By Kristen S. Sandoz
Let us take a trip to a much happier story than the one of Little John I last told. Of course, this means we head back to the Witch Hazel’s cottage, which is incidentally called Butterbrick Cottage. Why is it called Butterbrick, you ask? Well, that is because their sweet Jersey cow made the most fabulous sweet cream butter, which Pearl would store in crocks all throughout the year. This butter was of such high quality that it would age in those crocks and become, over time, the most delicious butter you could ever imagine.
These days, the butter you get in little boxes at the store—with its pale, lifeless yellow color—does not even compare to the butter Pearl would sell in tidy little bricks from the front step of the cottage. Her butter was a bright, rich, deep yellow and tasted like heaven itself. So the cottage became known as Butterbrick. The name may not come from an exciting tale, but I bet you wish you could have tasted some of that butter.
At Butterbrick Cottage, we find Pearl busy at work. She is such a sight—with her blackened apron, disheveled hair, and rug beater in hand—that it is hard to remember she is a person of royal heritage. One thing I admire about Pearl is that she is not afraid to get her hands dirty with a good, honest day’s work. Today she is beating the rugs, a job that takes a great amount of gusto and is particularly satisfying when one is feeling a bit frustrated, as Pearl was at the moment. But that is another story, and I will not wander down that path just now. Perhaps you will hear it one day.
For now, Pearl has been cleaning the cottage since sunrise, preparing it for Hazel’s return home. The Witch Hazel has been on a long journey collecting a rare healing herb that was in full harvest on the far side of the kingdom in the Numinous Mountain range. This particular herb, known to many as Dragon’s Tongue, is found only in that region and can be gathered just once every seven years—at precisely the right time.
Healing herbs can be persnickety things, requiring proper gathering and storage to maintain their fullest healing properties. Dragon’s Tongue is even fussier, for its window of harvest is both short and long in coming.
On top of that, harvesting it is dangerous business and often yields little. It is a favorite of the dragon population living in the Numinous Mountains. The herb is actually a wildflower with very dark indigo petals that form a cup and droop toward the ground like a sad puppy. From the cup hangs a bright orange stamen, coiled into a spiral at the end—much like the tongue of a dragon.
The dragons love it because the petals and stamen are very sweet, and if eaten in large enough quantities will send them into the most pleasant delirium. They hoard the flowers and guard them fiercely. One can always tell when a dragon has indulged in its Dragon’s Tongue stash, for its tongue will be stained bright blue from the pigment of the petals. Fortunately, a dragon in this state can be persuaded to do almost anything. Some say gold and treasure are a dragon’s weakness. I say it is Dragon’s Tongue. The former makes them greedy and mean; the latter, giddy and almost tame.
I should also tell you that Dragon’s Tongue makes a beautiful dye. However, it requires such an immense quantity of the herb to color even a single garment that it is a hue only royalty can afford to wear. In this kingdom, the blue and orange of Dragon’s Tongue are the colors of the King and his royal family. No one else is permitted to wear those colors together.
The journey to the Numinous Mountains is long, and the work is hard once one arrives. Hazel had been gone a fortnight when one of her doves arrived at Butterbrick Cottage with a message for Pearl, saying she would return home on the evening of Saturn’s Day. Pearl knew Hazel would be tired and worn from her journey. She wanted to ease Hazel’s return by having Butterbrick in tip-top shape. It was one small way to show her kind and faithful aunt how much she was loved.
But Pearl had more planned than simply a tidy cottage. She knew the most loving thing she could do for Hazel was to rub her tired and abused feet (Hazel was not a small woman, and her feet complained greatly about this). If we could peer into the deepest part of Pearl’s soul, we would discover that this was the one task she dreaded more than any other—even more than mucking out the pig pen.
Pearl’s dread was not unfounded. I think any girl—or even boy—her age would recoil at the sight of the Witch Hazel’s old and haggard feet. They were the only part of Hazel—aside from her wrinkled face, crooked nose, knobby hands, and crackling voice—that truly lived up to the title of witch. Nay, they went beyond witch and well into hag territory.
I will not attempt to describe Hazel’s feet in detail. It would be too disrespectful. However, imagine your own grandmother’s cracked, scaled, and gnarly feet. Then enhance that image with the Old Hag filter, and you will have some idea of what they looked like. Now let me ask you—would you want to wash those feet?
Neither did Pearl.
This, however, is where the weeds are separated from the flowers. Pearl was a true princess, and despite how much she dreaded washing Hazel’s feet, she knew how much it meant to her aunt. So Pearl did it anyway. She did not merely wash Hazel’s feet—she did it with joy. She knew her adoptive aunt did so much good for the world and received so little in return. Who was there to love and care for Hazel? No one, except Pearl.
So, like the daughter of a true king, Pearl held her head high, smiled her sweetest and most genuine smile, sang a tranquil melody, and rubbed the Witch Hazel’s nauseating feet without a hint of repulsion to be found.
That, my friends, is a true princess—and a true prince would do the same.
As you can see, “True love is the most testing pursuit,” and that is well known. Our Pearl is passing the test.
1…Now my story is done.
3…Please, kiss me.
