Rumplestiltskin Read online

  PRAISE FOR JENNI JAMES

  Beauty and the Beast (Faerie Tale Collection)

  “Jenni James takes this well loved faerie tale and gives it a paranormal twist. Very well written and hard to put down, even on my cruise vacation where I had plenty to do. Looking forward to others in Jenni’s Faerie Tale series. A great escape!”

  —Amazon reviewer, 5-star review

  Pride & Popularity (The Jane Austen Diaries)

  “This book was unputdownable. I highly recommend it to any fan of Jane Austen, young or old. Impatiently awaiting the rest of the series.”

  —Jenny Ellis, Librarian and Jane Austen Society of North America

  “Having read several other Young Adult retellings of Pride and Prejudice - I must admit that Pride and Popularity by Jenni James is my top choice and receives my highest recommendation! In my opinion, it is the most plausible, accessible, and well-crafted YA version of Pride and Prejudice I have read! I can hardly wait to read the [next] installment in this series!”

  —Meredith, Austenesque Reviews

  “I started reading Pride and Popularity and couldn’t put it down! I stayed up until 1:30 in the morning to finish. I’ve never been happier to lose sleep. I was still happy this morning. You can’t help but be happy when reading this feel good book. Thank you Jenni for the fun night!”

  —Clean Teen Fiction

  Northanger Alibi (The Jane Austen Diaries)

  “Twilight obsessed teens (and their moms) will relate to Claire’s longing for the fantastical but will be surprised when they find the hero is even better than a vampire or werewolf. Hilarious, fun and romantic!”

  —TwilightMOMS.com

  “Stephenie Meyer meets Jane Austen in this humorous, romantic tale of a girl on a mission to find her very own Edward Cullen. I didn’t want it to end!”

  —Mandy Hubbard, author of Prada & Prejudice

  “We often speak of Jane Austen’s satiric wit, her social commentary, her invention of the domestic novel. But Jenni James, in this delicious retelling of Northanger Abbey, casts new light on Austen’s genius in portraying relationships and the foibles of human nature—in this case, the projection of our literary fantasies onto our daily experience.”

  —M.M. Bennetts, author of May 1812

  Prince Tennyson

  “After reading Prince Tennyson, your heart will be warmed, tears will be shed, and loved ones will be more appreciated. Jenni James has written a story that will make you believe in miracles and tender mercies from above.”

  —Sheila Staley, Book Reviewer & Writer

  “Divinely inspired, beautifully written—a must read!”

  —Gerald D. Benally, author of Premonition (2013)

  “Prince Tennyson is a sweet story that will put tears in your eyes and hope in your heart at the same time.”

  —Author Shanti Krishnamurty

  Jenni James is the busy mom of seven rambunctious children ranging from the ages of 2-16. When she isn’t chasing them around her house in sunny New Mexico, she is dreaming of new books to write. She loves to hear from her readers and can be contacted at: [email protected], or written to: Jenni James PO Box 514, Farmington, NM 87499. Jenni has several clean books for teens already published and many more to come, including:

  Jenni James Faerie Tale Collection:

  Beauty and the Beast (2012)

  Sleeping Beauty (2012)

  Rumplestiltskin (2013)

  Cinderella (2013)

  Snow White (2013)

  Hansel and Gretel (2013)

  Frog Prince (2013)

  The Jane Austen Diaries:

  Pride & Popularity (2011)

  Persuaded (2012)

  Northanger Alibi (2012)

  Emmalee (2013)

  Mansfield Ranch (2013)

  Sensible & Sensational (2014)

  Prince Tennyson (2012)

  Revitalizing Jane (2014)

  The Eternal Realm Series:

  Eternity (2014)

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  I would like to thank Carola Dunn for her version of Rumplestiltskin I first read in a fairy tale collection of Regency authors titled Once Upon a Time. Her story was the first time I had ever seen the concept of Rumplestiltskin being the hero who was crippled. And so, the spark of my Rumple was born years ago. When Aaron Patterson asked me to write fairy tales for him, I knew I would have to do my own version of Rumplestiltskin, using this idea from Carola Dunn, that indeed Rumplestiltskin was the true hero.

  I would like to thank the amazing StoneHouse Ink for their belief in me and Aaron’s constant pressure to keep writing and continuing on this journey to complete this Faerie Tale Collection.

  And a huge thank-you to the wonderful Claudia Lucia McKinney, without her gorgeous artwork my covers for the Faerie Tale Collection would be nothing. I love you! You are wonderful.

  And as always the divine inspiration given to help me create such amazing parables.

  This book is dedicated to my own real life Rumplestiltskin, Layton Fredrick, who was paralyzed four years ago. Your constant cheerfulness and humor through excessive trials raise me up and give me courage I never knew I had. You are the true modern-day hero and I am blessed to know you and love you. Thank you for all of your words of encouragement. Thank you for your hours of laughter. Thank you for saving me.

  But mostly, thank you for giving me the magic to turn my words into gold and share this message with the world. You are beautiful and you shine brighter than anyone I know.

  CHAPTER ONE

  HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS FREDERIC Baldrich Layton’s little legs ran fast—faster than they had ever traveled before. Soon he would be at the meadow, the pretty one with the magic pond. If he could just get there before Nurse Crabtree did, he knew he could collect the strange small rocks and stuff them into his pockets before she would ever know.

  She did not let him bring the pebbles back yesterday when they had played at the magic pond. It was now or never, while she was sipping her tea and talking to the Reverend Townesend, now was the time to dash to the pond and bring back those stones.

  He could hardly wait to show his baby brother. Marcus was only three, but he sure did love rocks as much as Frederico did, especially strange rocks.

  Frederico rounded the corner past the old willow tree and skidded to a halt. Glancing back through the hanging branches, he saw Nurse Crabtree all the way across the field still talking with the Reverend.

  “Good!” She had not even noticed he was missing yet. Without another thought he rushed past the blackberry bushes over to the pond, to the special spot where he was told to set the stones down. “They are still here!” Quickly he collected all six of the odd shiny black and blue striped rocks and stuffed them into his coat pocket. Then just as he was about to rush back to Nurse Crabtree he heard a shuffling in the bushes. Turning toward the sound, he was surprised to see a crooked old lady step out of them.

  “Do you live in there?” he asked before remembering it was not polite to speak until spoken to.

  “No, I do not,” barked the old woman as she glanced around. “Where do you live, young man? And how old are you? You do not look old enough to be scampering about alone.”

  Prince Frederico stood to his full height, his little chest puffed out like he had seen his father, the king, do many times and said, “I am five and I live in the castle over there.” He pointed to the large fortress.

  “Do you?” the old woman seemed very interested. “Whose castle is it?”

  “My father, King Albert, of course.”

  The old woman’s eyes snapped to his and she looked long and hard at the young boy before asking, “Are you certain King Albert lives there?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Are you his heir,
then?”

  “Yes, I am!” he stated proudly.

  She surprised him by spitting on the ground, some of the spittle landed upon his shiny kid leather boots. Frederico backed a few paces away.

  “Well, it is a sad day indeed, because you seem like a nice hardy lad—however, your family is pure evil and I will not stand to have this land ruined, when just twenty years ago your grandfather ruled with kindness as a perfect example to all. Therefore, I am sorry to say, but they must be taught a lesson, and it will be through you I choose to do it.”

  “Through me?” asked Frederico, not quite certain what she was speaking of.

  “Yes, boy. Come here quickly, before they find you missing and come after their little jewel.”

  “I—”

  “Come, lad. Now.” She held her hand out and grasped his tiny fingers, pulling him sharply behind the bush she had come from. Before he even knew what was happening, she mumbled several incoherent words over him and watched, satisfied, as his face contorted with pain. “It is for your own good, my boy, for the good of us all, you will see.”

  And that was that.

  She shoved him out from under the bushes and disappeared in a poof of smoke.

  Confused, the young prince was scared as he attempted to head back to his nurse. He was hurting too. His fingers were all twisted and bent and so was his body. One foot would not even move anymore. All he wanted most was to return home and feel better again.

  As quick as his crippled body could take him, dragging his unusable foot the whole way, he burst into the garden and interrupted tea time with the Reverend.

  Nurse Crabtree screamed and shattered her cup upon the table as she jumped up to get away from him.

  Reverend Townesend placed an arm over her and another out toward the young boy. “Do not come another step closer, do you hear? Do not do it.”

  Big tears began to build within Frederico, he had been so brave until now. But when Nurse screamed, it frightened him. He did not know what was wrong, but he wanted to be better. “Help me.” He tried to walk closer, but she only moved farther away. “Help me.”

  “You—you are cursed! You will make us all cursed!” Nurse Crabtree shouted.

  “Help me, please.”

  “Stay right there until I send someone for you.” The reverend took the nurse by the hand and began to walk toward the castle. On his way he hollered at a maidservant who was just exiting with her arms full of new refreshments for their tea. “Get the prince and take him to his room. Do not let anyone see him. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir.” The maid curtsied and scurried over to Frederico.

  He will never forget the terror in her eyes or the scream she let out when she first beheld his crippled form. The boy had no idea how awful he looked, but it made him cry so very much more to see all of their fear.

  She stepped back a pace and pointed. “What happened to you? Your skin is all rumpled and stilted.”

  “A woman hurt me. I do not know why. I did not do anything to her.”

  “A woman?” She came forward. “A woman did this to you? Was she on the grounds here? Where was she?”

  “Over by the lake. I came as fast as I could.”

  “Just a few moments ago?”

  “Yes.”

  “Wait right here. I will be back. No one can see you like this!” The maid gathered her skirts and ran as fast as she could to the head gardener and told him she had seen a strange woman walking the grounds who needed to be caught and brought to the king. When she had got back, little Frederico was sitting upon the ground, his head in his bent hands, staring at the grass.

  “Come on, you little one. Let us get you back to the palace and get you washed up.”

  Frederico rubbed his eyes with a crooked fist, sniffled and looked up at the maid. She flinched a little but did not scream again. He became a little less scared and tried to scramble to his feet. “When can I get better?” he asked once he was standing.

  “Soon. Very soon. But first we must get you all cleaned up. I am sure the king and queen will be wanting to see what has happened to you.” The maid was afraid of the curse, but the little boy’s wet eyes checked her. Hesitantly, she held her hand out for him to hold and prayed nothing bad would happen to her.

  Frederico smiled a crooked smile and clasped her hand tight.

  Her eyes were wide, but she put a brave grin on her face as she began to walk back with the little prince. “Do not look at anyone right now. And be sure to walk as straight as possible. Try not to make a scene. We will head through the back door and up the servants’ entrance. Can you do that for me?”

  “Yes. I think so.” He tried miserably to walk normally, but a rolling gait was all he could accomplish. Thankfully, they made it into the castle without anyone noticing.

  Once they were in his room, it was just a few minutes to get the little boy undressed and in the bath. The maid pressed her lips together many a time and tried desperately not to sob at the sight of the ruined little body. He had been so beautiful before. So lively and handsome. Now his whole person was deformed, rumpled and crippled. She closed her eyes to the protruding awkward bones that formed his crooked back and sang a small song instead as she slipped the bathwater over his head.

  Bathing the baby.

  Bathing the boy.

  Bathing the master’s dog

  And its toy.

  Soon they will be all clean as a whistle

  Ready to scamper about in the thistle.

  Bathing the baby.

  Bathing the boy.

  Bathing the master’s dog.

  What a joy!

  Frederico liked that song. He hummed along with the maid the whole rest of the time it took to get dried off and dressed with socks and boots on. She was very nice. When she was brushing out his hair, he asked her, “What is your name?”

  Surprised, she looked down at his distorted features. “Why do you ask?”

  “Mamma always calls you ‘maid.’ Do you have a name?”

  “Of course I have a name, Your Majesty! Everyone has a name!”

  “Do you know my name?”

  She chuckled. “Yes! Everyone better know your name if they knows what’s good for ‘em.”

  “Then what is yours? I want to know yours.”

  She looked at him a very long time and then said, “Tilly, my little Rumple-stilt-skin, my name is Tilly.

  CHAPTER TWO

  IT HAD BEEN NEARLY eighteen years since Rumplestiltskin had been transformed. Eighteen years since the five-year-old Frederico had died and they buried a box full of his old clothes and dirt deep within the ground. The headstone still read:

  Here Lies Our Beloved Prince

  May He Rest in Peace Forever

  HRH Frederico Baldrich Layton

  Rumplestiltskin pushed away from the windowsill in disgust. His mother, the queen, was having the servants prepare his grave for the annual mourning prayer they were to have in two days’ time. Some years he would stand there and chuckle to himself watching them sobbing, but this year—this year, he could not bear to watch the preparations for an event that had never occurred. It hurt this year for some reason. It hurt much more than most years.

  He clutched his oiled cloth and hobbled to the gleaming surface of the tabletop, and began to shine it once again. Trying to shut out that day from his memory altogether, the day his mother and father had decided to announce his death to the kingdom and disown him. Gone were his favorite toys and warm clothes and soft bed. All those things were saved for his brother Marcus.

  Rumplestiltskin rubbed more vigorously. It was sad to see how changed his brother had become. Marcus did not deserve to be king. He was way too cruel to the peasants and treated everyone as if they were filth to be scraped off his boot.

  He pulled back and hunched down, his left foot twisting wildly behind him as he began to polish the legs of the table. Of course, his brother had learned everything from their father. How grateful Rumplestiltskin was to
see him buried! He had no idea how brutal his father could be until Rumple’s deformities made it impossible to recognize the boy as the prince, his son. As soon as his father declared he was too hideous to be considered royalty and therefore should be taken from his sight was the day Frederico truly died and he fully began to think of himself as rumpled and stilted.

  His little heart had broken in two. For weeks he wept within the tiny back cellar under the kitchen floors. Thank goodness for Tilly and her kind heart! She proved to be his biggest ally back then, and risked her job and life many a time to see that her little Rumplestiltskin was fed and clothed in what she could find.

  She would even sneak in old abandoned broken toys from Marcus for him to play with, in the room she helped him design and keep. He had a new pile of straw brought in every few months from the stables and Tilly and the other women would patch him up a royal quilt from the fine discarded clothing for his blanket each Christmas.

  Rumplestiltskin had hid in the castle so long, working as best he could to ease the others from the demands of his parents and now brother, he truly did not remember much of the time before servitude anymore. It was all a blur.

  His family knew he was hidden in the castle somewhere. They knew it, because he would see them stare at him from time to time and then blankly turn away. His mother’s horrified sneers had grown less over the years, and since his father had died he had been able to be seen more and more as a servant and not as an awful curse. There were times there when if the king had seen him, he knew he had just moments to escape back to the small cellar before the king’s guards were searching the premises for him. He did not come up often when the royal family was out and about in those days. However, now he was simply Rumplestiltskin, no one but the crippled servant, whose world they would not acknowledge or deem worthy of their notice.

  Rumple rubbed harder into the beautiful wooden legs of the table, paying particular attention to the clawed feet. He had hours to think and perfect his wood-shining abilities. Hours to hide unnoticed in a room somewhere and polish and polish until everything in that room gleamed.