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“Tales of this day will be told for generations,” he said, “but I hope that sometime you will tell me the real story.”
“Of course—John,” I said. “But you must know that in me is no great courage, but only, perhaps, a great love for my people.”
“As befits a lady,” John said. He twirled me again and then stepped closer to me. “I asked my mother, Keturah,” he said, very low, “how a lord’s son might go about marrying a commoner.”
“What commoner?” I asked, astonished.
“I know you think it is impossible. Even Mother is doubtful. But listen—who is the one person with the power to turn a common woman into a lady? The king! His Majesty the king, the very king who is coming to Tide-by-Rood for the fair.”
“John,” I said, shaking my head, “the king does not raise up commoners except for war heroes or wealthy merchants.”
“Remember, Keturah, remember what the king promised to the one who wins top prize at the fair?”
“His shoe full of gold and a wish granted.”
“Yes. And I will win,” he said.
“Truly? And with what will you win?” I asked, smiling at his confidence.
He gestured sweepingly. “Tide-by-Rood is what I will contribute to the fair, Keturah.”
“Sir, it is a glorious contribution. But what common woman will receive this honor, if I may ask?”
“You, Keturah.”
I stopped still and began to dance again only when I saw people staring.
“You helped me see what Tide-by-Rood could be,” he said. “You inspired me, Keturah. For this you will be made a lady. My lady.”
A lady!
Suddenly all weariness left me. I found myself swirling to the music.
A lady!
The villagers honored me, and my friends were in love, and—and I was loved by a lord’s son!
I gazed in the direction of the forest and smiled. Could it be that John had been the one all along? I stopped dancing.
“Sir, you are a lord, and I a peasant. This will never be.” But even as I spoke, I put my hand slowly into my apron pocket.
The eye was not moving!
But wait... No, it did not move back and forth as if it were looking.
And yet it moved. It throbbed in my hand, and then I felt in horror that it squeezed out tears, so that in a moment my hand was wet with them.
I pulled my hand away and wiped it on my skirt, and I could not have been more repelled and appalled if it had been blood upon my hand.
John had been talking about his hopes for the king’s understanding, and now he watched me, curious, expectant, and... lovingly.
“Sir—John, I must go home, I—I must think.”
“Think and dream, Keturah, as I will,” he said.
I ran away, up the hill toward home, my mind still dancing with disbelief.
I gazed out my window and watched the lanterns flicker and listened to the music and laughter that rose like field butterflies from the village. A fairy tale had happened to me—I was the told instead of the teller.
It was not long before Gretta and Beatrice appeared at my door. They regarded me in silent wonder for a time, and then Gretta said, “So the mystery of your true love is solved.
And he is John Temsland, a lord’s son!”
“He is a beautiful man!” Beatrice exclaimed.
“He is,” I said, smiling.
“And he is good and upright,” Beatrice said. “And he is smitten with you, that is clear.”
“So it seems.”
“And he is a lord’s son!” said Gretta again.
“Amazing,” I said.
“Did he propose, Keturah?” Beatrice asked, smiling.
“He did,” I said, half in wonder myself.
“And you answered?”
“I—I believe I forgot to answer.”
Beatrice giggled, but Gretta stared at me. “Did you consult the charm?”
“It throbs and weeps,” I said, “but it does not search.”
“At last!” Beatrice said happily. “You are safe, Keturah!”
“But what does that mean?” Gretta asked. “Why does it weep?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “But I know this—fair day is a day of weddings. Now home with you, to dream of your loves. And let me dream of mine.”
They left then, and I stayed awake the night through, trying to answer for myself Gretta’s question.
XIII
The king and the fair with its trappings
and delights; the cooking contest,
what I ask of the king.
The day of the fair began with drums.
Drums beat in the village as traveling merchants from throughout the south of Angleland came to set up their booths and show their wares. Drums answered from a distance as the royal party came closer. The king was coming.
My friends came to my house early to wash their hair and don freshly washed frocks. They braided flowers into their hair. Grandmother was glad of heart and sang little songs as they made ready.
I did the chores slowly. I scrubbed and polished the pots as if it were the only important work in the world. While making the beds, I stopped to smell the scent of Grandmother on the quilt. I dusted the dear rocker and swept the familiar floor. I touched the life I had known and, as I now understood it, the life I loved. This I felt in my heart: tomorrow I would not be what I was today.
We all lined the streets to wait for the king and his entourage. At last, as morning became noon, the king rode into the village while heralds blew their horns and were answered by flutes.
The king came first, and at his right was the royal messenger, Duke Morland, who had told us of the king’s intentions. At the king’s other side was Lord Temsland. The astonishment upon his face was equal to the fury on the face of the duke. Mixed with the duke’s anger was envy—it now appeared that when he and his cohorts had persuaded the king to banish Temsland to this corner of the kingdom, they had inadvertently rewarded him. The sun shone on the bay and the cottages dotted the hillside like flowers, and even the forest looked benign in the golden sunshine.
And then the bell began to ring and our hearts rose to see Lord Temsland’ s joy as he passed a hand over his eyes. John Temsland and his mother rode to greet the party and then joined it. As they passed us, John leaned over to hand me a red rose. The girls around me tittered and offered me quick curtseys when I looked at them. Truly I was safe, just as Beatrice had said. I smiled at the girls and smelled my rose.
We all cheered and showered the royal party with flower petals. The horses’ hooves made a merry sound upon the new cobblestone road.
The lords who had come to gloat looked everywhere in dismay. Their countenances soured as they gazed upon our whitewashed cottages and the flowers that decorated every doorstep and pathway and gaily painted window box. They scowled at our cobblestone road and square, and stared morosely at our new pier and the gleaming bell in the church tower. They would not look into the faces of the people, so like flowers themselves in their bright clothes.
Tailor’s children were brightest and prettiest of all.
The king and queen, on the other hand, beamed at our reception. Village girls walked before them, swirling long ribbons above their heads, and boys beat upon little tambourines. The king and his party slowed down when they came to the row of booths set up for the fair. Merchants bowed low as the king and queen passed.
Once they had passed they filed to the church, and Parson Tom welcomed them and all of us who had followed to the stairs of the chapel. Lord Temsland gave a speech.
“It is good to be home!” he a