Serafina and the Splintered Heart

by Robert Beatty

  “You remember our old enemies…” Serafina began.

  “The ones who captured the animals in the cages up in the pine forest a few months ago,” he said, and she nodded her head.

  “They came back, Pa. They attacked me, and I was wounded somethin’ awful.”

  As her pa listened, she could tell by the expression in his eyes that it was difficult for him to hear.

  “They caught me in a dark place and I couldn’t escape,” she said.

  As she continued her story, telling him what she could and leaving out what she could not, he listened intently. She had been around him all her life, so she knew it wasn’t the kind of story he wanted to hear, but he listened anyway for he knew he must. He knew that what he was hearing was what had happened to her, and she could see in his eyes and his expression that he wanted to understand. He’d been waiting and imagining and praying for her safe return for so long that now he wanted to know everything he could. He wanted to have that bond between them, the bond of knowing.

  “So it was the young master who finally helped you to escape,” he said.

  She nodded. “Yes, it was.”

  “He was a gone miserable lad while you were away,” her pa said, recounting a bit of how it was from his side of it all. “The master and I, the two of us as doleful as cold poke, used to talk about it, trying to figure out what we could do for the lad, but I think our talks did more for the pair of us menfolk than they did the poor boy. But in the end, I reckon he figured a way through it all on his own.”

  “I reckon he did,” she said in agreement, but refrained from saying more. Her fondness for Braeden had become immeasurable, but it wasn’t something she could easily talk about with her pa.

  “And you thanked him kindly for what he did…” he said, always wanting to make sure she was doing right by other folk.

  She nodded, assuring him that she had thanked Braeden, and that she would again.

  “And what about your mother?” her pa asked. He didn’t know her personally, but he knew that her mother was important to her. “Have you been able to see her since you returned?”

  Serafina’s heart clouded in sadness. “No,” she said. “She went away and I have no way to reach her.”

  “Well, I hope she’s all right,” her pa said, but it was clear that he didn’t know what else to say.

  Serafina’s thoughts lingered. She didn’t quite know how to ask the question that had been swirling around in her mind since she’d crawled from the grave, but she thought that if anyone could help her, maybe her pa could.

  “Pa, does it feel to you like so much has changed since I’ve been gone? Everything feels so different…but in other ways…” Her words dwindled off. She could see right away that she wasn’t going to be able to express it the way she wanted to.

  But he looked at her and said, “I think I understand what you’re gettin’ at. The way I see it, everything is always changing and everything is always staying the same.”

  His words shouldn’t have made sense to her, but somehow they almost did.

  “You see, everything around us is always changing,” he continued, “the machines and the inventions, the people coming and going through our lives, even our own bodies over time—yours is growing up and mine is getting old. The trees in the forest are changing and the courses of the rivers. Even our own minds are changing, growing and learning, finding new paths to follow, shifting and shaping over time.”

  “But if everything is always changing, what can we hold on to?” she asked.

  “That’s where the rest of it comes in, Sera,” her pa said. “Everything is always changing, but everything is always staying the same, too. The trees are growing and dying, but the forest remains. No matter how the river changes course from year to year, it always keeps flowing. Your body and your mind are changing, but deep down, your soul, your inner spirit, stays the same. I’m the same deep down inside that I was when I was twelve years old, and the spirit you feel inside you tonight will be with you fifty years from now. Yes, you’ll be different, the whole world will be different, but the spirit inside you—the thing that makes you you—will still be there.”

  “But if we’re always growing and changing, I don’t understand how that can be,” she said.

  “Look at Mr. Vanderbilt,” her pa said. “When he was your age, he was a kind but quiet little boy who loved to read books, study art, and travel to faraway places. Now he’s a great man of wealth and power…”

  “…but he’s a kind and quiet man, who loves to read books, study art, and travel to faraway places,” she said, finishing his thoughts.

  “That’s right,” her pa said, smiling. “The twelve-year-old little boy will be the fifty-year-old man. It’s been him the whole time, all the way through. His body has changed, and everything around him has changed, but his spirit has always been with him.”

  Serafina nodded, feeling like she was beginning to understand.

  “You asked me what we can hold on to,” her pa said. “I’ll tell you this: you hold on to the people around you, Sera, to your friends and family, to the people you love, and you hold on to that spirit deep down inside that never leaves you, that spirit that’s always flowing, like a river inside you.”

  Finally, her pa paused. He looked at the floor for a moment, as if thinking about his own words a bit longer, and then looked at her. “Does any of my blither-blather feel like it makes any kind of sense to ya?”

  Serafina smiled and nodded. It did indeed. She was pretty sure that her pa couldn’t reckon the soul-splitting, haint-walking horror of what she’d been through, but somehow he seemed to have sensed just the right words to say to her.

  “There’s one more thing, Pa,” she said, “that I need your help with tonight.”

  “Another question?” he asked gently.

  “No,” she said sheepishly. “I need you to help me make something.”

  “Make something?” he said in surprise, for in all her life with him in the workshop, she had never expressed any interest to fix something or make something. She was absolutely the least mechanically inclined person who had ever prowled the night.

  “You’ve seen how Braeden wears a brace on his bad leg,” she said.

  “Yes,” he said, a twinge of sadness in his voice.

  “One of the metal pieces at the joint broke,” she said. “I would like to see if we can come up with some way not just to fix it, but to improve it, maybe something that’s less like a bone and more like a tendon.”

  Her pa looked at her and smiled a broad and happy smile. That was definitely something he could do.

  Over the next few hours they worked together shoulder to shoulder in the workshop, long into the night, making little test pieces, and discussing and exploring different ideas, until they constructed a design they liked. She had never worked at her pa’s side before, not like this. She had never had a need for man-made constructions. So it was an entirely new experience for her, and it brought her great joy, the act of actually creating something with her pa at her side.

  Later that night, when they finally went to sleep, she curled up between her sheets, her head on the pillow, and it felt just about as fine as anything she had ever felt. She knew there were dark and terrible dangers out there in the forest. She knew there was still a fight ahead of her, but tonight, she was home with her pa, and for a little while, that’s all she wanted. Everything is always changing and everything is always staying the same.

  The next morning, Serafina went upstairs straightaway to find Braeden.

  All the guests that had come for the ball had fled in their carriages to escape the heavy rains flooding the roads, so the house and grounds felt empty. She passed Mr. McNamee, the estate superintendent, gathering a large group of workers in the stable courtyard to repair the damage caused by the nightly storms.

  Out back behind the stables, she spotted Braeden in the distance, walking alone into a pasture toward four black horses. The horses had been hi
s companions for years, but in the months she had been gone, Braeden had fallen into such despair that he had drifted away from his friends. As he approached them for the first time in a long time, the horses stood in the field and stared at him as if he was a stranger.

  Braeden folded his leg brace at the knee, and sat in the middle of the field. The horses studied him from a distance for a long time. Finally, they began walking slowly toward him.

  The four black horses surrounded Braeden, lowered their heads to his, and gently nuzzled him, as horses in the field who have not seen each other in far too long will do.

  Then the lead horse extended his front leg, bowed his head low with a bending neck, and knelt down onto one knee so that Braeden could climb onto his bare back. When the horse rose up again, Braeden was astride him, on four strong legs.

  Serafina watched Braeden ride out into the rolling, grassy fields with his horses, up to the top of a great hill where there was a large white oak tree with a huge crown and thick splaying limbs. As the horses grazed at the top of the hill, Braeden stayed among them, once again a trusted member of their herd.

  Serafina was about to climb the hill to catch up with them, but then she paused. The golden morning light shone down through the mist rising from the tall grass, and for a moment she felt the coolness of the mist, and the heat of the sun, and the touch of the breeze on her skin. She knew she had returned to the living, but at this moment it felt as if the separation between her and the world around her had slipped away. We are made of the world, and the world is made of us, she thought.

  Wondering what she could do, she slowly raised her hand in front of her, shaping her fingers until the mist around her began to move. The mist flowed outward, swirling and turning in a long tendril, propelled by her will. She guided the tendril of mist up the hill, toward Braeden and the horses, then up through the branches of the tree until the tendril of mist met the sun and disappeared. Serafina smiled, sensing that there was much for her to learn.

  But she knew she didn’t have time to linger. She had won one battle by escaping the cloak, but she knew the real war was yet to come. She continued on up the hill to join Braeden and the horses, but then something happened.

  Black crows began flying in, strong and hard, from all directions. Soon, hundreds of crows were flying about the tree at the top of the hill, landing and taking off again, wheeling about the sky, croaking and cawing, as if they were engaged in some sort of raucous, noisy conclave.

  When she saw Braeden standing below, looking up at the crows, she thought he was just watching them like she was, but then she realized that he was actually calling them in, trying to speak with them, his voice filled with urgency. As the crows flew in great circles around the top of the tree, he talked to them, sometimes struggling with the phrasing of his words, other times correcting himself, like someone who is gradually finding his way.

  Finally, one of the crows flew down and perched on a branch near Braeden, tilted its black shining head, and made clicking-gurgling noises. It appeared that Braeden actually understood what the crow was saying to him, and when Braeden spoke back to the crow in English, the bird seemed to somehow understand him. Many of the other crows came closer and joined in their conversation until there were crows in the lower branches all around him.

  As Serafina moved quickly up the hill, she was worried about scaring the crows off, but the birds seemed to have no shortage of boisterous, brazen confidence in themselves, flying all around, buzzing and cawing, flapping their great black wings, as they conversed with the boy.

  Braeden seemed unfamiliar with the crows’ language at first, as if he didn’t understand everything they were saying, but he seemed to become more used to the cadence of it. Serafina had never given much thought to the cawing of crows, but as she watched them now, she began to hear just how many different kinds of sounds they made—long, castigating rattles, impatient clacks, triumphant caws, rowdy jeers and playful chortles, warnings and signals, praise and encouragement, and urgent calls to flight. She realized that the crows had an entire language of their own. And with powers she did not understand, Braeden was learning it.

  Finally, he said a few last words to the crows, and they all launched up into the air at once. One flock of the crows flapped forcefully away on strong and steady wings, flying west toward the mountains in the distance. The other crows flew in small flocks in different directions, some toward the house, others the gardens, and still others into the nearby forests.

  “Where have you sent them all?” she asked, making her presence known for the first time.

  Braeden turned in surprise and smiled at the sight of her. “Serafina…” he said, his voice filled with gentle contentment. She was just happy that he could actually see her.

  “Did you sleep well?” she asked.

  “Better than I have in a long time,” he said, nodding vigorously.

  “Me too,” she said, smiling. “It’s good to be home. I was going to come up here and tell you that we have work to do, but I think you’ve already begun.”

  “I’m afraid I’m out of practice, so it took me a while to figure out how to speak to them.”

  She looked toward the flock flying west, their black silhouettes receding into the blue sky beneath a striking, sunlit formation of tumbling white clouds.

  “And where is that particular flock going?”

  “I asked them to head to the Smoky Mountains.”

  The sound of that name brought a pang of sadness to her heart.

  Looking at Braeden and then the crows again, Serafina wondered what it was all about. “Why so far?” she asked. “What will they find there?”

  “They’re going to find your mother,” he said. “To let her know that you’ve returned so that she’ll come back, and you’ll be able to see her again.”

  Serafina looked at Braeden and felt a deep warmth filling her chest. “That’s so kind of you,” she said, “to think of that, I mean, to ask them to do that. Thank you. I hope they find her, and the cubs, too. I’d love to see them all again.”

  “You’re very welcome,” Braeden said, pleased that she was happy with what he’d done. “Now that you’re back, your mother and the cubs belong here with us, in our forests.”

  Serafina couldn’t agree more, and she liked the way he said our forests.

  As they were talking, she noticed that he was standing in an awkward position, favoring his bad leg. She glanced down and saw that the bracket on the brace was still broken.

  “How’s your leg?” she asked.

  “It’s been feeling much better,” he said, trying to stay cheerful, but as his trembling fingers began fumbling with the straps and buckles, tightening them the best he could, it was clear that his leg was still sore. “I guess this rickety old brace does need some work,” he admitted. “It was brand-new when my uncle got it for me, but after all it’s been through, it’s definitely suffered some wear and tear. This metal piece here broke off completely, and it’s been causing me no end of trouble.”

  She shyly put out her hand and said, “Maybe this will help.”

  In her open palm were the two kidney-shaped, multi-holed leather straps that she and her pa had made.

  “What are those?” Braeden asked with fascination as he leaned toward her and took a closer look.

  “One for each side of your knee,” she said, “to replace the metal bracket that broke. My pa and I made them.”

  “You did?” he asked in amazement, looking up at her. “Thank you!”

  “Try them on.”

  “Yes,” he said excitedly. “Let’s see how they work…”

  He took the leather straps out of her hands, his fingers brushing her open palm as he did so, sending a jolt of energy up her arm and down her spine. Then he folded himself to the ground, tore off the broken bracket, and began attaching the new straps.

  “I hope they fit,” she said.

  “They seem like they’re going to work very well,” he said, standing up a
nd flexing his knee back and forth as if someone had just given him a new, fully functional leg.

  Seeing his happiness, Serafina smiled.

  She glanced westward across the mountains. The westbound crows had disappeared on their journey.

  “Do you think they will succeed?” she asked wistfully. “It’s a big forest out there, and she’s very good at hiding.”

  “The crows don’t have the eyesight of a hawk, the nose of a vulture, or the speed of a falcon, but they are the smartest birds I know, and they will work together to find her.”

  “Are the crows always so noisy?” she asked, still a little amused by all the racket they’d been making. It seemed so quiet now up on the hill with only the horses grazing nearby.

  “Oh yes,” Braeden said. “They love to argue, those crows, and boy, are they quick to take offense. But they’re good birds all the same.”

  “What about all the other crows that flew off in the different directions?”

  “Each flock is a small family group that trusts each other, hunts and scavenges together, calling each other when they find something good, and warning each other when danger approaches. Each flock protects their own territory where they’ve learned to find food, roost at night, and stay safe. I asked all the different flocks in the area to post sentinels all around Biltmore’s grounds and keep guard, to warn us if they see anything suspicious. Uriah has been their hated enemy for many years.”

  Serafina marveled at Braeden’s story of the crows, but her gut twisted at the sound of her enemy’s name. “And have they seen him?”