by Marissa Burt
Becky looked incredibly satisfied, so much so that Snow almost changed her mind. Almost.
“What can I do to help, Mr. Elton?” she asked when she returned to the room.
Mr. Elton clapped his hands, his mustache bouncing with the effort. “Excellent, Snow. Excellent.”
Chapter 12
Tell me more about your family, Peter,” Una said as they made their way through the forest. The autumn air, crisp and clean, weaved through the tops of the tall pines. The leaves on the maples were changing colors, muddy greens turning into brilliant oranges and reds.
“Well, I’m the oldest. Bastian and Rufus are next. They’re ten and seven.” He rolled his eyes. “Oliver, my youngest brother, is four and just beginning to think he’s old enough to be off at school. And then there’s Rosemary, the baby.” Something rustled around in the underbrush, and the sound carried through the woods. Peter continued. “My parents, of course. And Trix, my favorite of them all.” He smiled. “She makes the best cinnamon rolls.”
“She’s your cook?” Una asked.
“Cook and housekeeper all rolled into one,” Peter said. “I’ve been thinking. Let’s wait until after dinner to talk to my parents. That way we can get them alone and tell them everything that’s happened. Until then, we’ll just go with the transfer-student bit.”
Una nodded. If his parents turned out to be weird, she wasn’t going to tell them anything, no matter what Peter said.
When they reached the bend in the road, Una stopped and gazed in wonder. Below them, a valley spread out with sheltered houses and patchwork fields dotting the land. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “Which one is yours?”
Peter pointed at a snug house nestled amid a grove of silver and white birches. “We call it Bramble Cottage,” he said.
“The name fits,” Una said, feeling a smile wipe the worry from her face. If the Merriweathers were anything like their house, Una thought they would get along.
Up close, Bramble Cottage was even better. After turning in at the gate, Peter and Una made their way past an old orchard with its proud rows of bent trees silhouetted in the late afternoon light. Beyond the orchard was a mellow wood fence made up of mossy logs that tottered on each other, and, beyond the fence, a lovely front garden. Broad sandstone steps led the way up to the house itself, and Una had to stop and look at it for a minute before she was ready to go in. The building was shingled with weathered gray wood, and the gables that poked out in just the right places were trimmed in white. Smoke puffed merrily out of two chimneys, filling air with a campfire smell. A lantern with a thick candle hung over the front door, which was painted a willowy blue, but Peter pointed toward the back.
“We never use the front door,” he said, and Una followed him around the cottage. She could make out a grassy lawn that stretched off into shadowy woods behind the house. From the open back door delicious smells were seeping out, and her stomach rumbled.
“Welcome home,” Peter said, leading the way inside.
Trix, a tiny, wrinkled woman whose white hair was pulled up in a severe knot at the back of her head, shooed Peter and Una in. Before Una knew what had happened, she found herself tucked into an armchair in front of a blazing stone fireplace in one corner of the welcoming kitchen. Herbs that smelled like summers past hung from the rafters of the angled ceiling. Pots bubbled on the old-fashioned cast-iron stove across from her, and a large worktable took up most of the kitchen. A delicious-looking cake sat on one end, and mixing bowls and measuring spoons on the other. Trix wiped her hands on her apron, flour covering her up to her elbows, and went back to kneading her bread.
“And who would this be?” she asked in a reedy voice.
“I’m Una, Ms. Trix. Peter invited me home for the weekend.”
“There’ll be no Ms. Trixing for me, little one. Just plain Trix is fine, and what do you be thinking of Bramble Cottage?”
The kneading stopped for just a minute as Una said, “Why, it’s just lovely. Do you know, it’s what I’ve always imagined home to be?” Trix went back to her vigorous pushing and pulling of the dough. Una took this to mean that she had answered satisfactorily.
At that moment, a side door was flung open, and two breathless boys fell in, pushing in front of each other and clamoring for Trix’s attention. “Just a wee bit of cookie before dinner, Trix, that’s a nice lady,” the one with a curly head of coppery hair said.
The smaller one began to coax too. “Trix, you know you make the best cookies ever, honest.” His blue eyes looked even larger behind a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles. The wheedling stopped as soon as they saw Una and Peter. The two boys exchanged mischievous looks, and the one with glasses hopped over to Peter and Una.
“Let me guess,” Una said to the smaller boy with a smile. “You must be Rufus.”
The boy scowled, and his curly-haired brother skipped over to poke him in the ribs. “I’m Rufus,” he said. “This is my big brother Sebastian.”
Una hoped that she hadn’t embarrassed Sebastian, but before she could apologize, Peter introduced her.
“This is Una, my friend from school. She’s here for the weekend, so be nice to her.”
“Ooooh,” Sebastian crowed, “Peter has a girlfriend.”
Una opened her mouth to protest.
“Don’t bother,” Peter said, rolling his eyes. “It’ll only make it worse.”
The boys began skipping around the room, chanting, “Peter and Una sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G,” until Trix gave them each a cookie and told them to be quiet.
Una liked Trix even better after that. Una helped her set the dining room table, taking pains to make sure the dishes and silverware were all neatly lined up. At the last moment, she stepped out to the back flower bed and picked a little bouquet of yellow roses to set in the middle of the table.
“Just right, my dear,” Trix said, carrying in a tray full of good things.
Una liked Mr. Merriweather at once. He gave her a firm handshake and said, “Glad to have you,” when Peter introduced them at the table. He was tall, and his dark hair had gray over the ears, and blue eyes peered out through glasses that looked just like Bastian’s. But it was his crinkly, deep voice that made her believe they really were happy to have her.
Mrs. Merriweather made Una feel right at home. Her thick auburn hair was piled high on her head, and her brown eyes looked cheerful as she gave Una a big hug. “Welcome to Bramble Cottage, dear,” she said as they all sat down to eat. In that moment, all the pretending and trying to fit in, the tiresome efforts to act like she belonged in Story, melted right away.
Una sat between Peter and Oliver, a chubby toddler who tugged on Una’s sleeve to whisper little secrets all throughout the meal. “I like your eyes,” he told her in his whispery voice, and Una kissed his fat cheek. The only Merriweather she hadn’t met, Rosemary, was asleep in the nursery. The food was delicious, and Una polished off two helpings of fried chicken and asked for a third slice of the freshly made bread.
For most of the meal she sat back and watched Mr. and Mrs. Merriweather. They weren’t exactly how she had imagined her own parents would have been, but they were close enough to make her look at Peter with fresh eyes. What would it have been like to grow up in a household like this? To have true brothers and sisters and life filling and overflowing every room? Rufus and Bastian were sharing the ridiculously unfunny jokes they had made up that afternoon. They kept trying to trump each other, acting out each punch line with abandon, until the entire table had dissolved into tears of laughter.
“They would be funny, dears,” Mrs. Merriweather said, gasping, “if they weren’t, well, not. Funny, that is.”
When they had finished eating, they moved into the cozy parlor for dessert. Trix brought in the beautiful apple cake Una had seen earlier. Una took tiny bites, trying to make the treat last. When the younger children were sent to wash up, Peter gave her a significant look. Una’s heart sped up. She liked the Merriweathers. What if they hated her because she was
a WI? But before Peter could say anything, Mrs. Merriweather came over to Una and sat next to her on the couch. “And so you’ve been Written In, my dear?”
Una and Peter shared looks of amazement.
Mr. Merriweather looked at his wife. The firelight flickered off his glasses. Both of their faces were very serious. “Peter,” he said. “You should have told us. Una has been in grave danger.”
Peter’s mouth hung open. “How did you know?” he finally managed.
“That’s not important,” Mr. Merriweather said, but Una thought otherwise. Had they heard the news from Red or Mr. Elton? She tried to imagine how the Merriweathers could possibly be working with the Tale Master as Mr. Merriweather asked his son, “Have you told anyone?”
“No one,” Peter said. “Well, Sam, of course, but none of the professors.”
Mr. and Mrs. Merriweather exchanged glances.
“But someone else knows,” Una said. “And she told Mr. Elton.” She watched the Merriweathers carefully as Peter described what he had seen in Elton’s office, but they seemed genuinely surprised. Either they were very good actors, or they must have heard about her some other way. Everyone sat in silence for what seemed to Una like a long time. Mr. Merriweather got up and walked over to the mantel. He leaned against it and stared into the fire. Why won’t they say something? Anything? Una could feel the fear rising up in her, choking the back of her throat. Even the encouraging squeeze of Mrs. Merriweather’s soft hands could not make her feel brave again.
Peter said, “But Elton and Red don’t know I heard them.” He looked from one parent’s face to the other. “That’s a good thing, right?”
“Of course, dear,” Mrs. Merriweather said, but the creases on her forehead gave her away. Una was about to tell them about the scroll Peter had taken from Elton’s office when Mr. Merriweather turned and looked at Peter.
“And could someone please tell me how my son came to be serving detention in the Tale Master’s office?” he asked.
Una decided to leave out the bit about the scroll. At least for now. Peter started off well enough, telling about meeting Una, but as he got to the part about the exam review panel, his voice grew faint. Apparently, there really was no good way to tell parents about a failed exam and a term’s worth of detentions.
At least Mrs. Merriweather seemed sympathetic. “Of course you couldn’t have passed given the circumstances, Peter.”
Mr. Merriweather wasn’t so forgiving. “Don’t fail another,” he said sternly. “When’s your next examination?”
“Wednesday. For Villainy.” He fidgeted with his collar. “I’ll do better.”
Mr. Merriweather spoke to his wife as though Peter and Una were no longer there. “This all seems very suspicious. Why in the world would someone Write Una In through an Advanced Heroics exam? And why is Elton hiding it from his Talekeepers?”
Una didn’t think he really expected anyone to answer, so she said, “But who could have Written me In?” She ended her sentence with the question mark she felt was plastered on her forehead. “What’s going on? Can you tell me? Please say that you can help me.”
Una felt tears well up even as she asked the questions. She hadn’t realized how much she had been counting on the Merriweathers’ help. Somewhere deep inside she had expected everything to change once someone besides Peter and Sam, someone in charge, someone grown-up, knew. But the tiny shake of Mr. Merriweather’s head, the pity in his wife’s eyes, and the fear she couldn’t shake off—more than anything else, the fear—shattered Una’s last hope that everything could be taken care of.
She began to cry.
Mrs. Merriweather handed her a lace handkerchief and said in a soft voice, “We can’t tell you why you were Written In, Una, or even how. But we will certainly try to help you.”
“You did right to hide her from the Talekeepers, Peter,” Mr. Merriweather said as Una dried her eyes. “I can’t imagine the uproar finding a WI would cause. All the fearmongering and the new ‘protective measures’ the Talekeepers would introduce.” He snorted. “And then they would whisk Una off to wherever they take those who disagree with them.” He walked over to Una and smiled down at her. “But we’ll keep you safe.”
“You can be sure of that,” Mrs. Merriweather added. Una looked from one to the other, and this made the tears come all the more. They were being so kind to her, and here she was a perfect stranger.
Una wiped her nose with the handkerchief and said in a shaky voice, “Do you have any idea why someone would bring me to Story? I’m just a girl.”
Mr. Merriweather gave his wife a cryptic look. “I don’t know, Una. Not for sure. But I have some friends who might be able to help. I’ll do my best to find the answers to your questions while you’re back at school.”
“Can I just stay here with you?” Una asked.
Mrs. Merriweather patted her hand again. “We’d like that very much, but I’m afraid it’s impossible. At this point, if we do anything out of the ordinary, it will raise Mr. Elton’s and his Talekeepers’ suspicions, not to mention this Red person.” She stood up and smoothed her skirts. “At any rate, I’m glad to hear you’re in the dormitories. You’ll be safer in a more conspicuous place. I don’t think the Talekeepers would dare kidnap you from there for the outrage it would cause among the other parents.”
“Is that what happens to the people the Talekeepers don’t like? They get kidnapped?” Una asked.
Mr. Merriweather squeezed Una’s shoulder. “Now don’t you worry, my dear. Nothing of the sort will happen to you.”
Una nodded. But you didn’t answer my question. Just then Rufus and Bastian bounded into the room with their littlest brother in tow. “Ollie wants a Tale,” Bastian said. “But we’re in the middle of a pirate battle.”
“’S’okay,” Rufus said. “We can stop.”
“He’s just saying that because he has to walk the plank,” Bastian said.
Mrs. Merriweather smiled at her sons. “All right, leave him with us. Come here, darling,” she said and gave Oliver’s downy head a kiss as she sat him on her lap.
Mr. Merriweather excused himself and followed Bastian and Rufus out of the room as the others settled in for the Tale. Peter sank back into a chair, one ankle crossed over his knee, his foot twitching impatiently. Una drew her legs up under her and settled in. Finally. Hearing a story was the next best thing to reading one.
“Once upon a time,” Mrs. Merriweather began, “there was a King. He had done many valiant things in his long reign, some of which you know. This is the same King who carried out the Siege of Mysterium Castle, the Rescue of Princess Julian, the Discovery of the Forbidden Lands, the Restoration of the Guardian Books, and the Winning of the Emerald Throne. He was very brave, and, if that wasn’t enough, he was good, noble, honest, and true. Under the King’s rule, his people had peace, justice, and fruitfulness. In every corner of the land, characters lived in peace and harmony.” Bastian and Rufus crept back into the room, their pirate game abandoned, and sat cross-legged on the rug in front of the fire.
“One day the King decided to have an adventure. He prepared for a long journey and placed trusted servants in charge of his kingdom. The day of his departure came, and all his people lined up to bow before him. Their sons and daughters threw flowers on the streets, cheering and laughing as they sang their favorite songs.” Una could almost see the dancing children, could feel the sweetness of their farewell.
“This pleased the King,” Mrs. Merriweather continued. “And he departed in full confidence, knowing his servants would be careful to rule his land well in his absence. No one knew the King’s destination, but all the people, young and old, awaited their King’s return. And where do you think the King was all this time?”
Rufus had his chin cupped in both hands, his face fixed on his mother. He shook his head. “Where?”
“Why, the King was traveling the land, living among his people. Such was the wisdom and kindness of the King. He disguised himself, of cou
rse, else the people would have recognized him straightaway. And he didn’t want that. Before he decided to leave, he had thrown great feasts at his castle, and everyone who came sat stiffly in their chairs and minded their manners, and wiped their mouths with the corners of their napkins just so. Though the King didn’t mind that, his favorite thing to do was to sit around a merry fire with friends, telling stories and eating good food, and he couldn’t do that when people were always trying to be on their best behavior around him.
“One day, he arrived in a mountain village, weary and footsore. He looked nothing like the King he was, for his hair was matted, and his clothes were dirty from traveling. He went from house to house, seeking a night’s hospitality, but every door was turned against him. One woman said that her rooms were all full for the night. Someone else made excuses about not having enough food. A farmer wouldn’t even offer him the loft of his barn. With each refusal, the King went sadly on his way, for he longed to sit at a table and break bread with his people. Finally, on the very last street of the village, he met a little boy. The boy was dressed in rags and hardly had a place of his own to call home. Most nights he made camp on the outskirts of town and curled up next to his dog to sleep. But he offered to share his fire with the King and received in return rich company and delightful Tales. Out of his battered pack, the King pulled all manner of delicious food. The boy had never tasted chocolate before, and to this day he talks about his first bite of it by that fire. And such stories! The boy grew up and traveled around telling the best of the King’s Tales, and they are favorites of little boys and girls everywhere. The next morning, the boy’s mysterious visitor was nowhere to be found, but he left a sack full of gold coins for the boy.” She smiled down at Oliver, who had nodded off in her lap. “And inside the money bag was a note that read, ‘Any old fire is fit for a King if kindness be there.’”