Spindle(41)

Mr. Prince avoided eye contact, clicking his tongue at the horses and leading them out of the yard. Mrs. Prince waved as if she were the queen in a parade, a big smile showing her pleasure.

Briar sighed. For the children. She could swallow her pride for them.

“Is that the Prince family?” asked Fanny from the doorway. “Didn’t stop to say hello?”

“They saw me on the road and gave me a ride in,” Briar said. “Are those their animals?”

“I thought you were early. Those are Henry’s. He sent a note asking the boys to look after them ‘til he’s home.”

Fanny’s face held a look of concern. Maybe she thought one bunny was enough for the children to look after.

“You got a letter from Henry?” Briar said. “The Princes went to town, hoping they’d have one there.”

“The children did. Came this week, but it only had directions for them regarding the animals. No news. I suspect he wrote it same time as yours, but it just got here this week.”

Without a brother or sister of his own, he’d sort of adopted Briar’s younger siblings. Coming from Henry it didn’t feel like they were receiving too much charity.

She wished she’d gotten another letter so she knew what he was doing, but at least she was getting the small gifts left on her spinning machine that reminded her of him. They were almost as good as a letter. She absently pulled out the Solomon’s Seal.

“What’s that?” asked Fanny, a big grin on her face. “A love token?”

Briar looked up. “Oh, no. It’s just something I picked up at work today.”

“Well, come in, come in. Put your feet up a spell.” Fanny waved her inside, her smile disappearing, replaced by a furrowed brow.

Uh oh. What did the boys do this week?

Briar stepped over the fresh primrose petals that were littered outside the front of the door. Since spring, Fanny had somehow managed to find primroses while she waited for hers to take in the garden and routinely scattered the petals about the windowsills and doorway.

“The children are fine being out in the fresh air. I’ll fix you some tea and you can tell me all about your week.”

Not all about my week. How to explain a fairy-wood spindle fixing my frame so perfectly?

“Here you are, dearie,” Fanny said, setting a teacup on the table and sitting opposite.

“You’re still putting down the petals,” Briar said. “I thought you told Pansy it was only in the spring that you spread the petals to keep the bad fairies away.”

“Yes, well, now Pansy insists we keep up the practice.” Fanny absently picked at her fingernail.

“Fanny has a trick,” Pansy yelled as she ran by the open door. “She makes rose petals.”

“Pfff. I don’t make rose petals.” Fanny waved her hand.

Briar bit back some of her irritation. Fanny obviously wasn’t used to being around children and didn’t think about how they had a hard time deciphering imagination from reality.

“Pansy insists because you scared her half to death, Fanny. What were you thinking telling a child there were bad fairies? She believes everything you tell her.” As she spoke, Briar’s volume and intensity tapered off and her gaze dropped to her teacup. The weight of the whorl in her pocket had reminded her there were things in this world she didn’t know how to explain, either.

Fanny shrugged. “It hurts no one to have the petals strewn about. The scent is lovely. Besides, you can’t protect the children from every bump in the road, as much as you’d like to. They know there’s evil in the world, but what they need to know is it can be overcome.”

They were both quiet, staring at the teacups.

“What do you know of fairy wood?” Briar asked quietly, testing Fanny’s response.

Fanny examined Briar over her teacup. “A better question is, what do you know about fairy wood?”

Briar slowly swirled her spoon in her tea. “I know it exists, but I’ve never heard of it growing in our forest and wondered what it was.”

“The mere act of growing is not what makes fairy wood.” Fanny slowly traced a crack in the table as if measuring her words. “It takes a fairy.” She quickly rose, her chair legs scraping the floor, and took her empty cup to the sink.

Briar’s skin tingled with anticipation. With fear? “You talk about fairies like my mother used to. She would tuck us into bed with a fairy story, but Pansy was too young to remember them now.”

“What stories did your mother tell you?”

“About fairies in Ireland. All her stories were about the Old Country.”

“Paw, Irish fairies,” Fanny said, scrunching her nose. “Flighty lot they are. Can’t count on them for a straight answer even if you’ve got their feet tied and threaten them with a good dunking in the lake.”

“Excuse me?”

Fanny waved her hand again. “They don’t like water. So I’ve heard. What else did your mother know about fairies?”

“Oh, I don’t know. She kept a fairy garden in the wood close to a little brook. She said it was a tradition for all the girls in our family. We planted flowers and set up paths with pebbles, that sort of thing.”

“A grand idea. Pansy would so enjoy one. I’ve been trying to think of something special for her. Those boys take up so much of my energy I’m afraid there’s not much left over for the girl. Sweet thing, she is. So willing to be a help.”