Happily Ever After

Part One

Chapter One

Long, long ago in a far, far away kingdom, there lived a family who dwelled in a humble cottage nestled amongst the crabapple trees. Though poor in possessions, this family was wealthy in contentment.

The father, Pieter Belden, was a goodly man, well respected in his home, as well as in his village. He owned a bakery in the sleepy town, and though he lacked material goods to bestow upon his children, he supplied them instead with love, laughter, and happiness.

The mother, Helena, still maintained the great beauty of her youth. Her china blue eyes sparkled with happiness. Though she was not wealthy, she lived a grand life as helpmeet, mother, and baker.

Their eldest child, Bryan, was rather serious-minded. He had the dark, dashing looks of his father, combined with the compassionate nature of his mother. He aspired to study medicine, and at present was apprenticing under the local apothecary.

The middle son, Maarten, favored his mother’s coloring and build, yet had his father’s quick wit and love of laughter. He labored in the family’s bakery, oft-times taking liberty to sample his mother’s goods. This son’s true ambition, however, was to employ his vast knowledge of the Anglo-Saxon language writing sonnets and poetry.

The next child was most certainly different from the rest. Beatrix, the family’s only daughter, had hair the color of the sand, which fell in ringlets down her back. Her wide eyes were the color of a robin’s egg. She was petite, yet shapely. Her father often jested that it was providential that his daughter was so beautiful, since her dowry would not attract many suitors.

The final son, Rubertus, was a precocious youngster who greatly resembled his sister and his middle brother. He was a good-natured lad, but oft-times mischief would overtake him. This youngest child provided much laughter, as well as much grief.

On this particular morning, the sun shone a little brighter, the sky was a bit bluer, and the birds sang even sweeter. This day was the sixteenth birthday of the daughter, a very special day indeed.

Beatrix Belden awoke as the first rays of sunlight shone in her window. She sleepily stretched and rubbed her eyes. A contented smile passed over her face as she remembered twas the anniversary of her birth.

Hearing a sweet serenade outside of her window, Beatrix hopped out of bed and peeked her head out of the casement. A lovely songbird lighted upon her windowsill and whistled a merry tune.

“Good morning, dear friend,” Beatrix cooed to the bird. “You have made my birthday a special day indeed. I long to see what adventure awaits me on this day.”

Suddenly, a Bob-White quail landed on a tree branch nearby. He puffed out his chest and gave a cheerful whistle. “’Tis a sign!” Beatrix happily proclaimed. She danced over to her bureau, splashed some water on her face from the basin sitting thereupon, and changed into her most festive gown.

Beatrix fairly danced down the stairs to her family’s small kitchen. Her mother was stirring porridge at the fireplace, and her brothers and father were seated at the trestle table. “Good morning, Father!” she cheerily said, kissing her father on the head. “Good morning, brothers.”

“Good morning, Daughter,” Pieter replied, hugging his daughter to him. “I trust you slept well.”

“Methinks our fair damsel’s slumber was most sating, considering the late hour upon which she graces us with her presence,” Maarten teased, munching on a tart.

“Maarten, hold your tongue,” Bryan scolded, standing up and pulling out the bench for his sister. “Happy birthday, dear sister.”

“Ah, yes. Today most certainly is our flaxen-haired feminine sibling’s natal anniversary,” Maarten conceded. “I most humbly apologize.” He lifted his cup in a mock toast in Beatrix’s honor.

“Very good thing, young Maarten,” Helena Belden stated as she set a bowl of porridge before him. “Verily, I would have withheld your breakfast if you had not made amends.” Helena placed a bowl of porridge before her daughter, as well as a vase containing a single, red rose. “Good morning, Daughter. A most happy birthday to you, dear.” She kissed Beatrix upon her forehead.

“Thank you all,” Beatrix smiled. “It has already been a quite satisfying morning.”

“And what sort of saturnalia do we have planned for this most momentous occasion?” Maarten inquired between bites of his porridge.

Helena looked down and twisted her napkin, avoiding her family’s eyes. “I shall prepare a fine dinner, complete with a layer cake for dessert. I am sure we will have a lovely day. Everything will be fine,” she nervously prattled. “I am sure everyone will all be normal at the close of the festivities. Not at all like the last time we celebrated together,” she continued, glancing anxiously at her youngest son.

“Mother!” Beatrix gasped. “Please say she is not coming!”

“Mother, no!” Maarten grasped his mother’s hand beseechingly. “She must not come and ruin Beatrix’s special day!”

Helena continued to look down.

Pieter suddenly slapped the table angrily, almost spilling the fresh milk. “Helena, no! I forbid it! That, that… woman is not welcome here! How could you invite her after what she did to our son?” All eyes fell upon the youngest child, who was surprisingly silent.

“What choice did I have?” Helena cried. “Like it or not, Aletta is my sister. Though she is strange, and a bit hard to please, she is still my flesh and bone. She desired an invitation to the festivities, so what else could I do?”

Bryan rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Mother is right. If we do not permit her to attend, facing Aunt Aletta’s wrath may be more loathsome than her presence at our dinner table.” He looked at young Rubertus for emphasis.

Pieter sighed, knowing there was much truth in his eldest son’s words. “That is a most wise statement, Bryan. I fear we have no choice but to accept Aletta’s presence in a most hospitable manner and pray she casts no dark shadows upon this day, as she has in the past.”

“After all, Aunt Aletta is not nearly the villainess you portray her to be,” Bryan chided. “Though her last spell seemed cruel, she had good intentions. And she has promised to remove it in the future. And honestly, young Rubertus was not guiltless in the matter.”

Rubertus had acquired his aunt’s vengeance during her last visit. Having little patience with children, Aletta quickly tired of the youngster’s exuberance. The last straw had been when he had accidentally broken Spotty, a dear family heirloom. At that moment, Aletta’s rage consumed her, and she handled the matter in her own distinct way.

“Quite effortless for you to say, Bryan!” Maarten exclaimed, fire flashing in his blue eyes. “With your calm demeanor and ever- present respectability, you have never incurred Aunt Aletta’s wrath. However, Beatrix, Rubertus, and I have invariably been thought of in a peccant manner by our spinster aunt, no matter how honorably we attempt to comport ourselves. Indubitably, you would not be so flippant if you were in young Rubertus’ shoes.” Once again, the entire family’s eyes fell upon the youngest Belden.

“Enough!” Helena Belden cried. “Aunt Aletta’s invitation stands. We must all be on our best behavior, so as to not give her any reason to trifle with us. Beatrix, you will be most ladylike in your mannerisms and will attend to your needlepoint at Aletta’s arrival. Maarten, watch your vast vocabulary, lest you find yourself on the receiving end of Aletta’s wrath. Bryan, since you are your aunt’s favorite, mediate for Rubertus and see if perhaps Aletta would lift her spell.”

Pieter grinned at his wife. “My dear, any orders for me?”

“If I was you Pieter, I would recall Aletta’s threat to give you a most fearsome case of boils in a highly compromising spot if you ever vex her again,” Helena reminded him with a smile.

“Enough said!” Pieter declared, vividly remembering his sister-in-law’s threat on their wedding day. “Aletta shall be given the royal treatment. We shall endure… er… enjoy her company, and all will be well. Now, back to discussing plans for the day’s festivities.”

Maarten grinned impishly, his good humor returning. “Of a surety, I assume at this party, we will not be playing whack-a-toad.”

Beatrix covered her mouth with her hand, poorly attempting to stifle her giggle. Bryan coughed in order to mask his chuckle. Even Pieter’s moustache was twitching. However, judging from the disdain on Helena’s face, she was not amused.

“Maarten Belden!” Helena cried. “How dare you jest in such a manner? Why, I shudder to think what Rubertus would say.”

Maarten attempted a serious face. “Of course, Mother. How rude of me to neglect Rubertus’ feelings. I shall ask him and see.” Maarten rose from his spot at the trestle bench and gallantly bowed before his younger brother. “Dear Rubertus, do you have any objections to our playing a rousing game of whack-a-toad at the celebration today?”

From his spot at the table, Rubertus looked up, as best he could. “RIBBIT!” he croaked. Helena gave her middle son a dirty look and scooped up her youngest child and carried him off to a cool spot in the main room of the cottage.

Chapter Two

Later that morning, the Beldens began preparing for the evening’s festivities. Bryan was sent to the local mercantile to pick up a few odds and ends needed for the celebration. Maarten readied tables and chairs in the backyard and hung lanterns to be lit when it was dark. Rubertus sat in his box and miserably croaked out a warning to his elder siblings to mind their manners tonight.

“What can I do to help, Mother?” Beatrix asked. She was not content to wile away her hours with knitting and samplers. She much preferred to be outdoors, in search of some new adventure.

“Some flowers would be a nice touch,” Helena answered. “There are some lovely wildflowers in the forest. You could pick a colorful bouquet for the table, if you promise not to be tardy for Aletta’s arrival.”

“I promise, Mother. I know the perfect spot where several beautiful flowers grow. I shall pick an entire armful in no time.”

Helena handed her daughter a basket. “Take heed that you stay away from danger,” she warned Beatrix, knowing her daughter’s penchant for finding trouble. “There have been rumors of an unknown hooded rider in the woods. Stay on the path, and if you see any cloaked strangers, do not get close to them.”

“I will be careful,” Beatrix promised, kissing her mother good-bye.

Minutes later, Beatrix headed northeast to walk along her favorite path in the forest. Holding her basket in the crook of her arm, Beatrix basked in the woodland beauty. Enchanted by the wonder of it all, she began singing a lovely tune. Her sweet soprano voice echoed through the hills, inviting the birds to join in the song.

Not too far away, a hooded rider was prodding his horse on to the large castle on the eastern hill. Suddenly, he heard the haunting strains of an angelic voice in the distance.

“Whoa, Jupe!” the rider cried, pulling the horse’s reins. “What is that noise? Did you hear it, boy?” The horse gave a soft neigh and swished his tail. The rider craned his ears in the direction from which the music had come. For many minutes, there was silence.

“It must have been my imagination,” the rider said, patting his black horse on the head. He loosened up on the reins and gently nudged the horse’s flanks to urge him on.

Back on the wooded path, Beatrix stopped singing and nervously glanced around. Something was amiss. Looking about, she spied two men. They attemped to shield themselves from prying eyes by covering their bodies with branches. Unfortunately, the men had chosen limbs containing poison ivy, and Beatrix knew they would regret their choice of camouflage come morning.

The two strange characters were huddled together in deep discussion. Being of a suspicious nature, Beatrix guessed they were analyzing some diabolical plan. Remembering her mother’s warning about hooded men, she glanced at the questionable subjects. Finding no cloaks upon their heads, she crept closer to eavesdrop.

Suddenly, the strangers noticed her presence. They jumped up and brandished their swords. Beatrix tried to run away, but her feet became tangled in a tree root, and she fell to the ground.

“Wha’ do we ‘ave ‘ere?” one of the men inquired. “A snoop?”

“I-I was not snooping,” Beatrix fibbed, getting to her feet. “I merely lost my bearings, but I believe I know which direction to walk now. Very sorry to bother you.” Beatrix hastily turned toward home.

“Stop, fair maiden!” the one with blond hair cried, eyeing her delicate features and pert figure. He ran to the spot to which Beatrix was headed, and stood in front of her in a menacing manner. Soon, he was joined by his companion. “Before you can continue on your way, you must pay a toll.”

Beatrix narrowed her eyes and suspiciously studied the two men before her. The one who spoke was blond and slender but the close placement of his eyes prevented him from being conventionally handsome. Beatrix suspected that he was the “brains” of the operation. The other was a muscular fellow. She decided he must be the “brawn.”

Beatrix sniffed indignantly. “I must insist that you allow me to pass. I have used this path for years, and there is no toll.” She gathered her courage and headed for the spot where the fellows were standing.

“’old it right there, Miss,” the brawny one replied, waving his sword in Beatrix’s face. “I would ‘ate to disembowel a lassie as pretty as you, but I will if I ‘ave to.”

“Lodewijk! We could not in good conscience disembowel this fair flower,” the skinny blond chuckled. “I am sure if she will not cooperate, we could find other ways to make her submit.” He walked nigh to Beatrix and stroked her cheek.

Beatrix slapped him with all her might. “How dare you touch me!” she cried, more angry than frightened. “I shall yell for my brothers, and they shall circumcise you with a rusty blade.”

The blond man grabbed her wrist and twisted it behind her back. “If you so much as sneeze, wench, I will cut your tongue out of your mouth. And would not that be a pity?”

Beatrix tried to wiggle out of the man’s grasp. Finally, she stomped on his toe.

Her assailant howled in pain, but his grip on her wrist only tightened. “I think it is time we taught this shrew some manners,” he growled. “Where is the rope?”

Lodewijk pulled out the rope and brought it over to the blond man. “Where do you want it, Richardus?”

Richardus dragged Beatrix over to a skinny tree. She fought so fiercely that it took both men to make her stand with her back against the trunk. Once she was in place, Richardus pulled her hands behind it and held them in place while Lodewijk bound them with the rope.

“Now, let us have a bit of sport with this vixen,” Richardus leered, stroking Beatrix’s curls.

Suddenly, a black horse galloped on the path. Its rider had a dark green cloak over his head, and he was brandishing a crossbow. “If I had to bind a maiden to make her receptive toward my advances, I would use the blade upon my own neck,” he growled, his green eyes blazing.

“Move on, stranger,” Richardus snarled. “This is no concern of yours.”

“Nay, it is my concern,” the rider stated adamantly. “As a gentleman, I cannot allow you to further abuse this fair creature. Release her, and be on your way.”

Lodewijk grabbed his abundant belly and heartily chuckled. “Well, aren’t you an ‘onorable knave! Unfortunately, me an’ my partner ‘ere aren’t quite as respectable.”

Beatrix watched with wide eyes. Her heart beat rapidly from terror; however, though she would not admit it, the quickening of her pulse may have been attributed to the cloaked rider’s appearance, as well as from her fright.

Richardus spat contemptuously at the rider, then turned back to Beatrix. “I do not have time for such chivalry. Lodewijk, take care of this bloke while I amuse myself with the shrew.” Richardus winked at Beatrix and reached out to stroke one of her wayward ringlets.

However, before Richardus could tug the curl, the rider expertly shot an arrow through the ruffian’s hand. The blond man winced in pain and pulled his wounded hand close to him. “You shot me with an arrow!” he moaned.

“Consider yourself fortunate,” the hooded rider warned. “That was a warning. Next time, I will aim for your heart, and I assure you that I will not miss.”

After a quick look at one another, Richardus and Lodewijk ran into the forest where they had hidden their horses. They knew their boss would be interested in this stranger.

The hooded rider dismounted from his black steed, commanding it to stand still. Beatrix watched in awe as the superbly trained horse barely moved a muscle. Meanwhile, the cloaked man retrieved a small blade from his boot and approached the tree where Beatrix was bound.

“Are you injured?” the rider inquired, cutting through the ropes.

Beatrix shook her head, too surprised to speak. At the rider’s touch, her skin tingled and her heart quickened its pace once more.

“Can you speak, maiden?” the rider asked after releasing her.

“Y-yes,” Beatrix stammered nervously. “Th-thank you for rescuing me.”

The rider smiled. “You are most welcome. In fact, it was my pleasure.” He picked up both of her hands in his freckled ones and examined them. “Were your wrists injured by the ropes?”

“They are a little sore,” Beatrix softly admitted. She feared this handsome stranger would hear her heart’s fierce pounding.

“I have something that might help. Sit down upon that rock, and I will retrieve some ointment from my saddle bag.”

Beatrix obediently sat on the rock and watched as the hooded rider found the ointment. She was quite fascinated by this gallant stranger. She blushed when he suddenly turned around, fearing he had seen her openly gawk at him.

The rider sat beside her and reached for her hands. If he noticed how they shook at his touch, he was much too honorable to mention it. He gently rubbed some of the medicine on Beatrix’s chafed wrists.

“This should help,” he stated as he applied it. “It is from one of the finest apothecaries in the Albany province.”

“Do you always pack medical supplies in your saddlebag?” Beatrix teased shyly.

The hooded man grinned. “As a matter of fact, I do. I believe in being prepared for adverse conditions.”

“How very responsible of you,” Beatrix smiled.

The damsel was so worried about her rescuer hearing her pounding heart that she did not notice how the stranger’s heart had also increased its own rhythm. In his land he had seen many fair maidens, but none could compare to this beautiful damsel.

“Are you on a long journey?” Beatrix asked.

The hooded stranger nodded. “I am from the province of Albany. I am on a mission to inquire about the health of my great-uncle, Lord James Wynthrop Frayne the First. He has an estate on the eastern hill. My stepfather and I have heard rumors of an insurrection, and I was sent to verify their truth. Perchance, do know of my uncle?”

“Truthfully, I have heard of the man, but I have never met him. My family is poor, and we have no dealings with the higher class citizens of our land,” Beatrix answered.

“When I meet Uncle, I shall introduce you. ‘Tis a great tragedy that he has never been allowed the privilege of reveling in your beauty.”

Beatrix blushed and stared down at the ground. “You are too kind, my lord. May I ask your name, so that I may tell my family who is responsible for my rescue?”

The hooded rider removed his cloak, revealing his dark, red hair. “I am Lord James Wynthrop Frayne the Second, otherwise known in these parts as the Redheaded Riding Hood. ‘Tis indeed a pleasure to meet you.” He gallantly bowed before Beatrix, took her hand, and kissed it.

“Oh!” Beatrix gasped. “You are the stranger of whom my mother warned! I was not to--- Oh! Mother!” Beatrix jumped up from her seat upon the rock. “I must go! I should have returned home long ago!”

James grabbed her hand before she could run away. “Wait!” he called. “I do not even know your name.”

“Beatrix,” she replied with flushed cheeks. “Now I must return to our cottage. My aunt is coming to visit, and she will be quite vexed if I am late.”

James pulled her close. “But we have just met. Perhaps you could stay just a moment longer.”

For a moment, Beatrix lost herself in James’ brilliant green eyes, but the croaking of a frog in the distance brought her back to reality. “I-I cannot,” she stammered. “You do not know my aunt. She is an enchantress. If I make her angry, she may cast a fearsome spell upon me. Please, let me go.”

James gazed into Beatrix’s china blue eyes. In his heart he knew he could never say no to this lovely creature. “First, tell me how I may find you.”

“I live down in the hollow. Our cottage is the only one for miles, and it is surrounded by crabapple trees.”

“I will find you,” James declared. “After I see my uncle, I shall come to your cottage. If you hear my special whistle, meet me here in this spot.” James pursed his lips and a Bob-Whistle echoed through the woods. “Now, may I accompany you home?”

“Nay, my lord. I will be safe,” Beatrix insisted as she gathered her basket. “I shall run the entire way.”

James glanced at Beatrix fondly. “Until later, Beatrix.”

“Farewell, James,” Beatrix answered with a blush. Then she ran quickly to the cottage down in the hollow.

Meanwhile, an ominous figure stooped over a crystal ball. “Perfect!” he sneered as he watched James’ wistful glance follow Beatrix. “I am quite sure I can use this situation to my advantage.” He rubbed his bony hands together in anticipation.

Continue to Part Two

Author’s notes:

This story is affectionately dedicated to my daughter, Rachel, who wanted a Trixie fairy-tale. This was so much fun to write. It has indeed been a labor of love.

Thank you to my lovely editors, Cathy W, Kathy W, and Kaye. Thank you ever so much for keeping me straight. If I get excited while I type, I tend to leave out important words.

I probably have way too much time on my hands. I was perusing a Dutch name site (kindly provided by Jayne J) looking for a name for one of my characters, when I began wondering what the Dutch medieval names were for the characters. After searching for an exorbitant amount of time, I found suitable names for everyone, and at the last minute, I decided to change them. I thought it made the story seem more fairy-taleish. Of course, the one name I could not bear to change was James’. Technically, it should have been Jacobus, but it just didn’t sound right. Jim can be no one other than Jim or James. Incidentally, Beatrix remained the same, so that made it a bit easier. Hope it didn’t confuse anyone. BTW, I tried to find a Dutch equivalent for ‘Belden’ but couldn’t find anything close.

Please forgive my fun at poor Rubertus’ expense. I couldn’t help myself! I haven’t decided if Aletta will revoke the spell or not…

Thank you to the wonderful Carol, who found this beautiful graphics site for me! You are my hero, Carol! Thanks so much for your help!

Can you tell I’m a Jim fan? Just the thought of Jim-baby getting all chivalrous on us… Whoo-hoo! Had a lot of fun writing his and Trixie’s scenes. Had to make this Jim totally honorable and perfectly perfect to make up for my “issues” Jim in the future story. J

BTW, did you recognize Richardus and Lodewijk? Who knew that “Lodewijk” was the Dutch medieval equivalent to “Louie?” *shrug*

And last, but certainly not least, big smoochies to my dh, (short for dashing hunk J) Damon, for tirelessly ‘HTML’ed yet another universe for me. You can better believe he will be rewarded! *wink*

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