Jepp, Who Defied the Stars by Katherine Marsh

Author:Katherine Marsh
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fiction - Young Adult
Publisher: Disney Publishing Worldwide

hen a child falls down, only his mother can comfort him—her soothing words and caresses seem to him a balm like no other. Though I am far from those childish years, I long just the same for my mother and the comfort only she can give. For she would not dismiss my sorrows as Magdalene has done but allow them with a mother’s heart to be her own.

But my birthday passes and the moon comes and goes and still no one appears to take me home. I mean to ask Liv whether any letters have arrived for me; but my apprehension keeps me awake late into the night, and I slumber through her fleeting and infrequent deliveries of sugar cakes. During the day, she labors either out of sight—perhaps in the chemical laboratory—or else in the botanical garden. In the hope of finding her there, I lead Ulf past the little house of seedlings. He now follows me like the calf does his mother, and I feel my own fondness for this dumb creature and his loyal companionship grow.

Once or twice, I spot Liv through the windows, but I dare not call out to her for fear of arousing the suspicions of Jonas, who always accompanies us. One day, however, as Jonas is yanking Ulf away from the window of the little house, I manage to catch her eye and, early the next morning, I feel a hand gently shaking me awake. My heart beats fast in the hope of news.

“Has a letter come for me?” I whisper.

“I’m afraid there is no answer yet,” Liv says.

I try to disguise my disappointment. “I am sure it will arrive soon.”

But my own words do little to reassure me.

“I will be back tomorrow,” Liv says. “Perhaps there will be news then.”

She opens my hand and places a warm sugar cake inside it.

But there is no news the next morning or the morning after that. I cling to the hope that the letter is somehow delayed, and yet I cannot shake the fear that, as Don promised, I will never know my mother nor home again.

One morning, over five weeks after I sent my letter home, I wake to hurried shouts and the rush of footsteps outside. Ulf pulls hard on his tether, trying to turn and view the commotion. I quickly don my breeches and slip out into the main hall to investigate.

In the dim light of the late winter dawn, a procession of peasants carries a slain deer, a small flock of trussed and plucked geese, a giant slab of beef, bins of flopping fish, which slop water on the floor to the consternation of the house servants, and a great number of barrels of ale. The cook stands outside the kitchen, shouting instructions and kneading his plump hands in anticipation.

This is but the first sign that someone is coming to Uraniborg, someone important. I wonder if it is the Danish royals, for throughout the morning and into the afternoon, the servants are models of industry.

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