The Stillness of the Sky: A Flipped Fairy Tale (Flipped Fairy Tales)

by Starla Huchton

  “But mind you, don’t be late, Wallace,” the man said over the strangled cries. “If you don’t show by sundown, best not show ever again.”

  My father hit the floor then, and I scurried back around behind the house lest the other man see me as he left. I listened as his feet stomped across the floor and pounded down the steps outside. At the whinny of a horse, I was glad to have approached from the southern shortcut, rather than down the main road. Hoofbeats gradually receded in the distance, and, when I was sure he’d gone, I emerged from hiding to check on my father.

  A quick peek in the window revealed him still lying on the floor, completely motionless. I wondered for a moment if perhaps he wasn’t finally dead, but when I heard his soft snores, I grimaced. All that and he could still sleep, likely drooling on himself as he dreamt of swimming in pints.

  But, as I watched his thin frame rattle with each breath, I wondered if all these years my kindness had actually been more cruelty. By staying with him, I allowed him to continue on as he was, rather than forcing him to face his demons. Had I gotten it all wrong?

  Seeing things clearly for the first time in my entire life, I made my decision. As quietly as I could, I hauled the rotting wheelbarrow over and set it beneath the open window upside-down. Climbing atop it, I slipped inside the house. I only needed a moment.

  The light pack rested at the foot of the bed, holding my coat, an empty canteen, and the hairbrush my mother left behind. After climbing back out the window, I circled the house rather than risk stepping over his body in the doorway between rooms.

  A brief glance inside showed his eyes still closed, his snoring considerably louder. With a silent prayer to the spirits that he remain as he was until I was safely away, I crept inside to collect two last things. The leftover biscuits I’d made the morning before were a little stale, but they’d be more in my stomach than what was there already, and I took the little knife on the counter beside them as well. Tiptoeing over the table wreckage, I made it safely back to the doorway.

  Outside, I dumped the biscuits in the pack and set the knife atop the lot of it. While I’d rather carry it on my person, I had no means of doing so without potentially stabbing myself if I was careless with it. I took one more look inside, watching the man who’d caused me endless nights of fear and pain, and yet, I could not hate him.

  He was my father, after all, and it hurt my heart to leave him that way. He’d be alone, left to face his consequences without me there to clean up after him. Either he would learn from it and make himself into a better man, or he wouldn’t. There was no greater kindness I could do for him than to give him a reason to try.

  Without words, I wished him well. Hopefully, in time, he would understand my choice.

  Chapter 2

  I washed down the first of the four biscuits with a large gulp of water, sighing when my stomach grumbled for more. I might be lucky enough to come across a bush of berries later, but the road was fairly well-traveled, and any I’d seen were already picked clean before my passing. As I didn’t know when my next meal would be, it seemed logical to ration out what I had.

  It was strange being out on my own for the first time. Though I wouldn’t say I was carefree by any stretch, a definite weight had been lifted from my shoulders the moment I took my first steps of freedom. Despite my empty stomach, I was sure I’d find something for myself eventually.

  It was with that lightness that I came across the old woman. I’d been following a fence for miles, noting how a few of the boards were in need of reattaching to the rest of it. A quaint little house came into view, and I stopped at a break in the fence where a gate should have been.

  An old woman bent over nailed-together planks, her thin, twisted frame struggling to lift it from the ground. When I saw her, I dropped my pack and approached. I grabbed her side and tilted it up, angling it for reattachment to the post.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, stunned.

  I blinked at her, confused by the question. “You looked as though you needed help.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “What would that matter to you?”

  I shrugged. “I’ve mended a fence or two, so I know how heavy they are. It’s no bother to me, if that’s your concern.”

  “I don’t have any money.” She crossed her arms over her wrinkled dress, eyeing me with suspicion.

  I shrugged again. “I’d help all the same. If you’ve the screws to fix this, I’ll have it done in no time at all.”

  She stared at me, suspicious. After a moment, she turned on her heel and shuffled around to the other side of her white-washed house.

  For a brief second, I wondered if perhaps she’d gone to get a weapon to chase me off, but I tossed the idea aside. Leaning the gate up against the post, I returned to my pack and fetched the knife. After digging around in the undergrowth, in hopes of finding what was missing, I located four screws for the hinges, the other four still clinging to pieces on the gate. When the old woman returned, I was already tightening the ones still in place with the tip of the blade.

  She watched me silently as I worked. Positioning the gate for the first reattachment was the most difficult, but I’d managed harder things on my own, and a rock gave me the leverage I needed to line it up. I had two screws remaining when she disappeared again, and I finished before she returned.

  Looking around for her, I sighed. There was no sign of which way she’d gone. After returning my knife to my pack, I shouldered the bag and set off on the road again.

  “Wait!” a thin voice called out after me. I turned to see the old woman hurrying to catch me, and waited for her.

  “Thank you for your help,” she said, passing me a fabric-wrapped bundle. “My husband passed this spring and all manner of things have started falling apart without him. I don’t know how I’d have managed that gate on my own.”

  Untying the knot, I found two delicious-smelling pears set inside a gray cap. I looked up at her, surprised. “Thank you for this, but you didn’t have to.” I removed the hat and studied it. “I wouldn’t take this if you’ve need of it.”

  She waved me off. “Nonsense. My husband won’t need it where he’s gone, and you’d do well to appear as a boy if you’re traveling. Rough men ride this road on occasion, and I’d not see you come to harm.”

  I frowned, but set the cap on my head, carefully tucking my braid underneath it. “You’ve given me two gifts, though, when I’ve only helped you once.”

  She smiled at me then, the first I’d seen from her since we met. “What’s your name?”

  “My name?” I said. “Jacqueline, but everyone always calls me Jack.”

  She stuck out her hand, and I shook it. “I’m Mira, Jack. And you’re wrong. You blessed me twice over today— once in fixing the gate, again by showing me there’s still kindness left in the world.”

  I blushed, unused to compliments of any sort, let alone gratitude. “You’re welcome. My grandfather never stopped believing in the power of kindness as long as he lived, though I’ve wondered lately if he wasn’t mistaken.”

  Mira touched my shoulder, squeezing lightly. “Not mistaken, no. You’ll do well to keep his memory with you. If you pass this way again and have need of my help, I’d be glad to have you.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “Though I’m not sure I’ll find my way back here again. I don’t know where I’m going, let alone if I’ll return.”

  “Don’t know where you’re going?” she asked. “How’s that then?”

  I glanced away, unsure of how to explain. “I did someone another kindness, but I’m not sure what to do with myself now as a consequence.”

  She thought for a moment, considering me. “If I had more to give you than three meals a day and roof over your head, I’d offer you a place with me, but I feel you’re meant for more than that. It’d be selfish of me to keep you from sharing your kindness with the world. If you’ve a mind for it later, you’re welcome to come back any time.”

  While her offer had great
appeal indeed, it seemed she wouldn’t let me take it at the moment. I nodded, smiling, and turned to go. “Thank you, Mira. I may just do that.”

  She called to me again after only a few steps. “Best head west, dear. I think you’ll find it holds the richer path.”

  I waved at her one last time and headed off, taking the western fork in the road a mile ahead.

  It was near sunset when I finished the second of the four biscuits. Noting the lateness of the hour, I decided it was past time for me to find a place to rest for the night. Spotting a deer run, I followed the trail, hoping it would lead me to a water source, or, at the very least, a place I might build a fire. After thirty minutes more of walking, I came to a small stream and gathered what I needed before darkness settled in. Before long, I sat beside a cheery fire and took stock of myself.

  Hungry as I was, I decided it was time to eat. Thanks to Mira, I had an extra special treat that night, though I was hesitant to indulge myself when I still had biscuits. I weighed the fruit in one hand, thinking of what I might do when the food I had was gone, when the distinct snapping of twigs caught my attention. Someone was nearby in the woods.

  Removing my knife, I held it as though I meant to cut the pear, listening intently for whatever crept behind me. I tried not to tense when it happened again, but I paused when I heard the sniffle of a small child.

  “If you’d like to sit by my fire, there’s no need for you to slink about in the dark,” I said. “I don’t have much to share, but I will with what I’ve got.”

  Slowly, I turned around. As I watched, a ragged little thing no more than eight or nine years old emerged from the shadows. Her wide blue eyes had a haunted, hunted look to them.

  I smiled and held out the pear to her. “Hungry?”

  At the sound of my voice, she flinched away, but didn’t run. To show her I meant no harm, I tossed my knife back inside my bag and stood, fruit before me as I took a step forward. When she made no move to take it, I removed my cap and smiled again. “I promise I won’t hurt you.”

  Her face collapsed in relief and she rushed forward, snagging the fruit and biting into it before I could blink. I chuckled. Though I didn’t have much food myself, it was worth the sacrifice to have provided comfort to a child.

  I allowed her time to eat before asking anything of her, busying myself with consuming the other pear. Once she’d inhaled her meal and drunk from the stream, she settled in across from me, watching as I sucked the last bits of juice from the core. I tossed the remnant downstream and settled my gaze on her.

  “I’m Jack. What’s your name?”

  “Prudence Minkov,” she replied, so quietly I barely heard it above the crackling fire.

  “Are you out here by yourself?”

  She nodded.

  “On purpose or on accident?”

  Prudence sniffled as a tear rolled down her dirty cheek. “I got lost. We were visiting my uncle and I ran after a deer in the woods. I don’t know how to get back. I thought I could find the road we took to get there, and I know it isn’t far, but I’ve been walking in circles all day and I can’t find it.” Her words disappeared into hiccupping sobs.

  The poor girl must’ve been terrified to have been out there on her own. Unsure if it would help, I rummaged around in my pack until I found my mother’s brush. I crossed over and sat beside her, gently pulling twigs and leaves from her wild, red hair. “I know where the main road is from here. I can show you in the morning if you’d like.

  “You could?” she asked, her eyes brimming with tears.

  “Sure,” I said with a smile. “It’s a bit too dangerous to go after dark, though, so we’ll have to wait until dawn. Would that be okay?”

  Prudence flung her arms around my middle, sobbing hysterically. “Thank you so much! I’ve been so scared out here. I’ve never even been to the woods outside of Torell! I’m in so much trouble, Jack!”

  I chuckled and rubbed her back. “I think your parents will be far more relieved you’re all right than angry you ran off.” I winced. If I were talking about my own father, those words would’ve been a lie. My father would’ve simply beaten me until I couldn’t walk anymore.

  Pushing the thought aside, I pulled back from her iron hold. “Did you say you’re from Torell? The capital city?”

  She nodded and wiped her face with her sleeve. “My parents are tailors. They make clothes for the palace there sometimes.” I hadn’t noticed before, but, upon closer inspection, the ripped and dirty fabric of her pale blue dress was the finest I’d seen in a very long time, including on my trips to Breen.

  “And what about you?” I asked. “What do you like to do?”

  She grinned and ducked her head. “I make dolls with their scraps. Mama says I do well with it, but it’s only for fun. I like to make them look like people I meet.”

  I grinned, imagining what I’d look like as a doll. “Well, I’ll see that you can get back to business first thing in the morning.” I turned to her and held up the brush. “But I wouldn’t send you back to your parents looking crazed. I’m fair with braiding if you’ll let me.”

  She sniffled and swiped at her nose again, nodding a little. I worked through each knot and snag in her hair, removing the bits of nature that lodged themselves in her tresses. Each strand glowed in the firelight, and I softly sang a melody my mother taught me as a child.

  Still thy worries, restless child,

  Let your heart sink into peace.

  Shadows are not things to fear,

  But faces of friends unseen.

  Feel not but love as sleep descends.

  I’m with you all the night.

  Still thy worries, restless child,

  The morrow brings sunshine again.

  Before long, her head dropped to her bent knees and her breathing slowed with the rhythm of sleep. Once I finished the circle of braiding around the back of her head, I eased her down atop a pillow of moss. I yawned and stretched, then laid down beside her. I was asleep in seconds.

  “Which way?” I asked. I was fairly certain we’d be continuing down the road the way I was headed, as I hadn’t passed any houses the day before, but it was entirely possible I’d missed something.

  “That way,” Prudence said, pointing the direction I’d thought it likely was.

  We set off walking. “You’re certain?”

  She nodded enthusiastically, bouncing a bit as she went. “Very. There’s a pretty bush up ahead with some pink flowers on it. I remember seeing it when we came in three days ago.”

  Sure enough, the shrubbery in question came into view not long after. The gentle fragrance of the blossoms, not unlike jasmine, wafted across the road. I paused, striding over to it for closer inspection. The scent reminded me of the pouch with the beans I found, but nothing grew there that might produce similar seed. Sighing, I shrugged it off and followed my anxious companion toward our destination.

  Her excitement exploded into euphoria as we came to a high stone wall on the left side of the road about an hour into the journey. Prudence babbled at me about everyone and everything: how hard she’d hug her parents, the surprising anticipation of a bath and clean clothes, and the joy of a big slice of cake from her uncle’s kitchen. We pushed through a wrought iron gate and hurried up the drive leading to an estate that stunned me with its size and decadence. Really, it was easier to call it a small castle than a house. Prudence sprinted ahead, yelling for her parents. I followed, but slowed my steps. All I wanted was to make sure she returned safely, and I wouldn’t get in the way of their reunion.

  When Prudence was twenty feet from the main door, it burst open, disgorging half a dozen people all at once. Only two, a man with hair as red as Prudence’s and a darker woman in a magnificent, pale pink gown, rushed all the way to meet the now-sobbing Prudence. I stopped a good distance from them and watched as relief and happiness overcame all of them. Satisfied I’d done my best, I turned to leave.

  “Jack!” Prudence cried, running to catch my
hand. “Please don’t go yet.”

  Before I could argue, she dragged me toward the house. Instantly uncomfortable to be surrounded by such wealth, my face burned in embarrassment for the dirty tunic and breeches I wore. What must they have thought of me?

  “Papa, this is Jack,” Prudence said. “She’s the one that found me and helped me get home.”

  His eyes filling with tears, her father grabbed my hands, clasping them tightly. “There are no words to express my gratitude for what you’ve done for our family,” he said. “When we couldn’t find her, we feared the worst.”

  “Well, I…” I stumbled over my words. “She actually found me. I only wanted to make sure she came back to you safely.”

  I was ripped from his grasp and pulled into the woman’s fierce embrace. “She is everything to us. Thank you.”

  “You… You’re welcome,” I stammered.

  “Papa, can she stay to eat? She gave me a pear last night, but we didn’t have anything for the morning. Please say she can stay…” Prudence pleaded, tugging at her father’s gray doublet. Its embroidery alone likely cost more money than I saw in a year.

  “That’s not really necess—” I began.

  “Of course she may,” her mother interrupted. “And we’ll see you both cleaned up and dressed, too.”

  “But I don’t—”

  “Please,” her father said. “It’s the very least we can do.”

  “I wouldn’t ask for—”

  “Don’t be so stubborn, Jack.” Prudence giggled and grabbed my arm again, pulling me up to the manor. “Now it’s my turn to take care of you.”

  More uncomfortable than I’ve ever been in my life, I suffered through two servant girls scrubbing every inch of my person and setting my dark hair in a complex knot of curls and braids. But the moment they brought out a dress…

  “I’m not wearing that,” I said, planting my feet as I crossed my arms over my chest. While I’d admit that the light bloomers and chemise were softer than anything I’d ever worn, I wasn’t about to put on the frilly lavender thing being held out to me.