Ch. 3 - Modernization
A week ago, Princess Emma had been home. She had awoke in her parents' bed, cuddled in between them. Papa had rubbed her back until she was fully awake, then tickled her cheek with one of her curls. They had both giggled when Mama swatted at them and told them to let her sleep. Papa kissed her awake instead, and Emma squirmed closer to press her forehead against her mother's.
Sleepy green eyes had peered at her, and her mother kissed her nose. "Good morning, darling."
"Good morning Mama," Emma said, returning the kiss. She slid off the bed to where breakfast was waiting, letting her parents kiss some more. The low rumble of their voices was familiar and soothing. She smelled cinnamon rolls and hot cocoa. Her favorite breakfast. She took her mug of hot cocoa over to the hearth and placed it on the stones. Then she went back to the table and slipped one of the Emma-sized cinnamon rolls onto a plate. She looked at her parents. Still kissing. She grabbed another cinnamon roll. They could be awhile.
This world was very peculiar, Emma had decided. It smelled peculiar. The people dressed in a peculiar way, she couldn't even count the number of peculiar objects she had come across. Machines. That's what some of them were called. But then they had individual names too. Radios, cars, airplanes, TVs. The other kids in the home had been particularly eager to show them that machine. Emma didn't like it. It made her head hurt. Plus, it was a little frightening. How did the people get into the box? And how did the other kids seem to know who they were?
Pinocchio didn't like it either. He said it made his eyes and his head ache. Emma was bothered further by how they were being made to change. Instead of dresses or trousers, she was wearing something called overalls. The animals weren't talking to her. She had to share a bedroom. Worse was how Pinocchio changed his name. Pinocchio said she couldn't call him by his name anymore.
When they had been at The Station, Emma had called his name to show him a strange box. Maria, the lady with nice brown eyes and lots of questions, had frowned hard and looked at him. "Pinocchio, like the story?"
"The story?" Pinocchio asked.
"Little wooden boy, lies a lot…that story?"
Pinocchio had blanched down to his last freckle. They knew about him? They even knew he lied? For a moment he was too scared to speak. Then, hoping the Blue Fairy would forgive this one lie, he chuckled dryly. "Oh, she just calls me that. I have been known to lie at times. She thinks it's amusing."
Maria smiled kindly back at him. "What is you name, honey?"
"August," he said with bare hesitation, thinking of earlier.
When they had explained themselves to the adults at the restaurant, they had been ushered over to a special table, a booth, the servant girl called it. Below the plates was parchment. When Pinocchio looked at it closely, he saw it was a map. He slipped it in his pocket, hoping that it was of this new land. Periodically, he had been taking it out and looking at it. He could read most of it, although the spelling was different than what he was accustomed.
One of the place names seemed to roll off his tongue. "My name is August Booth."
Emma thought the name was both strange and stupid. When Maria left, she kicked him. "That isn't your name," Emma said, more upset about that than riding in the scary, magic carriage.
"I know that Emma, but it's not right. Not here. Didn't you see that? August it what you will call me now," Pinocchio said firmly. He didn't want anybody looking at him the way Maria looked at him when he said his true name.
"I'm not changing my name," Emma's fists were clenched like she were going to hit him. "My mama and papa gave me this name. It's mine."
"You don't have to Emmy," Pinocchio said gently. "Emma is a normal name here."
She calmed down, but for a while she looked at him with the faintest hint of betrayal. Stubborn, like her parents, this seemed like feeble acquiescence, something that wasn't in her personality. He had dropped a little in her estimation, and it hurt.
"However," he ventured softly after a moment of silence, "I think you need another name, after Emma."
She looked at him suspiciously, "why?"
"Everyone here has two names. Maria Gutierrez. Ted Ramsey. Susan Night."
"Ye-es," she agreed reluctantly.
"You can choose something you like. Like an animal or something."
She brightened immediately. "Unicorns," said Emma. "My name can be Emma Unicorn."
Pinocchio grimaced, "I don't think that's going to work," he said. "It sounds strange."
"You said to pick something that I liked," said Emma. "I like unicorns."
Nearly twenty days before the curse hit, Emma's mother had taken her to see her first unicorn. The morning of their adventure, she had been nearly transported by bliss. Emma danced around her room, while her mother tried to finish dressing her.
Papa sauntered into her room and laughed when Emma tore away from her mother to jump into his arms. "I'm going to see unicorns today!" she screamed in delight.
"Not unless you get dressed," said her mother with exasperation. "Let me finish buttoning you up."
Obediently she walked over to her mother and turned around so she could finish fastening her dress. Emma craned her neck to look at her father. "You cannot come Papa," she said firmly. "Unicorns don't like males."
"Oh I don't know about that," he said making silly faces at her. "They haven't met me yet. I think they would find me quite charming."
Emma could hear her mother giggling behind her. "No papa. You cannot," she repeated gravely.
He pulled a sad face and shook his head. "You are right, baby. No papas allowed. This is strictly a female endeavor. I'll have to go play with the dwarves instead."
Emma felt Mama give her a gentle pat and she ran over to her father and flung herself into his arms again. "I wish you could see them. Auntie Red says they are the most beautiful creatures in the Enchanted Forest."
He smiled at her, his eyes crinkling in delight. "Emma, I have you and your mother. Everything else pales in comparison."
Emma forcibly turned from her memories. Her chest hurt a little and her eyes were glassy.
Pinocchio patted her hand gently, bringing her back to the present. "What about 'Swan'?" he asked.
Instead of crying, Emma laughed. When she was nearly three, she and her mother had nursed a nest of swan eggs. When the babies hatched, they imprinted on the toddler Emma. Until they were big enough to leave home, they followed Emma around the castle. The inhabitants of the castle didn't know whether to be irritated or amused. Often it was a combination of both. Her papa, did not have divided feelings about the swans. He hated them. They squawked and nipped at him when he tried to carry Emma away. In return he threatened to cook them for dinner. No one was happier then he when they left.
She giggled again. "Emma Swan," she said trying it out. "I like it."
Pinocchio felt like most of the time he was walking around like someone under a spell. Go here, go there. Visit this person, talk to that person. He gave up trying not to lie, instead trying to keep the lies simple and memorable. He taught them to Emma. There were hundreds of rules. Where they could sleep, when they could eat, what they could wear, when they could play, whether or not they could relieve themselves. Some of the rules made sense, but others were completely baffling.
Emma hadn't reacted well to the arbitrary restrictions and had at least one tantrum a day. Pinocchio was lost on how to help her. At home she was so happy. She wasn't prone to tantrums, even though she was indulged by nearly everyone in the castle.
Pinocchio had taken to bundling her up in his arms and taking her outside, to walk, and walk, and walk. Most of the time, they would talk about home, and what they missed. Mr. Prior and Mrs. Day had expressed their admiration of his care. Pinocchio didn't know hot to respond to the praise. It was his responsibility, bestowed on him by no one less than his king.
This had made him ripe for teasing among the other children. But this was only one of many things he and Emma were teased about. Their accents, their manner, their ignorance of most of this world's customs and devices. Both were mocked unmercifully when they met Mr. Prior and Mrs. Day. Emma had executed her best curtsy, Pinocchio a bow. The other children mimicked them until Emma took blocks and managed to hit two children on their heads. There had been blood and tears, none of which were from Emma. She had been sent to sit in a corner. This had humiliated her so mightily that she refused to eat dinner with the group.
Pinocchio brought some food to her bed. She was turned to the wall, her head covered with her blanket.
"Emma, I brought you some food."
She didn't respond to him. He touched her arm and she turned to him, the blanket slipping off. Her face was dry of tears and her eyes burned with injustice. "I hate it here. I want to leave. Now."
"We can't, not yet."
Emma grabbed the bread and flung it against the wall, glaring at him.
"Em-ma!" he said fiercely, feeling the pressure of caretaker. "Stop it!"
Her lip trembled, and her eyes fell. "I'm sorry Pinocchio," she whispered. She inched closer to him and leaned against his side. "I'm just so angry."
Pinocchio put his arm around her. "I know. But, honestly Emma, what did you think they would do after you hurt Andrew and Dylan?"
Emma shrugged, a gesture they had seen numerous times since they had arrived and since, mirrored. "I don't know. Scold me. But not in front of other people. Not to shame me." She looked at him. "My parents never would have done that. Not when the other children were being cruel first."
Silently, Pinocchio agreed. "It will be different, eventually," he finally managed.
Emma sighed. She took the cheese from his hand and nibbled it while he told her a story about a mouse he found in the castle last year.
She giggled as he described the mouse's antics. When she was done drinking her milk, she looked more at peace. Abashedly she retrieved the bread from the floor and he took it to dispose of later.
"Would you like to come play?" he asked.
"With you, if you would," she responded politely. "They have these enormous puzzles. But they're made of parchment, not wood. We could try putting one together."
He nodded, pleased to see her happy. Offering his hand, he helped her off the bed. "I'll race you to the stairs," he challenged.
Throwing back her head, eyes sparkling, lips curved in a soft smile, she scampered away. Pinocchio felt a pang as he followed her. In that look he saw her parents.