A Very Special Birthday

Once upon a time in the Kingdom of Casey, Princess Siera awoke to bright sunlight streaming in through the window of her gold and white bedchamber. Her very first thought was,”Today, I am five years old!” She splashed water onto her face from the basin on the small chest near her bed and dressed quickly in a simple day dress of soft grey wool. She ran to find Princess Carlie who was also dressed, but still rubbing the sleep from her eyes. The two sisters skipped down the back stairs to the royal kitchen before the royal nursemaid could catch them and comb the snarls from their hair.

There was more than the usual hustle and bustle in the kitchen. The royal cook was running back and forth from the great fireplace where meat roasted on the spit and pots bubbled to the long table covered with bowls of rising bread dough and all manner of vegetables waiting to be chopped for the pots. The second cook and the third cook and the scullery maid raced around behind him doing the hundred things he ordered in his loudest voice. When he saw the little princesses, the frown left his face, and he smiled a beautiful smile. “Up into your chairs, little ladies. I have your porridge ready and fresh milk from the royal dairy.” He pushed aside some of the vegetables and put down a spoon, a bowl and a cup in front of each princess. They ate quickly so as to not be a bother. Siera, who was older, knew that the cooking for her special birthday party would take the whole day.

They asked the third cook for some carrots which they did every day without fail, and without fail, the third cook said, “Now, what would you be wanting those for?”

“Why, for our ponies, of course!” giggled the little princesses, and they ran out to the royal stable. Siera’s dapple-gray named Starlight and Carlie’s trusty little brown pony which she hadn’t yet named stood side by side in a box stall full of clean sweet hay. They were very good friends and did not like to be separated. Siera opened the stall door, and she and Carlie went in. The lovely gentle ponies pranced over to them, bobbing their heads in greeting and nuzzled with their velvety noses at the carrots. While the ponies crunched away on their special morning treat, the princesses brushed them with the big brushes that hung on two pegs just outside the stall. Siera and Carlie hated to leave without a morning ride, but the Queen had asked them to try to stay clean today. The palace servants were much too busy polishing and dusting for the party to take time for hauling bath water up the stairs and back down again.

Instead, the princesses went to the royal playroom to make place cards for all the guests. They drew and colored flowers on each card, and Queen Caryn wrote the names. They used every color in their little box of waxes except black. Queen Caryn used her best quill feather sharpened to a fine point for the letters. All in all, they were very proud of the results.

The morning sped by. The royal cook sent up a basket of sandwiches for their lunch, and then it was time for Carlie’s nap. After the Queen and Siera tucked Carlie into her tiny bed, they went off to Siera’s room to get Siera dressed in her new birthday dress. It was so beautiful! It was woven of the softest creamiest wool in the kingdom, and it covered the little princess right down to the toes of her kid leather slippers trimmed with tiny pink silk roses. The collar of the dress was of Belgian lace, embroidered here and there with even tinier pink rosebuds, and the softly gathered sleeves came down to the Princess Siera’s wrists and ended in small points just above her fingers. Queen Caryn brushed and brushed her daughter’s hair until it shown in the afternoon sun. Then, she pulled up the side locks and fastened them at the back of Siera’s head with pink and lavender bows and a pink silk rose. She stood back and said, “Now, twirl for me.” Siera twirled a very graceful twirl, and her mother’s eyes filled with tears. “My, my, how grown-up you have become, my dearest girl.”

Siera ran to her mother and gave her a hug. “Please don’t cry mother. You musn’t cry. I am still your little girl, and I will be forever!” Queen Caryn smiled a sad-sweet smile which the happy princess didn’t see, because she was busy twisting this way and that in front of the looking glass. She turned suddenly to the queen and asked, “May I please go up to see the Wizzard before the party begins? I know he will want to see my dress.”

“Of course you may,” said her mother, who secretly wondered whether the Wizzard with such great thoughts in his head was much interested in dresses.

Siera ran up the steep winding staircase to the tower. She was getting quite accustomed to the climb. Since school began, she had been giving the Wizzard regular reports on what she had learned. When she reached the top, she stood on tiptoe and knocked the owl knocker. From inside she heard, “Come in! Come in! That sounds like the knock of Princess Siera.”

“How did you know that,” asked Siera. “How do you always know it’s me?” Siera pulled the corners of her mouth down in a pretend angry face. “Someday, I’d like you to be surprised.”

The Wizzard shoved a great heavy book to one side, pulled off his tall thinking cap, pushed his glasses up on his forehead and motioned the little princess to a chair next to him. “Simple deduction, my dear. Your father, the King, has much heavier footsteps, and he’s always in a terrible hurry. He bursts right into the room. Then, he clears his throat and says he’s sorry, and that he should have knocked first. Your mother always knocks three times with very short quick knocks. Princess Carlie is much too young to come up those stairs alone.”

“But what about me? What do I do?” Siera was very interested in this deduction business, whatever that meant.

“Patience, patience! I was just getting to you. I never know when you are on the stairs, because your step is so light and your slippers are so soft. However, when you try to reach the knocker, I hear a little thump as you press one hand against the door to help pull you up where you can reach my old friend owl. At best, you make a very tiny little tap, which is all you can manage so far over your head. My rooms are very quiet. I can even hear my friend mouse nibbling on the dry bread crumbs I leave in the corner for him. That’s why I can hear you beyond the door. My eyes are not quite like a hawk’s anymore, but I can hear most everything.”

Siera wasn’t much interested in the Wizzard’s hearing, and to change the subject, she jumped from the chair and did several dancing steps and a curtsey. “How do you like my birthday dress? Today is my fifth birthday, you know, and this is my very special dress for the party.”

The Wizzard wasn’t much interested in dresses, but he tried to say the right thing. “Indeed, if I were five years old and a princess, I am certain I would find it the most wonderful dress in the entire kingdom. And yes, I do know it is your birthday. I was here, pacing up and down this very room with your father, the day you were born.” The Wizzard pushed his footstool aside, stood up carefully, and went over to one of his many bookshelves. He pulled down a leather folder inside of which were loose sheets of handmade paper. He laid the folder on the big table, sat down again carefully, and before he opened the folder, he told the princess this little story:

“When I was younger and more able to get around, I used to walk beyond the castle walls to the farms in the valley. There I met a young man who grew the best apples in the kingdom. We used to sit on the ground in the shade of one of his trees eating apples and talking, talking. He was a storyteller, and I discovered one day that he could draw wonderful pictures. Having no paper, he drew on the stone walls of his cottage with chalk and with bits of charcoal from his fire. Sometimes he made colors from roots and the boiled blossoms of flowers. He could not read or write, but his head was full of stories and pictures. I made some paper out of bits of rag, pressed and dried it, and I took him the sheets to draw on. He said he would draw one of the stories from his head if I would write down the words to go with it. When he had drawn and painted, and I had written, I read the story back to him to make certain it fit his pictures. He handed me an apple and the pictures and said I should pass his story along someday to someone who could read it, and who would enjoy the pictures. I promised I would. So, my dear little Princess, who is learning to read and to write and to think and to draw, I give you the gift that was given to me. When you read this story, it will be told to you by the farmer you may never meet. There are some troublesome trolls in his story, but do not be afraid of them. They are just pretend creatures. The farmer’s family came from the far north where trolls do all the bad things in stories that witches and dragons are blamed for in our kingdom.”

Siera turned over the pages carefully. She could not yet read the words, but she could almost imagine the story from the drawings. “Well, Wizzard, I shall just make up my own story to go with the pictures. I hope the farmer’s is as exciting as mine will be!”

The Wizzard smiled broadly and patted the princess Siera’s head with his gnarled old fingers. “You will think up stories from this day forward. One of the best times I’ve found for story thinking is just before sleep comes. I have a little verse for you to use at bedtime:

                  Pony, pony, swift and bright,

                  Take me riding into night.

                  Bring me to a far-off land

                  Where I will find adventures grand.”

Siera’s eyes grew round with surprise. “Oh, Wizzard, how did you know about my pony stories?”

The old man slowly winked one of his starlit eyes and said, “Because I am the Wizzard, but never fear, your secret is safe with me.” With a gentle wave of his hand, he said, “Now, dear Siera, run along with you. Your mother and father and the royal cook have been working all day on your birthday party. I know, because I have smelled the wonderful smells drifting up here through my windows all day.”

“Aren’t you coming?” Siera paused at the great oak door and twirled one twirl in her lovely dress as she asked.

“I was invited, but I think it would be unwise for me to try the stairs. My bones are brittle and my teeth are soft. I will stay up here with my tea and porridge.” The Wizzard smiled his wonderful smile and added, “but I would not mind having a piece of your cake sent up.”

“Oh, I will see that you get one,” cried Siera. “Do you want a flower, or some letters on it?”

“Either would be just fine, my dear, but if there is a lovely pink frosting rose with green petals, I should like that very much. I won’t eat it. I will just save it to remember the day of your fifth birthday.” Saying this, the Wizzard tucked his soft robes around him and pulled his feet under him onto the footstool. He closed his eyes and seemed to go to sleep.

Siera tiptoed out carrying his gift. She hurried down the steep winding stairs to her party. She knew it would be the best ever, because already she could see candles lit in every candleholder along the hallway. Princess Carlie came running to meet her, and they went together, hand-in-hand, toward the light in the great banquet room where King James and Queen Caryn were waiting.

Up in his tower room, the Wizzard, his eyes shut, whispered to himself:

                  “Pony, pony, swift and bright,

                  Take my princess into night

                  To the land where stories grow,

                  Then bring her home by morning’s glow.”

Jean Casey wrote this and other stories to commemorate and celebrate her own grandchildren. This story was written for her granddaughter’s birthday in September of 1992. She now offers the stories up to other grand parents to be read to their children. As she says, “Just change the names to fit the family.”