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to ignore the fact that she was only a stone’s throw away from the blacksmith’s forge. She tried to pretend she couldn’t hear Thomas’s booming voice as he greeted passersby. It wasn’t working. Chills danced up her spine.
    “Well, are you going to buy something or just stand there gawking?” asked the lady minding the cart.
    Pearl jumped and muttered an apology. She hurriedly picked out what she wanted, filled her basket with fruit, and paid for it. She started to turn, wishing to be away from the blacksmith, A stone twisted under her foot, though, and she fell headlong, apples spilling out across the ground in front of her. Stunned, she lay for a moment, willing the earth to open and swallow her.
    “Pearl, are you all right?”
    She looked up to see Thomas staring down at her. She felt herself flush as he offered his hand. She took it reluctantly and scrambled back to her feet. He stooped and retrieved the apples and handed them back to hen His fingers brushed hers, and she jerked involuntarily.
    “I’ve been wanting to talk with you, Pearl.” He shifted his weight from foot to foot and stared intently at her.
    She opened her mouth to say something, anything, to keep him from continuing. Nothing came to mind.
    “Make way for Prince James!”
    The herald’s cry saved her. Thomas turned to look and to back out of the way of the royal entourage. Pearl took the opportunity to slip away. She dashed through the crowd, praying to go unnoticed. She stopped only when she had put a good distance between her and Thomas.
    As she paused to calm herself, she caught sight of James coming toward her. Dressed in finery and wearing a cloak of rich velvet, he looked so different than he did when in the simple clothes she normally saw him in. As he drew abreast of her she bowed like everyone else. After all, he might be her friend, but he was her prince first and foremost.
    He paused almost imperceptibly in front of her and cast a sideways glance. “Meet me after dinner,” he instructed, his voice so low, she scarcely heard him.
    She dipped her head in understanding. Her heart was in her throat. Never before had he risked speaking to her in public, and rarely had he asked to meet on a different day. Then he swept on, followed by guards, attendants, and the curious. Once they had passed, she made her way through the crowd and headed for home.
    She was halfway there before her heart stopped pounding.

    Inside the cottage she found Mary preparing a goose. Pearl grinned at the thought of the coming dinner. Mary looked up from her work and waved a finger at her. “I see you smiling. It’s scandalous that a fisherman’s daughter prefers goose to fish.”
    “I cant help it. I feel sorry for the poor little fish.”
    “And not the goose?” Mary shook her head. “You’ve always been a strange one, Pearl.”
    “Why, Mama?”
    “Why what?”
    Pearl swallowed hard. “Why am I so different from everyone else?”
    Mary’s brow furrowed. “You’re not, dear. I didn’t mean it that way.”
    “No, this isn’t about the goose. It’s about everything … my hair, my skin, my legs.”
    Her mother didn’t look up, and appeared to be very intent on her preparations. The way she began to hack at the goose with a knife was erratic, though, a sign of strain. “What’s wrong with your legs?”
    “Nothing, if I were a horse.”
    “They’re just … a little long.”
    “They’re very long, they don’t fit with the rest of me, and I’m constantly tripping over my feet.”
    “You’ll grow into them,” Mary hastened to reassure her
    “Mama, I’m seventeen. I think I’m done growing.”
    “Pearl, there is nothing wrong with you. My mother had skin nearly as pale as yours, and the baker’s children in the next village all have light, whitish hair.”
    “And the legs?” she asked gloomily.
    “Some people have big hands, large noses. Your father has huge feet—even the cobbler says so. So, you have long legs. There’s