“I’m the queen of nothing,” said Gothel, sitting on a chair and catching her breath.
“Was that you lurking out there in the field, my lady? I thought it was you, but…”
Gothel sighed. “I’m afraid that’s another question you’d rather I not answer.”
“Too right! Well then, what will you do now?” she asked, getting fresh teacups from the shelf and taking out the tea tin.
“I’m going to take the flower back! I’m going to the kingdom, I’m
going to sneak in the castle, and I’m going to take the flower back.”
“After all of this? After letting them take it, you’re going to go right after them and take it back? I’m sorry, my lady, but are you batty?”
“We’ve come to a point where you’re either going to hear the entire story or you agree to trust that I know what I’m doing and not ask me any questions. We can’t have it both ways.”
“Even if you do steal it, what makes you think they won’t just come back here looking for it?”
“And bother the sweet little old lady who sent them home with half the larder? An old woman who didn’t even know she had the flower to begin with? I don’t think so!”
Mrs. Tiddlebottom seemed to be taking what Gothel was saying into consideration. “True. True,” she said, filling the kettle with water and putting it on the stove. “I think you’re right.”
“Now listen, you don’t have to stay if you don’t wish. I wouldn’t blame you, Mrs. T. What you did last night was very dangerous, and I appreciate it. I really do. So if you’re uncomfortable with what I’m about to do, I completely understand. Just do me this one favor. Please stay here until I get back? You are free to go after I return if you’re afraid the soldiers will put it together that it was me who took the flower.”
“Has this to do with what you have hidden down in that cellar? Do I want to know what it is?”
“I will tell you if you really want me to.”
“No, Gothel. I don’t think I do.”
It had been weeks since Gothel ventured to the kingdom, leaving Mrs. Tiddlebottom alone to manage the house and be the keeper of the keys. Gothel had given her the keys to the cellar and the library to add to her ring of household keys, but told her not to enter either room. Mrs. Tiddlebottom felt like the French fairy tale bride who was given the keys to the chateau and told she was welcome to enter any room she wished except one. Of course, the French bride did it anyway. But that is another story altogether.
Unlike the French bride, Mrs. Tiddlebottom didn’t want to know what was in the cellar. The way she figured it, the less she knew, the better. Oh, she had her theories. And if she had allowed herself to sit down and think about it, she would have put it all together, and in reality, she had, but she chose to put it out of her mind. Over the years, Mrs. Tiddlebottom had become very good at avoiding trouble, and she wasn’t about to go falling into a deep pit of it now. Because that was what she foresaw: trouble. Not that she was a witch and saw things in that way, but she had common sense and could see Gothel was about to bring trouble upon all their heads. No need to make more trouble by going into that cellar. I don’t need to know what’s in there.
Besides, she knew what happened to the bride in that French fairy tale when she entered the forbidden room. She lost her head when her husband came home, and ended up in the bloody chamber with his other headless brides. The memory of that story gave Mrs. Tiddlebottom the shivers. Thinking of those poor girls’ bodies hung on rusty hooks in that room, their heads sitting under bell jars…Put it out of your mind, she told herself. She didn’t think Gothel would do such a thing to her, but Mrs. Tiddlebottom had made it her business not to go around tempting fate. Or getting her head chopped off. Not if she could help it.
Fairy tales are written for a reason, she thought.
They were cautionary tales. And Mrs. Tiddlebottom might have been an old woman, but she wasn’t stupid. She spent most of her days busying herself with the baking of pies and cakes. The kitchen was bursting with them, but she found that baking calmed her nerves, and she was, after all, very worried about Gothel. More weeks passed than she supposed might for Gothel to travel to the kingdom and back, and still there was no sign of Gothel. So Mrs. Tiddlebottom baked more pies and even more cakes and gave them to anyone who would take them.
And just when Mrs. Tiddlebottom started to worry something terrible had befallen her lady, Gothel arrived with a baby in her arms just like it was any other day.
“And who is this?” Mrs. Tiddlebottom asked, looking at the beautiful little creature in Gothel’s arms.
“This is my flower,” said Gothel. “We should probably find someone to care for her until she is older.” She handed the baby over to Mrs. Tiddlebottom like she was a sack of potatoes.
“Your flower looks an awful lot like a baby….”
“A baby whose mother ate my flower.”
“You mean this is the Princess? Gothel! What in fairy wings were you thinking of, taking this baby?”
“I didn’t have a choice! What would you have me do? Her father’s army destroyed my kingdom for something that didn’t belong to them, and gave it to his queen, who bequeathed it to this creature! She is the only flower left! If my mother were alive, she would have destroyed them and their entire kingdom! They’re lucky the only thing I took was their child!”
“I don’t know about this, Gothel! What must they be feeling now? It’s one thing to take your flower back, but to take their child…I just don’t know!” said Mrs. Tiddlebottom.
“She is my flower! The only one left of its kind. They destroyed almost everything I had and took my only hope of ever seeing my sisters alive again! They’re not the victims here, Mrs. T! I am!”
Gothel could see Mrs. Tiddlebottom wanted to ask her what she meant about her sisters but stopped herself. She seemed to be considering Gothel’s words for some time while looking at the little wriggling creature in her arms. Finally, she spoke.