Bones of Faerie - Janni Lee Simner [60]
I wrapped Tallow up and set her down in Kate's battered old armchair. “It's not a feather bed,” I whispered, my own eyes stinging, “but it'll have to do.” Later I would bury her.
In a thin voice Allie said, “I think I'd better rest. I think I pushed too hard.”
Kate tried to lead Allie to the stairs, but the girl shook her head. “Too far.” She curled up on the couch instead, looking over at me wearily. “Liza, was that …” She yawned, tried again. “Was that your father?”
I nodded. Allie scrunched up her face. “I don't understand,” she said. “So many things I don't…” But then she yawned again, and shut her eyes, and fell asleep. She seemed suddenly young, curled up there.
Kate brushed a lock of tangled red hair from her face. “That girl's a wonder,” she said.
Allie drew her arms around herself, called for Tallow, and began sobbing in her sleep. I swallowed hard, returned to Kate's mirror, and tried to call Caleb again.
The mirror filled with visions: of Caleb, of Mom, of myself on the road with Matthew and Allie. But those were all in the past. I couldn't find the present. Maybe Caleb also needed to be near glass or metal or water. Or maybe the failure was entirely my own. There was no way to know. In the end I returned to Mom's side and took her hand once more. I could see that her breathing had slowed, and I knew that cooling her fever hadn't been enough.
Kate, Matthew, and I stayed with Mom through the night, barely speaking. After a time, Matthew put his hand in mine. I held on as tightly as when he'd pulled me from the river, the night I'd left Franklin Falls. The townspeople came to visit us, alone and in pairs. At first they came to ask about Father's leaving, but once they knew Mom was there, they came to visit her as well. The adults murmured quiet, awkward words. The children were mostly silent, keeping their magic hidden still, just as Mom had taught them.
Jayce the blacksmith surprised me by laying a hand on my shoulder and saying in his husky voice, “We should have sent Ian packing years ago. Thank you, Liza, for finding the courage we lacked.”
No one seemed to regret Father's going. I tried, but I didn't regret it, either. Yet still I felt strange and empty inside. Like Father had left some cold, numb space behind, and I wasn't sure what to fill it with, or whether it could be filled.
When Allie woke the next morning she scrounged dried meat from Kate's kitchen and insisted we eat. I tried, but my stomach clenched after only a few bites, and I set the food aside.
Allie reached for Mom. I grabbed her hands in my own, stopping her, not wanting to stop her. Allie swallowed, nodded, and let her hands fall to her lap. Mom's chest continued to rise and fall. Nothing mattered but the next breath, and the next. “You shouldn't have gone,” I whispered, knowing Mom couldn't hear.
Kate said, “Grief is a complicated thing. She did what she thought needed to be done.”
“Alone,” I said. “Because she didn't trust me.” Even now, the words stung.
Kate stroked my hair. “She was scared, Liza. She wanted nothing more to do with magic, only I asked for her help. At first I only guessed she'd been to Faerie—a desperate guess, because I so badly needed someone who understood magic. Tara insisted she didn't really understand, but she knew more than she thought. She taught us about control and having watchers. She made sure the children never forgot they were human. But she was always terrified your father would find out. She thought she was protecting you by making sure you didn't know.”
I drew my arms around myself. In the end, she hadn't protected me from anything.
The door creaked open behind us. Kate stood and I waited, expecting more townsfolk.
“Daddy,” Allie squeaked. I turned then. Allie threw herself across the room so hard and fast she nearly knocked Samuel over. He held her as she burst into gulping sobs. There were circles under his eyes, and his hair stood on end, and he looked at Allie as if he