An Arranged Marriage - 25

     Ilona sat by herself, thinking over the revelations of the morning.  She pulled every memory of Emil to the forefront of her mind, examining each one.  What if he had only fooled her into thinking that he cared about her?  Reluctantly she had to admit the likelihood that he had, and the thought gave rise to a much more painful one.  What if her Detlef had done the same?

     “If you look so deep within, you will miss the beauty around you.”  Verana knelt next to her, rolling out a mat and sitting on it.  In her hand, she held a basket of nuts, which she proceeded to shell.

     Ilona lifted her eyes and glanced around the village.  The courtyard basked in the late afternoon sun.  Women bustled about their supper preparations, cooking in large pots over open fires.  Babies played happily at their feet.  The men gathered under the pavilion to mend their traps.  Boys chopped kindling.  As Ilona watched, a band of girls returned through the curtain of the willow tree, laughing and talking and carrying baskets of late summer fruits.

     “The trees are starting to turn colors.”  Verana sounded almost wistful.  “The forest will be arrayed in full glory this year…probably surprising us one day this week.”

     Horst was making his way toward her.  Ilona watched the broad-shouldered man, wondering how to address this great uncle of hers.  Princess though she was, he filled her with a small amount of awe.

     He stopped in front of her.  “I have someone for you to meet.  She’s awake now.”

     Mystified, Ilona followed him to a small hut nestled near the edge of the village courtyard. 

     Horst stopped her at the door.  “She sleeps more than she is awake.  This is her first coherent moment in a week.  But it is important that you meet her.”  He pushed the door open and waved Ilona inside.

     The hut was small and dark.  Ilona stepped forward and bumped against a curious machine.  It was made of wood.  The largest piece was a wheel, but, unlike a cart whose wheel sits on the ground, this wheel was fastened in the air.  Cords ran along a groove in the rim of the wheel, connecting it to a disc and rod.  On this was a winding of flax.  Ilona reached out fascinated.  It was a spindle – like she had seen in picture books – but she had never seen a real one.

     “They told me you were here.” The voice quivered and cracked.

     Ilona peered into the dimly lit recesses of the hut and saw an old woman seated on a rumpled bed.  The woman stared, unseeing, at the wall and reached out her hands toward Ilona.  “Come here, my beauty.”

     Ilona left the strange machine and crossed to the old woman’s side.  “Here I am.  Who are you?”  She knelt by the old woman’s bed.

      The old woman’s hands found Ilona and traced along her face.  “You are as beautiful as I predicted.”  She cackled delightedly, moving her hands up to Ilona’s hair and then down over her shoulders.  Then she straightened up – as much as an old woman can do so – and folded her hands in her lap.  “I am the old spindle woman.”

     “You?”

     She nodded, smiling a toothless grin.  “I was the ambassador, over a decade ago, carrying our messages to the world.”  Her hands spread wide, as if tracing the outline of the world.  Then she turned in her bed, slowly reaching toward an empty shelf.  “My spindles spun the flax for the village.  I carried this one to your christening.”  She patted the empty shelf.  A puzzled look crept over her face and then she laughed.  “I forgot!  If you are here, then my old spindle must be in the castle now.”  She laughed again.  “Oh, to have seen the look on their faces!”  She settled back into the bed and reached forward to pat Ilona’s hand.  “Tell me.  How do you like the man chosen for you?”

     “They are still testing the men.  I hardly know what to think myself.  I fear…I fear I have been mistaken in some of their sincerity.”

     The old woman nodded sympathetically.  “It is hard sometimes to see past the façade of a courting man.  May God grant you discernment.”

     “And when Detlef…”

     The old woman startled.  “Detlef?  The little boy?  He’s come back?” 

     Ilona opened her eyes wide.  “How do you know Detlef?”

     “Ah, yes!”  She smiled fondly.  “We found him in the woods – a dozen years ago.  Kind, intelligent lad.  He stayed with us one night, and we took him back to the castle the next day.”  She patted her chest.  “He found a place in all our hearts.”

     Ilona blushed.  “That explains why everyone smiles when he is mentioned.  I had wondered how you knew a prince from the North Country.”

     A strange expression crossed the old woman’s face.  “The North Country?”

     “Yes.”  Ilona puckered her eyebrows, puzzled.  “Why?”

     The woman shook her head.  “It stirs some long-forgotten memory.  I cannot place it.”  She patted Ilona’s hand again.  “Tell me about Detlef.  Is he handsome?”

     Ilona felt her face turning red.  “Very handsome.  And intelligent.  And princely.  And…I hope he’s sincere.”

      The strange look again.  The old woman pressed her hand to her forehead and laughed sheepishly.  “It must have been a story that I heard when I was very little.  It’s funny how these distant memories tickle the edges of your mind.  Now I shall not be able to sleep.”  She wrung her hands fretfully. 

     Ilona placed a comforting hand on the old woman.  “Not to worry.  It will come back to you.”  She bent her head to see the old woman’s face.  “Maybe, if I leave you to rest now?”

     “No!”  The woman seemed quite alarmed at the thought of Ilona leaving.  “I would not lose your sweet company so soon!  You must tell me more of Detlef.”  Her sightless face was as eager as a gossiping girl’s.

     Ilona sat on the edge of the old woman’s bed and searched her mind for where to start.  “When I first met Detlef, I was too young to remember…”  She let her words run on, recounting every story she knew about the raven-haired prince, while the old woman clasped her hands in delight.  The more she talked, the more Ilona realized how very much she loved the raven-haired prince.  And her fear of his insincerity faded. 

     The old woman was enamored with Ilona’s tales; it was over an hour later before she sank back down into her bed.  “Sing me a song, my beauty,” the old woman sighed.  “I think I shall fall asleep in your voice.”  She lay down and pulled her quilt over her shoulders.

     And so Ilona sang till the old woman’s snores joined her chorus.