The Forest Queen Read online

  “I saw her,” I told Little Jane. My voice was breaking; I felt tears on my face. “Little Jane, she’s so close. She’s coming.”

  She lifted her head from the pillow. “She’s coming,” she echoed. She breathed in through her nose, and I watched her jaw set with determination. “Mae Tuck, I want to get up.”

  The Mae nodded, and she and I put our arms under Little Jane’s to help support her as she knelt upright. “Can I lean against you, Silvie?”

  “You never have to ask.”

  So I stood against the wall, and she leaned against me, her face against my belly, one arm wrapped around my waist; and with her other arm she reached down and helped Mae Tuck catch her own baby.

  Quickly testing the baby’s limbs with her practiced hands, Mae Tuck said, “You see? It’s always almost over when you say you can’t do it.”

  Little Jane sank down on the floor again, and I piled the blankets and linens behind her so she could rest, half sitting, against the cave wall. The lacing on the front of her shift had long since come undone, and Mae Tuck laid the baby on her bare chest.

  The little thing wasn’t crying. I looked at it in alarm, and then at the Mae. “Don’t they shout, when they’re born?” I asked.

  She smiled, shaking her head. “Not always. Listen to the strong breath this one’s making; we’ve got a contented little girl on our hands, that’s all.”

  “A girl after all,” I whispered.

  Little Jane stroked her baby’s forehead, murmuring something so quiet I couldn’t hear the words. But they weren’t meant for me. She was sweaty and tired, still pale; her baby was puffy and strangely purple, and streaked with red and white fluids. Mae Tuck smoothed another clean linen over the new baby and mother, to keep them warm.

  All three of them glowed like paintings of saints. And Little Jane didn’t look far away anymore: she had come back safely from that country where I’d never been. The presence and the power of her filled up the whole cave.

  * * *

  After the baby had nursed and both she and Little Jane had fallen asleep, Mae Tuck nodded and turned to me. “This is their time, now,” she said. “Let’s give them a few hours’ privacy.”

  I was not quite prepared for the anticipatory stillness that waited for us outside the cave. Every single member of our band stared at Mae Tuck and me eagerly, anxiously. I thought the Mae would speak, but she touched my arm and then gestured to the group, as if to say, Go on.

  “A girl,” I said, surprised to hear how hoarse my voice had gone. “And both she and Little Jane resting and well.”

  The cheer that went up was so loud Mae Tuck held up both her hands.

  “Resting, she said! Didn’t you hear?”

  The cheer faded to a joyful murmur.

  “What can we do to help?” Will Stutely asked, stepping forward. Behind him the rogues, tired from the day’s adventures, still stood up eagerly, ready to do whatever needed doing.

  “You can wash yourselves in the river, for one thing, before you even think of going near that baby,” I informed him.

  Mae Tuck nodded approvingly.

  “The river?” Stutely gave a theatrical shiver. “It’s pure ice!”

  “Good,” I said sweetly. “It might actually freeze the stink off you.”

  “What!” A white grin broke through Stutely’s black beard even as he pretended to grumble. “I’m not half as smelly as Kent. Just ask his wife.”

  Nell Mason leaned in to sniff her husband, then recoiled with her tongue stuck out and her eyes rolling. Kent clasped his hands over his heart in mock offense.

  The teasing and laughter escalated until Stutely announced that he was going to toss all of us into the river for a bath, like it or not—​which resulted in Simon and Kent nodding to each other and then rushing at the tall Stutely and carrying him off.

  A crackling sound of ice breaking, a big splash, and a bigger shout soon followed.

  “Here,” Bird said, laughing, “I’ll start a new fire out here tonight. Stutely’ll be glad of it in a few minutes.”

  “And of a blanket, if we’ve any to spare,” I said. Mae Tuck went bustling off to retrieve one.

  Before long Stutely was back, dripping. I was amused to see that Simon and Kent were just as sopping wet as he was. The rest of us helped stoke the fire Bird had started.

  Stutely, Simon, and Kent huddled together near the flames, sharing a blanket and body heat, each of them wearing ill-fitting clothes—​Stutely even using a red flannel petticoat that had once been mine but had become communal property as a kind of toga.

  Soon we had a bonfire tall enough to lick the frost off the canopy. No fear of burning, in the depths of cold and wet January, but still we built it far from the hidden tree houses.

  After we ate I went in to bring some food to Little Jane. I thought she was still sleeping, the baby resting on her chest, and I set the tin bowl down where she’d find it when she woke. But as I turned to leave, her voice stopped me.

  “She’s called Anna,” she said. “After you.”

  I sank down next to her. Her face was radiant in the low light from the banked fire at the cave’s entrance.

  “Me? Oh, Little Jane . . .”

  “Since you’re using only part of your name out here, I hoped you wouldn’t mind lending her the other bit.” She smiled. “Her second name is Robin, after Bird, for she’s a winter baby, and a robin is a winter bird.” She looked up at me, and her eyes were apprehensive. “Do you mind?”

  I couldn’t speak. I shook my head, and I reached out reverently to touch Anna Robin’s forehead.

  “It’s you and Bird who got us here,” Little Jane went on. “You made sure I was alive to see this day. And, Silvie . . .” She swallowed, and she touched her lips to the crown of Anna’s head. After a long breath in, she looked back up at me. “Anna’s father . . .”

  I shook my head again. “What right has he to that title?”

  “None. I know. But, Silvie . . . I thought I’d never tell you, I’d never be brave enough. But I know now, how brave I am.” She took a long breath. “Anna’s blood to you, you see. Her father—​the one who sent her coming, anyway—​it was your brother.” She shifted to hold her baby closer. “He has no right, and he never will. I know. But I want her to be—​not your brother’s daughter, but your niece.”

  What did I feel, in that moment? Longing that the blow I’d dealt my brother had killed him after all? Rage, hatred, vengeance?

  All those were there, waiting to be felt. But as Little Jane lifted her sleeping daughter and I took my niece in my arms, love overwhelmed me, love that rushed like a warm flood through my body and soul, filling me up so that everything else was washed away.

  “She has your mouth, I think,” Little Jane said.

  I shook my head, and a tear dropped onto Anna Robin’s round cheek. No feature of mine had ever been so perfect.

  Outside the rogues laughed and murmured around the bonfire. Cold and darkness surrounded us on all sides, but here in the forest, there was light and life.

  THIRTEEN

  Merriment

  Scarlet’s talons dug into my shoulder and her wings slapped at my face as she landed. I reached up to stroke the soft feathers under her beak. She chirruped and leaned into my hand, her wide eyes fluttering closed.

  “No catch for us again today, hey, my lass?” I asked her, although the answer was obvious from the lack of vermin lying at my feet.

  Bird looked up from deboning the large trout Seraph had brought him just minutes earlier. “By the Lady and Lord, that creature’s the worst hunter I ever trained,” he said. “How old is she now, and never brought back a single catch? I don’t know how she hasn’t starved to death!”

  Bird knew very well how Scarlet ate, and he watched me pull a strip of dried boar meat out of my pocket and offer it to the young owl, who immediately snapped it up and tilted her head so that it disappeared in one gulping, loud swallow. Scarlet hooted again and nuzzled my face. �
�Only a few months,” I said, returning her owly embrace by pressing my own cheek against hers. “Besides, she’s so affectionate.”

  Bird snorted. “She’s just looking for more free meals. See there; she’d be fluttering her lashes, if she had any, the little rogue.” But his eyes were laughing.

  “Sure, don’t go calling that kettle black, Falconer,” said Stutely, who was walking out of the trees with a bundle of dry timber strapped to his back. “We’re every one of us rogues, as our dear sheriff won’t let us forget. We’ve got to stay friends among ourselves—​it’s just the owl knows that better than some. A fair community spirit, her. And Little Jane’s owl’s enough of a hunter for the two of them.”

  It was true: Much provided rabbits and fish for our fire even more often than Seraph did. Ever since Anna Robin had arrived, the young owl had seemed to decide overnight that he was a kind of feathery parent, and that the new chick in the nest, being already the size of a grown-up owl, needed enough meat to feed a small army. It was too bad he didn’t seem to understand the idea of milk, or I wouldn’t have put it past him to try to fly a dairy cow out to us.

  “Silvie, look what I found today.” Bird beckoned me over to an edge of the clearing. “Snowdrops.”

  I stared: in the evening gloom you could nearly mistake the tiny bells for large snowflakes, but there they were, stubbornly pushing their way out of the cold soil. If they were growing here, under the canopy, they would be practically carpeting the ground outside the forest by now. Spring had come.

  * * *

  Our life among the trees was busier and happier than it had ever been.

  There was a baby to care for, for one: looking after a tiny infant took more effort than I could have thought possible. We all helped. A tailor named Arthur who had come to us in the winter, another refugee from my brother, stitched old cotton strips into diapers for her. Will Stutely doggedly washed them in the river each day and hung them out to dry, insisting with a laugh that he was the only one who could handle the stench, used as he was to the smell of himself.

  I brought Little Jane food, often feeding it to her while she nursed the baby, and I watched my niece while the young mother slept.

  Little Jane had recovered well, but even with all our help, she was still exhausted, for she had to wake up every few hours to nurse. Mae Tuck told me that every time a new group joined our growing forest community, she prayed to the Lady that one among them would be a nursing mother with whom Little Jane could share the burden of night feedings.

  One day in April her prayers were answered. Not a nursing mother, but a family with two white goats in tow. The animals moved nimbly through the forest, placing their small hooves between roots and rocks with the precision of dancers.

  “We didn’t want to come to you empty-handed,” said the elderly woman who led the goats, holding the hand of a young boy who looked simply like a child version of herself. “I know we cannot help in your ventures, for I am too old and Eric still too young”—​the boy scowled, and I could see from the longing way he stared at Stutely and Bird, who were laughing as they sparred each other with blackthorn staffs in the clearing, that he disagreed with his grandmother on that score—​“and we had nothing else left to bring, after the sheriff’s last takings, but Nanny and Ninny. He’d have taken them, too, if Eric hadn’t hidden them first.”

  “Well, that was very clever of you,” I said to the boy, who colored and grinned. “How’d you manage to hide them?” For I was worried about just that same thing. I couldn’t turn these two away—​we’d turned no one away yet, for all the strain it sometimes put on our resources. And I didn’t want to tell this little boy he couldn’t keep what were clearly his beloved pets. But how could we hide livestock? How could we make a quick getaway with dairy animals in tow?

  “Watch this,” Eric said. He climbed onto the branch of a nearby beech tree and whistled, and the goats leapt up after him. The bigger goat quickly conquered the next branch up, her full udder swinging—​and she dislodged a very disgruntled Scarlet and Much, who had taken to sleeping away the daytime there.

  Scarlet landed on my shoulder, still grumbling, but she faded quickly again into sleep. Much, who was a bit bolder, glared at the goats from midair, swooping in again and again to peck at them.

  “Now, Much, don’t be at that,” Little Jane scolded, walking over to us. Anna Robin was nestled into a linen carrier Mae Tuck had fashioned, fast asleep on her mother’s chest.

  The old woman smiled at her. “What a lovely baby,” she said. “How old is she?”

  “Two months now,” Little Jane replied. She kissed Anna Robin’s fuzzy head.

  “I’m glad to see a young mother here. Goat’s milk is the best for babies, you know, after milk of your own. I bought Nanny here when Eric’s mother died, and he thrived on it.” She looked knowingly at Little Jane. “I imagine you might fancy getting a full night’s sleep, and your little one will be no worse for a few drinks of fresh goat’s milk. If you’re willing, of course.”

  “Willing?” Little Jane laughed. “I’m likely to fall asleep while I stand. Would you really—​You don’t need all the milk yourself?”

  The old woman shook her head, watching the roving, laughing groups in our clearing. Nell and Nellie Mason, who had proven to be surprisingly adept pickpockets, had just returned from Esting City and were showing off the fine jewelry and coins they’d nabbed to Kent, who praised them with admiring bemusement.

  “I heard tell you share everything here,” she said, “with them who need it. It’s why we came. We need help”—​her eyes looked briefly haunted, and I wondered what John had done to, or taken from, this sweet small family—​“and I’ll be only too glad if we can give it, too.”

  Little Jane was already lifting Anna Robin off her chest. “You’re more welcome here than I can tell you,” she said. She handed the baby to me, then gave her another kiss and one long look of infinite, wordless love. She looked up at the woman gratefully, the shadows under her eyes etched deep, and she walked off to take a long and deserved sleep.

  Anna Robin buried her face against my neck.

  “Babies know how to nurse,” Eric informed me from the tree. “But I’ll have to teach you how to milk.”

  * * *

  A few days later, Mae Tuck approached me as I finished milking Nanny, who had proved a generous contributor to our group.

  “Silvie,” she said, offering me a cup of tea, “are you and Bird lovers?”

  I jerked, and a little milk spilled from my bucket. “No!”

  The Mae smiled. “A good thing I hadn’t handed this to you yet. Here, take it, but be ready for another shock. I want to talk frankly with you.” She pressed the cup into my hands. Sitting down next to me, she continued: “I didn’t think you were, but I see the way you look at him.” She raised her eyebrows at me suggestively, then laughed.

  I gave her a chagrined smile. “Probably everyone in the forest sees that, Mae Tuck. But just because . . .” Why was it so much harder to explain the way I felt out loud? “Bird and I have been great friends for so long, and now—​He’s the closest thing to family I have, out here. I gave up the rest of my family when I left Loughsley.” That was harder to say that than I’d thought it would be, too. I found my throat catching. How could I be homesick for a prison? “If Bird and I were to—​if we risked a romance, and then it failed, I would lose him. I couldn’t bear that.”

  Mae Tuck looked at me searchingly. “You underestimate him, dear. And yourself. I’ve seen many couples in my time who have parted but remained friends.”

  “It’s not just that,” I said, although her words chipped away at some stubborn, brittle old defense I’d built up in myself. “I’m . . . free, out here. I’m bound to no one and nothing; none of us are.”

  “Love needn’t be binding,” she said. “Even a brief tryst can be a great blessing.” She laughed again, gently. “I don’t mean to push you any which way, Silvie, not at all. I only wanted to let y
ou know I can help you, if you ever need it. Part of being a midwife is helping women keep unwanted babies from coming. There are poultices, herbs . . .” She dug into a pocket and pulled out a small bottle of clear liquid. “If you drink this before you sleep with a man,” she said, “he won’t get you with child, almost certainly. And if he does, there are other doses that can bring on your cycle, send the babe back to the Lady’s care until you’re ready. No one should be forced into motherhood.” She looked fierce.

  “She’s right, Silvie,” came a quiet voice behind us. Little Jane sat down on my other side, Anna Robin cradled in her arms. “It’s hard enough to look after a baby you wanted to come.”

  I started. I realized I’d been assuming something about Little Jane, something crucial.

  She glanced at me, then looked back down at Anna; she could never tear her gaze from her baby for long. “I went to Mae Tuck as soon as I missed my flux,” she said. “I knew well what had happened to me, what was coming. I had plenty of time to decide what I wanted to do. We talked it over, all of it. She told me all the ways that she could help. Back then I thought . . . well, I told you what I thought. That I could keep my baby a secret until she came, and that by then my family would have to love her.” She closed her eyes briefly. “I was wrong, and being so wrong about everyone I loved made me forget myself, forget that I wanted even my own life to go on, for a while. But even so . . . I always wanted her. Always.”

  Mae Tuck reached across me to press her hand to Little Jane’s knee.

  “Oh, Little Jane.” I was in awe of her. I didn’t know what to say.

  “Take the medicine, anyway, Silvie,” she urged. “You never know when you might need it.” She winced. “I didn’t mean—​what happened to me. I only meant there might be a time when you want to use it.”

  We could hear Bird and Will Stutely trading jokes nearby. Seraph watched us from her perch on one of the tree house platforms. Both Little Jane and Mae Tuck were looking at me significantly.