by Savanna Sage
Stella was also enchanted by all the horses, carriages, and people of all shapes and sizes, creating a background of rich color and noise as if she’d stepped into the pages of a real live fairy tale. Aunt Felicity joined them on an excursion to a museum, followed by a picnic in Central Park. Since she never saw her uncle outside, but only brooding in his chair with a frown so deep it would likely create a dent in the back of his head, Stella’s 10-year-old mind wondered if he might secretly belong to a troll family. But she didn’t dare ask about his parentage after the reaction to her castle question.
When it was time to leave, Emily gave Stella a warm hug. “It was wonderful to have you, little cousin. Come back soon.”
But they never went back. When Papa received a telegram a year later telling him that Aunt Felicity had died, he fell onto the horsehair sofa, put his head in his hands, and cried. When Stella sat beside him, he wrapped his arms around her and they sat together as evening fell and the parlor darkened around them.
With just Papa, Stella, and Uncle Owen’s family remaining, Stella went along on Papa’s duty visits to Uncle Owen’s house, hoping that her red-haired cousin, Franklin, would be home. His older sister, dark-haired Delphia, had already married and moved to Kansas City. Franklin was her same age, and despite being a boy, made an amusing companion. For one thing, he refused to get rid of his bird collection in spite of knowing it disgusted his father. Franklin kept collecting bird feathers and putting them together in misshapen lumps in his attempts to recreate the birds themselves, using pebbles or glass for eyes.
Aunt Ellis, a thin woman who was sparse with hugs but enjoyed providing an abundance of magically sweet pastries for everyone in the household, gave her son one of the best treats he could wish for: John Audubon’s book, “Birds of America.”
Stella enjoyed sitting by Franklin as he bent his head over the book, turning pages of birds in fairy tale settings of whimsical woods or enchanted prairie under wide blue skies. It was most amusing to hear Franklin talk about the peculiar traits of each bird without even reading the words, the dusting of freckles across his cheeks animated as he recited information he’d learned by heart.
As the cousins grew older, Franklin was gone from home more often, either visiting Delphia or other relatives with Aunt Ellis. By the time Stella reached nineteen, she no longer expected to see either Aunt Ellis or Franklin at her uncle’s house.
She and Papa hadn’t been there lately, either. She didn’t want to admit it was because Papa was failing fast. Just three days ago, he looked up at her from his pillow with such love in his eyes that she filled with warmth, but his words left her cold. “I’m going on an adventure, Cabbage Head,” he wheezed with such difficulty that Stella felt winded just listening to him. She drew in a deep breath as if she could breathe on his behalf. Was he dreaming up another story? “I’m going to see your mother.”
Stella laid her head on her father’s arm. “I want to go with you.”
Alton slid his fingers over his daughter’s hand. “It’s too soon for you to go, Cabbage Head.” He stroked her slender fingers. “I’ll tell her how beautiful you are, but I think she already knows.”
“I don’t care about being beautiful.”
“I’ll tell her how good you are.”
“Not as good as you.”
He coughed, then continued, “You’ve fetched the doctor on your own, sat up with me night after night without complaining, gone out for my medicine, you’ve done everything for me.”
“Which did you no good.”
“Your efforts gave me more time with you.” When he licked his dry lips, Stella pulled her hand away, picked up his water glass, and helped him take a drink. As she dabbed drops of water from his chin with a soft cloth, he said, “Thank you for being patient and kind.”
“Uncle Owen doesn’t think I am.” She turned and placed the cloth on the nightstand, then continued staring at it fixedly as if fascinated by its plain white appearance.
“He doesn’t know you.” When Stella remained silent, Alton said, “Look at me, please. I want to see those green eyes.”
Stella turned her head and gazed at her beloved father’s face through glistening tears that turned her eyes into deep ocean pools. He gave her a weak smile. “That’s better. Listen to me now. You are all that’s left of me and your mother. I don’t know why she was taken so soon after you were born. Maybe it was like a fairy tale, so she could watch over you better from Heaven. If anyone was deserving of Heaven, it was your mother.”
A tear escaped Stella’s eye and rolled down her cheek, but she kept still, her gaze steadfastly on her father.
“Now that I’m going to join her, it is left to you to be our earthly representative.”
“Don’t leave me,” Stella begged.
“Don’t think that way, Cabbage Head. Your mother and I found each other and had our princess.” His gaze slid over her face as if memorizing it. “There just aren’t words to tell you how happy you’ve made me. Because of you, my life was worthwhile.”
Stella wanted to drop her head to her father’s chest and weep until her loving tears soaked in and healed him, like Rapunzel’s tears did for her poor prince’s blind eyes. If Stella didn’t have enough tears to work that kind of fairytale magic, then her next desire was to beg her father not to leave. Watching him die was like feeling the blood drain slowly from her veins, her heart thrumming ever heavier and more slowly, bringing greater pain with each beat, like a strong man using a hammer on a drum until the skin tore into an irreparable hole.
“I want the same happily-ever-after story for you,” Alton wheezed. “For you to have a Prince Charming, and then a little one to love.”
“But that means I have to find a husband first,” Stella said, “and I want you to choose him for me.”
“Ah,” Alton said. “A clever ploy to try to get me to stay.”
Stella pressed her father’s hand to her wet cheek, where tears ran freely down her face.
“You are my child, so I’ll never be completely gone from you,” Alton said. “With the part of me you keep, you’ll know when you meet the right man.” He coughed. “Heaven won’t be Heaven without my Cabbage Head. I’ll wait for you there.”
“I’d rather you stay here with me, Papa.”
“I would if I could, but I don’t know how to stop myself from leaving.”
When he left, Princess Cabbage Head cried big tears over him, but he didn’t return.
Chapter 5
The good brother was supposed to survive, to win in the end, like in the fairy tales. But for some reason, the wrong Brasher brother died first, leaving Stella standing in Uncle Owen’s parlor as he stared at her in frank disapproval. “Since you have fallen to my care, I shall commence handling your affairs properly,” Uncle Owen said.
“What does that mean?”
“Don’t be impertinent. I won’t tolerate it.”
Talking to Uncle Owen was like walking through a cow pasture at night, trying to avoid fresh manure. “I meant no disrespect,” Stella said, lowering her voice. “I would simply like to know what your plans are for me.”
“I have a friend, a recent widower, who expresses interest in your welfare.”
Stella spread her hands. “In what way? Does he wish to be my benefactor and pay for my college education?”
Uncle Owen’s shocked expression was comical. “No! Where did you get a strange notion like that?” His eyes narrowed. “He wishes to marry you.”
“What?” Stella took in a breath that didn’t contain enough air.
“A most unbecoming word,” Uncle Owen said with a sniff. “I’m certain you heard what I said. If you only take a moment to ponder your situation, you’ll see that it is a most fortuitous match for you.”
“I do not wish to be matched.”
Uncle Owen’s eyebrow went up and the corners of his mouth turned down. “You do not wish to… marry?”
“No, that’s not it. I simply don’t wish for anyo
ne else to do my matching. I will choose my own husband.”
Uncle Owen’s expression relaxed, and he scoffed. “What do you know of men, and which one would make a suitable marriage partner?”
“I know what I’ve seen of other couples, what I’ve read, and what I’ve talked to my girlfriends about.”
“Just as I thought. You know nothing.”
“I know my own feelings.”
“Totally unreliable.” Uncle Owen drew himself up. “I am prepared to make an effort on your behalf. I will introduce you to this worthy man who is quite well off. I’m sure that if you give him a chance, you’ll see what a benefit partnering with him will be.” He gave her a once-over with his eyes again.
She shivered, wondering what he thought of her. Was he measuring her size to see how proportionate she would be compared to his friend, seeking public approval for this proposed marriage? “Thank you, Uncle Owen, but I prefer to find my own husband.”
“Impossible.” Uncle Owen’s voice was so hard, Stella shivered at the impact of his single word. “Close your mouth, young lady. You don’t catch a husband like a frog catches flies. I assure you, I’m sending you to a very nice household, a nicer one than you would find on your own. I do this for your own good, out of love for my brother.”
Suddenly cold, Stella folded her arms, wishing they were as big and muscled as the Salt Lake Smasher’s. “I won’t go.”
Uncle Owen’s reply was a raised eyebrow over a stony expression. She was startled to find that his calculating look was even worse than his yelling.
“I can choose for myself,” Stella said, squeezing her arms tighter, but feeling no warmth.
“You have not reached the age of majority,” Uncle Owen said. “As your only remaining relative, you are under my care, and I am trying to do right by you, Stella. I wish to see you established in a beneficial situation. I’m sure your father would want that for you.”
“He wouldn’t force me,” Stella replied.
“I think he should have exerted more force in your life for your own sake.”
“You needn’t concern yourself.” Stella turned toward the door. “I will make my own way.”
Uncle Owen moved around Stella faster than she would have thought possible, blocking her exit. “I will not have you walking the streets,” he said, his voice almost pleading. “Think of your reputation.”
“I will find a position.”
“You needn’t stoop to such tactics if you would just marry the respectable man I found for you. You could at least meet him.”
Feeling trapped, Stella asked, “Who is it?”
Uncle Owen regarded her for a moment before answering. “Malthius Kemper.”
Stella’s shoulders rose as if to ward off an attack. Although he had all his hair and was rumored by some ladies as being an easy man to look at, Mr. Kemper was nearly twice her age. He was twice widowed, too. Perhaps that’s why he looked so fierce all the time, in spite of his pleasing features. A sudden thought broke over Stella’s mind, leaving dread in its wake. Had he poisoned his two wives? Neither one was old at her time of death. To have one young wife die could be a normal tragedy, but two young wives passing on seemed to set an unwanted precedent.
“How did his wives die?”
“That is of no account.”
“It is to me,” she blurted. “What if he killed them?”
Uncle Owen’s face set in an expression of grim resolution. “I see how things stand. Perhaps this whole situation is partly Alton’s fault for telling you all those fairy tales.”
Against her will, tears sprang to Stella’s eyes. “Don’t blame Papa.”
“For whatever reason you think as you do, I assure you, I am genuinely concerned about your happiness,” Uncle Owen said. “I am obligated to take proper care of you. Although we didn’t always agree, your father was my brother, and that matters to me.” Uncle Owen rubbed his forehead. “He stood by me when all others abandoned…” Abruptly he stopped speaking and dropped his hand. “Never mind that. It’s time to deal with the matters at hand. Please believe me, I didn’t want to resort to this, but it’s the only solution that comes to mind. Come along.”
Wary of his solution, Stella decided it would do no harm to see what he had in mind. She followed him down the hallway, surprised when they ended up at Franklin’s door. “What are we doing here?”
“Go look out the window,” Uncle Owen said.
Puzzled, Stella moved toward the window while Uncle Owen stepped out of her way. She gazed on the landscape of fields at the edge of Hugoton, lit golden by the late afternoon sun, a perfect setting for a princess to begin an adventure. But she was sure that wasn’t what Uncle Owen wanted her to see. “There’s nothing,” she said, just before the door closed behind her and the lock clicked into place.
Stella spun around to find that she was alone in the room. Dashing to the door, she tried the knob, even though she’d heard it lock. “Let me out!” she cried, pounding on the wood.
“There’s something you don’t know,” Uncle Owen said through the door. “Your cousin Emily ran away after my sister died.”
“Unlock the door!” Stella shouted.
“Don’t you understand?” Uncle Owen asked, his voice heavy with sorrow. “She went away on her own, and hasn’t been heard of since. You don’t want to end up like that, do you? Lost out there in the world? I’m only trying to help you.”
“You can’t keep me a prisoner,” Stella cried, knowing with a frantic heart that he actually could. In desperation, her mind filled with the picture of the Salt Lake City Smasher’s strong arms, big enough to break down this door. If only he would show up now, like Rumplestiltskin popping into the room of straw, ready to spin it into gold.
“Spend some time thinking about your options, Stella,” Uncle Owen said. “Going out on your own to try and find a position is far too dangerous. When you have regained your senses, we will talk more of your future.”
“I have all my senses!” Stella screamed. “Let me go!”
“If you could hear yourself, you’d think you were suffering from hysteria,” Uncle Owen said so calmly that Stella stopped pounding on the door.
“Now, isn’t that better? It’s easier to work things out when it’s quiet.”
“What about Prince?”
“You’ve no need to burden yourself with that creature.”
Stella bit her lips together, doing her best to maintain her composure before saying, “He’s my dog. Mine and… Papa’s.”
“Things change.”
“He can’t be left alone! He needs food and water.”
“I’ve taken care of it.”
Seized with a sudden terror that her uncle had killed Prince, Stella demanded, “How?”
“The Carter family were glad to take him off my hands.”
Tears rose in Stella’s eyes. Uncle Owen had no right to give her dog away. She pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes, but the tears still leaked through. She told herself that giving him away was better than killing him. She’d cared for the four lively Carter children on occasion, and found them to be generally cheerful. Their father spoke to them with affection when he got home from work, and their mother was only occasionally cross. Prince could probably be happy there, but, oh, she would miss him.
“I’ll give you a chance to settle in, then check back with you later.” Stella listened to Uncle Owen’s footfalls fading away, wishing she had the breath of the Big Bad Wolf to blow this house down.
Chapter 6
The first time Adam hit someone was the day he found two brothers throwing rocks at Punch. Cornered, the dog had no way out except to run past his tormentors, so instead he pressed himself into a corner, letting out a pained yip with each rock thumping into his quivering body.
Without stopping to consider that the bigger boy stood almost a head taller, Adam ran into him head-on, fists hammering into his gut. The boy doubled over and fell to the ground, clutching his belly. Adam d
ropped on top of him, hitting and hitting, determined to deliver at least as many bruises as the bully had given the dog.
The younger brother plowed into Adam, knocking him off the bigger boy. Adam caught himself on his hands, skinning his palms. He jumped up, the sting of broken skin spurring him on to deliver a mighty blow to the smaller brother, who stood nearly eye level to him, his fists raised in front of scared eyes. That single hit sent the boy sprawling.
“Leave my dog alone!” Adam shouted. Then he cradled Punch in his arms, the animal quivering against Roland’s dragon coin hanging inside Adam’s shirt. Then he turned and strode away, leaving the bullies to help each other up.
Adam and his father kept house together while Coretta lived at Grandma’s. During Roland’s first forgetful episode, Adam thought about following Mama to Grandma’s, but he didn’t. Besides the fact that she hadn’t packed him any clothes, he wasn’t sure of the way, and Grandma was even more short-tempered than her daughter. At times he missed his mother’s occasional hugs and rare smiles. But by the time he was a teenager, if they saw each other in town, his mother might give him a nod before continuing her business. Since she didn’t approach him, he figured she’d gotten as used to living without him as he had without her.
Adam worked with his father on renovating houses, especially accommodating the popular new plumbing. Having only completed one year of school, he couldn’t read a book or newspaper, but under his father’s tutelage, he learned to find his way around a blue print. There was always work available. With Adam’s help in keeping appointments, handling the tools, and sometimes taking the lead on projects as he grew more experienced, Roland was able to earn a living.
When Adam carried Punch home and told his father what happened, Roland took the dog onto his lap. “Oh little man,” he whispered, “I thought you already paid your dues.”