Not Beauty's Sleep

Belonging

Construction on the new castle began immediately. It was wonderful for the kingdom, in the wake of so much sorrow, to imagine a new and brighter age. Everyone understood the new castle as the welcoming gift for the King's beloved nephew when he was released from the terms of his curse. The people tempered their expectancy, of course, with the knowledge that the heir could not return until the King's death. But it was a hard thing for simple, hard working people to believe that the King who had cared for them for so long—for most of them, longer than they had lived—would ever leave them. And they saw him every day, for, even though only a few servants, including the queen's aging Lady, remained at the old castle to tend their sleeping Princess, the King rode out through his lands every morning, visiting his daughter and traveling the increasingly overgrown grounds, circling his old home to ensure his daughter's continued peace and security.

One day, as the King rounded the back corner of his old home, just where the woods grew so thick that he dismounted to cut his way through the brambles, the King caught sight of a familiar form. His heart stopped; for a moment he thought he had died. But the brambles scratched his fingers as they slipped away from him, and so he knew he lived.

"Tomorrow morning, my old friend," she said, "you may tell the servants there is no need to stay. I will assume all responsibility for her care."

"I must see her, he promptly responded, "every day. And I will not rush my wife's most faithful servants from their home."

Some said, quietly, that the King was as stubborn as he was wise. The wise woman bowed. "Always thinking of others first, my old friend: it is what I know well in you." She turned back to the forest. "All will be as you ask. But you will see that what I say is true."

The next morning, after tending his affairs in the new castle's great hall, the King set out as usual, on horseback, for his daughter's home. He stopped for a few moments at the grave of the queen, on a hillside overlooking the princess' bedroom windows, and then continued on. But upon arrival, the King found the old castle's entire staff assembled on the steps. His wife's Lady, her husband the groundskeeper, and the old cook, attempted explanation with some confusion. When they each began their tasks for the morning, they found all was already done. The cook's bread baked in the oven; the groundskeeper's rose cuttings took root, already transplanted; and, most important, the Lady reported that Beauty's linens and gown were already changed, her hair already brushed, the air in her room already fresh and sweetened with new flowers.

The King understood that his old friend had cast a new spell. As best he could, he related this to his staff. The cook accepted his invitation to retire; she had a daughter in a nearby village pleading with her to do just that. But the queen's Lady and her husband refused. For some time they continued on, but one day on his visit the Lady asked the King for a few moments of his time. They went to the tiny parlor, which was dim and old now, but the King gazed upon his wife's old seat and the little cradle where the doll used to lie waiting for her while she tended Beauty. How he missed her! They did not sit down, and their conversation did not take long.

"The eggs are already fried in the morning, and the coffee made, for our breakfast. Its strange to us. But it would not be bad except that all of his work is already done." A flutter of foreboding wavered in the King's throat, but he let it fade. He knew it was time to let go, maybe a little past time. "He cannot live with so much magic. He says its aging him." The King was surprised to see tears in the Lady's eyes. She looked at him as one of them rolled down her cheek, "My Lord, do you think she will ever forgive me?"

She meant the Queen, of course, for the Queen's Lady had tended Beauty just as Beauty's mother had done, ever since the day of the Queen's death. "No, she cannot forgive you, dear Lady," said the King with great fondness, "for there is nothing to forgive. You have served her, served us both, served us all, with great love and care. You and your husband are free to retire as you see fit, and with my blessings."