Even if Karl is not my true love, he is the father of my baby. He must marry me.
I sink into the straw. Ordinarily, my worries would prevent me from sleeping, but I am still so weary, so exhausted, and my weariness pulls me downward, sends me plummeting into sleep as I dream of the river running through the mill, turning, turning, turning it into oblivion.
I wake to a shaking. My eyes flutter open. “Karl?”
But he is not there. Instead, it is a woman, a maid, judging from her crisp black gown, though it is finer than my everyday clothes.
“Oh, no, miss. His Highness is not here, but he asked that these items be sent to you.” She shakes me yet again, and the sour expression upon her face lets me know she is well aware of my situation. I am still blinking, blinking at the shame of it, not from the light shed by the gold. The gold, indeed, is gone. Instead, I am surrounded on three sides by walls of straw. My dress is covered in dust.
I look at the items the woman is gesturing at. My satchel, which I trust contains the book and mirror, is on the right. On the left sits a picnic basket, the very same one Karl brought to our meetings.
I realize I am starving. I fall upon the picnic basket, fumbling at its contents, hoping there will be some note, some explanation from Karl. There is none, only a loaf of bread, a roasted chicken, and some fruit. I fall upon it, ravenously, but I leave half of each item and all of a chocolate cake. If my helper comes tonight (pray to God he does), I should feed him in exchange for his kindness.
Only after I consume the feast do I go for my satchel. I should pick up the mirror immediately, but instead, I snatch up the book. The book from Karl. I stroke its gold-edged pages. I open it, randomly, to an illustrated plate of a great battle with armored horses and men carrying spears. The pages feel cool, smooth. I inhale deeply, remembering exactly where I had been when I first breathed in the book’s clean scent.
But the book reminds me of someplace else. Not my home. Not Karl. But the bookstore. I had talked about it to the little man that day.
I seize up the mirror. “Show me Kendra!”
She appears, clad in purple brocade and holding a large black volume in her hand. Is it a book of spells?
When she sees me, she laughs. “Haha! Did I not tell you that you would be able to spin straw into gold?”
“But I can’t. And now Karl’s father believes I can. He has boasted about it to his guests and will be humiliated if I cannot do it again.”
“Again? Humph! Sounds a bit greedy.”
I think so too, but I say, “I must do it if I am to marry Karl.”
Kendra shrugs. “Is he even worth it?”
“Worth it . . . what does that have to do with anything? I must marry him or what else will I do?” My choices, narrow before, have constricted to only one: marry, or die?
Kendra shrugs again, as if the situation does not seem dire to her. “All right. I will help you. Be ready at sunset.”
And that is it. After she disappears, I sit and read the book some more until the barn grows gray and the words compress to nothing.
“Are you waiting for me, milady?”
I start. It is him! The gold spinner, standing before me. I feel an urge to run toward him, to embrace the only familiar, good thing. Instead, I say, “I do not know your name.”
“It is of no importance, is it?”
“It is your name. I want to have something to call you, as you are being so kind to me.” In truth, I wanted something to call him when I asked Kendra to send him. It was odd to admit I had never asked his name. But we had met numerous times, and at some point, it seems like the opportunity is missed.
He smiles, a little grin that twists to one side. “Is that what I’m being, kind?”
“More than kind. Wonderful. You are saving my life.”
He opens his mouth as if to reply, then shuts it. He looks around, his gray eyes taking in the bales and bales of straw.
“Really, I have no time for pleasantries right now, do I? If you still care about my name after you have married your prince, I will tell it to you, certainly.”
I try to protest, but he says, “What payment do you have for me, for this wonderful kindness I am about to do?”
“A necklace?” It seems at once too little and too much, too little because he is doing me so great a favor. Too much because the necklace is all I have in the world, all I have of my father, my family, the home to which I might never return.
His stare is greedy. “You are certain?”
“I have no choice.”
“One always has choices. But, if you want to marry a prince, I suppose you are correct.”