Spindle(13)

Briar jumped as Fanny touched her arm.

“Curiosity killed the cat,” Fanny whispered.

Briar was about to protest that no, she wasn’t listening in, but of course she was. Instead, realizing there was another way she could get information, Briar said, “Have you met the Prince family?” She stepped forward, grabbing Fanny by the arm so she had to follow. The woman stiffened at first, trying to avoid the introduction, but soon was face-to-face with the Princes.

“Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Prince,” Briar said, studying their reactions to the newcomer. “Have you met Fanny? She’s looking after the children until Nanny returns home.”

With her usual warm smile, Mrs. Prince held out a gloved hand. “Welcome to Sunrise Valley. If you need anything, be sure to ask. On the weekends Henry is usually about the place—Oh!” She covered her mouth, and shook her head. “How could I forget? He’s leaving tonight.”

Henry busied himself with adjusting his small pack to avoid responding to his mother’s outburst.

Well, Henry’s mam didn’t give any indication of knowing Fanny. Briar turned her attention to Mr. Prince, who stood stoically by until his wife’s facade began to crack, and then he put an arm around her.

“Do you know where Nanny went?” Briar asked. “Do you think she’s gone to find homes for the children?”

All three Princes exchanged a look before Mrs. Prince answered. “Oh, no, don’t think that. Not without telling you first.”

Briar wasn’t assured at all by Mrs. Prince’s answer. Something was going on.

Mr. Prince nodded hello to Fanny. “We live in the farmhouse down the valley. You can get there by the lane, or, in the day, through the forest. Send the boys if there’s an emergency; they know the way.”

Fanny smiled. “We will be fine. After all, the trees grow without our help.” At that, her eyes grew wide and she reached for Briar’s arm. “Excuse us,” she said.

Still trying to decipher the conversation, Briar was slow at noticing the twins. They were clear across the churchyard, having shimmied up the old oak, and perched themselves on a limb overhanging a group of older ladies. They were slowly releasing a string with a fishing hook at the end, getting closer and closer to Mrs. Clover’s Sunday hat. It was a lovely hat, her pride and joy. Some said it made her too proud. It was covered in carnations and ribbons, but the centerpiece was a tiny bluebird sitting on a nest of eggs.

The boys had always been fascinated with Mrs. Clover’s Sunday hat, and it looked like today was the day they were going to find out once and for all if the bird was a real trained pet (Benny’s view) or a toy (Jack’s view).

“Oh, no. I’m sorry, Fanny. They’re generally good-hearted boys, although interested in everything.” Briar ran over to intervene. Too interested. She waved her hands, trying to get their attention without arousing anyone else’s suspicions. Mrs. Clover had suffered at the hands of the boys’ curiosity before, and Briar couldn’t take another incident.

“She’s coming!” called the blacksmith’s boy who stood at the base of the tree as lookout. He took off running across the churchyard.

Instead of stopping what they were doing, the boys glanced up, judged the distance Briar had yet to go, and doubled their efforts to hook the bird. When the hook kept missing, they lowered it further to get the whole hat. They swung the hook once, twice, and hit their target.

“Mrs. Clover,” Briar said as the boys pulled on the string. She reached up and caught the hat, deftly unhooking it. “Oh, look at that wind.” Behind Mrs. Clover’s back, Briar yanked the string out of the boys’ hands, carefully balling it up and tucking the hook into her pocket before holding the prized hat in front of her. “I’ve always admired your Sunday hat. Where did you get it from?”

Mrs. Clover looked a little befuddled, especially with her hair out of sorts from the pull of the hat. “That’s what I get for leaving home without stopping for my hatpin. Thank you, Briar. It is my favorite hat. It was given to me by my Matthew on our honeymoon.”

Briar helped Mrs. Clover adjust her hair and her hat before turning around and looking for the boys. They had already scrambled out of the tree and were running for home. She was about to go after them when Fanny stepped in. “No, no. You go ahead with Henry. I’ll just think of what Prudence would say, and say it twice. She’s always been much better at reining in children.”

Looking at Henry waiting with his cotton sack, then at the running feet of the twins, Briar felt pulled in two directions. She huffed. The boys would be here next weekend, and up to trouble again. She needn’t worry about a missed opportunity to lecture them. Henry, on the other hand, was leaving. If she were to stop him, now was the time.





Chapter Seven



During the walk back to town, the sun began to drop below the mountaintop, casting a warm glow on everything. Briar only noticed because of Henry. With that wistful and contented look of his, he drank in the valley as if memorizing each dip and crest on the land. Whenever he had that Henry look, Briar couldn’t help but try to see what he saw. Was the color green he savored a deeper green than what she saw? Perhaps his ears picked up on sounds more acutely than her ears. Or his skin was more sensitive to changes in the air than hers. She recognized how the breeze was warm with the scent of cedars, but could he taste them as well?