“You said, Go ahead and show him how it's done.”
“That’s exactly right. I'll never forget the way that boy looked when a little girl, no more than seven or eight years old, walked right past him and approached that bucking, angry, relentless black stallion, a veritable house of muscle and sinew.
“He watched you boldly walk up to the horse, and then he whipped his head around to look at me in horror. He looked back at you, and then he looked at me as if saying, Do something! Do something! You’re sending her to her death. His mouth dropped open but no sound came out. He was horrified. I don't know if he was more horrified at what was about to happen to you, or if he was just scared he was going to have to do something about it.
“Either way, it was a sight to behold. So you walked right up to that stallion and reached up your little teeny fingers. Your hand would've fit in one nostril but you patted his nose and he calmed right down, and that nose found its way to your neck where he nuzzled you.”
I laughed. “That poor horseman.”
“I agree. That poor boy. I think he gave up horse breaking after that stallion licked him. He wouldn't even take money for that job. He said if a seven-year-old girl could do it, then he wasn’t taking money for it. He stormed off, hopped on the back of his horse, and took off into the sunset. You and I laughed for hours about that.” Father covered my hand with his.
“Well, I guess we could say we laughed about it for years, because we’re still laughing.”
“I sure miss that horse. He was a good boy.”
“Would you like to go riding?”
Father looked me in the eye and shook his head. “I don't think this old body could take it. Those days are over.”
***
It was the year 1814 and with Father passed on, life became anything but peaceful. Gretta's chanting started again in earnest. It echoed throughout the castle all the way to my room—a constant reminder of that horrible night. Being subject to those sounds sent chills throughout my body each time.
I listened to it night after night, but eventually I couldn't take it anymore. I needed to find somewhere else to live. I explored the castle for the furthest room away from Gretta’s quarters. That was my main requirement.
Getting as far from Gretta as possible led me to the tower. I would live there. Why hadn’t I done it sooner?
Inspecting the room, my eyes rested on the stars of all sizes engraved in the stones throughout the room. They framed the sides of the fireplace and encircled the room at the height of the walls, just below the ceiling. “Look to the stars,” I whispered, then traced one of them with my finger. How had Father known I’d find my way to live in the tower? The last words Father said to me before he died were, “If you ever get lost, look to the stars for guidance.” Had he carved them?
I traced my fingers over the delicate etchings. Had my father touched these very stones?
Eventually, I had the room in the tower looking as good as it was going to get, then had the hired hands move the furniture from the master suite into it. Gretta was against me moving my things to the tower and tried to dissuade me, even as I trudged up the steps with my arms full of my bedding.
I spun around, almost knocking her down the stairs and jabbed my finger at her face. “That’s far enough. Leave me alone.” Didn't Gretta know she wasn't there to keep me company? I missed my home and I missed Father. Nothing could ever change that. I was already alone and living in the tower couldn’t make it truer.
I lay in bed that first night in the tower, not quite a year since moving to the castle. I couldn’t hear Gretta’s chants. Maybe for once, there would be no nightmares. Peace and quiet. I nuzzled down into my feather bed and pulled the covers up to my chin.
Screech. I bolted upright. Screech. There it was again. It sounded like…
No!
I heard a familiar shriek. It wasn't possible. I had to be dreaming. Maybe it was just my imagination—a vivid memory? I scrambled to the window and peered out at the final piece to this sick, twisted puzzle.
The beast had come to Paradise.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Mr. Jenkins, the dragon had followed us to Paradise Valley. I thought back to the wagon journey. Brief moments of shadow had broken through the sunlight often throughout the long hours. Had that been him? The thought of him traveling with us sent shivers down my spine. Where had he been hiding this entire time? What did he want with us?
I paced the room, my fists clenched, knuckles white in frustration. First the witch was forced upon me. Now the dragon! Would I never find any peace? This wasn't fair! And Father thought I would be better off at the castle. I was no better off at all. I was still a prisoner, just in a prettier jail. Looks could certainly be deceiving.