Briar shared an amused look with Henry. “That’s not quite how it works,” she said. She was about to explain the difference between last names and royalty, but Pansy’s determined look quieted her. Let Pansy believe Henry could make Briar a princess if that helped her deal with his leaving. At that age, Briar would have thought the same thing and come up with some elaborately tragic love story. Now that she’d grown up, Briar knew that life was just tragic. Parents died. Children were orphaned. And older sisters failed at supporting their siblings properly.
Another group of well-wishers called Henry over to say good-bye, and Pansy, in that resilient way children have, put a smile back on her face and ran off to play in a new game of Red Rover.
Briar made polite conversation with the older ladies but kept her eye on Henry. She fingered the letter in her pocket, hoping he didn’t think she was being ridiculous, sending him on a mission with odds as good as tossing a bottle into the ocean.
Finally, the folks said all they needed to, and the circle around Henry dwindled to his parents. They would say good-bye here, and then Henry and Briar would walk into town together. A Sunday afternoon ritual that Briar had never put much thought into before. Henry was always supposed to be there because he always had been.
Henry took all the attention in stride. He was a favorite in the valley and no one was about to let him go without saying their piece. Briar wondered if she were the one leaving, if anyone would notice. She hadn’t the time to socialize like Henry seemed to. Too much work to do at the mill and then with the children. Speaking of… She searched the edges of the churchyard where the young ones tended to go—as far from the adults as they dared. One, two, three. All accounted for.
Briar hung back as Henry said good-bye to his parents. His mother adjusted his cloak, reiterated what she had packed for him. Touched his cheek. His dad stood with arms crossed, his face stoic.
“If it doesn’t work, just come home. We’ll continue what we’ve always done.”
Briar jumped as Fanny touched her arm.
“Curiosity killed the cat,” Fanny whispered.
Briar was about to protest that no, she wasn’t listening in, but of course she was. Instead, realizing there was another way she could get information, Briar said, “Have you met the Prince family?” She stepped forward, grabbing Fanny by the arm so she had to follow. The woman stiffened at first, trying to avoid the introduction, but soon was face-to-face with the Princes.
“Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Prince,” Briar said, studying their reactions to the newcomer. “Have you met Fanny? She’s looking after the children until Nanny returns home.”
With her usual warm smile, Mrs. Prince held out a gloved hand. “Welcome to Sunrise Valley. If you need anything, be sure to ask. On the weekends Henry is usually about the place—Oh!” She covered her mouth, and shook her head. “How could I forget? He’s leaving tonight.”
Henry busied himself with adjusting his small pack to avoid responding to his mother’s outburst.
Well, Henry’s mam didn’t give any indication of knowing Fanny. Briar turned her attention to Mr. Prince, who stood stoically by until his wife’s facade began to crack, and then he put an arm around her.
“Do you know where Nanny went?” Briar asked. “Do you think she’s gone to find homes for the children?”
All three Princes exchanged a look before Mrs. Prince answered. “Oh, no, don’t think that. Not without telling you first.”
Briar wasn’t assured at all by Mrs. Prince’s answer. Something was going on.
Mr. Prince nodded hello to Fanny. “We live in the farmhouse down the valley. You can get there by the lane, or, in the day, through the forest. Send the boys if there’s an emergency; they know the way.”
Fanny smiled. “We will be fine. After all, the trees grow without our help.” At that, her eyes grew wide and she reached for Briar’s arm. “Excuse us,” she said.
Still trying to decipher the conversation, Briar was slow at noticing the twins. They were clear across the churchyard, having shimmied up the old oak, and perched themselves on a limb overhanging a group of older ladies. They were slowly releasing a string with a fishing hook at the end, getting closer and closer to Mrs. Clover’s Sunday hat. It was a lovely hat, her pride and joy. Some said it made her too proud. It was covered in carnations and ribbons, but the centerpiece was a tiny bluebird sitting on a nest of eggs.
The boys had always been fascinated with Mrs. Clover’s Sunday hat, and it looked like today was the day they were going to find out once and for all if the bird was a real trained pet (Benny’s view) or a toy (Jack’s view).
“Oh, no. I’m sorry, Fanny. They’re generally good-hearted boys, although interested in everything.” Briar ran over to intervene. Too interested. She waved her hands, trying to get their attention without arousing anyone else’s suspicions. Mrs. Clover had suffered at the hands of the boys’ curiosity before, and Briar couldn’t take another incident.
“She’s coming!” called the blacksmith’s boy who stood at the base of the tree as lookout. He took off running across the churchyard.