Spinning A Yarn
Chapter One
At first glance, a daughter of a miller can appear to be a very plain figure. She has little money, a humble home, and a rather predictable future. There has never been a miller's daughter who rose any higher than the station to which she was born… until Ginger, that is. And as they say, there's a first for everything.
Once upon a time, Ginger was born on a breezy day in autumn in the midwife's home, right in the heart of the village. Her mother held her for a brief moment before dying from the turmoil of childbirth. Her father, the miller, took his daughter from his dead wife's arms and, torn between his grief and his joy, called her Ginger for the few wisps of coppery-red hair on her head.
Ginger grew up in their small cottage rather happily, never caring that she had to sew her own dresses or go without lunch some days. With her mother's silver locket around her neck, her copper-colored hair gleamed cheerily in the sun, and her smile was enough to charm even the grumpiest villager. But at the age of twenty, Ginger did not possess the womanly curves found on most women her age; instead, she had a thin and malnourished look that even her sparkling smile could not hide.
While her disposition seemed happy and carefree on sight, Ginger was truly a clever and cunning girl, who knew how to use her charms to win sympathy, which often led to a free meal or a new dress. When she was eighteen, without having even a thimble's worth of knowledge about looms or spindles, she had artfully won over the local spinner, and secured herself a job spinning yarn a few days a week. Now two years later, the spinner let her sell the yarn at the local market and keep nearly three-quarters of the profit, which both pleased and dismayed her poor father.
The miller had been encouraging Ginger to marry for some time, as he was growing old and his mill was decreasing in value, a fact that had caught the millers' guild's eye. The miller knew it would not be long before his mill was shut down entirely, and he wanted Ginger safely married and settled. The fact that she earned a wage and sold her own yarn was not proper, and it troubled him to know that many a man would be put off by this. But Ginger seemed in no way inclined to get married, and so the miller was forced to try and entreat the guild to keep his mill running for just a little while longer.
One day in the middle of spring, a letter arrived for the miller from the guild. It told him that they had a task for him to do, and if he did it successfully, they would ensure that his mill would keep running at least until winter. The task was to go to the king and ask him to lift the shipping tax on flour, as it was lowering the productivity and quality of the kingdom's mills. The miller gladly accepted, and began to pack for the three-day journey to the palace.
"Father," Ginger said when he told her the news, "are you sure the king will listen to you? I don't trust him."
Her father gasped. "Ginger, do not speak such treason. He's your ruler."
Ginger snorted. "And a bad one at that. He's taxed everything in sight! Papa, you do know that if you don't succeed in getting him to lift this tax, they will shut down your mill?"
The miller sighed. "I know, Ginger, and I've been thinking. I'll just have to be like you."
"What do you mean?"
"I'll win him over, impress him with my wit, but earn his sympathy. It always works for you," he said.
"Yes, but I'm a woman, it's different." She paused. "Don't go, Papa."
Her father closed his eyes for a moment, and then spoke. "I have to. If I don't go at all, they will certainly shut down my mill. I've got to at least try, Ginger."
It suddenly struck Ginger how old and tired her father looked. She secretly thought it would be better for him if they did shut down his mill, but she knew he would never be able to bear the shame. She sighed heavily.
"Well, remember to tell him that you have a child at home, who is hungry and needs new clothing. If that doesn't work, nothing will," she offered.
He smiled sadly. "You are so much like your mother."
Ginger smiled eagerly. "How so?"
"You always give advice, even when there is no hope."
She shook her head. "There's hope, Papa."
He smiled, and kissed her on the forehead. "Thank you. I'll be home in a week."
She nodded, and watched him leave the cottage, tie his satchel to their horse, and then trot away into the distance. A feeling of dread and anxiety filled her as she tore her eyes from the road and looked around their small cottage. The king, from all she had heard, was duplicitous and indifferent toward his peasants. Her father's mill was doomed.
The miller made the journey to the palace without incident, and took a room in an inn to rest before his meeting with the king. He was nervous, yet hopeful. He had mostly resigned himself to the fact that Ginger, bless her heart, would not marry until she wanted to do so. There was nothing he could do to change that. He had always been too soft with her, he realized. But growing up without her mother was harder on him than she would ever know. Every time he saw that smile, he thought of his beloved Rose… but what's done is done, he said to himself. He had to convince the king to lift the tax, because keeping up his mill was simply essential. As he laid his head down to sleep, he told himself that he would do whatever it would take to impress the king.
The sun rose so cheerily the next morning that the miller felt entirely capable. He imagined what it would be like to come home in the throes of success, to be congratulated, and to prove the guild wrong. What a wonderful feeling that would be! He whistled as he walked the short distance to the palace, feeling the most confident he'd ever felt in his life.
Upon arriving, he was told to wait in the hall outside the king's study, along with many other weary and angry subjects come to speak with the king. One by one they were taken into the study, and after a few minutes, they would emerge, angrier than before and cursing the king under their breath. His confidence waning just a little, a worried knot grew in the miller's stomach, and he began to dread the moment his name was called.
"Representative of the miller's guild," a bored guard called out. The miller jumped up, and forcing himself to regain his confidence, he took a deep breath and allowed himself to be guided into the study.
Not pausing to gawk at the beautiful room, he sunk into a bow in front of the king's elegant desk. "Your Majesty, permission to speak on behalf of the Guild of the Millers of Aurelia, sire."
"Permission granted," the king's uninterested voice said.
The miller rose and took a step forward, speaking to the back of the king's head, who was apathetically looking for something on a bookshelf.
"As you are certainly aware, your majesty, the mills of this country need every cent they can obtain, and although our business is prospering, the millers do not receive a substantial amount of the profit," the miller said in a steady voice.
"Your point, sir?" the king said, his voice short and irritated.
"My… my point, sire, is that if there continues to be a tax to ship flour, then the millers will certainly go out of business, the kingdom's supply of flour will plummet, and the funds the country gains from exporting flour will be lost. We only ask for a promise that you will lift the tax, your majesty, with every due respect."
There was a short silence, as the king turned around and sat down. The miller waited with bated breath, watching the king think. The king was a tall, strongly built man, in his early 40s, with distinguished peppery hair and a chiseled face. His was a sternly handsome face, and he did not look kind; he instead invoked a sense of fear and unease. He leaned back in his chair, his hands pressed together, stroking his chin.
"You are the miller from Tivilla, no?" the king finally said.
"Yes, your majesty," the miller nervously replied.
"And is your mill not the least profitable in the whole country?"
"Well, yes, your majesty, but the weather-"
"Then you are of no service to me. Take him away," the king said brusquely.
The guards left their places and advanced toward the poor miller, but he was not going to give up that easily. He racked his brain.
"Wait, your majesty! I can be of great service to you!" he cried.
The king held up his hand and the guards paused. "Really?" the king said with a smile. "Pray, tell me how you could possibly be a benefit to this kingdom?"
The miller thought hard. He knew now that he could not possibly earn the king's sympathy, so he had to think of some incentive the king would respond to. He thought of his daughter at her spinning wheel. What would Ginger do?, the miller thought, but then suddenly, something else popped into his mind. Ginger… that was it!
"My daughter can spin straw into gold, your majesty!" the miller cried desperately.
The king, who had been smiling nastily at the miller's dilemma, suddenly looked very interested.
"What did you say?" he asked, rising out of his chair.
Trying not to think of the consequences of this blatant lie, the miller repeated, "My daughter, your majesty; she can spin straw into gold."
The king smiled again, a scheming grin. He walked around his desk and placed an arm about the miller's shoulders.
"How fascinating," he said. "I'm very intrigued… I would love to have her come to the palace and demonstrate this ability of hers." He paused. "I'll make a deal with you, miller. If you bring your daughter to my palace within the next ten days, I will promise to lift the tax and never establish one on shipping flour again. What say you?"
The miller, so close to his goal, was thrilled that he had been triumphant, and without thinking, said, "Yes, your majesty."
"Excellent. I will see her within ten days… if she's not here, the deal is off, miller."
The miller nodded, grinning happily, and bowed once again. He left the king's study, and merrily resumed his whistling as he walked out of the palace. Once on the road to the inn, he did a little jig. He had done it! He had gotten the king's promise! He could just imagine the guild members' shocked faces as he announced the news. And his mill would remain open! He could continue supporting Ginger!
But then his exhilaration came to a screeching halt. Ginger… the promise he had made to the king resounded in his ears. How could he have done such a thing? He'd promised away his own child… and for naught but a tax. His chest began heaving with heavy, ragged breaths. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes; he was a terrible father. How could he have lied so awfully to the king, to put his daughter in such a position?
His happiness utterly gone, he packed his things and miserably got on his horse. His only hope was that somehow his clever daughter would find a way out of this.
Ginger nervously paced the cottage, anticipating her father's return. She had been planning what she was going to say, to ease his disappointment. She knew sympathy couldn't have possibly worked on the hard-hearted king, and instinctively knew her father had failed.
Sure enough, around midday, she saw her father trotting up the road, his head hung low. She hurried out of the cottage as he came to a stop by their rickety stable.
"Oh, Father," she began as she helped him with his things, "it'll be alright. I've saved enough to buy some seeds, we can grow our own food. And you know I can make clothes and blankets with my yarn, we'll be fine."
The miller sighed heavily and looked at his daughter. Something in his face troubled Ginger, and she halted her comfort speech to look at him quizzically.
"Father, what's wrong?" she asked suspiciously.
The miller seemed to brace himself, and beckoned Ginger to follow him inside. They walked into the cottage and Ginger sat down at their wooden table. After pouring himself some water, the miller joined her.
"Ginger, I… I got the king to not levy the tax," he finally said.
Ginger gasped. "Papa, how wonderful! How did you do it? Did you tell him about the child at home? I told you that always works."
The miller shook his head. "No, Ginger. I felt I had to impress him, not earn his pity. So I told him… I told him…"
"Told him what?"
There was a long, terrible silence.
"I told him you could spin straw into gold."
Ginger sat still for a moment, shocked. "What?" she finally asked stupidly.
"I know, it was foolish, but it was first thing that came to my mind, so I said it, and now…" he trailed off, not wanting to tell her.
"Now what?" she said quickly. "What, Father?"
"Now he wants you to come to his palace and spin gold for him."
Ginger's heart stopped for a second. Her mind was reeling from what her father was saying.
"Father… how could you? I can't spin straw into gold!" she cried.
"I know, but Ginger, you don't have to go! He'll just shut down my mill and levy the tax, it doesn't matter!" the miller implored her.
But Ginger was not so naïve as her father, and stood up in anger. "Papa, first of all, I can't let him do that to you or the other millers. And second of all, now that you've told him, he'll still want me, you know how greedy he is!"
The miller looked panicked. "Run away, Ginger. Just run away, I'll deal with him."
"I cannot do that either," Ginger said, standing at their small window. "He's the best hunter on the continent, he'd find me in a week," she said, her voice heavy. "I have to just go, and see what comes."
"No, Ginger, I forbid it. He'll have your head!"
But Ginger turned and smiled at her poor father. "Not if I can help it."
On the eve of her departure, Ginger was nervous for the first time in her life. She had packed her small amount of things, had bidden the spinner goodbye, and was trying to eat the stew her father had cooked for her. The miller was gone at the guild's meeting, informing them of his success, leaving Ginger to eat alone with her thoughts.
The king was greedy; he could get whatever he wanted. But Ginger was determined to win him over, no matter what. She was young, and she wanted to find out for herself if she could still do something with her life. He was cunning, but so was she. Through her anxiety, she almost felt excited at the challenge laid out before her. In fact, the more she thought on it, the more resolute she became, and she ate her stew with a fresh enthusiasm.
Ginger went to sleep before her father returned home, and slept as soundly on her last night in the cottage as she'd ever had. The dawn broke clear and promising, and Ginger heard her father rustling in the kitchen as she got out of her bed for the last time.
"Good morning, Father," she said with a smile as she sat down at the table.
Her father seemed to be moving very slowly and heavily, especially as he poured her some juice. She instantly recognized the guilt in his eyes, and his remorse weighed down on his shoulders. She sighed.
"Papa, I'll be fine," she assured him. "I may not be able to spin straw into gold, but I will be able to charm him. You know I can."
"Don't get into worse trouble, Ginger," the miller said worriedly.
She laughed. "I won't, Papa, I promise." She ate the breakfast her father set down in front of her, wanting to ease his worries but knowing the only way to do so was to say she wouldn't go. But now that an adventure was so close, she wasn't about to give it up. What other village girl could say she was going to the palace to butt heads with the king? Ginger wouldn't miss it for the world.
She finished her breakfast and went to change into her riding clothes. Once she was sure she had everything she wanted, and her mother's locket was safe around her neck, she left her small room and went outside, where her father was waiting by the horse.
"Here, my daughter, I want you to have this," he said after she'd secured her satchel. Ginger looked at the palm of his hand, in which lay a shining gold ring. She gasped as he took her hand and slid it onto her finger.
"Papa, what… where did you get this?" she finally said.
"It was your grandmother's," he said.
She sighed and shook her head. The one thing that had been lurking in her mind finally came out. "Papa… what if I can't make him forget I can't spin gold? Then you'll need this, to keep the mill open."
He shook his head more forcefully. "No, Ginger. It doesn't matter if they shut down the mill, as long as you come home safe. And besides," he went on, taking her chin in his hand, "there's no one you can't win over."
She chuckled and nodded. She then hugged her father very tightly, tears pricking behind her eyes.
"I'll be home again, you'll see," she said, giving him a kiss.
He nodded, unable to hold back his tears. She mounted her horse, and with one last smile, she rode toward the palace.