SABELLA
JUNE 2, 1886
AFTERNOON
S parrow and I follow Calder to the rear of the red brick train station where horses, a farm wagon, and a pair of closed black carriages stand waiting. There, other passengers are already reuniting with their families or friends.
A man in a black top hat sits atop the driver’s seat of one of the most well-appointed carriages. He is draped in a heavy cloak and a thick scarf, garments far too warm for the season. His eyes, the only exposed part of his face, are encircled with kohl.
“It’s Yonaz,” Sparrow says. She releases my hand and runs to him like the little girl she remains in her heart, skirts flying in her wake. She scampers up the side of the carriage and nearly pushes him off the seat with the force of her greeting.
“That will do him more good than all the medicine he’s choked down in the last couple months,” Calder says as we approach at a more dignified pace. “I must warn you. When Yonaz removes his cloaks and scarves, you’ll find there isn’t much left of him but skin and bones. He’s tried everything. Doctors and wise women, potions and poultices. Still he coughs from dusk to dawn and withers away before our eyes.”
“Do you poison Sabella’s fair ears with foul words, Calder Hadrian?” Yonaz calls from his seat. Sparrow is sitting beside him now, holding his hand and beaming.
“Nothing I could ever say is worthy of her ears, as well you know,” Calder replies.
Yonaz’s answer is supplanted by a hacking cough. When he finally catches his breath, he says, “Get in, or we will not make it home before supper.”
“I want to ride beside Yonaz,” Sparrow says. “May I, Mama?”
“If he has no objections,” I say, trusting his judgment in the matter.
His reply is hoarse but resolute. “Few things would bring me more joy.”
Calder opens the carriage door and waits for me to climb inside. A wave of heat spills out as I peer in. Asleep on one bench like a pile of puppies are three young boys, all under the age of five by my reckoning. Two are identical, cherub-faced, and brown-skinned. The other child has golden freckles and hair the color of buttercups. He rolls over but does not wake as I settle onto the opposite bench.
Calder slides in beside me—which cannot be helped, as the boys occupy all the space on the other seat. I inch away from him as subtly as I can until my shoulder collides with the wall. It is too warm in here for closeness, and besides, I do not wish to test the boundaries of our new friendship.
“Their names are Fabian, Tiberius, and Rhys,” Calder whispers as he sheds his blue jacket to reveal a waistcoat of burgundy silk. “And I’ll be horsewhipped if I’ve seen them this quiet once since Yonaz brought them home.”
Each little boy is beautiful. Each one, I know, hides some gift their parents deemed unacceptable.
Calder leans back and crosses his ankles. “The farm is about ten miles from here. Some of the road is rough, but Yonaz is a capable driver.”
“Unless we encounter three feet of snow,” I say.
“Keep talking of snow, I beg you. You could roast a goose in here.” He starts to roll up his blindingly white shirt sleeves. The sight of his bare forearms, unfortunately and ridiculously, causes a hot blush to spread over my face and throat. When he’s finished fiddling with his sleeves, he looks directly into my flushed countenance and says, “For the love of all that’s holy, take that coal bucket off your head or you’ll end up fainting.” He leans across me and yanks the window shade halfway down. “There. Now no one could see the top of your head if they tried.”
My fingers struggle to untangle the knotted ribbon under my chin.
“May I be of assistance?” he asks.
“No,” I say too loudly. One of the twins sighs in his sleep and throws an arm over his brother’s belly. “I mean, thank you, but I can manage it myself,” I whisper.
He frowns. “If we’re going to be friends, you’re going to have to stop behaving like I have the plague. Friends sometimes touch each other, you know, for purely platonic and helpful reasons.”
I drop my hands into my lap and lift my chin in surrender. “Fine. But I fear this knot will only be undone by scissors.”
“Knots are a specialty of mine,” he says. He leans in closer. Eyes narrowed with concentration, he picks and prods the ribbon. His fingers brush my neck and I realize he was right that I might faint from the heat. I cannot draw in a full breath with him so close. I shut my eyes and pray for the ribbon to cooperate quickly. But is that what I truly want? The scent of his soap and the brush of his breath on my chin tempt me to lean toward him. It would be easy now to place my hand behind his neck and to…
The knot unfurls. The bonnet loosens. He lifts it off and sets it on the seat between us, a barricade built from a hideous hat.
“Thank you,” I say. I fan myself with my fingers. Can one perish of sunstroke when not in the sun?
“At your service,” he replies with a grin.
Without the hat, I am not a single degree cooler than I was with it.
Three Stars Farm is surrounded by a ten-foot-high stone wall. Yonaz drives past a pair of stone barns and onto a curved lane leading to the biggest, grandest house I have ever seen. Built of the same gray stone as the wall and barns, the front of the house boasts no less than twenty leaded glass windows. The roof is scalloped with slate shingles and crowned with numerous chimneys.
The boys, as if sensing that the tedious trip has ended, yawn and stretch themselves into wakefulness.
“Who’re you?” the blond one asks, squinting at me like he cannot tell if I’m a dose of castor oil or a spoonful of maple syrup.
“This is Sabella,” Calder says. “And mind your manners, Fabian. She is our friend and guest—and a proper lady.”
“Darnation,” one of the curly-haired twins says. “Another girl.”
“Rhys,” Calder says sharply. “Should I tell Yonaz you boys require another course of etiquette lessons?”
“Hades, no,” the other twin, Tiberius, says. The shifting light reveals two short, gray horns among his curls. I glance at his brother, Rhys, and find the same goatish protuberances.
Calder laughs. “They’re wee heathens, the lot of them.” He reaches for the door handle and shoves the door open. Glorious fresh air rushes in—which makes me more anxious than ever to escape the confines of the carriage. I grab my bonnet and shove it over my short antlers before stepping out onto the pebbled driveway.
“No need for the hideous hat here,” Calder says, eyeing my bonnet with a scowl. “Everyone here is Springborn, with the exception of the servants, and they’ve taken an oath of secrecy.”
“I never have liked this hat,” I say as I tear it from my head. I let it dangle from its thick ribbons as I take in the scene. Everything here contrasts with the grays and blacks of the coal town I called home. I almost need to shield my eyes from the brightness of it. The trees are wealthy with late spring leaves of a hundred different greens. Blooming white rose bushes and squares of dandelion-spotted green lawn surround the house. In front of me, in the center of a blue-tiled water fountain, a six-foot-high marble seahorse spurts crystalline water from its open mouth.
In response to my stunned silence, Calder says, “Whoever abandoned Fabian in the mountains left a great deal of money with him, along with a note begging the fairies to take him back. As if fairies take cash bribes.”
Sparrow comes alongside me. The ride in the fresh air has somehow added to her prettiness. She slips her hand into mine. “Am I dreaming? This house is like a palace from a storybook.”
“Oh, it’s real,” Calder says. “You’ll realize how real when Yonaz presents you with your list of household chores. I, for one, am glad you’re here. With Robbie and the girls gone, it’s been a nightmare keeping up with the dusting.”
Sparrow’s eyes widen. Dusting is the chore she most detests. I squeeze her hand reassuringly. “Perhaps you’ve forgotten that Uncle Calder is a terrible tease,” I say. “I’m quite certain he hasn’t done a minute’s worth of dusting in his life. Also, he mentioned servants.”
He winks at me. “You hang on my every word, obviously.”
“You wish,” I counter. There, we are arguing like he and Robbie do. Perhaps friendship will be possible after all.
Yonaz walks away from the carriage stiffly, as if every part of his body aches. He is clearly far from well. He instructs the boys to fetch the stable hand. “Come inside, my dears,” he says to Sparrow and me. “See your rooms and take time to refresh yourselves before dinner.”
“Rooms?” Sparrow says with delight as we follow Yonaz. “We have rooms ?”
Calder sneaks between Sparrow and me and puts an arm around each of us. “Rooms bigger than the entirety of your old house, crammed full of dresses and slippers and porcelain bathtubs. Beds with pillows so deep your head gets lost in them. And lots of girlish fripperies I couldn’t name if I wanted to. Cleona and Branna chose everything for you when we moved in. They insisted you’d return someday, and wanted you to feel welcome when you did.” His voice cracks with emotion, a heart-piercing reminder that we have not been brought here for enjoyment but for protection.
Calder politely allows us to pass through the wide front door before him. It bothers me to see him unsmiling. I want to tell him everything will be fine, to have faith that our little family will soon be restored. I want to say I would help him search the world round for Branna, but the words stick in the back of my throat, unuttered.