The Springborn

SABELLA

MARCH 10, 1886

AFTERNOON

H ours pass, and the snow falls like the harsh judgment of an angry god. I hunch under my shawls and cloak, regretting my choice to ride outside the wagon. Calder tries again to entertain me with a tale, but like the weather, my mood has been darkening since he snapped at me. He reverts to silence.

The snow becomes a stinging curtain of white. It covers the ground until the location of the road is something to guess at. The horses stumble and the wagon’s wheels slip from time to time as we move into deeper and deeper layers of accumulation. But we cannot stop. There is nowhere to shelter, nowhere to warm ourselves and the poor horses.

I glance at Calder. Snow clings to his eyelashes, his hat, and his coat, and forms a fluffy blanket atop the woolen one covering our laps and legs. His scarf has slipped down to reveal that he is gnawing his lower lip with worry.

If optimistic Calder is worried, the situation must be grave indeed. Anxiety smothers the anger I’d been nursing.

“Perhaps we’ll come upon a farm soon,” I say, almost shouting to be heard over a gust of wind. “Or a town.”

“That would be a fine thing,” Calder says brightly, as if I’ve just suggested that the sun might burst forth and instantly render the road snowless at any moment.

Oh, for such a miracle!

The potatoes in my pockets have gone cold. I slide closer to Calder to offer, in a purely practical manner, what little warmth I can—or to leach away at his. He puts his arm around me and holds me tight against his side. This I allow, in spite of his earlier snappishness. Staying alive trumps holding onto a grudge.

Behind us, inside the wagon, Robbie and Branna sing “London Bridge” to baby Sparrow. Canine Cleona howls along. I covet the warmth of a dog’s furry body on my lap, and I miss my Sparrow’s sunny smile, but I am thankful that our passengers are not suffering the pelting snow and biting wind.

The sound of Yonaz’s cough drifts back to our ears from the other wagon. Calder and I exchange concerned glances. The man’s hacking worsens with every mile. If we do not find somewhere to wait out the storm soon, he may end up confined to bed for weeks again…or worse.

Yonaz’s wagon lurches to a halt, stuck in a drift. He exclaims in dismay, a sharp word in a foreign tongue. From what I can see through the blizzard, the snow reaches halfway up his wagon’s wheels, ending a few inches short of the underside of the wagon bed.

Calder tugs the reins with one hand and the brake with the other. The wagon slides a little, and I grab hold of the seat until it stops. Then Calder states the obvious. “Looks like we’re stuck.”

“What will we do?”

“There is nothing we can do at the moment. The way it’s coming down, trying to dig a path would be like bailing water out of a sinking ship with a thimble. We’ll just have to try to keep warm inside the wagon until the storm passes. Heaven help the horses. If only one of us had a gift that enabled us to shrink them so they’d fit inside the wagons.”

“Poor things. We should give them a few blankets, at least.”

“Yes. Good idea. You can join the others. I’ll do what I can for the horses and send Yonaz to you. If someone could milk the goat, a bit of a warm drink might soothe his cough.”

Calder adjusts his scarf to cover his mouth and nose, then jumps from the seat and plunges knee-deep into the snow. “Wait,” he says. “I’ll carry you. No need for you to get soaked to the bone in this weather.”

I move to the end of the seat. He opens his arms and I drop into his embrace. He cradles me close as he trudges through the snow. Through all my layers and his, I think I feel the steady thumping of his heart against my body—but this must be my imagination. Our faces are inches apart, although his is half covered by a green woolen scarf. His nearness and the tender way he holds me wreak havoc upon my determination to doubt and disdain him.

“Don’t worry,” he says, his voice muffled by the scarf. He shakes his head until the fabric falls away from his mouth. “Everything will be fine. The storm cannot last forever. We have food, and we have each other. What more could a person want?”

“A roaring fire? A hot bath?”

“Overrated,” he says. “As are dry clothes, feather mattresses, and warm spiced apple cider.”

His pace is slow, hindered by the depth of the snow and the lashing wind. His breathing becomes labored. Still, he refuses to set me down. By the time he stops at the rear of the wagon, the sting of his previous offense fades to a distant ache.

The canvas is cinched closed, the wooden gate shut tight. “I suppose you should knock, as my hands are full,” he says.

I reach out to rap on the wood, but stop short. “Promise me you’ll hurry back. If you fall ill again?—”

“I swear I’ll be back so fast you’ll hardly notice I’m gone. Now, knock before frostbite takes my toes.”

I lift my fist toward the wagon again, but before I can touch the boards, Calder dips his head and kisses my forehead. The kiss is like the peck of a cold-beaked bird. It is nothing more than I would accept from any good friend, I tell myself, ignoring the fact that it makes my insides melt like an icicle in the sun.

“A token by which to remember me while we are apart,” he says softly. “And to thank you for forgiving my rudeness.”

I blink up at him. He looks almost pleased with the situation. “Am I to take that as an apology?”

That familiar grin of his appears. “No time for formalities. Go on, knock. Have you not noticed that it’s snowing out here?”

Now I have had enough of his teasing. I wriggle. “Set me on the lip of the wagon. I’ll be fine there until someone opens the canvas.”

He grips me tighter. “Don’t be ridiculous. I won’t leave you to balance on a tiny ledge of slippery wood. Go ahead and knock.”

This time, I manage to pound on the wagon gate and call out, “Robbie?”

The canvas stirs. A small, circular opening appears in its gathered center. Robbie mutters as he works to widen it. After a few minutes of muttering and struggling, Robbie pokes his head through. He squints as if he’s not seen daylight in a week. “Why have we stopped? Is something amiss? Oh, my good granny! Look at all the snow!”

“We’re stuck. Sabella needs to shelter with you while I take care of the horses and check on Yonaz.”

“Our humble home is yours,” Robbie says. “I do hope you’ll find the scent of our flatulent goat agreeable.” His head disappears back inside while he works to open the canvas wider.

In the distance, Yonaz coughs and calls Calder’s name. I look at Calder. “Set me down and go.”

“Darnation,” Robbie mutters. “Ties are all knotted up.”

“Take your time,” Calder says. “Are you all right, Sabella? Are we all right? The way I spoke to you before?—”

I reach to swipe a fat snowflake off his cheek. “Forgiven.” I feel both relieved and as if I could be making another mistake, but he looks nothing but happy.

Our eyes meet. The longing in his gaze steals my breath. Does he see the same yearning on my face? For in my chest, such a longing arises to know him and to be known, a swelling wave of emotion that threatens to tug me out to an unfamiliar sea.

Unaccountably, his brow furrows. “Sabella, there’s something we should talk?—”

“Got it!” Robbie exclaims. “Are you coming in or not, Sabella? We don’t need both snow and goat stench in here. Calder’s flirtations can wait for a less bitter day, to be sure.”

“Jealous, Rob?” Calder says.

“More like frozen,” Robbie replies.

Calder boosts me as high as he can. Robbie grabs hold of my arms and hauls me through the hole in the canvas with a loud groan. We fall into a heap on the wooden wagon bed, narrowly missing Sweet Pea the goat.

I scramble onto my knees and crawl to peer out the opening, to watch Calder wade off through the deep snow toward Yonaz. “Back soon,” he says without turning around.

“Come.” Robbie tugs my cloak. “It’s warmer in the middle there, with the smelly goat.”

“Mama!” Sparrow exclaims, throwing herself into my arms.

I kiss her head and embrace her tightly until she squeals and begs for freedom.

The love between my child and me is vast. Too deep to measure. That should be enough for anyone. So why does my heart long so painfully for Calder’s return?