SABELLA
MARCH 18, 1886
MORNING
S parrow sleeps in my childhood bedroom, and I pray that she does not come seeking me now. My antlers overshadow me as I sit on the familiar, much-hated stool in the corner of the kitchen. Waiting. Dreading.
Last evening, when Father returned from the mine and found me at the cookstove stirring the soup, he offered no welcome. Not even half a smile. After he shrugged out of his jacket, he said gruffly, “Button’s loose on this,” and sat down for supper.
Now, the clomp of Father’s boots echoes on the steps. He trudges across the room, takes the saw out of the cupboard, and stands before me. It should be impossible, but I think he has aged more than Sparrow has since the day we parted. The lines in his face have deepened into furrows. His eyelids droop. His breaths are raspy and rapid as he grabs my neck hard to steady me. He sets the blade at the base of my right antler and I bite down on my lower lip.
He thrusts the blade back and forth, muttering blasphemies as he works. Tears leak from my closed eyes. Dust fills my nostrils. The metallic taste of blood seeps from my lip onto my tongue. I try to imagine lovely things, but in the absence of Calder’s soothing words, my mind floods with darkness.
“Quit your whimpering,” Father says as the first antler collides with the floorboards. His grip on my neck tightens. “Why did you come home if this doesn’t suit you? Let me venture a guess. You used your wiles to seduce some hobbledehoy, and he tossed you out when he found out you’re cursed.”
I grip the edges of the stool hard enough to numb my fingers. “Please, just finish it.”
“Don’t sass me, girl, or you’ll be on the street with that abomination of yours. Alone and scrabbling for a crust of bread. What man would marry you now, with a fatherless brat in tow, even if he could get over the sight of the blasted antlers?” He hacks into the second antler and manages to free it in a few swift strokes.
He’s wheezing like he ran a mile as he drops the saw to the floor. He jabs one finger toward the fallen antlers. “Get those out of my house and see to breakfast.”
He stomps up the stairs. I pluck the antlers from the floor and clutch them to my chest.
These silvery branches…Calder called them magnificent. Robbie declared them marvelous, my crown of glory. I had almost come to accept them as something good. Now I am forced to cast them away like something loathsome, to bury them quickly like evidence of a vile transgression.
I cannot stay in this place. I cannot raise Sparrow in this house of degradation and shame. In my distress over Calder’s deception, I’d forgotten the reasons why I left.
I remember now.