The Springborn

SABELLA

MARCH 17, 1886

MIDDAY

M iners Ridge looks no different than it did when I fled its confines: rows of board-sided houses with bleak windows, dour women and thin, dirt-smudged children trudging home from the company store with their baskets. They stare at the novelty of three visitors riding horses into town at midday.

I adjust the shawl and bonnet that cover the stubs of my antlers. My head throbs as I remember how a few hours ago while Sparrow still slept, Calder shed silent tears as he cut the antlers short. I straighten my shoulders and dismiss the thought. I cannot allow myself to be moved by him.

“I think it would be best if we did not go straight to the house. People would see, and talk,” I say to Calder. “I mean, some of them have already seen us, but…”

“I know a path through the woods the horses won’t mind. It ends near your parents’ house.”

Naturally he knows all the paths in those woods as well as I know them. For years, I roamed them as he kept watch over me. That is not a subject I will broach now. Calder turns Mervyn sharply to the left and through an alleyway between buildings. Maeve follows without being asked.

As we ride into the trees, Sparrow hums some merry tune the twins taught her. I pick a piece of brittle straw out of her hair, evidence that we spent our second night away from the Springborn in a barn. It may be my imagination, but I think she’s grown another inch since we set out. She may be bigger, but I feel smaller somehow.

Although we have traveled for many miles, it seems all-of-a-sudden when Calder halts his horse in the little clearing where I used to catch butterflies. I bring Maeve alongside him and stop as well. My stomach sinks and perspiration dampens my forehead. Should I be happy to be almost home? For I am not.

Calder says, “This is as close as we can ride to the house without drawing the neighbors’ attention. I could walk you to the door, though. Please let me walk you to the door, Sabella.”

I shake my head. “It would be better if you did not. Mother might see and think us…that you and I…”

“Indeed. She might think that we are to each other what we might have been, if only I were not such a fool.” He pauses and fusses with the reins in his hands. “Are you certain this is what you want?”

The thought of never again seeing him or the other Springborn fills me with anguish, but I shove those feelings aside. My choice is made. “Help Sparrow down?”

He dismounts, his face as grim as a rain-soaked funeral. Sparrow falls into his outstretched arms, giggling. He hugs her tightly, desperately, until she says, “You’re squashing me, Uncle Calder.”

Calder sets her on her feet, then he reaches up for me. I open my mouth to insist that I am fully capable of dismounting without his assistance, but the tears in his eyes render me speechless. I allow him to grip my waist and swing me to the ground.

For a moment, we stand face to face. In his visage, I see both a humbled man and a chastened boy. He takes my right hand politely, as if he never carried me close through drifts of snow, as if he never whispered adoration into my ear, as if I never marveled at the sight of him with wings of green and gold unfurled. As if we are meeting for the first time—although this may be the last time our paths ever cross.

“Sabella.” He bows his head and presses his lips against my knuckles.

My heart stops. The world stops. All of my emotions converge and collapse into a vast, absolute emptiness.

I regret nothing and everything as he tethers the horses together, mounts Mervyn, and rides away. Sparrow slips her hand into mine and we make our way down the steep, pebbled hill toward the house. She is quiet, too quiet, but I cannot form a sentence to reassure her. I cannot meet her gaze and offer a supportive smile. In this moment, I must concentrate on a single task: putting one foot in front of the other until we reach our destination—for my legs can hardly hold me after the long ride.

The house has no back entrance, so we must round it and go to the front. With every step, my heart pounds harder and Sparrow’s grip tightens on my fingers.

“Sabella?” Mother calls from the doorway. The full basket dangling from her arm suggests that she has just returned from the store. Perhaps her health has improved in my absence. “Lord in heaven! Is that you, girl? Come in out of the cold. Hurry now.”

I take a deep breath and lead Sparrow inside.

Nothing here has changed. The kitchen is still small and dingy, the table strewn with an assortment of crumbs. My old, stained apron still sags from its hook. The wash basin is full of dirty dishes, bits of food, and gray water. Empty medicine bottles crowd the top of the cabinet. I eye its lower door, knowing the despised saw will be there when I seek it tomorrow morning.

“And who is this?” Mother says, fists on hips. “Traded the baby in for an older brat, did you?”

“This is Sparrow, Mother. She is the same child I left with. She has a condition that causes her to age faster than most children.”

“More fiendish magic. The devil’s work. Call it what it is, daughter. You’ll just have to keep her inside with you. We can’t have the neighbors seeing her and getting ideas.”

“Mother,” I scold, a little surprised at her cold welcome—but only a little. “Your letter said we would both be welcome. Now, where’s Father? Has he improved?” He is not dead, because if he were, Mother would have already been forced to move out of this house to make room for another miner’s family. The mine bosses show widows little mercy.

“He’s down the mine. Where would you expect him to be at noon on a Tuesday? Lounging about nibbling sweets and having his feet rubbed by the servants?”

“But your letter said he was dying.”

“That was nigh on a month ago, wasn’t it? Thought you might have turned up then, but you had to wait until it pleased you. It was naught but a chest cold after all, thank the good Lord. Now, my head is fit to burst, so I’ll lie down a while. See to the dishes, would you? And make some bread. We’ve only a heel left, and with another mouth to feed…”

“Yes, Mother,” I say, gripped by a desire to flee. To return with Calder and forever escape this den of misery. But it is too late. He is far away by now. Unreachable.

“She isn’t a happy lady,” Sparrow whispers as Mother grumbles her way up the stairs.

“Some people never are.” I grab my grubby old apron and slip it over my head like a noose. My limbs tingle with the shock of being thrust back into my old life, and at the bitter realization that I have made a terrible mistake in returning to this.

What is worse: in my haste, I have torn my child away from those who cherish her, to bring her here to be unloved and isolated.

Penniless, utterly exhausted, and without a horse, we cannot escape today. It will take time for me to plan and prepare, but I swear by all the stars in the universe that I will find a way for us to start a new life in another place. If I have to work a miracle, I will.

I conjure a smile for Sparrow. No need to worry my little bird. “Come. I will teach you to make bread.” She skips behind me to the counter and watches me measure flour into Mother’s chipped earthenware bowl.

“Mama, can we take some to Uncle Robbie? He likes bread.”

“Not today, my love,” I say as merrily as I can. I reach for the jar of starter and the salt box, the old routine taking charge of my movements. My eyes smart as tears obscure my vision. I did not expect to miss the bird-legged boy so fiercely and so soon.

“Tomorrow?” Sparrow asks.

“Well, there will be lots and lots of tomorrows, so perhaps on one of them, we will visit Robbie.”

On my tongue the words taste bitter, like lies.