The Springborn

SABELLA

JUNE 1, 1886

AFTERNOON

U pstairs in my parents’ gloomy bedroom, I scrub vomit from the floorboards with a stiff brush. Mother moans in her bed as if death is imminent. As her suffering is self-inflicted, I feel little pity for her. The window curtains sway as wind whistles through the two-inch opening she deemed acceptable on this balmy, first afternoon of June.

The scent of fresh bread wafts up from the kitchen to almost overwhelm the sick smell, thanks to Sparrow. She does all of the household baking these days, delighting in it far more than I ever could. Aside from baking and the clandestine walks we share, mine town life offers her few pleasures—yet she rarely complains. Sparrow is a joyful creature, one who has surpassed me in height and could be mistaken for a young woman of twenty.

As Sparrow daily matures in her rapid, unnatural way, Mother and Father increasingly ignore her existence. She lives as a quiet phantom, unaddressed. Or like a maidservant of such low caste that her existence is not worthy of acknowledgment. When we first arrived, she tried hard to win their approval with cheerful obedience and hard work. Now, unjustly chastened by their meanness, she seeks to please only me and to lighten my burden of unending housework.

A knock downstairs catches me by surprise. I stop scrubbing and lift my head to listen.

Sparrow knows not to open the door for anyone other than Father. To my knowledge, the neighbors have not caught a glimpse of her without her Mother-impersonating disguise since we arrived. Which is good, for not even heaven could help us explain the magic that has transformed Sparrow from a little girl to a shapely woman in less than three months’ time.

The creak of the kitchen door turns my insides to jelly. I drop the scrub brush and hurry to the top of the stairs. “Sparrow, no!” I shout too late.

“Sparrow,” a man says.

“Uncle Calder?” she replies.

My heart stops and then restarts. It takes off racing. Dizzy, I grab the banister to keep from falling. Somehow I navigate the stairs and end up standing a few feet behind Sparrow. Her head rests on Calder’s shoulder. His eyes are shut tightly as he embraces her with both arms. His nut-brown hair is charmingly wind-tousled.

My eyes ache at the sight of him; the air in my lungs feels impossibly heavy. It turns out that I am not immune to him, as I’d expected to be by this time. Seeing him is like seeing a woodland elf or a silver unicorn—some mythical creature I believed in as a child but later doubted the existence of.

I retain enough presence of mind to circumnavigate their reunion and close the door before the neighbors can garner any fodder for gossip. I stand still, my insides churning, my back pressed to the door. “Why are you here, Calder?” I ask.

He steps out of Sparrow’s arms and turns to meet my gaze. His eyes are red rimmed, as if he has not slept in days, yet—oh saints and angels help me—he is more handsome than I remember. I want to throw myself into his arms, but I fight the inclination. Where is my former anger now that I need it?

He pales as he confesses, “It’s Branna. She’s been taken.”

“What? Why?” I ask.

“I think it was Delphine.”

“That makes no sense. Why would she steal a Springborn child? I thought she was our protector.”

“As did we all. But if she was, I don’t think she is anymore.”

“Shouldn’t you be searching for Branna instead of coming all the way here to tell us?”

“Robbie and Cleona set out yesterday to try to find her. Yonaz is quite ill again. He stayed home with some boys who joined us recently. I came to you because I’m afraid you’re not safe here. Whoever took Branna could take you as well.”

“We’re fine, as you can see. Thank you for coming to warn us. We are always mindful of strangers, and we’ll continue to be.”

He takes one step closer. “Come with me, please. I will not go back without you.”

“You cannot stay here, Calder.”

“Do you want me to beg, Sabella? I’ll get on my knees and grovel if necessary.”

“Please do not,” I say emphatically. There is an odd look on his face, something akin to guilt. Half of me does not wish to know why, but I say, “What have you left out of this story?”

He almost smiles but his eyes remain dim with sadness. “You know me too well,” he says. “I confess I had a dream. I can’t remember much of it, but it was bad. Very bad. It left me with the impression that we all must band together in order to survive. You and Sparrow included.”

“How do I know you’re telling the truth and not simply trying to trick us into going with you?”

“Oh, Sabella. If only I knew how to win back your trust, I?—”

“We should go with him,” Sparrow interjects. “We had plans to leave anyway, and now I’m frightened to stay. We could live with Uncle Calder until Branna is found, then go to Lancaster. Why not, Mama? It makes sense.”

I speak without pausing to think. Shock and worry have made me reckless indeed. “We will go on one condition. You must promise that after Branna is found, you will help me look for a cure for Sparrow’s aging.”

“Of course,” Calder says. I think he would agree to anything to get us to go with him. There’s a desperate look in his eyes.

“You will keep us safe, Uncle Calder?”

Calder places a hand on her arm and says, “No one will harm you as long as I’m breathing.”

I try to dredge up the strong bitterness I felt toward him for hiding the letter, but seeing him again, his penitent gaze, his kindness toward Sparrow… I find it hard to remain angry with him. Perhaps he’d been right to withhold the letter. If he’d kept it forever, I would not have brought Sparrow back here.

“What is your answer, Sabella? Will you come with me?” He waits beside Sparrow, allowing me the time to consider. But truly, what is there to think about? We are desperate to leave this house, and clearly Sparrow is unhappy here. Have I not sworn to protect and nourish her always? Even if it is uncomfortable for me to be near Calder, for Sparrow’s sake, we must go with him.

An acrid smell seeps into my nostrils. “The bread,” I say, and Sparrow rushes to the oven, leaving me alone near the door with Calder Hadrian.

With his head slightly bowed, he looks at me through the fringe of his dark lashes. His voice comes in a whisper. “I’ve missed you.”

“Sparrow and I have missed you all, as well,” I reply—as if I do not understand the true meaning of his words.

Hands wrapped in tea towels, Sparrow tosses the metal bread pans onto the top of the cookstove. A puff of dark smoke billows toward the ceiling. The tops of the loaves are slick and black. “Darnation,” she says, using Robbie’s favored expletive.

“Leave it,” I say. “Pack a basket with some food for the trip, and I’ll fetch our clothes. Stay here, Calder.” The last thing I need is for him to follow me into the bedroom. Father’s shift will end soon, and were he to find Calder in my room, someone might need to scrub blood from the floorboards afterward. Mine, Calder’s, or Father’s—or perhaps a combination of them all.

Calder reaches out and touches my arm. His eyes brighten. “Does this mean you’ll come with me?”

“Yes,” I say, and I bound toward my little room.

Five minutes later, I rejoin Sparrow and Calder near the door. Sparrow drapes a shawl around me and covers my cotton cap with my dark green, coal scuttle-shaped bonnet. She ties it tightly under my chin as if she’s the mother and I’m the child.

“Ready?” Calder asks.

“Wait,” I say.

With a shudder of revulsion, I grab the despicable handsaw from the cabinet and stuff it into my bag. Who knows how long we will be traveling? Come morning, the thing will be necessary.

A vivid memory of Calder removing my antlers plays in my mind. I almost feel his gentle hand on my neck and hear the echo of his tender words. Blushing from head to toe, I tie the bag shut.

In the distance, the whistle blares to announce the end of the miners’ shift. Soon, the street will be full of men—some weary, others ready to cause mischief after hours of confinement under the earth. It is no time for young ladies or strangers to linger on the streets.

“We should hurry,” I say.

Calder opens the door wide.