Identity: Unknown

Chapter Twelve

She sat writing at her little make-shift desk in the covered wagon. They were about to move out, so Tricia had decided that she would finish the letter to Celeste before they left for the next town. She signed it, just as her son climbed into the wagon.

“Mother, we’re heading out,” He told her right as the wagon lurched and started to move.

“I know, Travis, dear. The wagon is moving now,” Tricia laughed, “Now, help me replace this. We wouldn’t want the ink to spill or the pens to break would we?” Travis shook his head and moved cautiously over to his mother and helped her to fold the little desk into a box, making sure the bottles of ink were securely corked and the pens in their specially cushioned sections. The letter Tricia had been working on was folded in half and slipped into her vest pocket. She ignored Travis’ questioning glance and walked toward the front of the wagon, where her daughter, Celeste was driving the horses. Travis’s horse was tied to a lead at the side of the wagon bench, trotting along happily with the wagon. Tricia climbed over the back of the bench and settled next to her daughter. The caravan of performers around her made noise; loud and constant, it was comforting to Tricia, who had grown up with it, around it and had made it.  Travis remained in the back of the wagon under its canvas top, content to just lay back and practice his magic tricks.

Later, at dinner, Tricia was climbing out of the wagon, carrying a basket of food, when the letter fell out of her vest. Travis, who was nearby, picked it up and gave it back to her, Tricia refused, “One day Travis, when I am not here anymore, Celeste will decide to leave. Before she does, I want you to give her this. It will be important to her, so keep it safe.”

“Mother, don’t,” He protested, unwilling to think of a time when she wasn’t there. She cut him off, “One day, Travis. Not today, or tomorrow, or next week, but someday, she will need it. So, I’m asking you to take care of it for her. You can read it if you want, and I’ll answer your questions if you do, but hold on to it.” Travis nodded, and placed the letter in his own vest pocket. He would read it tomorrow, when he was riding in the wagon, or riding his horse, and there was brighter light than the fire.

 Travis sat on his horse, walking slowly, as he opened the letter that his mother had given him to take care of.

It read:

My dear Celeste,

I know that you have grown up believing what my husband and I have always told you. Now, you need to know the truth. Celeste, you need to believe me, to believe what I’m telling you. Ask Travis and he’ll tell that it’s all true, he can prove it.

You are not our daughter. You are the daughter of the late Queen Amelia Honduran, the wife of King Robert Honduran. You aren’t the lost princess; you are the princess no one ever knew of. When she was twenty- two, your mother accidentally angered a witch. The witch then placed a curse on your mother; her children would die on their first birthday together, unless the witch could be appeased before then. The queen, who had been married only a couple months, was very anxious to appease the witch. She tried everything she and all the people around her could think of, but she could not make the witch, Francis Osborne, happy. When the queen got pregnant with you and your twin sister, she decided that she would do anything to keep you from dying, and made a plan. I only came into the plan when her maid told her of my recent miscarriage. I met with the queen when she was very close to having you and your sister. I agreed to take care of her firstborn child as if it were mine, and keep it from the second child during their shared birthday. Then, on the night of your birth, my husband would retrieve you from the steps to the beach behind the Honduran Castle, where the queen had chosen to rest for the duration of her pregnancy. She had a trusted nursemaid bring you down to the steps and watch for us to take you with us. On the blanket wrapped around you was a note that said, ‘For the celestial blue of your eyes, as your Mother, I name you, Celeste.’

The name fit, so we gave you the name your mother wanted for you. The only thing we had to do after that was stay in a different area from the royal family every year on your birthday, so that you would not be able to run into your sister and die. This was easy because our family was a traveling performance group, basically a family circus, and was always moving around throughout the year. You grew up so fast, never questioning us when we called you our daughter, but I know that there were times when you missed something, as if someone wasn’t there, your twin, although you didn’t know about her. The day of the strange pirate attack on Honduran Castle when the queen was killed, you were sick for hours, as if you could feel part of what was going on. It was your tenth birthday, and I knew that something was very wrong. Hearing the news later that week, I learned that your mother had been killed, and your sister gone missing. I knew that the queen had placed magical spells to activate at the time of her death, ones that would keep the daughter she had, safe, for at least fifteen years, until she could defend herself. The king sent people everywhere searching for his daughter, stopping only when his advisors and the Council decided that she would be declared dead until proven otherwise. I knew that she couldn’t be dead because you had not reacted that strongly when she had disappeared from the castle.

For the last twenty years I have watched you with the pride of a parent, grieved for the family you didn’t know, and rejoiced that you had this family for as long as you lived. I have always loved as my own, all of your life.

Love from your Mama,

Tricia