Читать книгу Foul Finnebog: A Norwegian Tale - Rosemary Ph.D. Olson - Страница 5

“Mildri! Come away from that window, now. It won’t do you any good to watch him walk away, child.”

“But mother, I really thought he liked me.”

Mildri watched with longing as another potential suitor was led by her father down the small pathway to the gate. Her light brown eyebrows creased over her clear, blue eyes. She was quite a catch, wasn’t she? She wore her finest burgandy-colored gown, stitched with gold thread. Her long, loosely-braided hair fell down across the middle of her back. She had fastened the bright ruby necklace her father had given her around her smooth, small neck. He said it would protect her against any sadness or bad spirits that might try to cloud her judgment. She wasn’t so sure. If anything, it clouded her father’s judgment in choosing her future husband. No one was good enough for his daughter. At seventeen, she was considered almost too old to marry. There had been over thirty young men that had come to speak to her father, but there was always an excuse as to why they were turned away.

“His nose was too big. You wouldn’t want to be kept awake by the snore coming out of it, I can tell you that!”

“He’s only a chancellor. Better to be a prince than to advise one, don’t you think?”

“He wore a white tunic instead of something a little brighter. And he calls himself noble. Bah!”

And the excuses would go on and on.

She moved quickly away from the window as her father opened the door and stepped into the room with his head bowed.

“I thought he was going to be the one for you, my dear, but he is very picky when it comes to...”

“Father!” Mildri interrupted, “I can’t take it any more. No more excuses! He was a perfectly good suitor and he had good teeth. I’m getting older by the minute, you know.”

“I realize that, dearest,” he said as his eyes narrowed to small slits, “but I can’t let you marry just anyone, now can I? Perhaps I should go and discuss this matter with the Stargazers so that I can ease my heart knowing you won’t die an old maid.”

“She will die an old maid if it’s left up to you and the stargazers to choose!” her mother retorted. Mildri ran up the stairs and flung herself down on her bed, sobbing into her sleeve.

Stargazers! They were a couple of old, wrinkled gypsies that lived along the outskirts of the village. No one really knew how old they were, but they had been consulting and gazing for as long as anyone could remember. Surely, if Finnebog paid them enough, or threatened them enough, they would give the name of the prince his precious Mildri was to marry.