Sleeping Beauty's Spindle

by Shonna Slayton

  Briar squirmed. She hoped Mrs. Prince wasn’t hinting that Briar and Henry should…

  Mrs. Prince handed the cloth back, clasping Briar’s hand with both of hers. “I think you should keep it always in your pocket. It would be a nice comfort to feel it and know that there are such pretty things in this world. I know working in the mills can be hard.”

  “Yes. It can. But Henry made it fun. I miss that.”

  Mrs. Prince looked off to the forest. “Henry does enjoy life. I hope he’s okay.” She smiled tentatively at her husband. “He sounded fine in that one letter, didn’t he, honey? Told us not to worry.”

  Mr. Prince held his wife’s gaze. “That is what he said. Hard not to worry, though, isn’t it?”

  Chapter 20

  “Briar, Briar!” the boys called when they heard the wagon jingle into their yard. They ran from the back of the house, their fresh faces grinning. “We got a goat,” Benny said.

  “A goat?” Briar jumped down. Fresh milk. But how could they afford a goat?

  “An’ a chicken!” said Jack.

  Eggs. She touched the coins at the bottom of her pocket. Her meager contribution to their upkeep wasn’t enough for such luxuries. Fanny must be spending her own money on them. The boys would be crushed when Nanny came back and the animals had to go.

  Pansy came around the corner, hugging the chicken to her thin body like it was a doll. Oh dear.

  “Hello, children,” called Mrs. Prince from the wagon.

  “Are you enjoying the animals?”

  “Oh, yes,” Pansy said. “Thank you ever so much. We’re taking great care of them.” The chicken came to life and flapped its wings in Pansy’s face. She dropped it with a yelp, and the boys chased it into the backyard with Pansy at their heels.

  Oh dear. Oh dear.

  Meanwhile, Mr. Prince had hopped out of the wagon and had taken out Briar’s borrowed bicycle.

  She looked questioningly at the Princes. So, the animals were theirs? “Thank you for the ride,” Briar started, thinking of a way to graciously decline their generous gifts without offending them.

  “It was our pleasure, Briar. All of it. See you later.”

  Mr. Prince avoided eye contact, clicking his tongue at the horses and leading them out of the yard. Mrs. Prince waved as if she were the queen in a parade, a big smile showing her pleasure.

  Briar sighed. For the children. She could swallow her pride for them.

  “Is that the Prince family?” asked Fanny from the doorway. “Didn’t stop to say hello?”

  “They saw me on the road and gave me a ride in,” Briar said. “Are those their animals?”

  “I thought you were early. Those are Henry’s. He sent a note asking the boys to look after them ‘til he’s home.”

  Fanny’s face held a look of concern. Maybe she thought one bunny was enough for the children to look after.

  “You got a letter from Henry?” Briar said. “The Princes went to town, hoping they’d have one there.”

  “The children did. Came this week, but it only had directions for them regarding the animals. No news. I suspect he wrote it same time as yours, but it just got here this week.”

  Without a brother or sister of his own, he’d sort of adopted Briar’s younger siblings. Coming from Henry it didn’t feel like they were receiving too much charity.

  She wished she’d gotten another letter so she knew what he was doing. At least she was getting the small gifts left on her spinning machine, however he managed to send them. They were almost as good as a letter. She absently pulled out the Solomon’s Seal.

  “What’s that?” asked Fanny, a big grin on her face. “A love token?”

  Briar looked up. “Oh, no. It’s just something I picked up at work today.”

  “Well, come in, come in. Put your feet up a spell.” Fanny waved her inside, her smile disappearing, replaced by a furrowed brow.

  Uh oh. What did the boys do this week?

  Briar stepped over the fresh primrose petals that were littered outside the front of the door. Since spring, Fanny had mysteriously managed to find primroses while she waited for hers to take in the garden and routinely scattered the petals about the windowsills and doorway.

  “The children are fine being out in the fresh air. I’ll fix you some tea and you can tell me all about your week.”

  Not all about my week. How to explain a fairy-wood spindle fixing my frame so perfectly?

  “Here you are, dearie,” Fanny said, setting a teacup on the table and sitting opposite.

  “You’re still putting down the petals,” Briar said. “I thought you told Pansy it was only in the spring that you spread the petals to keep the bad fairies away.”

  “Yes, well, now Pansy insists we keep up the practice.” Fanny absently picked at her fingernail.

  “Fanny has a trick,” Pansy yelled as she ran by the open door. “She makes rose petals.”

  “Pfff. I don’t make rose petals.” Fanny waved her hand.

  Briar bit back some of her irritation. Fanny obviously wasn’t used to being around children and didn’t think about how they had a hard time deciphering imagination from reality.

  “Pansy insists because you scared her half to death, Fanny. What were you thinking telling a child there were bad fairies? She believes everything you tell her.” As she spoke, Briar’s volume and intensity tapered off and her gaze dropped to her teacup. The weight of the whorl in her pocket had reminded her there were things in this world she didn’t know how to explain, either.

  Fanny shrugged. “It hurts no one to have the petals strewn about. The scent is lovely. Besides, you can’t protect the children from every bump in the road, as much as you’d like to. They know there’s evil in the world, but what they need to know is it can be overcome.”

  They were both quiet, staring at the teacups.

  “What do you know of fairy wood?” Briar asked quietly, testing Fanny’s response.

  Fanny examined Briar over her teacup. “A better question is, what do you know about fairy wood?”

  Briar slowly swirled her spoon in her tea. “I know it exists, but I’ve never heard of it growing in our forest and wondered what it was.”

  “The mere act of growing is not what makes fairy wood.” Fanny slowly traced a crack in the table as if measuring her words. “It takes a fairy.” She quickly rose, her chair legs scraping the floor, and took her empty cup to the sink.

  Briar’s skin tingled with anticipation. With fear? “You talk about fairies like my mother used to. She would tuck us into bed with a fairy story, but Pansy was too young to remember them now.”

  “What stories did your mother tell you?”

  “About fairies in Ireland. All her stories were about the Old Country.”

  “Paw, Irish fairies,” Fanny said, scrunching her nose.

  “Flighty lot they are. Can’t count on them for a straight answer even if you’ve got their feet tied and threaten them with a good dunking in the lake.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Fanny waved her hand again. “They don’t like water. So I’ve heard. What else did your mother know about fairies?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. She kept a fairy garden in the wood close to a little brook. She said it was a tradition for all the girls in our family. We planted flowers and set up paths with pebbles, that sort of thing.”

  “A grand idea. Pansy would so enjoy one. I’ve been trying to think of something special for her. Those boys take up so much of my energy I’m afraid there’s not much left over for the girl. Sweet thing, she is. So willing to be a help.”

  Briar glowed with the praise for Pansy, but wouldn’t be put off. “About that fairy wood,” she said, bringing the conversation back to where it had veered.

  “More tea?” Fanny asked. She bustled over to the stove and moved the kettle back to the burner.

  “No, thank you. I want to know about fairy wood.” If only to find out why Fanny was dodging the question.

  Fanny wru
ng her hands as her eyes darted about the kitchen. “Biscuit? You must be hungry from your long day.” She opened the little cupboard the children called the magic cupboard and pulled out a shortbread, one of Briar’s favorites.

  “Yes, please.” No wonder the children called it a magic cupboard. Fanny had a way of keeping everyone’s favorite foods in stock. Then she raised her eyebrows questioningly.

  Fanny was a master at changing the subject, but Briar wasn’t going to let her get away with it tonight.

  Fanny rifled through the pile of vegetables from the garden. “Where did you hear of fairy wood? Cucumbers for supper?”

  “Cucumbers are fine; I’ll cut them.” Briar joined Fanny in the kitchen. “Fairy wood?”

  Fanny stepped aside to let Briar have room at the small counter. “It’s rare. Yet not rare. It can be made out of any kind of wood. The secret is how a fairy fashions it to her liking.”

  “What do you mean to her liking?” Briar’s tingling skin gave way to a worrisome churning deep inside. She expected to get a fanciful answer from Fanny, but this conversation felt different. This felt…electric, like an invisible veil was about to be lifted. Like her whole day was leading to this moment.

  “Posh, the fairies aren’t going to tell their secrets, now are they?” Fanny crossed her arms and stood closer to Briar. “Now, what can a girl in far-off Sunrise Valley know about fairy wood?” She stared straight into Briar’s eyes as if trying to read her mind. “Have you seen something made of fairy wood? Touched something made of fairy wood?”

  Briar shrugged, forcing herself to look calm, but inside she was taut as the roving line on her machine. She held her breath, waiting for a reaction from Fanny to know how to proceed.

  It was odd how protective she felt about the spindle. As if she sensed people would take it away from her if they knew about it. As if someone like her shouldn’t own anything so beautiful. Or they would want her to sell it to help pay for the children’s care. Thoughts she’d already wrestled with herself, and she couldn’t bear to think of others judging her the same way.

  Fanny stood and began pacing around the room. She walked to the window, looked out. Walked back, muttering. “I want you to know that you can come to me for anything. Anything at all. At home. At work. Anything odd going on?”

  Briar studied Fanny. There was a tension between them, and Briar was sure Fanny felt it, too. What did she suspect?

  “Henry is gone. That’s pretty odd. Nanny hasn’t been in touch. That’s odd. You…being here is odd.” They shared a smile.

  “Suppose you’re right. From your perspective there are several odd things going on.”

  “You know more than you’re telling me. Why not share with me? The children are my responsibility.” Briar leaned forward. “How can I plan for them when I feel like plans are being made in secret?”

  Fanny shook her head and took a deep breath.

  “Prudence will have a fit.”

  “I need to know,” Briar said, her pulse quickening.

  Fanny let out her breath. “I shouldn’t do this. One more mark against me.”

  “How bad can it be? Just tell me.”

  Fanny closed her eyes tight and said, “I’m a fairy.” She opened her eyes. “There it is. You know my secret. I’m a true-to-life real fairy.”

  Chapter 21

  Briar gaped at Fanny. This was not the revelation she was expecting. Is she daft? Sure, Fanny was diminutive, and had a cute pixie face. But a fairy? Fanny was nothing like the fairies Mam talked about. The fairy gardens they made in the woods were for tiny little creatures. Miniature doorways. Bitty pathways. Small tree-bark tables. Now if she could produce wings, Briar might consider believing her. Speechless, Briar continued gaping at Fanny for several uncomfortable seconds.

  “You’re not a fairy. Not a real one.” The fear swirling in her gut took hold and began to spread. Fanny couldn’t be a real fairy, because if she was, that meant that the spindle could, in fact, be magical. And everything Briar had heard in the stories about fairies said that some were good and some were wicked. The question would then be, which fairy made her spindle?

  Fanny tossed her hands in the air. “You want to see proof, don’t you?” She shook her head. “They all do.” She turned. “Follow me outside. My abilities are still somewhat, er, hindered at the moment.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Long story. But I can show you this.”

  After they went outside, Fanny picked up one of the dried rose petals strewn about the ground and breathed on it. The petal filled with a soft pink color and became silky smooth again.

  Briar took a step back. How was this possible? She didn’t know if she should be impressed or scared.

  “See?” Fanny held out the lush petal, inviting Briar to touch it.

  Briar took another step back. “Who are you and what are you really doing here?” She strained her ears to pinpoint where the children were in case she had to flee with them. “What do you want with the children?” Fanny dropped the petal and put her hands on her hips. “I’m disappointed you would ask. I love those wee babes. I’m here to watch over them while Prudence is…is gone. I can assure you they are safe with me.” She blinked rapidly as moisture flooded her eyes.

  “Does Nanny know what you are?” Now that Briar was thinking about it, how could anyone miss that Fanny was different? She had a never-ending supply of primroses and a magical cupboard.

  “I have no secrets with your Nanny.”

  “And it doesn’t concern her that you’re a…a…?” Briar couldn’t even say it. Fairy.

  “It’s precisely because I’m a fairy that she’s allowed me to be here to help. She accepts me the way I am, though I suspect she wishes I were a touch more responsible, among other things.”

  “What else can you do?”

  “I’m not about to perform tricks for you, if that’s what you’re asking.” Fanny scowled. “I’m a fairy, not a circus act.”

  Briar didn’t know how to process this information. “How am I to go back to town tomorrow, knowing what I do now?”

  Fanny frowned. “I’ve been here for weeks. You see how the children are happy? Fed? Growing like flowers themselves? Be off with you like normal and be content that I am managing them well.”

  Her tone had gone from wounded to irritated. But it didn’t matter how Fanny felt. What mattered was the children and their well-being. How could Briar leave them with a creature known for its unpredictability?

  Briar blinked. A creature? Fanny, in the flesh, standing in front of her with arms crossed and foot tapping, waiting for Briar to make up her mind.

  What were those fairy stories Mam told? Mostly ones of mischief, the likes of games little boys played. Some older folks talked of the potato famine as being a fairy curse, even though the true source was found.

  Laughter floated in on the wind, cutting into Briar’s thoughts. Benny giggling. Pansy shrieking good-naturedly. Obviously, the children were very happy with Fanny taking care of them. “You haven’t—” Briar waved her hands over the rose petals. “In front of the children?”

  “Oh, no. Of course not. I freshen things up when they’re sleeping. They haven’t seen a thing, the dears, though they would love it. Prudence made me promise not to do anything in front of them. I don’t know why, though. The children have no problem with fairies, it’s always the grown-ups.” She rose up on her toes and looked guiltily to the side.

  Briar twisted her lips. Fanny may not have purposely shown the children magic, but she knew they had seen.

  “How long until Prudence gets back?”

  Fanny shifted her feet. “I thought she’d be back by now. I suppose she’s slowing down in her old age. Or there was a problem. But a problem for Prudence would be highly unlikely, don’t you agree? She’s practically perfect. Her friendship with someone like me stretches her very being. I am a bit of a rarity.”

  Fanny’s description of herself was an understatement.

  “Can’t you tell me what
Prudence is doing? It has to be serious if she sent…you…to take her place. Is it her family?”

  Fanny paused. “Does she talk about her family?”

  “She’s mentioned her sisters. Is that where she’s gone?”

  Fanny let out a deep breath. “Yes. You could say one of her sisters got into trouble, and she’s helping. See, you don’t have to be worried about the children. It’ll all work out.”

  Briar closed her eyes. She’d seen two strange things today that she couldn’t explain. First the spindle fitting itself into her spinning frame, and now Fanny claiming to be a real-live fairy and restoring a rose petal to full bloom.

  Fanny smiled and clapped once. “Why don’t we let you think on this for tonight and we’ll talk again in the morning. In case there’s something you’d like to tell me. About your interest in fairy wood—or anything else.” She left Briar gaping in the doorway while she went to round up the children for supper.

  All night Briar’s attention was glued to Fanny while the children told her about the silly antics of the new animals. They’d named them all, of course, and fought over who got to visit the chicken (named Betty) in the morning to see if there was an egg. Briar studied every motion, every breath. But nothing revealed who or what Fanny claimed to be. And how did ever-practical Nanny make room for the presence of fairies in her life? She didn’t even like flowers.

  “Why are you going to sleep at the same time as us?” asked Pansy. She was lying on her pallet, head cradled in her hands and watching Briar toss and turn.

  “I’m tired.” Briar’s whole body was weary and she hoped sleep would take all the strangeness away for a time. She’d be better able to think things through in the morning.

  “You don’t act sleepy,” said Jack.

  “Sorry, I’ll settle in a minute.” Briar flipped over one last time so she could watch Fanny bustle about the cottage.

  A real fairy?

  Once the children’s breaths relaxed into the regular pattern of sleep, Briar pulled out the whorl from her pocket, keeping it under the sheet. She ran her fingers over the carved roses. It was so smooth; someone had taken great care when carving the wood. When Fanny slipped outside, Briar peeked under the sheet to study the whorl. A faint scorch mark marred one of the roses. Briar wondered what had happened to it. Where exactly had this spindle come from?