Chapter Eight: Mama Bea

Beatrice “Mama Bea” Potts woke up as soon as the new maid touched her handle. It was different than when the master woke her. He usually just restored her body and put her to work.

“I’m still a teapot,” she thought, “but I can see and hear.” This was something new. She wondered if she could also speak, but she wouldn’t dare try. If the master knew she was awake, he probably wanted her silent, and if he didn’t, that was all the more reason to keep quiet.

“I can think, too,” she realized. “What a curious, in-between state this is!”

She looked over at the teacups surrounding her on the tray. Which one was Chip? They all looked exactly the same.

The master was rambling on, giving the girl her list of responsibilities. Dusting, sweeping, laundry, straw gathering, and serving meals, but no cooking. That, apparently, remained her job.

“She probably doesn’t even know how to cook,” thought Mama Bea. She certainly wasn’t dressed for duty. Serving breakfast in a ballgown, for goodness’ sake!

Mama Bea reckoned she was one of those girls who had grown up wealthy, but whose family had fallen on hard times. Young women often entered service by that route. Usually, they became ladies’ maids. The educated ones became governesses. But ending up in the Dark One’s castle meant there was more. The only reason anyone was here was because they made a deal with him, and behind every deal was a story.

“Oh!” said the master, as though suddenly remembering another task. “And you will skin the children I hunt for their pelts.”

Horrified, the girl dropped the teacup she was holding.

Mama Bea nearly screamed. What if Chip was in there?!

“That one was a quip,” he said with a wicked grin. “Not serious.” He wagged his index finger from side to side in the standard gesture meaning, “No.”

The girl breathed a sigh of relief. “Right,” she said, faking a smile to show how much she enjoyed the joke.

“Ooh, that horrid beast!” thought Mama Bea. Not only did he know she was awake, he was making a game of watching her squirm. “Hunting for pelts” was a hint about Chip. And that clumsy amateur could have shattered her poor boy to pieces! She was so tense, the tea inside her was close to boiling.

The girl bent down to pick up the teacup. Gingerly, as though handling a precious treasure, she examined it.

“I’m sorry,” she said, apologizing so earnestly that it took the steam out of Mama Bea’s anger. “It’s chipped. . . but you can hardly see it.” Trembling, she raised the cup to show the master.

“A wee scrape then?” thought Mama Bea hopefully, her tea cooling down. She could let bygones be bygones as long as she knew Chip was all right. She looked over at the master. If Chip were badly hurt, he had to let her know. That was their deal. She was allowed to take proper care of him.

The master was too distracted to give her any clues. He was staring at the girl as though in a trance, and he wasn’t just ogling her face and figure. He seemed genuinely impressed at something she’d done, as though she’d just performed a miracle.

“There’s magic afoot,” guessed Mama Bea. There always was around here. For once, she didn’t mind it. If those dainty fingers contained the power to heal Chip from injury, all was indeed forgiven.

The master went right back to his wily old self. “It’s just a cup,” he said dismissively. “Go ahead and serve me from it. A little chip doesn’t bother me.”

“Another hint,” thought Mama Bea. Chip never did seem to bother the master. Of all his odd ways, the one that shocked her most, especially when she and Chip first came, was his gentleness toward her boy. It was almost like he had a soft spot for him. He kept an aloof distance, but there was something in his longing gaze that made her wonder if he’d once been a parent himself.

Mama Bea’s musings were rudely interrupted when she felt herself being lifted into the air and tipped over Chip to fill him with tea. The sensation made her queasy, but the angle was convenient for giving him a swift once-over. To her great relief, only his rim was chipped. There wasn’t a hairline of a scratch on his inside. Still, she couldn’t be fully at ease until she saw him in his own body again. She watched closely as the maid carried him to the head of the table and handed him to the master.

That beast didn’t take a polite sip like a genteel guest at a soiree. He guzzled his tea down greedily, like a thirsty farmer after a hard day’s labor. When he finished, he met Mama Bea’s eye and chuckled at her for tracking his every move. With exaggerated caution, he placed the cup back onto its saucer and resumed his instructions to the girl.

“That door leads to the rest of the rooms on this floor. In the first closet, you will find a broom, dustpan, and bucket. Sweep all the rooms and collect the dust in the bucket.”

Common sense advice, but perhaps the girl was raised so posh, she’d never cleaned a room before.  

“Yes, sir,” said the girl.

“She’s got manners at least,” observed Mama Bea. “Raised posh, but not haughty. I can work with that.”

“Do not empty the bucket,” the master continued. “Bring it upstairs after you finish sweeping. Leave it outside the room with the large lock on it.”

“His brewing room,” thought Mama Bea. “Lord knows what potions he’s making out of that dust.”

“Two more things,” he went on. “First, you’ll notice I keep all my mirrors covered. Leave them that way. Do not remove the sheets, and never look in the mirrors.”

Mama Bea remembered that instruction from her first day, too. She’d always been careful about it. So what was he playing at by tricking her into looking at that mirror earlier? And what was she to make of what she saw?

“Finally, if you know what’s good for you, stay far from the cellar.”

He laughed ominously as he said it, which terrified the poor girl. She curtsied and left the room quickly. Mama Bea hoped that meant she and Chip would get their bodies back again, but no such luck. The master just crooked a finger and made her slide across the table until she and Chip were facing him.  

“Well, well, Mrs. Potts. I find myself in an unusually forgiving mood this morning, and Chip’s little mishap entitles him to reap the benefit.”

He waved his hand over the teacup. Chip’s head emerged. No major damage from the fall, other than a chipped front tooth.

“Mama!” he cried, alarmed at seeing her as half a teapot.  

“My sweetest Chip!”

“Chip!” repeated the master, bursting into a peal of giggles. “Names always do reveal Destiny, but usually not so literally.”

He laughed for a full minute. Mama Bea didn’t see what was so funny, but she stood at attention as she waited for him to stop. She gave Chip a meaningful nod to do the same. They managed as best they could in their teapot and teacup forms.

The private joke over, the master went back to business again. “So, young man, you’ve been here a while. The time has come for you to give an accounting for your actions. Let’s review. What crime landed you here?”

Nervously, as though performing for his schoolmaster, Chip answered, “Coming on your property without permission. . . and hunting your squirrels.”

“Are you ready to say the magic words?”

Chip peered over at his mother, bewildered. “What magic words?” his eyes seemed to plead.

Mama Bea wasn’t certain herself, but there was no harm in trying the obvious. “Same as at home, love,” she urged him.

Chip took a deep breath and said, “I’m sorry.”

“Hmmm.”

The master put his hand on Chip’s head, and though he cried out at first, Mama Bea could see he wasn’t hurt, only afraid. The master was separating his body from the teacup. When he was done, the chipped cup remained on the table, and standing on the floor was her normal-sized, freckle-faced, chipped-tooth little boy.

The master waved his hand over the table, and three objects appeared: Chip’s slingshot, the plate of licorice that tempted him before breakfast, and a rolled-up scroll of parchment. That had to be their contract!

Chip did not catch onto what was about to happen, but Mama Bea understood. She was so anxious, hot honeyed tears filled her eyes.

The master pushed the plate of licorice in front of Chip. “You want some, don’t you?”

Chip nodded timidly.

“But now that you’ve learned your lesson, you won’t take without permission. Correct?”

“Yessir.”

“Then I am going to make a deal with you. You may go home to your father and sisters. I will let you have your slingshot back. You may even take the licorice. But here is what you must do in return: tell all your friends what happens to children who trespass on the Dark One’s property. And no boasting about how brave you were. We both know you screamed your lungs out. Tell a lie after eating that licorice, and you’ll be magically carried right back here.”

Chip was too petrified to budge. “What about Mama?” he whispered.

“Your Mama must stay here a while longer. She should be home tomorrow morning.”

Chip looked over at her, not sure whether he could trust this promise. Mama Bea couldn’t blame him, but she wasn’t about to let him pass up what might be his only chance at freedom. “Go on, ducky. I told you I’d stay near you till you grow into a big, strong man, and I’ll probably stick around long after that.”

Chip stole one last furtive glance at the master. Then, grabbing his slingshot and the licorice, he broke into a brisk run.

“Good boy!” Mama Bea called after him.

The master magicked the great doors open as Chip scampered away. When they slammed back shut, he said, “It appears we are in an unforeseen circumstance, Mrs. Potts. Our deal was that you could stay near your son as long as you worked for me. I never anticipated that I’d choose to free him before your work was done, and the fact is, I still have need of you.”

“So I’ll finish a day’s work and go home,” said Mama Bea. It seemed straightforward enough. “What must I do?”

“I need you to acclimate Belle to my castle. Help her get comfortable here.”

Mama Bea knew better than to say what she was thinking. Nobody could get comfortable here. If that’s what the new deal depended on, she might never get home.

She phrased it as best as she could. “You just told my son I’d be back by tomorrow.”

“The timing is not your concern.” Snapping his fingers, he called, “Cogsworth!”

Mama Bea expected to see the officious butler come running, but instead, a clock appeared beside her on the table.

“He’s an object, too,” she realized. “Well, Chip and I couldn’t be the only ones.”

The master passed his hand over the clock and turned him half-human, just like she was. The numbers of the clock face remained, but Cogsworth’s brown eyes blinked open, and he gained back his own nose, mouth, and ears – even his glasses! His mechanical arms became flesh, but they stayed as small as his clock body.

“When Mrs. Potts has completed her current task,” said the master, sending Cogsworth’s arms circling forward, “it will be a new day in her village.”

“Very good, sir,” said Cogsworth as his arms wound back.

Once the clock was set, the master waved his hand over it, and all of Cogsworth’s human features disappeared. His face was back to expressionless numbers, and his mechanical arms ticked around them.

“So that’s how he controls time,” thought Mama Bea as the clock floated back onto the mantelpiece. It was one of those things everybody talked about, but nobody understood. “Cor! I’ve just watched him do it, and I still don’t understand.”

“Questions, dearie?” tittered the master.

“About a thousand,” she thought, but only one really mattered. “How long does my husband think Chip and I have been missing?”

“I doubt he even noticed you’re gone. He’s been in the field all morning, and your daughters are still in school.”

“But I’ve been here for weeks!”

“Time is relative,” replied the master, as though that explained everything. “But back to Belle. She’s come a long way from home, and she’s frightened of me.”

“Who isn’t?” thought Mama Bea, but when she considered it, she realized that she herself wasn’t. She didn’t like him one bit, but she’d lived with him long enough to know that his bark was worse than his bite.

“I daresay you are well-suited to helping her. You two are quite similar. You came here for your son’s sake, and she is here on agreement that I protect her father’s kingdom. Both of you have sacrificed for the people you love, so you should understand each other.”

“Her father’s kingdom?” repeated Mama Bea. “She’s a princess?”

“Of a small kingdom, yes.”

Mama Bea was gobsmacked. She’d never met royalty before! “Should I curtsy to her? And call her ‘Your Majesty?’”

“No, no. That’s way too stiff and formal. Be her friend. Call her Belle.”

“The teapot who’s a friend of a princess,” mused Mama Bea. “What strange things happen here!” But to the master, she simply said, “I can do that.”

He nodded, and the scroll before him unrolled. “Amended Contract of Employment,” he dictated, his quill pen appearing out of thin air to take it all down.

“As Master Richard Potts has now been freed, Mrs. Beatrice Potts’ term of duties shall hereby be amended. Her service to Rumpelstiltskin shall be deemed complete when Belle feels at home in the Dark Castle. At that time, Mrs. Potts shall be allowed to return to her own home and family with due compensation.”

“Due compensation?” she thought, as her spout turned into a tiny arm. The master shrunk the quill so she could use it. “This is just like last time. I have no idea what I’m agreeing to, but I’m afraid I’ll be worse off if I don’t sign.” Her arm turned back to china as soon as she finished.

The master snapped the contract away, and Belle returned. “The bucket is upstairs, as you told me,” she reported.

“Good. Then I can get a start on my own work. You may take a break. Serve yourself.”

And with that, he snapped his fingers and disappeared.

Belle looked as confused as Chip. Did the master really mean it? Could she actually take a break?

“Have a seat, love,” said Mama Bea. “And pour yourself some tea.”

Belle’s eyes darted around the room. “Who said that?”

“It’s me, the teapot. My name’s Beatrice, but everyone calls me Mama Bea. Come over this way, and you’ll see my face.”

Belle walked over and looked. Then she sank into a chair. “I’ve seen a lot of peculiar things in this last day and a half. Somehow I’ll have to get used to being constantly surprised.”

“Well, we have each other. I’ll help you through. C’mon. The tea’s nice and warm, and I keep filling up.”

Belle poured the tea and drank. “Have you been here long?”

“I wish I knew. He plays tricks with time, so it’s impossible to say. He does it with that clock on the mantelpiece. His name’s Cogsworth. He’s a clock now, but sometimes he’s a butler. And after what I saw him do today, I’ll wager he used to be a wizard.”

Belle walked over to the mantelpiece and studied the clock. “Hello?” she said to it. Its only answer was a soft tick-tock.

“No sense talking to him,” said Mama Bea. “He never does say much, even when he’s human.”

Belle turned away from the clock and returned to the table. “Are there others here then?” she asked.

“I’ve only ever met the stable hand, and that was just once or twice. But until this morning, my son was in the teacup you chipped.”

Belle’s eyes widened. “What happened to him?”

“Nothing bad, love. He told the master he was sorry, and he was allowed to go home.”

“I’m glad that happens. . . for some people.”

“Well, it is out of the ordinary. The master said so himself. He was in ‘an unusually forgiving mood.’”

“Help me!” called a woman’s voice near the window.

“It’s my broom!” cried Belle, jumping out of her chair and running toward it.

“Turn me right-side-up. Ah, that’s it. I do hate it when my hair drags all over the floor.”

“I’m sorry. If I would have known you were a person, I would have been much more careful when I was sweeping. Oh, but are you a person, or are you a witch? Did he turn you into your own broomstick?”

“Got the measure of him already, I see. But no, I’m not a witch. I’m Brunhilde the Valkyrie.”

“From Norse myth?”

“Oh, Norse myth, horsewhip,” said Mama Bea. “Bring her over for a cuppa.”

Belle carried the broom over to the table and propped her up against a chair. Mama Bea thought she looked ridiculous, a broad-boned, blonde-haired woman with a broomstick for a body.

Then she remembered that she must look just as silly - a teapot with a face.

Belle poured some tea into the chipped cup. When she lifted it to serve the armless Brunhilde, she almost dropped it a second time. Her own voice was speaking through the cup. “I’m sorry,” it said in exactly the same shaky tone she used after Chip’s accident.

“Did you hear that?” asked Belle.

Mama Bea nodded, equally baffled.

“That means you marked it,” said Brunhilde matter-of-factly. “Now, are you going to let me have a drink or are you going to make me wait all day?” 

Belle hurriedly tipped the cup to Brunhilde’s lips. She gave her a moment to swallow, but was immediately ready with questions. “What do you mean, I ‘marked’ it?”

“With your magic.”

“I don’t know magic! You must mean his.”

“Your voice, your magic,” said Brunhilde.

“No, it isn’t! I’ve never cast a spell in my life!”

“That’s a fairy-blessed crystal you’ve got around your neck, isn’t it?”

Belle’s hand went self-consciously to the crystal. “Yes, but I got it for studying fairy language, not magic.”

“And I suppose you think that just anyone can learn fairy language?”

Belle went silent.

“Hah!” cried Brunhilde triumphantly. “So that’s why he’s put in so much effort for you. He nabbed one from the fairy ranks!”

Belle was ruffled, but she tried to be polite about it. “I’m sorry, Brunhilde, but you’re quite mistaken. I’m not magical, and I’m paying for Rumpelstiltskin’s services. I’m a prisoner here, same as you.”

“Shows how much you know,” snorted Brunhilde.

“My, she’s a surly one!” thought Mama Bea. “I’m going to have to keep her from upsetting Belle.”

A change of subject seemed in order. “Why are you here?” asked Mama Bea. “I came to look after my son after he was caught trespassing.”

“I made a deal to protect my father’s kingdom from ogres.”

Brunhilde sniffed. “So you’re both that kind of heroine. Well, not me. Where I come from, there’s only one sacrifice that counts. Losing your life while fighting a war.”

“Wouldn’t you rather sacrifice for peace instead?” asked Belle.

“Or make the life of someone you love a little better?” Mama Bea added.

“I’m a warrior goddess. It’s not in my nature to feel love, and I see no glory in peace. It will take a lot to get me to change. Give me another sip from that cup.”

Once again, the cup said “I’m sorry” when Belle touched it. “Does drinking from it make you feel different?” she asked.

“Definitely,” said Brunhilde, pulling a grimace. “If I didn’t know this syrupy sap was my only way out of here, I’d spit it right out.” 

“Ick,” thought Mama Bea. Where was Brunhilde raised that she’d act like such a boor?

“What does it do?” Belle asked.

“Figure it out for yourself, Miss Clever Clogs,” said Brunhilde, her jaw stiffening.

Belle looked utterly nonplussed, but Mama Bea had a flash of insight. “Magic words!” she cried. “It wasn’t just another joke! You said ‘I’m sorry’ when you chipped the cup, and now, whoever drinks from it will be in a kinder frame of mind. That’s why the master said he was in an ‘unusually forgiving mood.’ That’s why he freed Chip!”

She beamed up at Belle, her gratitude overflowing. How she wished she weren’t a teapot so she could give her a proper hug and kiss! As it was, she couldn’t even move from her spot on the table. Teapots had no feet.

“From the bottom of my heart, I thank you,” she said. The simple words barely scratched the surface of how indebted she felt, but it was the best she could do. Then, the magic in her altered body kicked in. A fresh batch of peppermint tea heated up in her belly. When Belle got a whiff of that bracing wintergreen, Mama Bea knew she’d just brewed her favorite flavor.

“Forgiveness and gratitude! Bah!” scoffed Brunhilde. “I’ll take a pint of mead before battle every time!” She looked disdainfully at her companions. “So you two are my new legion, eh? A pair of warm, sweet, maternal types. Well, that’s him having another laugh at me.”

Now Mama Bea was ruffled. “He does like having a laugh at everything and everybody, but what’s so funny about being warm and sweet? It sure beats being cold and mean.”

“I am not cold and mean, if that’s what you’re implying,” said Brunhilde, her yellow hair hardening into straw. “I am a Valkyrie, strong and proud.”

“I wouldn’t be so proud if I were a broomstick,” thought Mama Bea, but she held her tongue. Literally, that would be the teapot calling the kettle black.

“You’re turning back into a broom again,” said Belle.  

“I don’t need you to tell me that,” said Brunhilde. “I can feel it.”

“Really?” said Mama Bea. She never felt a thing. It was like instant sleep. But Brunhilde was magical, so perhaps that made a difference. Then it struck Mama Bea. Surly or not, Brunhilde was in a unique position to answer her questions. Cogsworth never would.

“You have magic powers, right?”

“Divine powers,” corrected Brunhilde.

“All right, divine powers. Can you explain what happened to me this morning? I’ve only ever woken up to the master’s spell, but today I woke up from Belle’s touch.”

“I told you, I’m not mag –” Belle began.

“Hush, love,” said Mama Bea. “Give her a chance to answer.”

Brunhilde shook her head. “His powers are difficult to understand. He makes everything so deliberately complicated! But it’s all written in those damned contracts. He’s an absolute stickler for those.”

“My contract is practically impossible!” sighed Mama Bea.

“Everyone’s is,” said Brunhilde, her features fast fading into straw. “See? I’m proving it. Risked my own flesh just to explain things to you two.” She moaned in pain. “Oh, great goddess Eir, please heal me!” 

Her prayer didn’t work. Brunhilde kept moaning until she was all broom again.

It was a dreadful thing to witness. Mama Bea and Belle sat in somber silence until Belle asked, “Does it hurt you when you. . .turn?”

“Never,” answered Mama Bea. “I just go numb, and the whole world disappears.” She hadn’t realized how lucky she was. She’d rather be her real self than a teapot, but at least it wasn’t painful. “You’d better put Brunhilde back in the closet where you found her,” she told Belle.

“I don’t think I can bear to. It’s so dark and stuffy in there.”

“She can’t feel anything while she’s a broomstick. Trust me. I know.”

Belle picked up the broomstick and put her away.

“Good girl,” said Mama Bea. “We’ll make a competent maid of you yet!”

“Believe it or not, that sounds good to me,” said Belle. “With you to keep me company and work to keep me busy, perhaps it won’t be so terrible here after all.”

“A cheerful disposition,” thought Mama Bea. “Perhaps I really do stand a chance of getting home soon.”

“I still think Brunhilde was wrong, though. I’m not magical.”

Mama Bea was no expert, but she sided with Brunhilde on that point. “Why don’t you try drinking from the cup yourself? Just to see what happens.”

Belle shrugged and took a sip. “I’m sorry,” said the cup as Belle placed it back in its saucer.

“Well?” Mama Bea asked eagerly.

“Well, other than that I’m talking to a teapot, after having met my broom, who’s really a Valkyrie, I feel exactly the same. It’s gloomy here, and I miss home. But it is a relief to have you around.”

“I’m glad to be of service, love.” Instinctively, she reached out her handle and squeezed Belle’s hand.

“Oh, my, I can move!” she exclaimed. She tried her spout. That worked, too! “Two arms!” she cried, waving them around. “Perhaps I’m turning human again!” And though she didn’t say it, she was sure that Belle’s magic caused it.  

But the next instant threw her into doubt. The master popped back into the room.

“All right, you two! Break’s over.” 

Belle sprung out of her chair as though she’d just been caught doing something wrong. The master smirked and tossed her his apron. Then he clapped loudly, and Mama Bea was full-bodied and standing on the floor. She and Belle looked at one another and smiled.

“Pleased to meet you, too,” said Mama Bea. She wasn’t just showing the master how well she was complying with his orders. She sincerely meant it.

“I said break’s over,” he growled. “Take Belle down to the clothesline. Teach her how to do laundry.”