  The baby was handsome. He sported a headful of russet curls, and his eyes sparkled with emerald hues. Gwendolyn heard the servants talking.

  “Such an adorable little ’un, and so good-natured! Wet nurse says he hardly ever cries. Pity about the mistress. She was weak, but she looked peaceful-like when she saw him. Heard her whisper, ‘Gustav saved me, and now I’ve given him a son.’ Then she closed her eyes.”

  Gwendolyn wept. She knew she needed to leave the castle, to go far away before she caused more harm. Yet she couldn’t leave. She would serve Gustav and his son as best she could. In that small way, perhaps she could alleviate her guilt.

  Gustav named his son Paul. On Paul’s second birthday, the change came upon him.

  Gwendolyn shuddered as she thought of that day, a day of terror and pain. She remembered kneeling in the flower garden, removing recalcitrant weeds that were encroaching upon her charges. She’d resolved to stay as far away from flowers as possible, but that resolution had not lasted. They cried out to her, and she couldn’t ignore them. So, after completing her scullery work, Gwendolyn often retreated to the castle gardens.

  That day as she worked, she heard a lisping voice behind her. “Uckly.”

  Gwendolyn turned toward the voice. She smiled when she beheld Paul toddling through the garden. Attendants trailed behind him as he brushed chubby hands against flowers and cooed with pleasure.

  Paul’s eyes fastened upon Gwendolyn’s face, and he pointed at her cheek. The dormant anger she’d tried to contain raised its head, and she couldn’t help thinking, The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

  But Paul didn’t scream or run from her. He smiled and lifted his hand in a wave. “Hurt?” he asked kindly, pointing at her cheek yet again.

  Gwendolyn tentatively returned Paul’s smile. “No, I’m not hurt.” She suddenly felt shy. “You like flowers?” she asked.

  Paul grinned at her. Then he frowned. “Uckly.” He pointed at a weed-choked section of ground.

  Gwendolyn nodded as understanding dawned. Chagrined, she said, “I’ve nearly reached them. I’ll take the weeds away, and the flowers’ll be pretty in a—”

  Gwendolyn never understood what happened next. She only remembered that Paul crumpled to the ground. He wailed in pain, the cry splintering into an ululating howl. Gwendolyn screamed as Paul’s face elongated. His garment ripped open. She lunged, clutching the child in her arms. Only he was no longer a child.

  Attendants screamed, and someone grabbed Gwendolyn from behind, forcing her to relinquish her hold upon Paul.

  “Witch,” voices hissed. “He said she was ugly, and she cursed him.”

  Gwendolyn moaned as a familiar figure ran into the garden. Gustav’s face crumpled as he beheld the chaos around him. Attendants advanced upon Gwendolyn, grabbing stones from the ground. She saw Gustav’s eyes fill with tears as he turned to her, and she saw his lips move, forming a single question. “Why?”

  Gwendolyn ran, sobbing with confusion. “I didn’t do anything,” she whispered to herself. But was that true? She hid in the scullery, listening to the panicked screams and the cries for her blood.

  Footsteps sounded behind her, and she turned to stare into Claudio’s haggard face. “What happened?” he demanded.

  Gwendolyn shook, her mind spinning. “I-I don’t know.”

  Claudio’s face contorted with rage. “This evil is magic of the darkest kind. I know you, Gwendolyn. You’d never harm a child.”

  “What if the poisoned rose had long-term effects?” She thought of her whispered words on those days she’d arranged flowers before the wedding. Her descendants will be as beastly as she is. “I’m leaving here. I’ve hurt Gustav enough.”

  Before Claudio could speak, she walked away. As she did so, she whispered in a tear-choked voice, “I’m sorry.”

  Chapter Seven

  Years passed, and Gwendolyn settled in a faraway village. She opened a florist’s shop, keeping her face veiled to minimize customers’ fear. Guilt burrowed inside her, a guilt she couldn’t escape.

  One day, a man had come to her shop to purchase flowers for a funeral. “Heard your flowers were the prettiest ever seen,” he said. “Lovely flowers are needed for a duke’s funeral.”

  Gwendolyn felt a shiver stroke her spine. “A duke?” she whispered.

  She learned from the man that Gustav was dead. “Found in an apple orchard,” the man told her. “Alongside his faithful butler. The butler had been mauled, and the duke had some wounds as well, although not life-threatening ones. But his face! Twisted into a mask of pain, it was. They’d both been left to die. The work of a demon.”

  When the man left, Gwendolyn retreated to the garden behind the shop. She sank to her knees, desperation clawing at her with ruthless fingers. She had to find help. There was no one to call to but Tecoptra. Even if he was a myth, he was all she had. She didn’t even know how to ask, so she simply said, “Please.” The pain-racked whisper tore from her.

  A rustling sound filled her ears, and she looked up to see a white rose pulse with vibrant light. Its petals unfurled, opening wider than any rose she’d ever seen. She’d never seen this rose before. Shaking, Gwendolyn touched the flower, and fire exploded in her heart. The pain receded, replaced by a cleansing coolness.

  A majestic voice filled the garden. I have healed you. Now take me to where I can heal others. Well done, Gwendolyn.

  Gwendolyn trembled. “Who are you? How do you know my name?”

  Do not be afraid. I am an emissary from Tecoptra. You unwittingly called down a curse upon Gustav’s family, but now you seek to rectify your mistake. Tecoptra has sent me to help you. A rose cast the curse, so another rose will be instrumental in breaking it. Only the one who called down the curse could summon me. Now I must be taken to the castle so that I may complete my task. When a blind beauty requests a rose and a brother confronts a beast, I will die. Then the curse will be lifted.

  Gwendolyn wept as she stared at the rose. She didn’t speak, for simply saying thank you was inadequate. She would take the rose to Gustav’s home and plant it there. It was a small gesture, but it was all she could do.

  Chapter Eight

  Gwendolyn stood beside the castle gate two days later, the rose within her hand. How was she to enter? The rose shimmered, its light falling upon the gate.

  This gate can only be opened from within, the rose told her. But Tecoptra wills that I enter, so I shall do so.

  The gate slowly opened as the rose’s light touched it. Shaking, Gwendolyn stepped onto the path and knelt, placing the rose within a clump of other white ones. As she did so, the rose vanished. Gwendolyn was frightened. Had she harmed it in some way?

  Then the voice said, I’ll reveal myself in time. The rose shone forth, winking at her. Well done.

  Gwendolyn smiled and whispered, “Please bring healing and peace.” The rose nodded, consenting to her words before vanishing yet again.

  Gwendolyn left the castle grounds, her heart lighter than it had ever been. Perhaps she had finally done something good. She continued working in her shop, and she no longer wore the veil.

  Meanwhile, the rose waited.

  Part 2: The Bargain

  Chapter Nine

  “You really intend to marry him?” Jenna pounded bread dough with vicious fists.

  Mirabel sighed wearily. “I just meant that if Reinhardt were to ask me, I’d consider it. I’m twenty-two. I can marry whom I choose.”

  Jenna sighed. “Reinhardt’s old.”

  Mirabel laughed, tousling Jenna’s hair. Jenna was such a romantic. “He’s thirty-five. If I marry him, he’ll be a help to Father.”

  Jenna snorted. “That’s a ridiculous reason to marry someone! You can’t be serious!”

  “You’re sixteen, Jenn
y. You should know by now that life isn’t a fairy tale!” Mirabel spoke sharply. “Reinhardt helps us, and we must be grateful. Anyhow, he hasn’t asked me, so there’s no use discussing this.”

  “You marry someone for love,” Jenna said. Glad that she’d had the last word, she lifted the pan of loaves, preparing to place them in the oven. Mirabel took the pan from her. “I can do it,” Jenna sighed.

  “You’ll burn yourself.” Mirabel spoke offhandedly, blushing when she saw Jenna flinch. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s all right.” Jenna placed earthenware bowls on the table in the corner. She listened to the merry bubbling of simmering soup and inhaled the rich aroma of baking bread. “I hope Father brings back good news.”

  Mirabel smiled. “Me too. It would be wonderful to have a new dress. My old ones are worn to rags.” After a moment, she said, “At least, if things aren’t as good as the report says, your request shouldn’t be hard to fulfill. Surely roses grow anywhere.”

  Jenna blushed. She thought of Father’s merchant business. They had once possessed so many beautiful things. Then trouble had come upon the family. First, ships containing merchandise had been lost due to a storm. Then it was discovered that Father’s bookkeeper had embezzled funds. Creditors came, demanding money. Soon the family was in desperate need. They had no choice but to dismiss the servants, and a new and more difficult way of life began.

  Then the fire had occurred, a fire that Jenna didn’t like to think about, for she had caused it. The family had been forced to move to a small cottage.

  Jenna remembered the day when Mirabel had taken Mother’s rosebushes to sell at market. Jenna had lashed out at her sister, calling her a heartless monster.

  Mirabel listened to the tirade then said, her voice choked, “I miss her too, Jenny.”

  “You don’t! No one does but me. I have to have the roses. I gave you the music box she gave me and the scarf she knitted with her own hands. I could hear the music and feel the scarf. Now you’re taking her scent away too.”

  Mirabel sucked in her breath. “Don’t you think it’s hard for me? Do you think you’re the only one in this family who’s suffering?”

  Jenna fell into her sister’s arms, shaking uncontrollably. As always, her eyes burned. Mirabel rocked her to and fro.

  “I’m horrid to you,” Jenna whispered. “You’re not really a monster.”

  Mirabel laughed through her tears. “Sometimes, I feel like a monster. I get so desperate. It’s not easy doing Mother’s job, you know. Can you be patient with me?”

  After a long pause, Jenna nodded.

  It was on that day that Mirabel started allowing Jenna to help her with simple household tasks. She even gave Jenna some freedom to walk in the apple orchard again. Years had passed since the day Jenna met the beast in the orchard, and he had never returned. Thus, Mirabel allowed the excursions. Jenna was immensely grateful, although she was no fool. She knew that Mirabel followed her at a discreet distance.

  Jenna always remembered the strange creature with whom she’d conversed. He had been so like a boy. On her excursions to the orchard, she sat beneath the Tree with the Humped Back, eating peppermint drops and thinking of the mysterious meeting. She often wondered what had happened to the creature, and she regretted not knowing his name.

  Now, Jenna said, “I know you think I’m silly, but I thought a rose would smell so lovely. We could put it on the table—”

  A loud knock reverberated upon the cottage door. Jenna sighed. She knew that knock. “Should I let him in?”

  Mirabel laughed. “Not with that frown on your face.” She started toward the door and said over her shoulder, “I don’t think you’re silly, Jenny.” She opened the door.

  “Hello there, Miri.” Reinhardt’s musical baritone filled the cottage, a lovely voice of strength and compassion. He possessed the perfect voice for a physician. There was no denying his kindness. He had met the family when they moved to the cottage, bringing them a jar of honey as a gift. Of course, he’d offered to help them anyway he could, and now he was a frequent visitor. “Has Marcus arrived yet?”

  “Not yet. We expected him back by now, but—”

  “Understandable. Long way to the harbor. I imagine he stopped by the tavern. Good news warrants a celebration.”

  “Poppa wouldn’t drink.” Jenna spoke sharply, the words coming before she could stop them.

  “How’s my favorite patient?” Reinhardt’s voice held a broad smile. “Been using the poultices for the pain like I told you?”

  Jenna clenched her teeth. “They smell.” She hated to admit it, but his poultices did relieve her pain. If Jenna was honest with herself, she disliked Reinhardt because he couldn’t restore her sight.

  “Bad smells make you well.” Reinhardt laughed. Then his tone grew serious. “The fire destroyed your tear ducts. You must keep your eyes moist.”

  “I tell her that all the time.” Mirabel sighed. “Do you want to stay for supper? I’m sure Father will arrive soon.”

  “If you’ll have me. Brought you some wild basil. Nothing like it in tomato soup. Enhances the flavor.”

  “Thank you.” Mirabel took the parcel Reinhardt proffered. “Was it a busy day?”

  “Sickness never takes a holiday.” He sighed and plopped onto a stool. “The usual colds and hypochondriac house calls, of course. There was a serious case of fever. The Willises’ youngest boy.”

  Jenna stiffened, concern filling her heart. “Will he be all right?”

  Reinhardt’s tones were hopeful when he said, “I think I discovered it in time. And I almost forgot. Charlotte Willis gave me currant cake for payment. I brought you some.”

  Jenna had to smile at this. Reinhardt’s sweet tooth was ferocious, almost as ferocious as her own. Sweets were such a rarity, and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d tasted currant cake. “Thank you,” she murmured.

  The cottage door suddenly opened, and a figure stumbled inside. Jenna recognized Poppa’s tread. He walked slower than usual.

  “Poppa! What’s wrong?” Mirabel cried. “You’re so pale.”

  Reinhardt stood, his manner brusque. “Marcus, you must lie down.”

  When Poppa spoke, his voice was weak. “Don’t fuss over me. I-I’m sorry, girls.” He collapsed onto a chair. “It wasn’t one of my ships.”

  “Don’t worry, Poppa. We knew it might be wrong information,” Mirabel said brightly. Despite her brave tone, Jenna heard the underlying disappointment. She herself didn’t speak, for she didn’t trust her voice. “You’ve had a hard journey. Supper’ll be ready in a moment,” Mirabel said.

  Poppa spoke harshly. “Things will never be all right again. That journey cost me my life.”

  Mirabel gasped, and Jenna’s stomach plummeted. Reinhardt said gruffly, “Don’t overdramatize, my friend. Things will work out. They always do.”

  “Things are different now. I’ve bargained with a demon.” Words poured from Poppa in a bitter stream.

  Chapter Ten

  Marcus always believed the best way to handle any situation was to face it head-on. So when he heard that the ship containing valuable merchandise had been located, he immediately resolved to see for himself. Then, when the report had proven false, he prepared to journey home and make do the best he could. He traveled a day and a night. The weather was becoming colder and colder the farther he walked. It was the beginning of spring, so cold nights were not unusual. What was unusual was the lack of familiar landmarks.

  Marcus trudged along a path that, in the darkness, was not clearly defined. As he walked, torrential rain began to fall. What should he do now?

  Then, before Marcus’ eyes loomed a gate. It seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. He blinked in surprise. He approached it tentatively. The gate opened of its own accord. Marcus gasped, stepping back. Yet the rain pummeled him, and he needed directions. Perhaps the owners of this home would give him shelter.

  Marcus stepped through the opened gate and onto a cobblestone w
alkway.

  He gazed at the beautiful roses surrounding him. The garden was lush, and benches sat at convenient locations around it. A fountain chattered in the distance. A many-turreted castle shone just beyond the garden, a castle that gleamed with pearlescent light. As he approached the doors, they opened before him.

  Marcus entered the gleaming foyer, listening to his echoing footsteps on the marble floor. The door slammed behind him with a reverberating boom.

  “Hello?” Marcus called.

  No answer came, and the vast halls rang with his voice. “I’m sorry for intruding. I’m lost and wondered if perhaps—”

  “Who are you?” A thunderous voice caused Marcus to start violently. He scanned the area but could see no one. “State your business.”

  “I lost my way and need a place to stay. I can’t see you. May I see who’s addressing me?”

  “No. Go up the stairs in the second corridor. You’ll find a dining hall at the top of them. Supper awaits you there.”

  Marcus swallowed nervously. He thought it best to obey. He walked forward until he reached a spiral staircase. At the top of the stairs was an open door, through which wafted delicious smells. Marcus stepped across the threshold and blinked in shock. A round table was spread with a damask cloth. Upon the table sat platters of succulent meats, vegetables, and breads. A flagon of wine stood ready. His stomach growled with hunger, and he sat in the only chair at the table. He eyed the wine and wondered what would be the best way to indicate he preferred something else.

  “Wine isn’t to your liking, sir?” A voice emerged to his right. It seemed to be coming from atop the table.

  Marcus jumped, dropping a roll he’d been slathering with butter. “Who said that?”