SABELLA
MARCH 11, 1886
W ith five people, a goat, and a shaggy dog huddled inside the wagon, the air remains tolerably warm throughout the night. Or tolerably cold, depending on one’s point of view. We are packed like sardines in a tin, but we are safe, thank heaven.
Dawn must be nigh, but I cannot tell for certain since not much light ever pierces the canvas roof. A gust of wind shakes the wagon. The oil lamp suspended from the curved stave above us sways. I am glad Branna convinced Robbie to leave it burning low overnight. The twin’s fear of the dark enabled me to indulge my longing to stare for hours at the baby who sleeps next to me.
I lie on my side, legs drawn up, with Robbie’s spare clothes bunched under my head for a pillow. Without them, my antlers would make lying down impossible. I cannot say I am comfortable, but I am content—as I have been since Calder returned in the night. On the other side of Robbie, he mumbles nonsense in his sleep. After all his trudging through the snow yesterday, it is a wonder that utter exhaustion has not rendered him still and dreamless.
I remember how he looked at me when we paused outside the wagon in the snow—how I could have drowned in his eyes. I miss him, although he is only a foot or two away from me.
As if to offer consolation, Sparrow snuggles her blonde head closer.
Since we left the inn, she has grown taller and started to speak in sentences, the little madam. She has a complete set of tiny teeth and the appetite of a fully-grown coal miner.
My heart aches at the sight of her delicate beauty—and at the thought of how short her life may be.
Robbie rolls toward me. I meet his dark-eyed gaze.
“You’re not sleeping, either?” he whispers.
“Yonaz’s snoring could wake all the mummies in Egypt,” I reply. “My antlers have returned and my neck aches from using clothes as a pillow. And Sweet Pea needs a bath. Two baths. All I smell is goat.”
Sparrow jams her thumb into her mouth and slurps.
Robbie scratches his cheek before tugging his quilt to his chin. “May I ask you something?”
“Of course you may.”
“What does it feel like to be in love?”
“I think you’re asking the wrong person, Robbie.” My face warms, and I’m thankful the shadows will likely conceal my blush.
“Are you joking? I’ve seen the way you look at Calder. You love him. Did you not admit that to yourself yet?”
I fuss with Sparrow’s blanket, folding the edge over her shoulder. “I admit he fascinates me. And infuriates me. And baffles me, but…”
Am I actually in love with him?
Robbie whispers, “I’m asking because…and don’t laugh at me…I think I’m in love with Cleona. You’re laughing at me.”
“No, I’m smiling. There is a difference.” I cannot help but smile. Robbie’s confession is too sweet not to smile at.
I close my eyes and draw in a deep breath. I let the notion that I love Calder settle over me like a new garment. It is not quite comfortable, yet it is mine. “Well, all right,” I say. “I suppose it’s…it really is a difficult thing to describe. I’ve not even considered it until now.”
“Would you try?” Robbie asks.
For a minute or two, I reflect upon my feelings, and then I look into Robbie’s almost-black eyes and say, “It is like you just discovered how to breathe. Your whole life, you thought you were breathing, but you’d hardly taken in any air at all. And then, suddenly, your lungs fill up completely, and your body expands to make room. The air…it becomes part of every inch of you, blood and bone, heart and soul. Now all you want to do is breathe, deeper and deeper.”
“Yes,” Robbie says. “That’s it exactly. That’s how I feel with Cleona.”
“She’s very young.”
“I know she looks younger, but she’ll be sixteen next week. And I’ll be seventeen the week after, by Yonaz’s reckoning. And I didn’t say we were planning to elope. That would be ridiculous. I only said I thought I loved her. Besides, aren’t you only seventeen yourself?”
“I am.” Robbie seems much younger and much older than sixteen, depending on the situation. Sometimes, he spouts wisdom befitting a grandfather. Currently, the way he’s grinning, he looks like an eight-year-old who’s been given a bucket full of ice cream. “Have you told Cleona?” I ask.
“Not yet. I only just realized it today. But if I’m honest, I think I’ve loved her for years. Since the day she joined us.”
“That’s very sweet, Robbie. Although…are you sure it’s Cleona and not Branna? I couldn’t tell them apart to save my life. And last I knew, Cleona was the dog.”
“I’m sure. For your information, Cleona has a freckle under her left eye,” he says. “And she’s prettier. They did switch forms while everyone else was napping earlier, though.”
“Oh, of course. Well, I hope you’ll be very happy together. Any girl would be lucky to have your devotion.”
Robbie rolls onto his back with a contented sigh and stares up at the arched canvas ceiling.
I remember the conversation I had with Cleona back in our room at the inn. She wanted a suitor, and a suitor she shall have. How fortunate she is to be adored by our dear Robbie. I have reason to believe that she already adores him in return. What a marvelous thing it will be if their fond feelings lead them to a happy ending. The very thought warms me through in spite of the frost-tinged draft.