“Isaac? Is something wrong?”
Isaac turned toward her, his right hand upraised. In his hand gleamed a knife.
“Run,” he said, his voice barely recognizable. It emerged in a raspy growl. “Cross the river. You’ll be safe if you reach the other side.”
Bianca stared at Isaac, thunderstruck. The knife glimmered in his hand, the blade pulsating with evil itself. “What are you—”
He lunged toward her, knife blade sweeping in a deadly arc.
Bianca screamed and bolted toward the river like a frightened deer. Behind her, she heard Isaac’s ragged sobs. Then she fell, the river catching her in its cold embrace. She tumbled head over heels. The current bore her along with insistent fingers, pushing her beneath the icy surface of the water. She knew no more.
Chapter Five
Mabel placed the tea service in the center of the table. The elaborate grandfather clock in the hallway struck the hour. Four o’clock. Why hadn’t Bianca and Isaac returned? She straightened the cream pitcher.
“Mabel?”
The girl looked up from her work. Isaac had entered the dining room. Lines of weariness were carved onto his face. He carried a paper-wrapped package. Mabel shuddered when she saw the blood soaking through the paper. She was used to seeing Isaac with packages of meat, but the sight never failed to turn her stomach.
“Where’s Priscilla? She’s not in the kitchen.”
“Mother’s at the quarters in our cabin,” Mabel said. “She has a headache.”
Isaac nodded. “Mistress Gloria requested liver and onion stew for supper. I have the liver she wanted. I’ll put it in the kitchen.”
Mabel frowned. “We were going to make fried catfish.”
Isaac shrugged. “Mistress’ orders were for stew,” he said flatly.
Mabel sighed. “I’ll tell Mother.” She finished arranging the tea things. “Is Bianca in the stable? What color pony did you get?”
Isaac turned around. She saw a muscle jump in his cheek. “Speak to Priscilla,” he muttered. He hurried from the room.
“Isaac? What do you mean? What’s wrong?” Mabel ran into the hall and stared after Isaac’s retreating figure. Mistress Gloria would be down any moment. Well, she could ring the bell when she came. Something was wrong.
“Mirror, mirror, glass of fate, is Bianca in a place that is safe?” Priscilla clutched the ebony looking glass, her temples throbbing with fear.
The mirror, a gift from her own mother, showed her anything she needed to see. The mirror had once been ordinary, but her mother had made it extraordinary.
Priscilla thought of the boy who had scarred her face and of how, when she was grown, he had scarred her heart. He had taken her elder brother away to be sold along with other slaves. Priscilla thought of her despair.
“Stop your crying, child,” Mother had said. “You know there’s more to see in this world than your sorrow.”
She had pointed to the ebony mirror on the cabin’s makeshift table. “I asked the Creator to show me that my son was safe,” she said. “He did so. This mirror can help you too.” She gently touched the mirror’s glass. “Mirror, mirror, shining with light, show my daughter more than her plight.”
The mirror had opened up worlds of delights for Priscilla, particularly when it showed her the person she most wanted to see.
Now, Priscilla peered feverishly into the mirror’s depths. “Please, Creator,” she prayed. “Please protect Bianca.”
A green-tinged mist caressed the glass. When the mist cleared, Priscilla gazed upon a log cabin. A young girl knelt on the ground. She wore a rough-woven tunic. Beside her lay a prone figure. Priscilla sucked in her breath as she beheld the tangled ebony hair and pale skin.
Bianca slowly sat up, her eyes wild with fear.
The girl placed her hand on Bianca’s shoulder and spoke softly. “I was fishing with Papa and spotted you,” she said. “You could’ve drowned.”
“I—” Bianca coughed and tried to stand. “Where am I?”
The girl smiled. “Hart Spring,” she said. “Bet you’re freezing. Hungry, too. We’re having fish chowder for supper.”
The mirror darkened. Priscilla breathed a sigh of relief. Bianca was safe. Hart Spring was a sanctuary, and only the Creator could have guided Bianca there. His ways were so mysterious. Who else could have guided Bianca to the very house she needed to find?
Frantic knocking sounded on the cabin door. “Mother? I need to talk to you about Bianca.”
Priscilla opened the door and admitted Mabel. Her daughter’s face was drawn with concern.
“Is Mistress Gloria’s tea ready?” Priscilla asked.
Mabel fidgeted impatiently. “Isaac says the mistress requested stew tonight,” she said, getting to the point. “He left some meat in the kitchen. We were going to make catfish.”
Priscilla nodded. It felt as if a hammer were pounding at her temples. “We’ll save the fish for tomorrow night,” she said.
“Do you know where Bianca is? I can’t find her.” Mabel looked into Mother’s eyes, startled to see tears shining there. “What’s happened?” She was suddenly frightened.
Priscilla tried to swallow the lump in her throat. “I cannot tell you, Mabel,” she said. “Just know that Bianca’s safe.”
“Safe from what?” Mabel’s heart pounded. “What’s going on?”
“It’s best that you don’t know,” Priscilla said firmly. “Go to the dining room and help Teresa. You know she’s prone to dropping things. I’ll join you shortly. I have to start supper.”
Mabel sighed as she went to obey. It was useless to speak to Mother when she was in this type of mood.
Priscilla left her cabin and trudged to the great house. In the kitchen, she approached the counter. A wrapped parcel awaited her. Shaking, Priscilla unwrapped it. Inside lay the grisly trophy of a hunt. She trembled to think of the poor animal that had sacrificed itself for Bianca’s sake. She began to prepare the evening meal.
Chapter Six
Bianca placed a steaming spoonful of chowder into her mouth. She gazed around her at the wooden shelves, pewter utensils, and unadorned walls of the cabin. The surroundings reminded her of the slave cabin where Priscilla and Mabel slept. Yet this place didn’t seem to be part of a plantation.
The man at the head of the table was staring at her with stern intensity. His burnished skin gleamed.
Hastily, Bianca put down her spoon. “Is something wrong?” she asked.
“You forgot about grace,” the man said.
Bianca flushed. Grace was seldom spoken aloud at home. “I’m sorry,” she said.
The man allowed his stern mask to slip a bit. “It’s hard to resist Louise’s fish chowder,” he said gruffly. “I don’t always wait for grace, either.” He turned to where his daughter was sitting. “You forget sometimes too, don’t you, Annika?”
Annika nodded unabashedly. “The Creator knows our thoughts, doesn’t he?” she said, tossing her head. “He knows I’m thankful without my having to speak out loud.”
The man laughed uproariously and snorted. “Good point, girl.” He picked up his spoon and filled it to the brim.
“Honestly, you two!” A plump woman ambled from the back of the cabin carrying a cloth-wrapped loaf of bread. “Such talk!” She unwrapped the loaf and began cutting thin slices. She smiled at Bianca and chortled. “Don’t mind my brood.” She placed bread by Bianca’s bowl. “No butter, I’m afraid.”
Bianca smiled tentatively. “Thank you.” She watched as the woman sat and pointedly bowed her head. Bianca followed suit. She couldn’t restrain her laughter when Annika slowly lowered her spoon with an audible sigh.
“Great Creator, may you bless this food and reward the fish who gave themselves that we might partake,” the father said.
“Amen,” everyone chorused. The family ate.
After a moment, Bianca said, “This is delicious.”
Louise smiled. “Why, thank you, my dear. It was my mother’s reci
pe. The mistress and master whom George and I served loved—”
“Louise!” The man spoke harshly. “Now isn’t the time.”
“She has a right to know who we are, George,” Louise said.
“Maybe so, but I’m sure she knows already. Let the girl at least get a hot meal inside her. We’ll talk after that.”
Bianca lowered her head in embarrassment. Of course she had had her suspicions, but she had feared to ask questions. Would they make her leave? She glanced at the man and woman. They did not seem angry. Maybe she was safe. She raised her head and continued eating. She noticed that Annika was staring at her with undisguised curiosity.
“You’re pretty,” Annika said shyly. “Are you royalty? You look like a princess.”
Bianca’s mouth flew open. “Royalty? Me?” She laughed. “No. I live on the plantation of Simon Reginald.”
Annika gasped. “The Simon Reginald? The one who sent the slaves into the mine and it—”
“Enough!” George rose from the table, his face as grim as a storm cloud. “I’m going outside.” He marched to the cabin door. “I’ll be back in a moment.”
When the door slammed behind him, Louise gave Annika a pointed look. “What have I said about being nosy?” she asked. “Go fetch some preserves.”
Annika grinned. “Strawberry?” she asked.
Louise smiled. “Yes.”
Annika skipped from the room. When she was gone, Louise said, “Don’t let my husband worry you, child. He’s harmless. And don’t feel you have to answer any questions Annika asks.”
Bianca pushed her empty bowl away. “I’m sorry to cause trouble,” she said in a small voice. “Thank you for letting me stay the night.”
Louise smiled. “You may stay as long as you like,” she said. “Hart Spring is a place of refuge.”
Bianca nodded. “I can help you with chores,” she said.
“Here’s the preserves.” Annika skipped into the kitchen, holding a jar aloft.
The cabin door opened, and George came back inside. “No one is lurking about,” he said gruffly. “I don’t think anyone followed her.” He sat at the head of the table and reached for the jar. “Storytime,” he said unceremoniously.
Annika plopped onto the bench, her eyes shining. “We haven’t had storytime in weeks!” she said excitedly. “Can our guest speak first?”
George frowned. “She doesn’t know the routine. Let me start first so she won’t be nervous.”
Annika and Louise sat up straight. They continued eating as George spoke. “May I relate a tale?”
“Please do.” Annika and Louise spoke together.
“Will you listen well?” George continued.
“Weave for us your word spell,” Annika and Louise chorused.
“Creator, give my words grace,” George said. “Let my tale enliven this place.” He clapped three times.
Annika and Louise clapped four times. “Spin, spin, spin. Weave a tale of glory,” they said.
Bianca gaped as she watched this strange ritual. She had never seen anything like it. Excitement filled her heart. It was as if she were experiencing something much bigger than herself.
George stood and began to speak. “When the world was new, the Creator gave the gift of his tears to the land. They were not tears of sadness, but tears of joy. His tears sank into the ground, where they hardened into sparkling jewels.
“The Creator loved all he had made. But, alas, men became prideful and greedy. Soon, they abandoned their Maker. Although they left him, he did not abandon them. His jewels remained, giving the land life.
“One day, a king began to savage the land. He took and took, wanting all the jewels for himself. The king had two children, a prince and a princess. The king ruled all with a voracious viciousness. He used men, women, and children to retrieve what he sought. The labor was hard, for the land did not want to yield its life source to someone so selfish.
“The princess felt empathy for those who were enslaved, but the king discovered where her loyalties lay and banished her from his kingdom.
“The prince, who was quite young, suffered greatly under his father’s tyranny. When he assumed his father’s throne, he resolved to be a strong ruler, one who would not be perceived as weak. So the harsh treatment of the slaves continued under the new king’s rule. Many slaves died under his harsh treatment. As they retrieved jewels for their new king, the land collapsed around them. They knew something must be done.
“One night, a group of slaves fled into the darkness. As they walked along, they came to a river. They began helping each other across. But the king sent out his hunting hounds.
“As the slaves swam to the other side of the river, they heard blood-curdling howls as the hounds chased them. The slaves swam faster, but ever closer rang the menacing howls and pounding footfalls.
“Then the slaves saw a shimmer of white. A hart with gilded antlers stood in the path of the oncoming dogs. The dogs tore into the quivering animal, driving him to the ground. By the time the dogs had finished their evil work, the slaves had reached the other side of the river.
“The slaves found themselves in a different land. The king could not pursue them, for the hart was not what he seemed. He was the Creator in disguise. He wove a protection spell into the land.
“The slaves had fled in the spring of the year. To honor the Creator, the freed slaves named the land Hart Spring.”
George finished his story. After a moment, Annika and Louise said, “Thank you for the tale you have spun.”
“Thank you for listening,” George said. He sat and turned to Bianca. The child’s cheeks were flushed. “Do you have a story you would like to tell?” he asked gently.
Bianca blinked back tears. “Was that story true?” she asked. Priscilla’s song filled her mind:
Across the dividing river,
Amid wildflowers’ golden gleam,
Lies a land bought by brutal means,
A land where we will go.
George nodded. “All stories are true,” he said. “I’ve simplified it, of course. Slavery has always existed in this world, and there are many masters. The country the slaves found was an exceptional place, a land where slavery was illegal. They sought asylum there and were granted it.
“Hart Spring is only one way the Creator works to help his people, you know. The Creator also imbues a precious few souls with gifts of sight and sound. Only a select few can see his tears, and fewer still can hear them singing. These gifted ones are responsible for keeping the land safe.
“You see, the Creator knows that the jewels are needed by those who suffer oppression. Those who can see and hear the jewels are responsible for finding trustworthy people who can help those in need. They can retrieve what is necessary to give to those who seek freedom. Many people travel here from far away, and they must have means of reaching this place. Sometimes that requires safe passage, and payment is needed.”
Bianca placed her uneaten bread on the table. “I have a story,” she whispered. “But it’s unfinished. I can’t remember how to start.”
“ ‘May I relate a tale?’ ” Annika prompted.
Bianca repeated the words and then listened to the family’s affirmative response. She asked the Creator to bless her words and began.
“There was once a queen who was unable to have children.
“One wintry day, as she sat sewing a maternity frock for a cousin who had already had three daughters, the queen pricked her finger. Drops of blood spattered onto the ebony windowpane, the drops of red intermingling with the sugary snow.
“The queen cried out in frustration. ‘Creator, will you never hear my plea? If only I had a daughter with lips as red as blood, hair as black as ebony, and skin as white as snow!’
“After a time, the queen’s prayer was answered. But, in giving birth to her daughter, the queen lost her life. There was no one to feed the girl, so she was placed in the care of a slave woman with a scarred face. The woman was the girl’s w
et nurse. As the girl grew, she worked with the other slaves, never seeing her father. She only felt at home among the wet nurse and her people.
“When the girl was eight years old, the king married again. The stepmother was kind but distant. When she had a son of her own, the queen neglected her stepdaughter. The queen’s son was often ill. The girl loved her stepbrother and would often prepare for him treats she hoped would give him strength: oatmeal dripping with honey, egg custard, and many other delights. When the boy was strong enough, she would talk to him and he would talk to her.
“When the girl was nine, her father summoned her. He took her to a dark cave and told her to look around her. The girl obeyed even though the darkness frightened her. ‘I see nothing but dirt and rocks,’ the girl said. The king looked at her with sad disappointment, the look of a child who has been denied a sweet after supper. He turned away from her, and the girl felt so alone.
“Frantically, she looked about her once more. There was nothing to see, but she suddenly discovered there was something to hear. The cave rang with a beautiful music. ‘I hear singing!’ the girl cried excitedly. ‘Father, I hear singing!’ She longed to please her father. Perhaps then he would tell her he loved her and would spend more time with her.
“As the girl listened to the music, she realized that the earth was calling to her. It told her that much treasure lay underground. She told her father this news, and he smiled and embraced her. He no longer looked disappointed, but thrilled. ‘Very good, sweet princess,’ he said. ‘You will make my son well. You will give me so much.’
“The girl promised to try. However, the more she listened to the earth, and the more her father took its jewels, the weaker the girl became.
“One day, her father’s manservant took the girl into the forest. He drew a knife and told her to run. He told the girl she would be safe if she crossed a nearby river.”
Bianca finished the story, and the family solemnly thanked her for the tale.
After a moment, Louise said, “You poor dear.” She reached for Bianca’s hand.
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