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Authors: Rachel Hauck
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ones Sadie made setting up to bake cookies, then Reggie reached for the letter.
“So this is true?” She read aloud. “At the end of the hundred-year entail, Prince Francis intended for his heir, whoever he or she be, to return to Hessenberg and reestablish the monarchy . . .”
She read with the intent of understanding each word, but the reality of being heir to this throne—this House of Augustine-Saxon—seemed about as likely as flying to the moon.
Gram was a princess? Alice of Hessenberg? It felt more like she was Alice in Wonderland. Reggie’s heart could not comprehend what her head strained to grasp.
“I’ve got everything I need to bake sugar cookies. No Publix run. How about that, Noble?”
“Not surprised, Sadie-bun.” Daddy’s deep voice resonated through the kitchen. “And, yes, Reg, I guess it’s true.”
“Mr. Beswick,” Mr. Burkhardt began, “did your wife give you a clue? Or perhaps Princess Alice told you the history of Hessenberg and the entail?”
“Well, first, right before Reggie’s mama died, she whispered something to me about Gram’s secret. But she was fading in and out. When I pressed her for an answer, she didn’t seem to know what I was asking. I thought she might have been thinking of when Gram played princess with Reg, you know.” He shook hishead. “She died about an hour later and I, well, I had bigger fish to fry than some murmur about a princess.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Beswick, of course.”
“Don’t be sorry. You weren’t the son of a gun who ran the light and T-boned her car.” In the seventeen years since her death, an ever-present pain darkened Daddy when he spoke of Mama’s accident. And in those moments, a fresh wave of missing her crashed the shores of Reggie’s heart.
“So, then, you asked Gram?” Otherwise, why would he consider telling her during her rebel years?
Reggie shot a glance toward Sadie, busy in the kitchen. Rebellion . . . What was she talking about? Reggie no more rebelled than Sadie Beswick missed a Christmas baking season.
“As a matter of fact, I got around to it. A few months later.” Daddy’s voice drew in Reggie’s heart and attention. “One night after supper, I was sitting by her bed and, well, you know”—Daddy chuckled as if it all seemed so silly now—“I said, ‘Gram, before Bettin died, she said something about being a princess.’ ”
“What did she say?” Reggie hooked her hand over Daddy’s arm.
He shrugged. “She said since Bettin had died, Regina was the princess.” Daddy scratched his head and peered at Mr. Burkhardt. “Gram always called Reggie by her full name. Anyway, I asked her what she meant and her eyes kind of clouded over. Then she muttered something about Reg being ‘my princess’ and I thought, ‘Well, there you go, she’s gone to her soft place, remembering the past when she played dress-up with Reg. Same as Bettin.’ Or maybe she was telling me Reg was my princess.” Daddy patted his chest. “My girl, treat her like a princess.”
“Her soft place?” Mr. Burkhardt leaned toward Daddy.
“Here.” Daddy tapped his temple. “Those moments when—we thought—she’d slipped from reality. The older she got, the more she talked about her past, her girlhood in Hessenberg, an old stable, someone named Rein.” Daddy ran his hand over hischin. “Her Mamá, her uncle. Her sister, Esmé. Folks I’d never met. They’d all gone on, passed to the other side.
“We couldn’t make heads or tails of it. Guess we should’ve paid her more mind. But she had so much heartache in her life, being a widow, losing her daughter, then her granddaughter. After Bettin died, Gram seemed to go to her soft place a good bit. Sadie and I figured escaping to her childhood gave her peace, helped her mourn. Shoot, all of her blood kin were dead except Reg. You live to be a hundred, you outlive most of your people. So we just let Gram go on, live in her own brand of dignity. Wasn’t any use in
“So this is true?” She read aloud. “At the end of the hundred-year entail, Prince Francis intended for his heir, whoever he or she be, to return to Hessenberg and reestablish the monarchy . . .”
She read with the intent of understanding each word, but the reality of being heir to this throne—this House of Augustine-Saxon—seemed about as likely as flying to the moon.
Gram was a princess? Alice of Hessenberg? It felt more like she was Alice in Wonderland. Reggie’s heart could not comprehend what her head strained to grasp.
“I’ve got everything I need to bake sugar cookies. No Publix run. How about that, Noble?”
“Not surprised, Sadie-bun.” Daddy’s deep voice resonated through the kitchen. “And, yes, Reg, I guess it’s true.”
“Mr. Beswick,” Mr. Burkhardt began, “did your wife give you a clue? Or perhaps Princess Alice told you the history of Hessenberg and the entail?”
“Well, first, right before Reggie’s mama died, she whispered something to me about Gram’s secret. But she was fading in and out. When I pressed her for an answer, she didn’t seem to know what I was asking. I thought she might have been thinking of when Gram played princess with Reg, you know.” He shook hishead. “She died about an hour later and I, well, I had bigger fish to fry than some murmur about a princess.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Beswick, of course.”
“Don’t be sorry. You weren’t the son of a gun who ran the light and T-boned her car.” In the seventeen years since her death, an ever-present pain darkened Daddy when he spoke of Mama’s accident. And in those moments, a fresh wave of missing her crashed the shores of Reggie’s heart.
“So, then, you asked Gram?” Otherwise, why would he consider telling her during her rebel years?
Reggie shot a glance toward Sadie, busy in the kitchen. Rebellion . . . What was she talking about? Reggie no more rebelled than Sadie Beswick missed a Christmas baking season.
“As a matter of fact, I got around to it. A few months later.” Daddy’s voice drew in Reggie’s heart and attention. “One night after supper, I was sitting by her bed and, well, you know”—Daddy chuckled as if it all seemed so silly now—“I said, ‘Gram, before Bettin died, she said something about being a princess.’ ”
“What did she say?” Reggie hooked her hand over Daddy’s arm.
He shrugged. “She said since Bettin had died, Regina was the princess.” Daddy scratched his head and peered at Mr. Burkhardt. “Gram always called Reggie by her full name. Anyway, I asked her what she meant and her eyes kind of clouded over. Then she muttered something about Reg being ‘my princess’ and I thought, ‘Well, there you go, she’s gone to her soft place, remembering the past when she played dress-up with Reg. Same as Bettin.’ Or maybe she was telling me Reg was my princess.” Daddy patted his chest. “My girl, treat her like a princess.”
“Her soft place?” Mr. Burkhardt leaned toward Daddy.
“Here.” Daddy tapped his temple. “Those moments when—we thought—she’d slipped from reality. The older she got, the more she talked about her past, her girlhood in Hessenberg, an old stable, someone named Rein.” Daddy ran his hand over hischin. “Her Mamá, her uncle. Her sister, Esmé. Folks I’d never met. They’d all gone on, passed to the other side.
“We couldn’t make heads or tails of it. Guess we should’ve paid her more mind. But she had so much heartache in her life, being a widow, losing her daughter, then her granddaughter. After Bettin died, Gram seemed to go to her soft place a good bit. Sadie and I figured escaping to her childhood gave her peace, helped her mourn. Shoot, all of her blood kin were dead except Reg. You live to be a hundred, you outlive most of your people. So we just let Gram go on, live in her own brand of dignity. Wasn’t any use in
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