The Springborn

SABELLA

FEbrUARY 15, 1886

LATE IN THE AFTERNOON

S parrow slumbers in the sling inside my cloak. With my back resting against the outside wall of Robbie and Calder’s house, I watch them heft a huge trunk onto the back of one of two canvas-covered farm wagons. A few snowflakes escape the darkening sky and drift earthward. Less than an hour of daylight remains, in my estimation. I pray our safe haven lies nearby, and that it features a huge fireplace and a vat of hot tea.

“Sabella can ride with us,” red-haired Branna says as she and Yonaz approach me. The plump brown owl perched on Branna’s shoulder opens its beak and thrusts out its pointy tongue.

Yonaz shakes his head. “Alas, dear twins, in our haste to pack, I regret that we left no place for her to sit inside where her antlers would not endanger the canvas. She must ride beside Calder as he drives. I do hope this is agreeable to you, Miss Sabella?”

The truth is I would prefer to ride inside—protected a bit from the weather and the awkwardness I will undoubtedly feel seated close to Calder. I have yet to make peace with the idea that he has been secretly watching me—never mind that rationally, and in light of what’s just happened, I understand that it was necessary for my safety. But Yonaz is right; my antlers forestall my traveling inside the covered wagon. I probably should have asked someone to bring a saw. I swallow my regret and say, “Yes. But the baby might fare better inside.”

“Uncle Robbie will look after the little Sparrow,” Robbie says. “I’ll keep her warm as toast. I promise. The goat will be with us, too, so she’ll not go hungry.”

Calder joins us as I part the front of my cloak and lift Sparrow out of the sling. She giggles when I kiss her soft forehead, then shrieks with joy as Robbie scoops her into his arms. He strides away, singing to her, and a pang of sadness pierces my chest. I miss her already.

“Good. That is settled nicely, no?” Yonaz jams a furry, round hat onto his head and climbs onto his seat. His wagon’s horses step in place, eager to begin the journey. “I shall take the lead,” he says. “You follow close, Calder.”

“I will,” Calder replies. “Give me just a moment.” He checks the straps and buckles of the horses at the front of the second wagon once more, humming to himself. I know almost nothing of horses, but these horses look larger and stronger than any I’ve seen before.

While Calder works, I lift the shawl from my shoulders and attempt to cover my antlers. The fabric catches on a point, and my tugging only makes the snagging worse. I don’t notice Calder standing near me until he says, “Here. Allow me.” He gently frees the shawl from the antler’s sharp tip. With a flick of his wrists, he balloons the fabric and lets it settle over both antlers. His warm fingertips brush my skin as he knots the shawl’s ends at the base of my throat. His eyes meet mine. The combination of his brief touch and his intense gaze make me forget how to breathe. I could kick myself for such girlish silliness.

“Done,” he says, scowling as if he’s just had to clean up after Sweet Pea the goat.

“Thank you,” I say. “I am beginning to see the benefit of removing them each morning. I half wish we had time…”

Calder shakes his head. “Time or no time, such a thing should never be done. It’s nothing short of sacrilege.” An impish smile turns up the corners of his mouth. “I suppose it would be impolite to say you look rather like you’re wearing a miniature tent atop your head.”

“To your wagon now, Calder,” Yonaz commands from his seat. “We must make haste.”

I start to walk. Calder trails behind me as I say, “Whenever I think I’m beginning to like you, you never fail to remind me that it would be unwise.”

“But I do want you to like me,” he says, suddenly serious. “Truly, I desire nothing more.” These last whispered words are so full of longing and hope that they could have been a poem.

I turn away from him and toward the front of the wagon. My heart trips in my chest, the traitorous thing. I scramble up onto the narrow seat without waiting for him to offer assistance. On the cold, hard, plank bench, I cover my legs with two heavy plaid blankets and then hunch inside my cloak. What is wrong with me? Why am I so stirred up by him, his words, his smile? Perhaps my parents’ neglect has left me too vulnerable to flattery, too hungry for attention and praise.

I must squash this feeling. I must focus solely on caring for Sparrow. There is not enough of me to be shared between the two of them—even if I wanted to parcel myself out.

“I’ve seen that face before. You’re cross with me.” Calder settles onto the bench beside me and takes up the reins. “I apologize. Sometimes I speak my heart when I should not. Robbie says my mouth’s as wild as a mountain donkey. Well, those are not his exact words, but as you are a lady…”

Yonaz clucks his tongue and the other wagon starts to roll, but Calder remains still, eyeing me as if he’s waiting for me to speak.

I adjust the blankets on my knees. Snowflakes land on my cheeks like tiny kisses and melt away. “I’m not cross. Not really. But I will speak plainly. I am barely acquainted with you, and I have Sparrow to consider. Whatever your intentions are, I must insist that we remain within the boundaries of friendship. Treat me as you treat Robbie.”

He huffs out a sigh, then shakes the reins. The horses pull us forward. “If that is truly your wish, then I will try to honor it.” There is a catch in his voice, a hint that he wants to say more but chooses to restrain himself.

Snow swirls around the wagons. The wheels creak and crunch on the frozen forest road. The lanterns affixed to the wagons cast little light, yet we move steadily through the thickening darkness. Calder keeps his eyes trained on the path ahead, and I try not to think about the dangers of traveling through the woods at night. Vicious animals, uneven terrain, patches of ice, deep holes disguised by leaf litter… And what of our destination? We seek safety, but will we find it?

I cannot deny that I am afraid. The temptation to reach for Calder’s hand vexes me. The warmth of his palm against mine would be a comforting thing in this wild unknown, as would the hand of any friend. But I imagine him misinterpreting the gesture, leaning closer as we both forget our pledge to be only friends, and his eyelids shutting as he draws closer and…

Good heavens. The cold must be affecting my mind.

In the morning, I will beg Yonaz to cut off my antlers so that I may ride inside with Robbie, the twins, and the baby. Where I can cover myself in a half-dozen blankets and not fall prey to foolishness. Mine or Calder’s.

A wolf’s howl reverberates through the woods.

“Tell me more about the Springborn,” I say, ready to welcome any distraction.

“I cannot promise what I say will be absolutely true, since there are mysteries involved. Almost everything I know, I learned from Yonaz. The tales he weaves of our kind are incredible. There once was a boy who could tame wild animals with a word. Another boy had a back like a hedgehog’s, all full of quills, and could roll up into a tidy ball. There was a girl, long before my time, who shot flames from her fingertips. Some of us have more modest gifts, of course: pointed ears, an easily concealed tail, eyes that can see through the darkest night. Some of us even have two gifts. A particular mine town lass, rumors say, grows splendid antlers atop her head—yet walks unaware of the beauty she possesses.”

I bow my head under the burden of his praise. What is his gift, I wonder, and why does he seem to keep it a secret? I cannot bring myself to ask.

“I say this as a friend, so please don’t be angry,” he says. “But I think you have been told too few times that you are special—in the best of ways. Nevertheless, I’ll return to the subject at hand.”

“Please do.” I lift my head but avoid looking directly at Calder. I believe I know what I would see there: admiration I have not earned and a longing I cannot fulfill.

Calder clears his throat and continues, his eyes now fixed on the increasingly winding road. “Yonaz thinks there have been around a dozen of us.”

“An old woman gave me to my father in a basket. Do you know of her?”

“That was Delphine. Her appearance changes with the seasons. Young and beautiful in spring and summer, old and frail in fall and wintertime. She also has a talent for making green things grow, which would be grand if I appreciated vegetables. Those are her Springborn gifts.” A chunk of snow falls from the branches overhead and lands squarely on Calder’s shoulder. He brushes it away with a few brisk strokes of his fingers.

“That does not explain how Sparrow came to be inside a basket in the attic,” I say.

Calder shrugs. “As I said, there are mysteries. Sometimes a basket isn’t delivered by anyone. It just shows up on a doorstep or in a cowshed. Anywhere someone who has wished for a baby will quickly find it.”

I frown. “I made no such wish. Of that I am certain.”

He says thoughtfully, “It could have been a quiet wish of your heart.”

And then it dawns on me. I have wished for a friend. Someone who could understand and love me. “Oh,” I say softly, wonderingly. Somehow, strange as the basket story is, I believe it. Perhaps, if I did not have antlers and a basket-delivered baby, I would think Calder was fabricating tales, but these things testify to the validity of his account.

Sparrow was no accident. She was not sent as a test or a prank, or to punish me for disobeying my father. She is a gift. A wish fulfilled. My heart feels as if it is expanding within the cage of my ribs, growing to accommodate the love I cannot help but feel for her.

Calder passes the reins into his left hand. His eyes graze over my fabric-covered antlers, with adoration so intense it would make a stone blush.

“You are a wonder, you know. Your parents…well, they were badly chosen. No doubt Delphine was trying to be kind to them and to you, but people are unpredictable at best. Darkness can spring up in them overnight. You were meant for a better home, Sabella. I hope you’ll find one with us. And I hope the same for Sparrow—although I believe you will be the best of mothers to her.”

“Calder,” I say in a warning tone, to remind him that he agreed to treat me as a friend.

“I know, I know. I meant that in the friendliest of ways.”

“Good.” An owl swoops across the road, barely visible through the heavy shadows. Still marveling at the notion of my answered wish, I say, “So Yonaz and this Delphine have been responsible for gathering the Springborn together?”

“It’s been their life’s work. If a child is unwanted or mistreated, they offer refuge. A place with us. When we’re grown, we may leave if we wish. Some have, but I’ve chosen to stay. I like being surrounded by brothers and sisters. Most of the time, anyway.”

“The love among you is plain, even when you’re arguing. I understand why you would want to stay.” A wave of drowsiness sweeps over me, and I yawn. I have a thousand more questions, but Calder has given me much to ponder, and the night is too beautiful to ignore. I look up and say no more. There are a million stars above us, clinging to the cold sky like twinkling bits of ice. Never have I seen such a thing. One does not wander the streets of a coal town after midnight.

This is a new world to me, full of wonders, unfamiliar emotions, and grave responsibilities.

I glance at Calder. Like it or not, this boy has stirred my heart. I want everything he says to be true. I want to belong to this family of Springborn. It is as if I have been whisked out of a slow-moving bad dream and into a reality where being a girl with antlers might not be such a terrible thing.

I fight to stay awake, but my head bobs. My chin drifts toward my chest. The whirring of the wagon’s wheels and the faint clop of the horses’ hooves are an irresistible lullaby that ushers me into unconsciousness.