The Springborn

SABELLA

FEbrUARY 17, 1886

SOMETIME IN THE AFTERNOON

W ind pummels the heavy canvas above me. There is hardly any room to spare inside the narrow wagon, even though almost all of the boxes and trunks were moved to the wagon Yonaz drives. Robbie and I sit hunched under piles of blankets. We take turns cuddling Sparrow. Sweet Pea the goat dozes at our feet, adding welcome warmth and disagreeable goat smells. Near us, Cleona sleeps. She shares several quilts with her sister Branna, who became a shaggy black dog before we left Hiram’s farm.

February is an inopportune time for taking such a journey. I feel sorry for Calder, Yonaz, and the horses. They must endure the full measure of winter’s unkindness to see us to the place Yonaz has chosen as the next home for the Springborn. He reckons we will arrive in two or three days, if the roads and weather offer no hindrance. And then what? We all hide together, waiting to be evicted again by superstitious, hateful mine town folk? Could we not move away from these mountains, to some sweet, uninhabited, unspoiled forest? I must save these questions to ask Yonaz later.

Robbie leans over to pass Sparrow into my arms. I stare into her face, memorizing the pert shape of her nose, the roundness of her cheeks, the deep blue of her eyes. She stares up at me as if she’s memorizing me, as well. My heart thuds hard in my chest, hardly able to support the amount of love flowing through my body. When she falls asleep, peace embraces me. Is this magic, or just an ordinary blessing of motherhood? I think I could hold her like this forever.

Hours pass. I doze and wake. The wagons slow and then cease moving. When Robbie uncinches the canvas at the back of the wagon, snowflakes swoop through the opening. Beyond him, the last purplish red streak of the sunset fades away from the sky.

Robbie jumps out. I pass Sparrow down to him before I leap to the ground.

Yonaz pulls the frost-caked scarf off his mouth as he strides toward us. He says, “We must stop here for the night. I’ve stayed here before. The innkeeper is kind—and conveniently nearsighted. If we are careful, our gifts will go unnoticed and no trouble will befall us.”

Cleona, yawning, climbs down from the wagon and snatches Sparrow from Robbie. “Did you say ‘inn,’ Yonaz? I do hope they allow dogs.” Branna leaps to the ground and stands on four legs next to her human sister, tail wagging.

“I will pay extra for Branna’s lodging, if the innkeeper requires it,” Yonaz says. “I will go in to make arrangements. Wait here.”

As Yonaz walks away, I look around for Calder, but he must be busy tending to the horses. In anticipation of meeting strangers inside the inn, I pull the hood of my cloak firmly over my head. My regrowing antlers are still short and well hidden by a cotton cap and a scarf, but surely it is better to be cautious than sorry. Robbie prepares, too, by bending to unroll his wide, gray trouser legs. They flare out to cover his bird feet. “Clever, aren’t they?” he says. “Hiram gave me some fabric and thread back when we were at his place, and I stayed up half the night to make them. It might become the new fashion for gentlemen of refinement. ‘Hallseys,’ I’ll call them, after my fine self.”

Something in Cleona’s smile makes me wonder if she is smitten with Robbie. “They’re quite nice,” she says.

The trousers look rather comical to me, but it is obvious that he is exceedingly proud of them. “I like the color. And they are certainly practical in your case,” I say.

“They’re only for out among the ordinary folk, mind,” Robbie says. “At home, my bird feet will continue to be on full and glorious display. Once we have a home again.”

“You may come in now, my children,” Yonaz calls from the inn’s porch.

“Let’s go,” Robbie says, leading the way toward a sprawling brick house topped with numerous smoke-spewing chimneys. The first floor’s windows glow with yellow lamplight, drawing me forward like a siren’s song. I imagine blazing fireplaces and steaming cups of cider. To be warm again will be a wondrous thing.

Finally, Calder catches up to us. His gait is unsteady and his teeth chatter. The blanket around his shoulders is stiffened and starred with frost.

“Darnation, Calder. You look terrible,” Robbie says.

Calder does indeed look terrible. His red-rimmed eyes leak onto his chapped cheeks.

“Are you all right?” I ask, dreading his answer.

“I’m afraid not,” Calder says. His voice is raspy, and he winces as if speaking pains him. Robbie puts an arm around his shoulders and guides him onto the porch.

“A hot bath will do you good,” Yonaz says, patting Calder’s back. “And then a bed with warmed soapstones, if they have them.”

Without warning, Calder’s knees buckle. Yonaz catches him under the arms. “Bless me, boy,” Yonaz says. “You’re frozen through.”

The innkeeper opens the arched door, greets us profusely, and invites us to call him Edgar. With his wide, bearded face, friendly smile, and big, bespectacled eyes, he seems made for his role. When he notices Calder’s ill state, he steps aside to allow Yonaz to usher him inside, and then calls out for hot water, tea, and blankets. “Get the boy upstairs and into bed, and be quick about it,” Edgar says. “We run a cheerful establishment here. I’m not keen on guests dying under my roof if it can be helped.”

Yonaz drapes Calder over his shoulder like a big sack of grain. He trudges upstairs, leaving Robbie to pace the floor of the large common room like a skittish hen. The claws of his feet click against the hardwood floor.

“He will be fine, Robbie,” I say. I can only hope that I am speaking the truth.

Robbie nods but looks unconvinced. He wanders away from me and sets to nibbling his fingernails.

Near the wide, brick fireplace, Cleona and her bushy, black, canine sister entertain Sparrow. The baby claps when the dog stands on its hind legs and walks. Would that I felt so merry.

But my thoughts meander along a darker path. I have heard of men dying from the effects of the cold, strong men used to hard labor. One was as young as Calder, a robust miner who lost his way in the woods while hunting. What if…

The mere six days we have shared were not enough. They cannot be all we’re allowed. Even if we’re not fated to someday fall in love, as Robbie believes, I want his friendship. And the world needs his brightness.

Darlis, the innkeeper’s tidy blonde wife, bustles about, dispensing encouragement and tea. After shepherding us to the dining table, she serves us loaves fresh from the oven and thick potato soup flecked with bacon. She refills our mugs with hot, spiced cider, and directs their servant boy to place rectangles of heated soapstone at our feet. In spite of their eager ministrations, time drags miserably.

I meet Robbie’s fretful gaze. His food sits untouched on the plate. He grips his spoon as if he has forgotten what one does with such an object.

From the top of the stairs comes the innkeeper’s frantic shout. “Send for the doctor, Darlis!”

Robbie drops his spoon with a clatter. He flees the room and bolts upstairs. Although I am no longer cold from travel, I shiver.

Less than half a minute later, Robbie’s unearthly bellow echoes into the dining room. I am on my feet and up the oak staircase before I draw another breath. I round the hallway corner and stumble into a blue and white striped bedroom furnished with a pair of identical four-poster beds.

Beside one bed, Robbie crouches with his head bent over Calder’s hand. His bird legs won’t let him kneel, yet he looks as if he’s pledging fealty or begging for a king’s mercy—only he’s weeping, not speaking.

Calder sits propped against a pile of pillows, his face barely visible above numerous layers of blankets. When he sees me, he lifts his free hand and waves. My terror melts away like snow assaulted by summer sun. I cannot decide whether to succumb to relieved laughter or tears of joy—but since Robbie appears to be doing a fine job with the crying, I offer Calder a smile.

I wish I could embrace him, kiss his pale cheeks, and tell him how pleased I am to see him alive, but I hold my body still, as would befit a well-mannered young lady.

Someone coughs and wheezes behind me. I turn to find the other bed occupied by Yonaz. His usually olive complexion is now whiter than the bed linen. Innkeeper Edgar stands beside the bed. He shakes his head and says, “This is not good at all, miss. Will you stay with him while I fetch a cool compress? His fever’s hot as Hades. Could boil a pot on him, I reckon.”

“Of course I’ll stay,” I reply. From my place between the two beds, I can keep an eye on both patients. Although it would be much more pleasant to keep both eyes on Calder—for he looks unwell, but Yonaz looks a few breaths shy of the grave. I have never witnessed a death—and I do not care to do so today.

“Oh, Cald. We thought you were…that you might…” Robbie says, still crouching beside Calder. He scrubs his shirtsleeve over his eyes before he stands up straight. “It was a dirty trick, that. I’d like to thrash you for it.”

Robbie’s words bring a faint smile to Calder’s face. “I’d like to see you try, bird legs.”

“Later,” Robbie says. He sets Calder’s hand on the bedclothes and straightens his body. “You won’t guess it’s coming, that’s the thing. You’ll be on the ground, seeing stars, without a notion as to how you got there.”

The brotherly love between these young men is as fine a thing as I’ve ever seen. It is fierce and tender, pure yet natural.

A fit of coughing grips Yonaz, drawing Robbie’s attention to the other bed. “Holy saints. What’s happened to him?”

“A fever,” I say. “It must have come on suddenly.”

“He collapsed directly after he set me down,” Calder says. “That’s when the innkeeper called out for the doctor.”

“This is bad,” Robbie says, gripping his head between his hands. “We need Yonaz. He looks out for us. And we’ll never find our new place without him. Oh, saints above! What if the fever is catching? Darnation, why did we ever leave home?”

“You know we left because we had to, Rob.” Calder slouches against his pillows as if the brief conversation has sapped him of all vigor. “I’m sure he’ll be fine. Probably needs a good nap, as I do.”

Calder closes his eyes and is snoring within a minute. Edgar reappears in the doorway. “Doctor’s coming. Best clear out.”

Robbie and I pass the doctor on the stairs, a sour-faced bulldog of a fellow toting a huge leather bag. Not the sort of man I can imagine delivering good news.

At the bottom of the stairs, Robbie pauses and half turns. “Perhaps I should go back up and keep an eye on things. Doctors can’t be trusted. They’re only after the money, you know.”

“That surely isn’t true of all doctors.” I will not mention Mother’s quack physicians and add to his worries. I slip my arm through his and steer him toward the sound of Sparrow’s laughter. “Come. There’s a little bird who must be missing you sorely by now.”

“Well…I’ll go with you for a bit, for Sparrow’s sake. But if I get the smallest inkling that so-called doctor is causing either one of them to suffer?—”

“We will both give that doctor a trouncing,” I say.

“Exactly.”

Robbie’s intense devotion warms my heart—and bolsters my opinions of both Yonaz and Calder. If they have earned such loyalty, they must be special indeed.

They are a family, these Springborn. Bound together by threads of loyalty and love, even when they’re squabbling. The kind of family Sparrow deserves to have. My decision to stay with them feels more right than ever.