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Authors: Jean Ferris
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could tell his thoughts.
E DRIC SLEPT hardly at all. Bub and Cate were unsettled, too. The only thing on all their minds was, Where was Christian? There was no way to be sure he'd made it to the castle. Or, if he had, that there was a job waiting for him. And if there wasn't, would he come home or would he move on, trying to prove himself? Ed felt awful. What had he been thinking, urging Chris to go away?
Sometimes things that seem like good ideas in theory, in practice turn out to be the worst kinds of boneheaded blunders.
Ed flopped and turned, and shoved the dogsâhuddling near him for reassuranceâthis way and that. Finally, near dawn, he drifted off, figuring that there was nothing he could do about it now; it was all spilled milk over the dam.
7
The next morning Christian was in the scullery repairing a butter churn. As he worked on it, he got an idea for a more efficient way to operate the dasher. He needed a chain and a handle and a gear, that's all. Thinking about such things was easier than thinking about Marigold, who had never seemed so far away.
Mrs. Clover, swamped with the demands of the extra guests at the castle, shooed him off to the blacksmith's, where he found what he needed in a pile of discarded parts at the back of the shop.
"Handy, are you?" the smith asked. He was a burly man, red-faced from the heat of his forge, wearing a leather apron.
"I like to build things," Christian said. "It's fun."
"Me, too. You should see some of the things I've made. Great stuff. But not everything works out, does it? Not my perpetual-motion machine, or my flying machine, or my corn picker. You might be interested in having a look at my failures. They're dumped in the dungeon. Maybe there'd be some parts you could use."
"The dungeon?"
"Oh, it hasn't been used as a
dungeon
dungeon since old King Swithbert took the throne. He's too softhearted to torture anybody. He prefers to exile troublemakers. Queen Olympia, she's another story. If she were ruler, that dungeon would have standing room only. That's why I'm rooting for Sir Magnus to marry the princess. Then Marigold'll get to be queen when poor old King Swithbert croaks."
Chris got that pang in his chest again. "I served at the state dinner last night. She doesn't seem very interested in either one of her suitors."
"She may not be, but I think the queen sure is. She's ready to have a wedding. She's been running candidates through here for a year, and the princess has turned up her nose at all of them. And when Olympia runs out of patienceâlook out."
This was not good news to Christian. "Well, thanks for the stuff," he said. "If it works the way I think it will, pretty soon butter making's going to be a lot faster around here."
"Let me know how it turns out." The blacksmith brought his hammer down on the soup ladle he was fashioning on the anvil. A great shower of sparks exploded outward like fireworks as Christian headed back to the kitchen.
Meg, the scullery maid, was overjoyed at the new butter churn. "Oh, look how fast it goes," she said, turning the handle. "There'll be butter in no time, without me breaking me arms hauling that dasher up and down. Oh, Christian, luv, you've made a miracle, you have. And I'll not be forgetting it." She looked up at him from under her eyelashes. "Maybe I can find a way to thank you."
Christian, ignorant of the art of flirting, said, "Don't worry about it. I enjoyed fixing it."
"Well, I'd enjoy thanking you, I know I would," she said, batting her lashes and turning the churn handle in a way that displayed her shapely figure to advantage.
Christian, uncomfortable, shrugged. "Well. You're welcome."
The next chore Sedgewick assigned Christian was to begin repairs on a section of the wall bordering the terrace overlooking the river.
"And if the princess is out on the terrace, and she is out there a lot," Sedgewick said, "whatever you do, don't touch her."
"I wouldn't think of it," Christian said obediently,
E DRIC SLEPT hardly at all. Bub and Cate were unsettled, too. The only thing on all their minds was, Where was Christian? There was no way to be sure he'd made it to the castle. Or, if he had, that there was a job waiting for him. And if there wasn't, would he come home or would he move on, trying to prove himself? Ed felt awful. What had he been thinking, urging Chris to go away?
Sometimes things that seem like good ideas in theory, in practice turn out to be the worst kinds of boneheaded blunders.
Ed flopped and turned, and shoved the dogsâhuddling near him for reassuranceâthis way and that. Finally, near dawn, he drifted off, figuring that there was nothing he could do about it now; it was all spilled milk over the dam.
7
The next morning Christian was in the scullery repairing a butter churn. As he worked on it, he got an idea for a more efficient way to operate the dasher. He needed a chain and a handle and a gear, that's all. Thinking about such things was easier than thinking about Marigold, who had never seemed so far away.
Mrs. Clover, swamped with the demands of the extra guests at the castle, shooed him off to the blacksmith's, where he found what he needed in a pile of discarded parts at the back of the shop.
"Handy, are you?" the smith asked. He was a burly man, red-faced from the heat of his forge, wearing a leather apron.
"I like to build things," Christian said. "It's fun."
"Me, too. You should see some of the things I've made. Great stuff. But not everything works out, does it? Not my perpetual-motion machine, or my flying machine, or my corn picker. You might be interested in having a look at my failures. They're dumped in the dungeon. Maybe there'd be some parts you could use."
"The dungeon?"
"Oh, it hasn't been used as a
dungeon
dungeon since old King Swithbert took the throne. He's too softhearted to torture anybody. He prefers to exile troublemakers. Queen Olympia, she's another story. If she were ruler, that dungeon would have standing room only. That's why I'm rooting for Sir Magnus to marry the princess. Then Marigold'll get to be queen when poor old King Swithbert croaks."
Chris got that pang in his chest again. "I served at the state dinner last night. She doesn't seem very interested in either one of her suitors."
"She may not be, but I think the queen sure is. She's ready to have a wedding. She's been running candidates through here for a year, and the princess has turned up her nose at all of them. And when Olympia runs out of patienceâlook out."
This was not good news to Christian. "Well, thanks for the stuff," he said. "If it works the way I think it will, pretty soon butter making's going to be a lot faster around here."
"Let me know how it turns out." The blacksmith brought his hammer down on the soup ladle he was fashioning on the anvil. A great shower of sparks exploded outward like fireworks as Christian headed back to the kitchen.
Meg, the scullery maid, was overjoyed at the new butter churn. "Oh, look how fast it goes," she said, turning the handle. "There'll be butter in no time, without me breaking me arms hauling that dasher up and down. Oh, Christian, luv, you've made a miracle, you have. And I'll not be forgetting it." She looked up at him from under her eyelashes. "Maybe I can find a way to thank you."
Christian, ignorant of the art of flirting, said, "Don't worry about it. I enjoyed fixing it."
"Well, I'd enjoy thanking you, I know I would," she said, batting her lashes and turning the churn handle in a way that displayed her shapely figure to advantage.
Christian, uncomfortable, shrugged. "Well. You're welcome."
The next chore Sedgewick assigned Christian was to begin repairs on a section of the wall bordering the terrace overlooking the river.
"And if the princess is out on the terrace, and she is out there a lot," Sedgewick said, "whatever you do, don't touch her."
"I wouldn't think of it," Christian said obediently,
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