Edith Pattou - East

When I wasn't in the red-couch room, I would sit beside the small window at the top of the castle. I could then clearly see that the lone tree branch had sprouted the beginnings of leaves. I tried jamming my hand through the tiny opening in a ridiculous attempt to reach the leaves, but the branch was much too far away and all I got were scraped knuckles. Some days it was too painful to see the blue of the sky and the green of the new leaves, and I would retreat to the red couch.

The white bear would find me there and I could tell he was uneasy. His eyes watched me with a sad, unsettled look and his skin twitched, as if he was reflecting the restlessness and unhappiness he saw in my face.

I no longer spoke to him or told him stories. I was angry. After all, he was the reason I was not out walking my own familiar trails; it was he who had brought me to this prison. When those feelings grew strong, I would stalk out of the room and restlessly roam the corridors and rooms of the castle. The white bear did not follow me.

My unhappiness began to affect my sleep. I tossed and turned, uncaring whether or not I disturbed my unseen companion. Still, despite my unhappy state I did not violate the unspoken rules about trying to touch or speak to the visitor. Something kept me, just barely, from straying over that line. I still laid out the nightshirt but only out of habit.

I ate little and could tell that I was getting thin and unhealthy, yet I did not care. I had no will for anything except either sitting and staring or incessantly roaming the castle. I had lost interest in my makeshift calendar and no longer knew the day or even the month. Gradually my little spurts of anger at the white bear became the only moments I felt much of anything at all, and after a while even my anger grew dull.

One day I was sitting on the red couch, staring at nothing, when the white bear came into the room. He did not lie in his usual spot but stood facing me and spoke. I had not heard his voice in a long time.

"You ... are ill?"

"No," I said apathetically.

"No food ... pale."

"I'm not hungry."

"Then unhappy..." he intoned mournfully. "...lonely?"

I looked up at him. "I need to go home," I said simply, "or I think I might die."

I thought I heard a groan escape from deep in the bear's chest.

I felt a stirring of the old me. "You must let me go. For a visit only. Please."

He lowered his head in that nodding gesture I had come to know.

My heart started pounding. Home. Fresh air. The wind. I thought I might faint.

"When?" I asked, barely able to hide my excitement.

"Tomorrow." His voice filled the room, though faintly, like the knell of a far-off bell.

Neddy

IT WAS ONE OF THE fairest springs we'd ever had on the farm. Each day dawned clear and fresh, with a bright blue sky. And somehow the very beauty of the days sharpened my feelings of missing Rose.

Early in lambing season I began to notice that Mother and Widow Hautzig were up to something. They were always whispering together or spending hours in the woods collecting things they kept hidden. My guess was that they were concocting some sort of charm, either a finding charm to bring Rose back or a love charm to heal the rift between Mother and Father. If Father had been at home, I would have talked to him about it, but he was gone again.

Soren had told me about a scholar in Trondheim who was eager for an apprentice or assistant. After hearing about me, the scholar suggested that we meet. I knew Soren was longing for Father to move the mapmaking business to Trondheim, and that he was trying to enlist me in his efforts. Though I was sorely tempted to meet the scholar, I felt as Father did. Because of Rose I did not want to leave the farm. So I put Soren off, saying I was not ready yet, and thanked him for his generous efforts on my behalf.

One day I was walking from Father's workshop up to the house for the midday meal. Willem, Sonja, and I had completed the most recent order from Soren, and I was eagerly looking forward to spending the afternoon poring over the new books he had sent. I saw a figure dressed in gray standing in front of the farmhouse. She was facing away from me, but I knew at once who it was. "Rose!" I cried out, unbelieving.

She turned to face me. I ran to her, folding her in my arms, my eyes blinded by tears. Then I held her away from me, drinking in the sight of her standing there, solid and real. She looked thinner, but her face glowed with happiness.

"Rose, are you truly back? I can't believe it," I said. The smile on her face wavered. "'Tis only a visit, Neddy," she said in a quiet voice.

"Why?"

"I promised."

"The white bear?"

"Yes."

"Where is he?"

"He is gone but will return for me."

"How long?"

"One month."

"That is too short! Surely..." I stopped when I saw her expression.

Hearing our voices, Willem and Sonja came out of the farmhouse. There were cries of joy and many hugs, and shortly thereafter Mother and Sara came walking up the road, in company with Widow Hautzig.

"Rose? Is it Rose?" Sara cried, and soon Sara, Rose, and Mother were embracing one another all at once while Widow Hautzig looked on.

"Sara, you look well! You are fully recovered?" Rose asked.

Sara smiled and nodded.

"Oh, Sara, I am so happy to see you." And Rose embraced Sara all over again.

"But Rose, you are so thin!" Mother said, tears in her eyes, as she tightly clasped Rose to her. "Come inside," she said, pulling Rose into the farmhouse. "There is soup on the hearth. And then you must tell us everything!"

Rose was so busy gazing around the farmhouse that she seemed barely to hear Mother's words. "Everything is different," she said. "The new furniture. Fresh paint. What has happened while I was gone?"

"Ah, it is a long tale," Mother replied. "Sit down, and I'll fetch you a bowl of soup. Sara, get Rose a cup of apple mead."

Rose obediently sat. Then her eyes lit on the loom.

"Oh, it's Widow Hautzig's loom. How kind of you to give it to us," she said to the widow.

Widow Hautzig had the grace to look a little embarrassed, but Mother rescued her. "It is yours now, Rose. I knew you would be back." She and Widow Hautzig exchanged a look as Mother placed the bowl of soup in front of Rose.

"I ... I'm sorry, Mother, but I'm not really hungry. Where is Father?"

"Your father is not here, Rose," Mother replied. "He is a mapmaker now. Off on an exploring journey."

"And searching for you," I added.

"A mapmaker! Oh, I am so glad," Rose said happily. "When will he be back?"

"We don't know," I responded. "Last time he was gone nearly two months."

. "Oh no!" Rose said, obviously distressed. "I haven't much time..."

"What do you mean?" Mother asked sharply. "You are back to stay, aren't you, Rose?"

Rose shook her head. I could see her hands were tightly clenched in her lap.

"Rose is only visiting," I said. "She can stay for one month, no more. Come, Rose, let me show you Father's new workshop."

Rose quickly got to her feet, giving me a grateful look. "I'll eat later, Mother," she said as we went out the door.

"Is Father really a mapmaker, Neddy?" she asked. "Tell me everything!"

While we walked I told her the whole story, of all that had happened since she had left us. I didn't show her Father's workshop after all, not then, for we decided to keep walking until we got to our favorite spot, the hillside where Rose had first showed me the wind-rose cloak.

Rose listened in amazement. When I was done, I leaned over and took her hand. "Now it is your turn," I said. "Tell me where you have been and all that has happened to you."

She was silent. "I cannot, Neddy," she finally said.

She loosened her hand from mine and, standing up, threw her arms out and put her face toward the sun. "It is so good to be home!" she said, joy radiating from her.