The Springborn

SABELLA

FEbrUARY 15, 1886

SOON AFTER DAWN

W ithin the stone walls, early morning sunlight washes over two boxy wooden houses, a small barn, and several sheds. The buildings are old, but in good repair. I imagine some family lived here long ago, staking their claim on a few acres of this Pennsylvania mountainside.

Snow has been swept off the pathway that leads to the smallest, one-story, clapboard-sided house. Slate gray smoke puffs out of the house’s stone chimney. Calder leads us to the door then excuses himself, leaving me in Robbie’s care.

Sparrow naps in the crook of Robbie’s arm. “Told you babies like me,” he says proudly, his deep brown eyes glinting. He shifts the baby so that her head rests against his shoulder before he shoves open the door. Warm, pleasant air rushes over me. The faint aroma of bread makes my stomach rumble. An oil lamp burns low in the center of a square, age-scarred table, and a cheerful fire dances in the stone fireplace.

Robbie gives me the baby and turns up the lamp. He pulls out a chair and invites me to sit, for which my spent legs and I are grateful. I watch him skitter, birdlike, about the room. He grabs a teapot from a shelf and sprinkles a handful of dried leaves into it before scampering to the hearth to fill the pot with hot water from a blackened kettle. “You’ll love my mint tea. Everyone here does.”

“If it’s warm, I will love it,” I say. In a clumsy attempt to shed my cloak, I awaken the baby in my arms. Rather than crying, she gnaws her chubby fist and stares up at me adoringly. The implausibility of the moment makes breathing difficult, as if my lungs have filled with water. Everything catches up with me at once, a churning flood of emotions and questions. I feel safe with Robbie, but am I? How in the name of heaven did I end up welcome in this snug, secluded house with an infant in my charge, when two days ago I was nothing more than my parents’ shame and servant—resigned to a life of loneliness? I fight the urge to weep by biting hard on my lower lip.

With his back to me, Robbie slathers jam on two slices of bread. “Of course you’re wondering about the bird legs, but too polite to make inquiries,” he says. “So I’ll just tell you now and get that business out of the way. What I’ve been told is that there’s something in a spring of water not far from here that did it, a bit of magic left over from wilder days. The very same magic gave you your particular gift. It’s an unsatisfactory answer, I reckon, but it’s all I know.”

“And are there others? More people…like us?”

Now he pours water from the kettle into a brown teapot. “There are indeed,” he says. “I’ll make introductions later today if you’d like. But first, you must have a bit of nourishment and a good sleep. You look as if you’ve been dragged backwards through a mouse’s keyhole.”

I cannot help but smile at Robbie’s odd turn of phrase. There is something genuine and wholesome about him that calms me like a cup of chamomile. “That is exactly how I feel,” I say.

Robbie scurries back and forth, delivering the bread, two mugs, and then the teapot to the table. Finally, he slides into the chair across from me. “You’re welcome to remove your head covering, you know. It’s plenty warm in here and I reckon you’d be more comfortable without all the wrappings. I have the legs of a songbird; I won’t be repulsed by whatever you’re hiding there. On my honor, I won’t.”

My hesitation lasts only a moment. During our overnight trek, I was forced to remove my bonnet as my antlers outgrew its bounds. As they spread up and out, they forced the scarf under the bonnet to form a strange kind of angular hat. When I reach up, I find places where they’ve poked through. The baby holds perfectly still on my lap as, with one hand, I work to unwind the pierced cloth.

When at last I yank it free, the scarf is all but shredded. I drop it onto the empty chair beside me. No one outside my family has ever seen my antlers. I lower my gaze in embarrassment. Nonsensically. For if anyone can understand my affliction, it is this young man.

“Ah. They’re glorious,” Robbie says. “Astonishing.”

I look up. His smile is sincere. All I can say is, “Thank you.” Never would I have imagined that anyone would appreciate the sight of my antlers. A single tear leaks from my eye, but I brush it away quickly.

If Robbie notices, he doesn’t mention it. He passes me a spoon and plate and says, “By Jove, if I had antlers like yours, I’d wear them proudly. I’d invite a whole flock of hummingbirds to perch on them, that’s what I’d do.” He pours tea into a mug and slides it toward me. “You’re ashamed of them, aren’t you? That’s an outright tragedy. Good thing you’re with us now. People who appreciate lovely things such as what you’ve got there. Believe me, I know what it’s like to?—”

The door flies open. Calder enters, accompanied by a blast of cold air and a very fat gray and white nanny goat. “I’ve secured breakfast for the wee nipper,” he says. “And all her meals for the foreseeable future, if Sweet Pea is agreeable to it.”

Robbie scowls. “No goats in the house, Cald. You know the rules.”

“Yes, yes. Just give me a chance to milk her and then I’ll return her to the blinking cold shed.”

“You could have milked her in the shed,” Robbie says.

Calder shrugs. “The shed stinks. The twins must have forgotten to clean it yesterday. Anyway, see how much little Sparrow likes her?”

The baby giggles and waves drool-covered fingers at the animal.

“You are impossible,” Robbie says, rolling his eyes.

“As are you, oh bird-legged one. The same could be said of our new, antlered friend and her fairy-eared babe.” He eyes my antlers, his face full of wonder. “Sabella. How lovely! You really ought to do us all a favor and burn everything you ever used to cover them.”

This second, fervent compliment leaves me staring at the teapot, mouth agape like a beached fish’s.

Robbie stands, grabs a pail from a hook on the wall, and shoves it into Calder’s arms. “Hurry and do the milking before the goat fouls the floor. Save the flirting for later.”

Calder scratches the goat between the ears and looks her in the eye. “Bear with me, Sweet Pea. It’s been a month of Sundays since I last drew milking duty, so I may be out of practice.”

Soon, the rhythmic sound of milk squirting into a pail echoes through the room, adding one more peculiarity to the morning. But this does not hinder me from wolfing down all the bread and tea Robbie offers.

The knock at the door startles the goat—and the rest of us. Robbie leaps to his feet and rushes across the room to admit the caller.

A girl steps in and shoves back the hood of her green cape to reveal a profusion of long, copper-red curls. Her face is heavily freckled, her eyes a deeper green than her cape. She is fourteen years old at most. In her wake, a black bear cub ambles into the room and shakes snowflakes from its coat. A few days ago, such a sight would have shocked me almost senseless. I am beginning to think I should expect such things.

“What is it now, Cleona?” Calder asks from the far side of Sweet Pea. “Out of honey again?”

“I’m Branna. The bear is Cleona,” the girl replies with a faint hint of an Irish accent. “And I didn’t come here to bandy words with you, Calder. I’ve a message from Yonaz.”

Calder stands and wipes his palms on his thighs. “What is it, then?”

Branna takes a folded piece of pale brown paper from inside her cloak and delivers it into his hand. “Read it yourself. ‘Tis not my business, is it?” Her face breaks into a warm smile as she notices Sparrow and me. “You’re the new ones? What fine antlers! And such a beautiful baby,” she says. She bends over Sparrow to admire her further and the baby wriggles and coos. “Ah, look at her precious wee pointed ears. Touched by the fairies, she is.”

“There are no true fairy folk on this continent,” Robbie says, chin lifted.

“You think you know everything, bird legs,” Branna replies, looking down her pert nose at him. “But you’re wrong.”

Calder stuffs the note into his jacket pocket. “Enough bickering. Tell Yonaz I’ll meet him at the barn this afternoon, Branna.”

“That I’ll do,” Branna says. She turns her attention to Sparrow again, fussing over the baby until the bear pokes her with its snout. “Yes, I know, sister. Time to go home and get the bread into the oven.”

Branna bids us farewell and volunteers to return Sweet Pea to the shed. The bear cub hurries after her, and Robbie secures the door before turning to me. “Give me Sparrow,” he says. “I’ll change her and get breakfast into her belly.” He lifts the baby from my lap. She smiles. “Da,” she says. “Da da.”

“That’s a clever girl,” Robbie says, bouncing her on his hip. “Smart as a dappled mare in a silk ball gown, aren’t you now?”

I know almost nothing about babies, but I do not believe an infant less than a week old should be calling anyone “Da.” Not to mention the size of her. How has she grown from a meager armful to this overnight? She must weigh nearly fifteen pounds.

Also, did Branna just imply that the bear is her sister ? My head feels about to burst. Before I can ask Calder about the girl and the bear, he slips an arm through mine and shepherds me into an adjoining room. The warm ease I felt in Robbie’s presence earlier is rolled aside by an icy tide of anxiety.

“We need to talk,” he says.

The parlor is ten feet square at most, its walls painted spruce green and stamped with red and white flowers. A small, charcoal gray sofa, a round black table, and a wall of bookshelves all but consume the space. “Care to sit?” Calder asks.

“Did the note have something to do with me?” I perch on the edge of the sofa.

“Indirectly.” Calder drops onto the sofa as if there is enough room for two—which there is not, unless the two persons are children under the age of five. The cushions sink and his shoulder collides with mine. “Cozy, isn’t it?” he says, clearly enjoying the forced closeness. He smells like the woods and the goat.

I try to inch away but the slant of the cushion won’t permit it. “A little too cozy, perhaps. Should I call for Robbie to play chaperone?”

“I swear to heaven I shall behave with decorum,” he says. “Or is it yourself you don’t trust?”

“Very amusing. Please say what you must so I can return to Sparrow. Or we could have this conversation in the kitchen.”

“You’re wound tighter than the bishop’s pocket watch, Sabella. Why do you expect the worst of me?”

“Of course I’m wound up. And why should I expect the best of you? You show up at my door, full of mysteries, and a few days later, I have a baby and I’ve run away from home. My life is turmoil.”

“Or you’ve been part of a series of miracles. It’s all in how you look at it.” He pauses and folds his hands in his lap. There’s a thoughtful look on his face as he says, “Think of it. You’re free of the household drudgery now; you’ve gained friends. Tell me, were you happy there, locked up in forced, thankless servitude? What did you do to deserve such a sentence?”

Our eyes meet. “I thought you might know, since you’re acquainted with bird-footed boys and girls with bears for sisters.”

“The answer is you did nothing wrong. You were touched with magic as a baby and blessed to grow magnificent antlers. If regular folk refuse to accept them, they are the poorer for it.”

I rest a palm on my forehead, trying to soothe the ache within. “I still don’t understand.”

“Do you have to understand everything?”

“Ugh. Do you have to be so…so perplexing?”

As if to vex me further, he smiles and bumps his shoulder against mine. “I think you like my perplexingness.” Never did I imagine a person could be so charming and so exasperating at the same time.

“That is not a word, and no, I do not.” I bite my lip and try not to smile. I do not want to be amused by his antics, but my self-control has worn thin and I have always been apt to giggle when exhausted.

“Much as I am enjoying this conversation, I must alter its course, and probably perplex you more.”

“Must you?” I slump against the back of the sofa.

“I must. Because you’re going to have to decide if you want to stay with us, return to your parents, or find another way in the world. To make that choice, you need to know a few things.”

“I’m listening.”

“To begin with, Delphine is our matriarch and Yonaz is her partner. Delphine has been away for a while, but you’ll meet Yonaz today. He’s always in charge of us when she’s gone.”

“Us?”

“We’re called the Springborn. I don’t know all the details, no one does, but I do know we were all dipped in a magical spring by an unknown benefactor and given gifts: Robbie’s bird legs, the twins’ ability to take animal form, your antlers. Each one of us was then given to childless parents in a basket. Sometimes Delphine is the one who presents the basket; sometimes it just appears to a couple. As far as I know, the chosen parents all live on this mountain or in the valley beside it.”

“These parents never want the children when their…differentness becomes evident?”

“Sadly, they rarely do. That’s why sometimes when Yonaz or Delphine hear of a spring-gifted child, one of us is assigned to watch over them. If the child is cast out or endangered, we rescue them. Make them part of our family for as long as they want to stay.”

“Someone has been watching me,” I mumble. I remember the black-clad man in the woods and a shiver passes through me.

Calder’s cheeks turn pink and he directs his gaze to the floor. “To be precise, I’ve been watching you, at Yonaz’s request.”

I stand and glare at him. My blood goes cold and then hot. Everything he’s told me has been disturbing, but this is the last straw. “You watched me in the woods? You were the man in the black clothes?”

Calder nods. “See. I knew you would be upset. That’s why I decided to tell you now, up front. It was to keep you safe, I swear. I never meant to scare you or to encroach upon your privacy.”

My feet carry me across the room and back. “You watched me,” I say again. I am stunned. Angry. Confused. I want to go home, but remember that there is no such place for me anymore. From the other room drifts laughter, Sparrow’s and Robbie’s. I eye the door, considering fleeing both this conversation and Calder.

“I swear, Sabella, I meant no harm. Nothing untoward. Would it help if I begged your forgiveness? I will. I do.” He slides off the sofa and onto his knees. He peers up at me with hands folded as if in prayer. “I beg your forgiveness, most humbly.”

I take a step backward and collide with the bookcase. “Get up. Please.”

“All right.” He gets up and runs his fingers through his hopelessly messy hair. “I am sorry, though. You have to believe me.”

“I—”

Someone pounds upon the kitchen door as if they mean to demolish it. “Hold onto your horses,” I hear Robbie say. The door squeaks on its hinges. A draft blows into the parlor.

Now Robbie says, “Yonaz. A pleasure to see you. Come in. Warm yourself by the fire.”

“No time for that.” Yonaz’s thick accent reminds me of Mr. Cazacu, the company storekeeper who hails from Moldavia. “We go now.”

“Now?” Robbie repeats.

Calder rushes into the kitchen. I follow at his heels.

“What’s wrong?” Calder asks.

“So many things, I fear,” Yonaz says. His gaze falls first on my face and then rises to assess my antlers. I take in the sight of him as well. He is an average-sized man dressed in a white shirt, red frock coat, and matching black trousers. His dark hair is slicked back. Heavy black brows arch above blue eyes smudged with kohl. Beneath his hawkish nose, a mustache forms curling commas. His earlobes sag with the weight of silver hoops, and a detailed tattoo of a bat with outstretched wings encircles his throat. On each of his fingers he wears a different silver ring, some plain, some jeweled.

No one in Miners Ridge looks half as fantastical. No one would dare.

He strides toward me, his gait as smooth as a cat’s. “Miss Sabella Jenkins,” he says with a bow. “Welcome. I am Yonaz. I regret that we have no time for further formalities. We must pack up and leave this place without delay.”

“Why?” Robbie’s face pales. Sparrow wriggles in his arms and whines, as if she senses his distress.

“The townsfolk have been alerted to our presence. It is no longer safe for us here. They will come, and if they see what we are, they will name us as works of the devil. And these simple mountain folk get rid of their devils in one way: with fire.”

I believe him.

All my life, I have been warned that if ever a witch were discovered in our town, she would be burned. Anything resembling sorcery will neither be tolerated nor forgiven anywhere on this mountain. I touch my antlers, suddenly aware of their slight but sure weight. A memory pushes to the front of my mind from the year before my antlers grew, when I was ten years old: in the middle of the main street, a bonfire with leaping flames, men tossing books, papers, jars, and bundled herbs into it—articles belonging to the town midwife. What became of her, I do not know for certain. But I never saw her again after that day.

Robbie curses, then apologizes. “Someone must have followed us.”

“But we were so careful,” Calder says, shaking his head.

“I lay no fault at your feet, my boys,” Yonaz says. He turns to me. “I am sorry, but I must ask you now: Miss Sabella, do you wish to come with us, or would you choose to return to the Jenkins house?”

“The baby,” I say. My first thought is of her. My legs feel weak as twigs. Calder takes hold of my arm as if he knows I might fall, and I make no objection. “My parents won’t allow me to…they do not want her.”

Yonaz answers gravely, “The child is yours, to keep or to give into our care. It is a weighty decision, but one that cannot be postponed. Boys, hurry and pack only what you need. Blankets, clothes, food. Essential things only. We must load the wagons and leave within the hour.”

“But…” The rest of the sentence eludes me.

Gently, the tattooed man enfolds my hands with his. His many silver rings chill my skin. “I do not wish to cause you alarm, but I would be remiss if I did not warn you. Whoever followed you here might have recognized you. To go back to town would imperil you, the child, and your parents. But be assured, no one is more prepared to protect you than we are.”

I nod, utterly dazed. Is this a dream? How could any of this be real?

Yonaz squeezes my hands before releasing them and taking a step back. “You must decide your fate, and the babe’s, trusting your heart to guide you.”

Calder’s arm wraps around my shoulders. He guides me to a chair as Yonaz sweeps out of the house like a mustachioed whirlwind. “Can’t have you fainting now,” Calder says. He presses a mug into my grasp. “Take a deep breath and drink that to the dregs.”

“I don’t think I can do this.” My hands tremble around the mug. The room sways.

But then I glance over at Sparrow. She smiles and waves both chubby fists at me, almost bouncing her way out of Robbie’s thin arms. She is beckoning me.

She wants me.

And I want her.

That is my answer. I could not be a good enough daughter once I grew antlers, but antlers cannot stop me from being a good mother to this child. Even if no one saw us with Robbie and Calder, and my parents allowed Sparrow and me to rejoin the family, our lives in Miners Ridge would be isolated, bleak, and fraught with misery. For myself, I could endure it, but Sparrow deserves better. She is new and innocent. She should be brought up among people who will cherish her. And I suspect these people, the Springborn, will do so. It seems I must at least give them a chance.

I finish the tea and set the mug on the table. “We will go with you,” I say. The words feel like a vow taken rashly.

Calder smiles as if he’s won the world’s biggest prize. I swear his face glows.

“For the love of Saint Peter,” Robbie grumbles from the fireside. “If you could stop mooning over the girl for five minutes, we have work to do, Calder. It’s an emergency we’re having here.”

“The packing, yes,” Calder says, his smile undiminished.

Robbie brings Sparrow to me. The shape of her in my arms, her weight, her milky sweetness—all of these things feel right , no matter that the future is uncertain. She yanks my hair and drools on my shoulder—and I fall in love with her all over again.

Calder dumps a wooden crate of kindling onto the floor and sets the empty box on the table. “Could you put any food you find in this, Sabella? Robbie and I will pack up what’s in the bedroom.”

“Of course.”

“You’re a dear,” Calder says. Half a second later, he blushes at the double entendre. Even his ears turn rosy. “I mean, not the animal deer, but that you’re a fine person. A good help? So, anyway, thank you.” Still pink-cheeked, he follows Robbie into another room and leaves me to my task.

This flustered, uncertain version of Calder charms me more than the cheeky new boarder, more than the goat-milking jokester, more than the boy who showed up to rescue me from the darkness of the mine. If I could afford such an extravagance, this is the kind of boy I could someday fall in love with like a girl in a story, head over heels and happily-ever-after.

But falling in love is not for me. I have been made Sparrow’s mother, and everything I am and have must belong to her—and only to her.

Robbie and Calder lug a trunk past me and drop it with a thud by the door. Both boys grin in my direction before returning to the bedroom. One would think they’d never seen a young lady before. Mother always said I could never hope to be more than passably pretty, but perhaps the crown of antlers I wear today lends me allure.

From the other room, I hear Robbie’s voice. “Sure is nice to have Sabella’s lovely face to look at instead of just your hideousness, Calder.”

A loud thump, a scuffle, and a duet of laughter ensue. They are terribly jovial considering that they’re being driven from their home.

I hold Sparrow closer and thank heaven she is a girl, for I do not understand boys at all.

Indeed, I find I do not understand much of anything.

What possessed me to agree to accompany a band of strangers to an unknown destination? How did the parents I loved, parents who once desperately longed for a baby, become people who would abandon an infant in a coal mine? And who in the universe decided I should be a mother?

Sparrow sneezes. One look into her small face and my misgivings fly away like frightened blackbirds. In my heart of hearts, I know I have made the right choice.

Box in arms, Robbie returns to the kitchen and offers me a sympathetic half-smile. “You look worried,” he says. “But everything’s going to be fine. I’m a bit of a pessimist, so I won’t promise life will be all sunny days and cherry pie, mind you. But we’ll see you and the little one through the worst of it. You can count on Robbie Hallsey, come flood, fire, or famine.”

“Thank you.” I slip Sparrow back into the sling I used to carry her into the mine. With her body held securely against me, I fill the kindling box with cheese, apples, bread, dried sausages, and a sack of raisins. So little food will not feed us long, if the journey is a lengthy one.

The door flies open, and Branna sticks her head into the kitchen. “Hurry up, you sluggards! Yonaz has the horses harnessed.”

“Can’t hurry any faster!” Calder shouts from the bedroom.

“Well, try!” Branna replies. She notices the crate of food and comes to take it. “I don’t have a good feeling about any of this,” she mutters as she heads outside.