To her surprise, Helen Rayburn rushed out of the woods with her arms outstretched like a downy white bird. She very nearly ran into her! “Oh!” She gasped, pulling back when she finally slowed enough to see her. “Thank heavens you found it. It got away from me after the siege of the White Castle.”
“Siege?” Brett began as she wrapped the shawl around her shoulders. “Someone attacked you? So that's why the Red King knew to come after us. He is – or was – in the woods, you know. No idea what happened to everyone else.”
“He's been after us for months now.” She fussed with the comb trapped in the stiff dark brown curls piled on top of her head. Her zig-zag chess piece crown was askew, and her white silk gown, with its bows and ruffles and huge bustle, blew every which way around her long legs and the cream silk heels. “Doesn't like that Gene plays the game his way. Me, all I want is for my husband and our country to be happy. I've no time for playing with this thing!”
Brett sighed. “Helen...Your Majesty... it won't stay if you bunch it all up on one side. I wear wraps too. Charles jokes about them looking like a tablecloth, but they keep me warm in the studio air conditioning.” She finally managed to pin the pearl brooch on her bosom, admiring the fact that she actually had a bosom for it to nestle in.
“I don't know what's wrong with it,” Helen moaned. “It's all out of temper, I think. I've pinned it every place, and there's no pleasing it.
“There.” She tugged the brush out of Helen's short, wavy chestnut mane. “What in the heck did you do to your hair? You're usually a lot more put together than this. You're the one who organizes Gene's wardrobe on the show, for heaven's sake! If it wasn't for you, he might come out in something like that hideous green plaid suit he wore on that one episode three years ago.”
She sighed as Brett brushed out her short curls and managed to pin them back into place. “Thank you. I should hire you as a maid. You may have every Tuesday off, and jam every other day.”
“I'm not really a fan of jam,” she admitted. “And I'm not in the market for another job right now, besides being queen here.”
“Oh, but it's very good jam.” Helen straightened her gown. “We have nothing but the best here, dear. And you couldn't have it today anyway. It's jam tomorrow and jam yesterday, but never today.”
Brett made a face. “It has to be today sometime!”
“Oh, it doesn't. This isn't any other day, you know.” She shook her head. “I don't suppose you're from around here. We live backwards, you know. Don't you remember what you did tomorrow?”
“I'll be glad to live through today!” Brett grumbled as she gently tugged Helen's hair into a knot and got all the pins in.
“I remember what I did the week after next best.” Helen continued to fuss with that pearl pin. “Think of the White Knight. Sir Richard is our best man, but he's going to be in terrible danger very soon. That's why I'm here, now, other than chasing my shawl. I was hoping to warn him about the danger, if he hasn't already seen it for himself.”
Brett tried pinning it on her other shoulder. “Dickie...Sir Dawson isn't stupid, even if he is annoyingly stubborn. If he knows about whatever will happen to him, won't he be able to avoid it? Or we could keep him from charging into trouble. At least I hope,” she added under her breath. “He has been head-butting with Ira a lot lately over his answers.”
“I have to tell him he's in trouble. He can't come to the castle. He's going to...” She suddenly let out a screech and sucked at her finger. “Oohh, owww, I pricked it! Oooh, it hurts!”
Brett grabbed her finger and checked for blood. “Oh, don't be silly,” she snapped. “There's nothing there. You're fine.”
“But I won't be in a few minutes.” Helen shrugged, ignoring how her broad shoulders dislodged the errant pin. “That's how our memories work here. I expect to actually prick my finger in a few minutes...oh,, blast!” she added as the wind started up again, tugging at her shawl. “Oh, there it goes again,” she wailed as the pin flew open.
“Helen, be careful!” Brett grumbled. “You're holding it crooked.” She tried to grab at it, but it was too late. The pin pricked Queen Helen's finger.
“Oh, blast it all,” Helen muttered, sucking at it.
Brett raised an eyebrow. “Aren't you going to scream again?”
“I did that already.” She finally managed to get it fastened. “There. Now, I need to tell you about Sir Richard. He's in grave danger. The Red King is luring him and the others into a trap at White Castle.”
Brett liked this less and less. “Can we do something to stop him?”
“Oh no, dear. The future is what it is.” Helen wrapped a bit of her dress on her finger. “But you can remind him of what'll happen to minimize the damage.”
“If I can find the rest of them!” Even as she spoke, the sun broke through the lighter clouds, giving the woods a far softer look. “At least the Red King seems to have gone and taken that scary raven with him.”
“I wish I could be happy,” Helen sighed again as she rubbed her stuck finger. “Not with what they did to my poor husband. And Sir Richard...and you, my dear...”
Brett groaned and tried to push back the tears. She couldn't take much more of this. “What about me? I know the Red King isn’t my biggest fan. Please don't give me any more bad news! I've had the most trying day...”
“Don't cry!” Helen quickly handed her a lacy handkerchief. “Consider how far you and your sons have come. Consider what a smart and strong woman you are! Consider the time of day. Consider anything, but please don't cry!”
Brett wiped her eyes on the back of her wrist. “Can you keep from crying by considering things?”
“Of course. That's the way it's done,” she told her forcefully. “Consider your age. How old are you, dear?”
Brett coughed. “Could we consider your age first?”
“I am one hundred and three, give or take a few years.”
“I can't believe that!” Brett nearly fell over laughing. “Helen, you're in your 60's, a year or two older than Gene.”
“I daresay you haven't much practice in dealing with impossible things.” Helen grabbed at her shawl as the wind picked up again. “When I was as young as your boys, I did it for a half-hour every day. Why, I can believe as many as six impossible things before breakfast.” She chuckled as familiar voices blew in from further in the woods. “Like finding the others. Shall we move along?”
“You know,” Brett added, “you never did tell me what's going to happen to me in the future...”
The wind cut her off before she could finish, taking the shawl away again. “Oh damn it!” Helen chased after it. “Darn this thing...” She jumped over a brook, beckoning Brett to follow. “This is your next move, dear.”
“If I end up in the water...” Brett managed to jump the little babbling brook without incident as Helen caught and pinned her wayward shawl. “Thank goodness you got that! Hope your finger is better.”
“Much better, dear,” she bleated. “Much bee...ttt...eeerrr...baaaa...”
Maybe it was her bad eyesight, but as she squinted, the Queen first appeared to be wrapped up in white wool. Squinting again revealed her to be a sheep standing behind a counter. She now kind of looked like her friend Arlene Francis in her silk pantsuit with that heart pendant she always wore. Her golden hair fluffed on her head like soft downy wool.
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