~a mostly true story~
Once upon a time, in a merry little cottage, there lived a maiden named Antonella, but everyone called her “Nella.”
Nella loved two things–making wholesomely delightful meals for the table she shared with her mother, and writing in her silver notebook. Her days were quiet, and they might have been quite pleasant except for her wicked stepsisters, Pride and Impatience, who loved nothing more than making Nella’s life miserable.
When she was writing they would come up behind her and taunt her.
“Strive, little sister,” said Pride. “You must dazzle. You must prove yourself to the world with your pen. You must make a name for yourself, win affection, and you must save the world!”
In time, Nella learned to ignore Pride, but sometimes she forgot. When she listened, the writing never seemed to have the special sparkle that came from pure, unfettered delight in the work. But Pride was crafty with lies and kept this secret from Nella for a long time.
Impatience was harder to avoid. Nella couldn’t tune her out. She liked to throw her voice in with Pride–“the sooner you accomplish all this, the more impressive you’ll be!” But her most effective torment was to hold a ticking clock in front of Nella for hours on end.
Whenever she stopped writing to play with her friends or prepare a feast or sew a pretty dress, Pride and Impatience would corner her with scorn written on their faces, and they would shake their heads. Sometimes they would drag her back to her writing desk. Still, Nella loved writing. Losing herself in the work, in the story, she found she could escape the nagging voices of Pride and Impatience. But not their influence.
Now the King of all the land had a son named Rathbrook. One day he took the prince out to the palace garden to walk among the fruit trees. In the middle of the orchard, the King stopped.
“You know the banquet is not far off now.”
“Yes, Father. Is there anything I can to help?”
The King rested a magnanimous hand on Rathbrook’s shoulder. “There is something. Something only you can do.” A pause, heavy and light like his hand. “It is time you took a bride.”
Rathbrook’s heart somersaulted. “That is no small task.”
“I will be with you.”
Then the King told him everything he should seek in a bride. He handed Rathbrook a silver pen. “You shall give this to the woman you choose.”
“But how will I know she’s the one?”
“I will show you,” his Father answered.
Every year, the King hosted a banquet and invited everyone in the land. Few of his subjects ever attended. They were skeptical of the King–he did absurd things, they whispered, like inviting beggars and thieves to eat at his table. And then there was the time he adopted Rathbrook…It’s not like the King didn’t have a Son of his own. But he would invite people to his banquet, adopt some of them, and make them heirs, like he had an infinite kingdom to bequeath.
He was always giving things away like that. And if the rich came to one of his banquets, he expected the same kind of generosity from them. It was actually a rule of his table that the rich share their bounty with the poor. And cheerfully, too. Or it didn’t count. He wanted them to like giving their stuff away!
Naturally, most of the people who came to the banquet were hungry people. The wealthy who came, somehow they knew what it meant to be hungry. And everyone was well-dressed in sumptuous, simple elegance. The King gave all his guests new clothes at the door. Beautiful, soft, luxurious fabrics– the clothes made you feel comfortable at once.
That was one of Nella’s favorite things about the banquets. It always felt like coming home.
This year Nella wore a dress the color of a strawberry dawn. When Rathbrook saw her, his eyes widened in wonder. She was carrying a silver notebook!–the very match to the pen in his pocket. And at that moment, he knew.
He arranged for her to have one of the best seats at the table, and all throughout the meal he made sure she was well looked-after. He saw to it that she was given the choicest of foods, that her cup overflowed with merriment, and that the conversation was always pleasant to her. From time to time, he would catch her eye across the table, and her warm smile gladdened his heart.
After the feast, there was to be singing and dancing late into the night, but first the guests were sent out to the gardens to be refreshed by the cool of the evening for an hour or so.
Rathbrook knew this was his chance. As the guests began filing out, he asked Nella about her notebook. “I’ve had it as long as I can remember,” she said. “I like to write.”
“Would you like to see the library?”
She nodded.
“Come with me.” He offered his arm up the staircase. She took it gently, gingerly.
Impatience watched from the bottom of the stairs and fixed on Nella a look as chilling as death. She wanted Rathbrook for herself. Always impulsive, she was about to dash up the stairs and tear Nella from the prince’s side, when she felt a hand on her shoulder.
It was Pride. “Don’t be a fool,” she whispered. “I’ll help you.”
And they began to concoct a plan.
Rathbrook and Nella were too enthralled by one another’s words to notice the sudden chill in the castle.
“What do you think?” asked Pride. “Isn’t it brilliant?”
The plan sounded good to Impatience except for one thing. It had been bothering her for a few minutes now. “How do I know you won’t take him for yourself?”
Pride laughed. “You can have him. I’ll never marry. Just give me the credit for your triumph. You know you don’t have the brains to do it without me.”
“Hmm.” Impatience could tell she was telling the truth. Well, not about the brains part, of course. “Okay.”
They tiptoed up the stairs, Pride leading the way, but Impatience burst forward and reached the door to the library first. It was open a crack, and they snuck in unnoticed by Rathbrook and Nella.
Pride pointed to the shelf they wanted. She had heard about a book of spells, the cover green velvet, with lettering in red and gold. There had to be a spell in there to turn Nella’s dress to rags, her notebook to a pumpkin, and her heart to glass. She was sure of it.
Impatience could hear the Prince talking at the other end of the room.
“You are Lovely to me,” he said, gazing at Nella with earnest eyes.
Impatience felt her blood begin to boil. Pride jabbed her in the ribs.
“Stick to the plan, she hissed.”
“I can’t find it!”
“Here, let me.”
Rathbrook reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver pen. Nella looked at the notebook in her hand, then back at the pen. Rathbrook smiled at her quiet astonishment. He held the instrument out to her.
“For you.”
She looked at him with wondering eyes that asked, “Really? For me?”
Impatience could hear the clock beginning to chime eleven down below. The guests would be coming inside soon, and it must be she who descended the stairs on the Prince’s arm. It had to be her. Now where was that book?
Nella handed Rathbrook her notebook. “Would you like to read a story?”
“Not a story!,” thought Impatience. This had gone too far.
Pride pointed to the book of spells, on a shelf above their heads. Impatience grabbed for it. As she pulled out the book, she knocked over a little purple vial. Smash! As soon as it hit the floor, the library windows blew open, and the walls began to shake. Impatience lost her balance and fell on her backside. The spellbook skidded across the floor and out of sight.
As Rathbrook reached for Nella to hold her safe, a great gust of wind carried her out the window. The prince rushed to the opening, and the glass slammed shut in his face. He shook the handle, but it was sealed fast. Peering out, he saw overturned earth–a vast chasm, and a wall of rain filling it to the brim. Through the dark and dismal clouds, a flash of lightning illuminated a little cream cottage on softly sloping hill, just on the other shore. It hadn’t been there before, so close to the castle. And yet, so far. In his heart, he knew Nella was there.
Trembling, Pride snuck out of the room on hands and knees and motioned for Impatience to follow. Impatience didn’t know whether to scowl or skip with glee.
Rathbrook took the poker from the fireplace and smashed through the window. He shouted into the storm. “Nella!” Of course she couldn’t hear him. He crumpled into the chair where minutes ago all had been joy, and he buried his face in his hands.
Just as quickly as the storm blew in, the clouds dried up; and the wind, now a gentle breeze, shooed them away. As fresh moonlight streamed through the broken glass, Rathbrook looked down at the silver notebook, now dampened with tears.
It seemed to Nella she had been asleep for a long time. Lazily rubbing her eyes, she felt something cool like steel brush her cheek. It startled her into alertness. The prince’s pen! She had been clutching it while she slept. And was it morning?
No, still night. She parted the curtains and found the flickerings of light belonged to land rather than sky. Through the heavy mist over the chasm she could make out figures with lanterns by the water’s edge. She slipped a coat on over her dress and went outside.
To her astonishment, her home looked just as before, except it now stood on an island, not a mile from the castle. The cottage yard extended a fair distance and then dropped off, a cliff straight down into the chasm no matter which way she turned. So, she was a captive!
Watching the lights on the far shore, she wondered if one of them belonged to Rathbrook. A deep sorrow welled up in her soul at the thought of him. Was she ever to see him again? Would they ever renew that blissful conversation, brought to so abrupt and terrible and end?
It had been an evening too wonderful for words, and ripe with promise, it seemed. With kindness and a frequent smile, Rathbrook had touched her heart in the banquet hall. Holding gentle her gaze, he’d asked for her heart in the library. Now Nella realized she’d left it in his hand.
When the storm had cleared, Rathbrook rushed down the the edge of the chasm and called for eight of his father’s servants to join him with lanterns, rope, and a skiff. He paced the shoreline, looking for a place to put in. All was rock and cliff.
The servants pleaded with him not to cross. “You’ll break your neck, if you try. Or worse, you’ll drown.”
Rathbrook was determined. “I have to know if she’s all right.”
“At least will you wait until morning?”
It was an old servant; he’d carried young Rathbrook on his shoulders through the orchard many a time.
Rathbrook nodded. He sent the men back and sat on the grass to wait for dawn.
The prince awoke to find the King at his side, hair frosted with dew. He had a steaming cup in his hand, which he held out to Rathbrook.
“Thank you.”
The king smiled a sad smile.
“Did you see what happened?” asked Rathbrook.
“Son, you know.”
“Then you know I must go to her.”
“It is not time.”
“But it’s morning, I thought–” Rathbrook stopped himself.
“If you try to cross before the time, you will be lost to the waves.”
“The tide, then. You mean I must wait for the tide?”
“A tide, yes. But not the one you speak of. There will be a turning, and then you may go to her.”
Rathbrook’s eyes shone with hope.
The King continued, “Nella will be restored to you when the notebook is filled–every page.” Rathbrook pulled a pen from his pocket, but the King stopped him. “Only she can write in it.” Rathbrook eyed the chasm as if calculating the distance across. The King shook his head. “Her notebook must remain here with you.”
The prince counted ninety-five pages, and his brave heart trembled with longing.
“I know,” said his Father. “I know.”
Nella awoke to the sound of Impatience bumbling around the kitchen looking for the coffee pot. Pride was eating smoked salmon on toast and buffing her fingernails. Nella didn’t feel like eating. She tiptoed past the kitchen so they wouldn’t see her tear-swollen eyes. Uncertainty swirled in her head, a dizzying confusion. Questions left pools of blood with their unanswered asking. Morning was as dark as dungeon depths. No signposts or guiding stars.
What was to become of her? Hope looked like a question mark in the shape of a silver pen. A path as yet un-inked, and belonging to another hand.
Barefoot, she wandered in thought and by the willow tree. It wept for her. She tried to smile at the bird that alighted on a branch above her head. And then, she noticed it carried something.
The King had dispatched a carrier pigeon to Nella’s island. The note read,
Dear Nella,
I sorrow at your grief, but take heart, dear one. All is not lost. The storm has shaken you, I know. The clouds will pass in due time, and your eyes will be merry once more. All of this is for your good.
Your companions Pride and Impatience were bent on doing great harm to you and Rathbrook. This I could not permit. It was I who placed the vial beside the book of spells. It was I who did not stretch out my hand to rebuke the storm. You will not be harmed. Not a sparrow falls to the ground except I allow it, and I have numbered even the hairs of your head. Take courage, dear Nella. Pride and Impatience have sustained mortal wounds. They will continue to plague you for a little while, but they will lie still in the ash heap before the Feast of the Firstborn. They are defeated enemies. You and Rathbrook will triumph over them.
Ninety-five days seems long, I know, but Impatience must receive her full due. Every day you are not with Rathbrook, she becomes weaker. Trust me, my daughter. I want what is best for you and my son—all that is Joy and Everlasting Love.
And a bit of that joy flickered in Nella’s heart just then. She took hold of a willow branch and hoisted herself up. In the rustling leaves and rippling air, she found her eyes could see beyond the passing tears to lasting promise. The chasm’s deep lost its menacing tint and took on a hopeful hue.
Rathbrook hadn’t stirred from his spot on the grass. His mind was as busy as his limbs were resting. His eyes took in a flash of color in a tree on the far shore, and his thoughts halted, tripping over each other. Nella! He stood and waved, in case she was looking. He was about to sit down again and resume his thoughts when one hit him on the forehead. Two minutes later, he was at the top of the castle, on a turret, where the flags blazed forth. After minutes that seemed like hours, the court musicians had joined him. Rathbrook directed them to play a song. It was for Nella, of course.
When the music caught Nella’s ears, her eyes threatened tears again—a whole heartful. She found a sheet of paper and poured them all out using Rathbrook’s pen. Then she had an idea. She found what she needed in the kitchen, and then took a picnic down to the shore, to wait until Rathbrook might appear on the horizon.
When at last he did, she made sure he was looking, and then she sailed the bottle into the watery chasm.
Every day, the prince sent the court musicians out to the roof to play a song proclaiming his love for Nella. Whenever she heard the music, she would write a poem or a story for her dear Rathbrook.
But the chasm remained.
Ten days of feeling the distance, and Rathbrook was at the shore watching the sun set the water of the chasm on fire. He added a sigh to the sounds of the evening. Then he heard footsteps behind him. It was the Firstborn, the King’s only begotten son, Prince over all the princes. He came and stood shoulder to shoulder.
They both stared into the chasm for a little while. The Firstborn could feel his brother’s sorrow. He held out a ray of sunlight. “You know, there is one who can cross, who can go back and forth.”
A glimmer of hope skimmed over the prince’s face. “I knew, somehow, there must be. Who is it?”
“Our Helper. The Wind.” He breathed over the watery chasm and was gone.
A gentle breeze began blowing, and Rathbrook thought he could smell the flowers Nella had worn in her hair that wonderful night.
A mile off, the Wind dried Nella’s forlorn cheeks.
One day, Pride and Impatience came to Nella with cruelty plastered on their faces.
“Nella, it’s been a month already, and you’ve hardly made any progress,” said Impatience. “There’s so much you need to get done in the next two months.”
“You wouldn’t want to be a failure,” added Pride.
They looked at each other and then stared Nella down.
“Are you sure you want to keep wasting time on those silly letters?”
They turned to go, and Impatience tossed a marmalade smile back at Nella.
“The clock is ticking.”
“Yes,” said Nella. “And you know it.”
Nella pulled the prince’s pen out of her pocket and wrote down two very important things.
1. Impatience does not get to set the deadlines.
2. Pride does not get to write my to-do list.
She paused for a moment and added the most important thing:
“Love gets to do both of those things.”
Her heart felt lighter already.
Seven weeks since the storm, and Impatience was stewing. She accosted Pride one afternoon after swiping some scones and jam from the larder.
“We had a deal, didn’t we?” It was a little muffled, due to the snack in her mouth.
“What?”
It was an “I forgot,” what, not an “I can’t tell what you’re saying, would you do me the favor of swallowing that scone morsel first?” Impatience guessed it was the first, but she swallowed anyway and brushed away the crumbs with the back of her hand before explaining.
“Music every morning…This isn’t working.”
“And who might be to blame?”
“Just because I’m the one who had to get the book down…Come on, do you want to have to look up to ‘Princess Nella’ for the rest of your life? That little waif?”
She knew how to deal with Pride.
“All right. I’ll cut her down to size.”
“How? How are you going to get her out of the way?”
“Trust me, I know what to do. It’s so simple even you could have thought of it.”
“What? What are you going to do?”
“I’m not going to do it. I have too much self-respect. It’s your job. You’re the one who wants her out of the way.”
“She doesn’t listen to me anymore.”
“No wonder.”
“Will you tell me the idea already?”
Pride rolled her eyes. “You’re hopeless without me. You have no timing, no tact. It’ll never work if I leave it to you.”
“So you’ll do it?”
“For the right price. It won’t be easy, but I’ll try my best to act like you. ‘Oh, Nella, be pathetic. Just be desperate because you are and throw yourself into the water.’”
Impatience was not impressed with the impersonation. Moreover, the idea alarmed her.
“Wait, is that what you’re going to do? You might kill them both!”
“Yes, I know.”
“But what about our deal? I’m supposed to get the prince.”
“It’s a risk I have to take. With your looks and intelligence, the only way you’ll get him is if you save his life.”
“You know I always get what I want. I will, too. Not like you. You won’t admit what you want if you don’t think you’ll get it.”
“And where are you without me? Remember, I haven’t named my price yet.”
“If you kill him…”
“Have I failed you before?”
“Well, I should have been on his arm seven weeks ago.”
“Not my fault, was it?”
Impatience thought she saw a wave of uncertainty ripple through Pride’s eyes. “They’re too strong for you, aren’t they?”
“No.”
Pride set out to find Nella, and Impatience went in search of some lemonade to wash down her scone. Hmm…she’d have to get Nella to make some more. No, that would take too long. She settled for currant juice. So much for always getting what she wanted.
Pride found Nella walking the shore. She fell in step.
“I bet he’d rescue you.”
Nella kept on in silence.
“If you jumped in…,” Pride explained. “He couldn’t let you die.”
Stopping dead in her tracks, Nella leveled her sternest look on Pride. “I would risk my own life. But I will not risk his.”
“But this is silly. It’s just water.”
“And have you forgotten how it came to be there?”
“You’re better than this, Nella. You deserve—”
“Do you know what happens when his feet leave the ledge?”
“Do you? This could all be—”
Nella’s eyes flashed, fierce. “No, I don’t know what happens to him. And that’s why I’ll take the low road.”
At the mention of the low road, Pride’s strength failed her. She knew she was beaten.
Nella didn’t wait for the reply Pride didn’t have. She went on, “And, Pride, since when do you grovel? You’re a tool of Impatience now, aren’t you?”
Pride made a sour face and left Nella alone. Nella waved across the chasm in case Rathbrook was glancing her way.
(The following section is an ending I wrote.)
Ninety-five days, Rathbrook rang out a song from the rooftop—music dancing in the breeze like the bold and cheerful flags rippling from the ramparts. Ninety-five days, Nella bottled up a letter to her beloved and tossed it into the waves. Ninety-five days.
“If only,” thought Rathbrook. “Ninety-five pages from her, but no way to get to them.”
As they sat on either side of the chasm, brimming it with their tears, the most extraordinary thing happened. The steady breeze became a mighty wind blowing across the waters, blowing down into the watery deep, forming a trough–steep, glassy walls on either side–and as they watched, it grew and grew until…could it be? The bottom? Dry ground appeared. And ninety-five bottles.
Nella peered down, searching for footholds, wondering. Rathbrook motioned for her to stay put. He lowered himself into the chasm. Nella tried not to think about all the water on either side of him.
Rathbrook opened the notebook and pulled a jar of glue out of his pocket. He’d put it there hoping—somehow, someday. Then he sat down among the bottles and pasted ninety-four letters into Nella’s notebook. He pocketed the ninety-fifth bottle and climbed out of the chasm.
He found his Father in the palace gardens.
“I wanted to ask you before I put it in. Shall I?”
(And that’s as far as I got.)
(What follows is the true ending.)
Sixty days, Rathbrook rang out a song from the rooftop—music dancing in the breeze like the bold and cheerful flags rippling from the turret. Sixty days, Nella bottled up a letter to her beloved and tossed it into the waves.
On the sixtieth day, the King asked Rathbrook to stay at the table after dinner had been cleared away. When it was just the two of them remaining, he set a package on the table, square and wrapped in brown paper. Then he spoke.
“Tomorrow the waters in the chasm will make way for you.”
“How? There haven’t been ninety-five letters yet.”
“But there are. I wrote the last thirty-five before she began. Before she had even learned to write, I wrote them for her, for you.”
A smile was all the thanks Rathbrook could muster at the moment. The King felt his gratitude. He knew it was beyond words.
“And the others? How will I get them out?”
“The Wind will make a way.”
Rathbrook nodded another silent “thank you.” Then they sat and talked late into the night.
All week long, Nella had noticed a strong breeze blowing friendly from the south, warm and welcoming. Had she wakened and peered out of her window during the night, she’d have seen its steady arm binding up the watery deep.
Rathbrook did not sleep an hour that night. When it was just beginning to think of turning to day, he bounded down to the edge. There he found no chasm, only a merry rivulet, crossable in a step. Glittering among the rocks at the bottom of the stream, sixty bottles greeted him.
When Rathbrook had fished the bottles out and fitted the letters into the notebook, he leapt the rill and ran to his Nella. And it was a heavenly day. He gave her the cap from one of the bottles to wear about her neck, and they promised to love each other all the days after.
And so it began.