Read Online Once Upon a Marigold by Jean Ferris - Free Book Online Page B

though there was hardly anything he'd like more. "I know she's a princess and I'm just a servant." That was perfectly true, but—though he knew better—it was something he kept hoping didn't really matter.
    "Well, I couldn't help noticing how you picked up that little dog last night—Poopsy or Nutsy or whatever its name is. I can never keep them straight. Did your hand happen to touch hers when you handed the dog back?"
    "Oh no," Christian lied through his teeth. Her hand had felt wonderful—soft and strong at the same time.
    "Good. Because if she touches you, she can tell what you're thinking."
    When Marigold had first told him about her curse, Christian had had to ponder for a minute before he realized how bad that could be. At first all he thought was: What a lot of junk mail she must receive from other people's minds. But then he realized why people feared her—all their mean and hateful thoughts, the ones best kept to themselves, would be exposed.
    He knew exactly what he had been thinking when their hands touched. Some concerns about the dog, and some uncharitable thoughts about her suitors, but mostly how happy he was to be so close to her. Not until this very moment did he consider how offensive she might have found that—a servant feeling that way about her. No wonder she'd said "Oh my," and run away.
    Sedgewick went on. "Only King Swithbert doesn't mind touching her. But his head seems to be filled with nothing but harmless, woolly thoughts wishing ill upon no one. The others in the palace, I'm afraid, are not so willing to have their thoughts inspected. Well, get to work," Sedgewick said, giving Christian a basket full of the tools he'd need. "And don't forget—no touching."
    The terrace wall was in worse shape than Christian expected—much worse than it had looked from the other side, through the telescope. The mortar between the stones was crumbling to powder and would have to be completely replaced before someone leaned on the wall and it collapsed, dumping them into the river below. This was a big job. He rolled up his sleeves and set to work.
    He was concentrating so hard, he didn't hear when Princess Marigold came out onto the terrace and sat down to read. Not until her little floor-mop dogs began barking as they played did he turn and notice. He stood up to stretch out his back and then doffed his cap to her. On the other side of the river, a friendship with her had seemed completely natural. But here, where everyone's rank was the first thing you had to think about, he wondered how he had ever been innocent enough, or stupid enough, to think that she'd want a mere servant for her best friend, no matter how lonely she was. He felt sad and foolish.
    "Good morning," she said. "You're the one who picked up Topsy last night, aren't you?"
    "Yes, Your Highness," Christian answered cautiously. Was it possible she'd been too distracted to remember his thoughts? "Is she all right?"
    "As you can see," Princess Marigold said, pointing to where the three little dogs frolicked. "But I was worried at first. Thank you for coming to her rescue."
    "Don't mention it," he said. "I have—uh,
had—
dogs of my own, back home. I know how attached you get."
    "What kind of dogs?" she asked, putting down her book.
    That was his Marigold—always curious. "Oh ... a big one and a small one," he said evasively, realizing it would not be wise to describe dogs she'd be sure to recognize from his p-mail. "Mutts, I guess you'd say. Your Highness," he added quickly.
    "You must miss them," she said. "Who takes care of them now?"
    "My—" Christian stopped. He couldn't say his foster father. That's the way he'd described Ed to her. Princess Marigold was watching him, expectant, her head tipped slightly to one side.
    "My friend Edric," Christian finally said. But he wished he could touch Marigold now so that she could see into his mind and know, without the woeful inadequacy of words, all that