Spindle(7)

“Nanny didn’t even tell you she was leaving?” Briar asked.

“That lady said Miss Prudence—that’s what she calls Nanny—was in an awful hurry and didn’t have time to take a breath. That lady said we were going to have some fun while Nanny was gone and the boys started jumping up and down on the beds, and that’s when she kicked them outside to catch our supper.”

“That lady’s name is Miss Fanny. And until Nanny comes back, we’ll have to do our best to make our new guardian feel at home.”

Pansy sighed. “You mean watch the twins.”

“Yes, watch the twins.”

A whoop to the right of the hedgerow sounded, and Briar set out into the forest to wrangle the boys. She found them kneeling on the ground, ten feet from the path that led to the backside of the Prince property, their strawberry blond heads together over a little bunny caught in a trap. How in the world?

“Benny! Jack! What are you doing to that innocent critter?”

They beamed up at her, cute little cherub faces that got them out of more scrapes than Briar cared to admit. Their matching grins and freckled noses were proud. All the Jennys had freckled faces, but the boys had them from top to bottom.

“Supper, Briar. We was hopin’ for a spring turkey,” Jack said, “but we caught him instead. He’ll do, won’t he?”

“One day that bunny might be supper, but it’s too little right now. You’ve got to let it grow up. Now, let it go.”

“Aw, can’t we keep it, Bri?” Jack gave her his best pleading face. He was covered in dirt up to his elbows and had a fresh bruise on his right knee. Nanny would have had a fit if he came into her house so dirty.

“We’ll take care of it,” Benny piped in. “We’ll give it food and water and Nanny’ll never even know we got us a cottontail.”

“‘Specially since she ain’t here.”

“Isn’t here,” Briar corrected. She thought for a moment. Caring for a contraband pet might be the right kind of distraction to stop the boys from causing more trouble. “If you can find a way to keep it from escaping back into the forest, and keep it hidden from Fanny, then yes.”

“Who’s Fanny?” Jack asked.

Good question. “Let’s go find out.”

The walk back to the cottage took a considerable amount of time because the boys kept taking turns holding the bunny. They chose the back of the overgrown garden as the ideal location to hide it. Nanny did have a hard time growing things. The patch of dried and bent cornstalks was tall enough to hide a makeshift pen. The boys raided the junk heap for boards and chicken wire, then rigged up a temporary pen for the night.

When Briar and the children finally came around the house, Fanny was outside, sprinkling flower petals in front of the door and on the windowsills.

With a tiny squeal of joy, Pansy skipped over. “May I help?” she asked in her most polite voice.

“Of course, dearie. Here, you do that window. Make sure you get the corners.” Pansy took a handful of petals from Fanny’s little pouch while the boys ran inside, not interested at all in the strange decorating.

“What are you doing?” Briar asked.

Fanny looked up, surprise on her face. “Primroses. I looked for them in your garden, but I shouldn’t be shocked not to find any. Prudence never was a gardener. Your family is Irish, yes? Didn’t your mammy teach you about primroses in spring?”

“No,” said Pansy, wide-eyed. She drank in any information that might relate to Mam. “What about primroses in spring?”

Fanny checked with Briar.

Briar shook her head. Mam had never spoken of such things.

“Primroses on the thresholds keep the bad fairies away.”





Chapter Four



Pansy’s face paled. Briar put her hands on her hips. “Please don’t go putting thoughts into the wee one’s head. She comes up with enough on her own. You’ll have her up all night scared to fall asleep.”

“Oh, she’ll sleep fine, won’t you, lass? Now that we’ve spread our primroses.”

Briar stepped over the petals, into the cottage, and found the boys about to dip their fingers into the stew.

“Stop! Go wash your hands.”

They grinned at each other before scampering out to the water pump while Briar set the table.

Fanny came in and ladled the stew into bowls. Then she placed thick pieces of bread smothered in butter at each spot. The twins raced back through the door, and their eyes grew wide. They’d never eaten this well under Nanny’s watch. Nanny wasn’t motherly or domestic, simply practical. She burned everything she tried to cook and left the majority of chores to Pansy, then Briar on weekends, so they would be “well-trained” for managing a future household.

Of all the potential mother figures in her life, Nanny was too much of a distant and stoic caretaker to be considered motherly. Miss Olive, keeper at the boardinghouse, was more like an aunt. But there was something friendly and warm about Miss Fanny. Briar could understand why the children had taken to her so quickly.

She caught Fanny’s eye as the boys dipped their bread. “Thank you,” Briar said, and she hoped Fanny felt the depth beneath her thanks.

“Where did all this good food come from?” asked Pansy, diving into a second bowl.