And why is that?
“It’s dark. And I’m lost. I can’t find my way back.” I was beginning to be angry with the calm, implacable voice even as I cherished the warmth and feeling of safety he gave me. Perhaps even then I realized that I only felt irritation with him because I now felt safe. Slowly it came to me that I was no longer afraid, just perplexed.
Why can’t you find your way back?
Now he was just being stupid. Or mean. “It’s dark. I can’t see. And even if I could see, I can’t remember which way to go.”
The voice never lost its patience. You can’t see, perhaps. Perhaps you can’t remember because you are so frightened. But you can smell. Get up.
Uncurling myself was hard. I was cold all over now, shaking with the chill. I stood up.
Lead the way. Follow your nose. Follow the scent of your mother’s candle.
“I can’t smell anything.”
Blow out through your nose. Then breathe in slowly.
“All I smell is dust.”
Try again. Inexorable.
I growled low.
So. You are finding your courage. Now find your wits. Sniff your way home, cub.
I wanted him to be wrong. I wanted to be justified in my fear and hopelessness. I took a breath to tell him how stupid he was and tasted my mother’s scent. Loneliness welled in me and hunger for she who had loved me so. My heart drew me toward the smell, and my feet followed.
It was so faint. Twice I paused, thinking I had lost it. I must have walked in blackness but I recall that I moved slowly through the summer garden toward the honeysuckle that tangled and sprawled along a stone wall in the herb garden.
I came to a place where a draft of air touched my face. The moving air confused the scent and suddenly I was in darkness again. My heart jammed against my throat and I reached out blindly, touching nothing. A sob of terror fought with my hammering heart to see which could leap first from my mouth.
Steady. Use your nose. Fear is useless now.
I sniffled, thinking him heartless. And caught the scent again. I turned toward it, only to have it get fainter. Turned my head back the other way, more slowly. I walked toward the smell that now felt like my mother’s hands on my cheeks. I leaned my face forward, breathing my mother’s love. There was a slight bend in the corner and then a gradual ascent. The scent grew stronger. And then I bumped the little shelf. That jolted my eyes open; I wasn’t aware I had closed them.
And there, leaking in around the peephole’s cover, was a tiny gleam of flickering light, illuminating the stub of my mother’s candle. The light caressed it, yellow and warm and welcoming. I knelt and took the candle and held it to my breast, breathing the fragrance that had led me to safety. I pushed the peephole cover aside and peered into the dimly lit study. “It’s going to be all right,” I said to Wolf-Father. I turned to look back at him, but he was gone, leaving only a cooler place in the air behind me.
“Father?” I said, but there was no reply. My heart sank and then I heard the rapping.
“Bee. Unlatch the door. Right now.” His voice was low and I could not tell if he was afraid or angry.
The rapping came again, louder, and I saw the doors shake. Then they leapt at a blow.
It took me a moment to get my bearings. I seized my courage tight and left the peephole’s comforting light. Dragging my fingertips on the wall as I went down the narrow corridor, around a corner, and then another sharp corner and out of the panel. The rapping and shaking were louder now. “I’m coming!” I called back as I pushed the panel closed. I had to work the catches on it, and then I went to unbolt the study door. My father pushed it open so suddenly that he knocked me off my feet.
“Bee!” he exclaimed in a breathless shout and dropped to his knees to seize me. He hugged me so tightly that I couldn’t breathe. He had forgotten to hold himself in. His fear drenched me. I stiffened in his grip. Abruptly it was gone, leaving me to wonder if I had truly felt that wave of love beneath it. He released me but his dark staring eyes held me. They were full of hurt. “What were you thinking? Why aren’t you in your bed?” he demanded of me.
“I wanted to—”
“You are not allowed. Do you understand me? You are not allowed!” He wasn’t shouting. The voice he was using was more frightening than shouting would have been. It was as low and intense as a snarl.
“Not allowed what?” I trembled out.
He looked at me with wild eyes. “Not allowed to be gone from where I left you. Not allowed to make me think I’ve lost you.” He gathered me in again and held me close against his cold coat. I became aware that his hair was dripping wet and he still wore his outer garments. He must have come in and gone straight to my room to check on me. And instantly panicked when I wasn’t there. I felt an odd little lift to my heart. I was important to him. Very important.