The Problematic Prince

There were no words to describe how wonderful the days were at Buford. To be in a house with a warm and considerate Bjorn and a loving family. Every day passed like a dream in the landscape of her hometown that she had missed so much.

   After looking around the garden, she spent some time with her grandmother in her room and chatting. Baroness Baden was busy with a patchwork and Erna sat beside her to talk about the days planned events. It would have been a peaceful day, but the thread was about to run out.

   “Erna, dear, would you pass the red thread from the drawer.”

   Erna hurried over to the drawer. When she hurried over to the desk, where the Baroness kept her spare thread, Erna noticed a small stack of newspapers. She saw her own face staring back at her, in a picture on the papers front sheet. It was a picture from her wedding, but the headline stated that the Grand Duchess had been attacked by a schizophrenic madman.

   “Is there no red thread left? There should be,” the Baroness said, “Erna? My dear, what are you doing?”

   Erna did not reply, instead the room was filled with the soft whisper of rustling paper.

   “Grandma, why are you keeping this?” Erna came up to her feet, holding the small stack of papers. Baroness Baden’s mood shifted as she realised her mistake. “You’re not the type of person to hoard this stuff, Grandma, but why do you keep this nonsense?”

   “Oh, Erna, its not like that,” the Baroness shook her head, “I got those papers for the crosswords, that’s all.”

   “Please don’t, Grandma, if you read these articles, they will only make you upset and you will think I am a bad Granddaughter.”

   Erna realised that she had over reacted and lost control of her emotions. The Baroness had probably wondered how the rest of the world viewed the Grand Duchess, that the letters Erna had sent were laced with lies about how she was getting on.

   Erna knew that she shouldn’t over react like this, but knowing did not help her reign in her emotions. She felt like some dirty little secret, which had been so well hidden, had finally come to the light of day.

   Erna wanted to come to Baden Street and forget all about the troubles of the city. All her pent up rage at such a cruel place came out all at once and she lashed out at the wrong person, her Grandmother. Guilt washed over her as she stood there, trying to think of a way she could undo her mistake.

   “You know very well that I like to do the crosswords, Erna.”

   Erna was speechless.

   “If you don’t like it, I promise I won’t do it again.”

   “Erna couldn’t find the words to say.

   “Erna, my baby?”

   “I will throw this lot away,” Erna muttered softly, as she looked down at the stack of newspapers.

   “Erna, are you angry?”

   “No,” Erna could feel tears forming, “it’s not like that.” Erna let out a long sigh, hanging her head in shame, “I’m going to go for a walk.”

   Erna hurried out of her grandmother’s bedroom, leaving the unconvincing excuse hanging in the air. Her breathing became suffocating and her legs wobbled. It’s okay, she tried to tell herself, but the words had no impact.

   “Lady Erna, where are you going in such a hurry?” Mrs Greve called after Erna, as they crossed paths.

   Erna made for the walkways beyond the wooden fence. She had a long way to go, to get away from Baden house.

   Erna walked for a long while and eventually came to a field filled with wild flowers, primroses and bluebells, dandelions and foxgloves. It was a picturesque scene, but Erna did not have the notion to take it in. She hurried across the field and with great effort, threw the sack of newspapers into the swamp.

   Erna did not move as she watched the sack slowly sink into the water logged mud. Only once it was out of sight completely did she slump down and sit on the back of her heels. Only then did she feel that rapid breathing hissing through her teeth.

   She looked back down the hill, at the path she had come. This was not like her, she didn’t feel herself as she stared back at her past with blank eyes, she almost looked insane. Goosebumps prickled her skin.

   Erna let out a long sigh that didn’t stop until her lungs felt like they were going to collapse. A mixture of bewilderment and relief washed over her as she looked at the marsh, where it had swallowed the evidence of guilt and shame.

*.·:·.✧.·:·.*

Erna was no where to be seen.

   Bjorn peered around the room that Erna had pretty much spent all of her time milling around, but now, the room stood empty and cold. During their morning walk, Erna had prattled on so excitedly about going into town, now, as he was ready to leave, she was no where to be found.

   Bjorn left the room and closed the door. He made his way outside, to the well kept garden, there he spotted the Baroness, lounging under an enormous ash tree. She was staring out beyond a fence.

   “Erna will be back soon,” the old woman said as Bjorn approached, “it seems like she decided she wanted to go on little stroll through the woods, but don’t worry, Baden Street is easy to navigate, you’ll be able to find her with your eyes closed.”

   “Are you a mind reader?”

   “Maybe, Your Highness,” the Baroness smiled.

   “Please, there’s no need for that, ma’am.”

   “I don’t think I should be speaking to the Prince of Lechen any other way, you are the prince first and my grandson-in-law second.” The Baroness was smiling, but her eyes conveyed a fierce determination. “I may be an old lady, out in the middle of nowhere, but I pride myself on my courtesy, Your Highness.”

   Bjorn looked at the elderly woman, whose words and feelings were exactly like those of Erna and nodded.

   He waited for Erna by the Baroness side. As the housekeeper brought him a glass of lemon water, he sat back to take in the early views of the rural neighbourhood and Baroness Baden’s stitching.

   It wasn’t until the Baroness had completed four rows of patchwork that she looked up at him again. The warmth of the spring sun was comfortably warm on her face.

   “My late husband had hair just like yours, Your Highness, beautiful platinum hair. So did Annette, who had inherited it from her father.”

   The Baroness voice was serene as she spoke about her daughter. Bjorn set down his glass and listened intently.

   “Erna is a miraculous child in that regard, resembling her mother so closely, save for that one aspect. We don’t mind so much, but Erna only ever seemed to associate it with her abusive father and the pain her mother endured at his hands.” The Baroness paused her stitching and placed her hands on her knees. “I shouldn’t have planted such guilt in the child. We had to rush to see our ailing daughter, so we were unable to give Erna the loving attention she needed. Instead, she overheard all the nasty little words any grown up would use for such a horrible, tyrant of a man.

   The Baroness looked at the horizon with remorseful eyes, “she had to endure alone and to cope, she decided to dye her hair. She chased the maids, asking them how she could make her hair blonde. I don’t know why they did it, but one of the maids told Erna that if she stared at the sun for long enough, it would turn her hair the colour of sunlight. Erna thought it was probably true, being young,” the Baroness looked up at Bjorn, with a weak smile.

   “That day, Erna basked in the sunlight all day, from sunrise to sunset. It was early July, when the sun was at its hottest. I couldn’t find her anywhere about the house, but when I had finally found her laying in the field, her hair was not blonde, but her skin was red. The walk back was so painful for her and she cried, thinking that she had failed because she took shade when she became too hot and exhausted.”

   Unconsciously, the Baroness clasped Bjorn’s hands as she thought about Erna on that day. It was a thorn planted deep in her heart. Bjorn stared back at her, waiting for the words to follow.

   “Even now, when the sun is hot, I think of that day, Your Highness. Now that she has grown into a lady and even became the Grand Duchess, she will always look to me, like the sweet little girl with a beautiful red nose, now matter how old she gets.”

   From afar, Bjorn could see a beautiful, flowery dress coming down the path, our of the woods. The Baroness, who also caught sight of it, looked at Bjorn with a warm smile.

   “Her hair is so pretty. It doesn’t need to be anything else. She is perfect just as she is and we love that about her. The things I couldn’t tell her sooner, still remains as a hard lump in the depths of my heart. Perhaps Annette and my husband feel the same.”

   The Baroness watched Erna all the way to the gate, then picked up her needle and thread and carried on with her patchwork.

   “Your Highness, I wish Erna could learn to love herself just the way she is, it is my earnest wish.”

   Erna noticed the two people sitting across from each other and froze for a second.

   “I think her hair is pretty, Grandma,” Bjorn said with a smile on his lips, “its very pretty.”

   The worry seemed to melt away from the old woman’s face, upon hearing Bjorn’s warm words.

   “Didn’t you say that the pair of you are going into town later?”

   “Yes, I need to send a telegraph to Schuber, let them know that I am going to be staying here for awhile.”

   “Ah, good, you’ll enjoy it, the May Festival has begun in the village, it won’t compare to the fancy festivals you have in the city, but its a good way to kill some time.” The Baroness looked up from her sewing, with a beaming smile, “did you have a good walk?” She said to Erna, who had been sneaking up on the pair the entire time.

   “Yes, Grandma,” Erna said, after hesitating for a moment.

   “I’m glad you didn’t come back late, His Highness has been waiting for you.”

   “Bjorn?” Erna looked at her husband with surprise in her bright eyes.

   “His Highness is curious about the May Festival in the village, so I hope that you are not to exhausted from your walk to show him about. All good wives should do that.”