Read Online The Princess Bride by William Goldman - Free Book Online Page B

very quickly now, her potential began to be realized. From twentieth, she jumped within two weeks to fifteenth, an unheard-of change in such a time. But three weeks after that she was already ninth and moving. The competition was tremendous now, but the day after she was ninth a three-page letter arrived from Westley in London and just reading it over put her up to eighth. That was really what was doing it for her more than anything— her love for Westley would not stop growing, and people were dazzled when she delivered milk in the morning. Some people were only able to gape at her, but many talked and those that did found her warmer and gentler than she had ever been before. Even the village girls would nod and smile now, and some of them would ask after Westley, which was a mistake unless you happened to have a lot of spare time, because when someone asked Buttercup how Westley was—well, she told them. He was supreme as usual; he was spectacular; he was singularly fabulous. Oh, she could go on for hours. Sometimes it got a little tough for the listeners to maintain strict attention, but they did their best, since Buttercup loved him so completely.
    Which was why Westley’s death hit her the way it did.
    He had written to her just before he sailed for America. The Queen’s Pride was his ship, and he loved her. (That was the way his sentences always went: It is raining today and I love you. My cold is better and I love you. Say hello to Horse and I love you. Like that.)
    Then there were no letters, but that was natural; he was at sea. Then she heard. She came home from delivering the milk and her parents were wooden. “Off the Carolina coast,” her father whispered.
    Her mother whispered, “Without warning. At night.”
    “What?” from Buttercup.
    “Pirates,” said her father.
    Buttercup thought she’d better sit down.
    Quiet in the room.
    “He’s been taken prisoner then?” Buttercup managed.
    Her mother made a “no.”
    “It was Roberts,” her father said. “The Dread Pirate Roberts.”
    “Oh,” Buttercup said. “The one who never leaves survivors.”
    “Yes,” her father said.
    Quiet in the room.
    Suddenly Buttercup was talking very fast: “Was he stabbed? . . . Did he drown? . . . Did they cut his throat asleep? . . . Did they wake him, do you suppose? . . . Perhaps they whipped him dead. . . .” She stood up then. “I’m getting silly, forgive me.” She shook her head. “As if the way they got him mattered. Excuse me, please.” With that she hurried to her room.
    She stayed there many days. At first her parents tried to lure her, but she would not have it. They took to leaving food outside her room, and she took bits and shreds, enough to stay alive. There was never noise inside, no wailing, no bitter sounds.
    And when she at last came out, her eyes were dry. Her parents stared up from their silent breakfast at her. They both started to rise but she put a hand out, stopped them. “I can care for myself, please,” and she set about getting some food. They watched her closely.
    In point of fact, she had never looked as well. She had entered her room as just an impossibly lovely girl. The woman who emerged was a trifle thinner, a great deal wiser, an ocean sadder. This one understood the nature of pain, and beneath the glory of her features, there was character, and a sure knowledge of suffering.
    She was eighteen. She was the most beautiful woman in a hundred years. She didn’t seem to care.
    “You’re all right?” her mother asked.
    Buttercup sipped her cocoa. “Fine,” she said.
    “You’re sure?” her father wondered.
    “Yes,” Buttercup replied. There was a very long pause. “But I must never love again.”

    She never did.

    Two - THE GROOM

    This is my first major excision. Chapter One, The Bride, is almost in its entirety about the bride. Chapter Two, The Groom, only picks up Prince Humperdinck in the last few pages.
    This chapter is where my son Jason