The Springborn

SABELLA

MARCH 8, 1886

AFTERNOON

W e have bided another week at the inn, waiting for Yonaz to recover.

In my free hour after washing the dishes from the midday meal, I go to my bedroom. Sparrow toddles across the floor and collapses into my arms, squealing with delight.

She was a scrawny newborn when I drew her from the basket. According to Darlis, she is now the size of an average one-year-old. Fortunately, the innkeeper’s wife would believe our dashing Calder if he told her the stars were bits of paper pasted to the sky—so she readily accepted his explanation of Sparrow’s rapid development as “a family peculiarity.” If we stay here much longer and Sparrow continues to grow like a well-watered weed, Darlis may lose faith in his claims.

“I am tired of this place,” Cleona says, collapsing onto her mattress and staring at the plastered ceiling. Her red curls spread around her head like a spilled sunset. On the rug in front of the fireplace, Branna the dog whimpers. “See? Sister agrees. We are both utterly and completely tired of being able only to take the form of the same dog, day in and day out.”

I lift Sparrow onto my hip and carry her to look out a fraction of the window not glazed with starry frost. “It is for your protection, trying as it may be. The doctor did say that Yonaz will be fit to travel within a week. Then you can change into whatever you choose.”

Cleona sits up and gathers the quilt around her like a cloak. “It isn’t like that, though. We don’t get to choose our shape, not often. We can ask, but the magic does what it wants. Anyway, I’m going to ask to be something with extra thick fur next time. A polar bear, perhaps.”

“That would surely scare off any thieves or scoundrels. You don’t see many polar bears in Pennsylvania.”

“Well, I don’t care. I think it’s a grand idea.”

Sparrow presses one tiny palm against the window glass, melting a hand shape into the frost. She shivers and subsequently wipes the moisture onto my sleeve. If only she could turn into a polar bear for the journey, then I would not have to fret about keeping her safe and warm.

A knock rattles the door. Calder enters clutching something brown and furry. “Ladies,” he says with a slight bow.

My insides perform a series of somersaults. Sparrow wriggles and reaches for him, so I pass her to him, exchanging her for the furred object. Thank heavens the thing does not appear to be alive.

“Bought it from a pair of peddlers who stopped by,” Calder says. “The man was persuasive enough, but his little boy could sell snowshoes to a mermaid. He overcharged me for the thing, but it should prove practical.”

The garment unfurls in my hands. It is a Sparrow-sized fur cape, complete with a little hood. I sigh in admiration.

“That is the most adorable thing my eyes have ever seen,” Cleona says. “I’m jealous, so I am.”

“You? Jealous of a bit of old pelt when you get to inhabit all kinds of fur coats?” Calder says.

Cleona scowls at him. “A cape is clothing. ‘Tis not the same at all, Calder. You have no idea what it’s like to be a girl.”

“Thank the stars for that,” Calder says. He laughs and tosses Sparrow gently into the air. She giggles profusely. After a few more tosses, he snuggles her close to his chest and says, “I bought something for you as well, Sabella.”

“So romantic,” Cleona teases, hand on heart. “Well, what is it? Let us have a look.” Canine Branna lifts her head from her paws and sniffs the air as if searching for a clue.

“No. I’m going to save it for later. For when all the good little girls are asleep,” says Calder.

“Do you imply that I’m not good?” I ask. My mother would say that indeed I am not, allowing myself to swan over a boy who convinced me to run away from home—unwed, and with a baby in tow.

“And are you calling me a little girl?” Cleona asks, temper flaring. Her hair always looks redder to me when she’s riled up.

“Um…I’m going to go finish my chores now, before I get into real trouble.” Calder kisses the baby and sets her on her feet. She waddles back toward the window. “Meet me in the sitting room after supper, Sabella?”

“Yes,” I say.

“Is it jewelry?” Cleona asks, now sounding more curious than indignant.

“Not telling,” Calder says. He ducks out the door.

“I reckon it is jewelry,” Cleona says. “Goodness, I wish I had a suitor.”

“You’re fourteen,” I say. “You don’t need a suitor. It would be wiser for me not to have one, in fact.”

She scowls and perches on the edge of her bed. “Who told you I was fourteen? Calder? He’s forever treating Branna and me like we’re babies. I’m fifteen, and I’ll be sixteen in little more than a week.”

“Calder is not to be blamed. I simply guessed. I’m sorry.”

Cleona is quiet for a minute before asking, “Do you think I will ever have a suitor, Sabella? Since I’m an animal half the time and all? Would anyone want someone who does that and cannot stop herself?”

The mattress sinks as I settle beside her. “I’m sure you’ll find someone when the time is right. Someone with a big enough heart to love everything about you.” This I believe. Not long ago I thought it impossible that anyone could care for me in spite of my antlers. And then, miraculously, Calder appeared. Why should Cleona not have a miracle of her own someday?

“I do hope so. I hope he’s as nice as Calder. Only I’d prefer black hair over brown. And bigger ears. Calder has strange little ears.”

I stifle a laugh. “I will not tell him you said so. Besides, I rather like his ears.”

Sparrow toddles to me and grips my skirt with both hands. “Up,” she commands.

“Yes, your majesty,” I reply.

We play pat-a-cake until the clang of the dinner bell echoes through the inn. Branna barks, Cleona declares herself utterly famished, and Sparrow claps joyfully.

I adjust my cap as I speculate upon what gift Calder will offer me later. Hair ribbons, fine soap, a woolen shawl, a tarnished silver spoon once treasured by another owner? I know already I will cherish whatever he offers me. The mere notion that he thought to choose a gift for me is a gift in itself.

“Come on,” Cleona says. She lifts Sparrow onto her hip and heads out the door. “If you stand there daydreaming much longer , the boys’ll gobble all the rolls.”

I follow her, eager to finish a meal I have not yet begun.