Every day we watched for him and every day he did not return. We tried to excuse Rose from doing any chores around the farm, but she insisted on doing her share. In private she told me that she actually missed doing chores, and described her makeshift laundry room as providing the only chance she had to do her own work. She actually let slip many little details of this nature, and gradually I felt I'd gained a piecemeal, sketchy picture of her life at the castle.
"You, sound almost as if you are fond of the bear," I said one day, after Rose had described a typical afternoon spent weaving and telling stories.
She looked a little startled. "I don't know. Yes, I guess I am, in a way. Sometimes I feel sorry for him. Not pity—he would hate that—but when I see in his eyes the nonanimal part of him trying so hard to hang on, to keep a tiny grasp ... Oh, it probably doesn't make any sense to you."
"You feel compassion for him."
"Yes." She got a faraway look in her eyes. "Like when he shivers—" She stopped with a guilty look.
"Shivers?"
"At night. You see—" She stopped again. "You must promise to tell no one," she said, very serious. "Especially Mother."
I promised.
"I have this feeling I should not speak of what happens in the castle at night, though he never told me not to, not specifically ... But I find it so confusing, and strange. Talking it over with you might help me." And then she told me of her nightly visitor, of the darkness that couldn't be lit. Of the nightshirt she had made for him. And lastly of her suspicions that it was actually the white bear that slept beside her.
"Sometimes I can hardly stand not knowing. I want to reach over and feel his face. Or its face. But I daren't. I tried different lamps, even making my own flint. But nothing worked. I think it must be an enchantment of some kind, Neddy. What do you think?"
I didn't know what to say. Her tale sounded fantastic, like one of the stories I used to tell Rose when she was little. I shook my head. Then I was struck by a thought.
"Is that why you're going back, Rose? To break the spell?" I asked.
Rose laughed. "It sounds so ridiculous when you say it like that. Anyway, it's not that. It's more like I feel there's something I ought to be doing that I'm not. And if I did whatever it is, I could help the white bear."
"Perhaps just being there is enough. Maybe he is lonely. And having you there keeps that little spark of humanness alive in him."
Rose smiled at me. "You are so wise, Neddy. Well, I'd better get these in some water." She stooped to gather up an armful of oxeye daisies she had picked earlier.
Just then, out of the corner of one eye, I glimpsed a flicker of green, the same color green as Mother's cloak. I instantly guessed that Mother had been eavesdropping on our conversation and wondered uneasily how much she had overheard. I decided not to mention it to Rose, not wanting her to be angry with Mother.
It was a foolish, foolish decision.
Troll Queen
IT IS WELL TO BE PREPARED, to look ahead and set events in motion that will bring about the desired result at the desired time. If there are to be conditions—and what a confounded waste of time that there should be—then you use your wits and your arts to ensure the outcome is as you will it to be.
It was no difficult matter to set up a potion maker in a softskin village—to disguise a young troll, with a desire to please his queen. And then to give him the words and goods to entice a pair of foolish softskin women.
Even if she defies her own nature and returns with him, I will prevail. As I must.
It will soon be over.
And I will have my husband.
Rose
ONLY ONE DAY BEFORE my departure, and Father still had not returned. Already my family was begging me to stay longer, at least until Father came back. For a moment I imagined doing as they asked and pictured myself going to the white bear and saying, "Just a bit longer. Just until Father comes home." And then I would remember that look in his eyes.
The harm he had spoke of—I wondered to whom it would happen. To me? Or to him?
The thought of those doors to the castle in the mountain shutting behind me made my breath go short and my heart pound in my chest. Remembering the despair I'd felt, the indifference to the days passing, frightened me. Maybe this time I would die.
I told myself that month of freedom would last me for a long time. And perhaps he would allow me to visit again, even longer the next time. But I didn't believe it.
Anyway, it didn't matter. I had made a promise.
I was in the room I shared with my sisters, doing the scant packing I needed to do, when Mother entered. I had successfully avoided being alone with her after our one encounter, and I felt guilty, though I was always kind and attentive to her when we were with others. My heart sank a little when she appeared then, but I smiled at her.
"I won't disturb you long," she said. "I have brought a few things for you to take back." She laid a small bundle on the bed next to me. Opening it she handed me a jar. "Some of neighbor Torsk's sweet honey. And look, a vest made for you by Widow Hautzig."
"Oh, how nice," I said, admiring the soft heathery wool, though I knew full well that Mother had surely paid the widow generously for her work.
"And here is some of that toffee candy you like so well. And a new handkerchief. And some hair ribbons from Sara ... Your hair is getting so long, my dear, and quite lovely. Oh, and a candle, and flint. 'Tis a special flint, the latest thing. And the candle is also quite nice, slow burning, and I am told it will stay lit even in a strong wind. Whether or not that is so, I can't say, but it may come in handy during your journey back to the castle." I gazed at the candle, which was a creamy ivory color, then up at Mother's face. Had Neddy told her of the unlightable darkness in my bedchamber? I did not believe it of him. Yet a candle, a candle that stayed lit ... Her face was calm, placid. There was no hint of deception there.
"Just a few things from home, dear, that may bring you comfort until you can return to us for good."
"Thank you, Mother." I leaned over and hugged her. Then I took the things she had given me and stowed them in my pack.
I didn't know how I would get through the good-byes. I had thought of slipping away during the night to avoid them altogether, but that would have been cowardly, and I didn't want to miss even one moment with my family.
The night before the moon had been new, the same silver eyelash I had pointed to when I had parted from the white bear. I had counted the days carefully.
When the time came for me to leave, we were all subdued. I gave each of them a quick hug, swallowing my tears.
"Let me walk with you, partway at least, to where you will meet..." Neddy said.
I nodded and was grateful for his arm around my shoulders as we left the farmhouse. And the tears I had held back overflowed down my cheeks.
Fishing in my pocket for the handkerchief Mother had given me, I said, "Neddy, please, when you see Father, tell him that ... that I love him and that I am sorry for the angry words I said when I saw him last." I paused. "And tell him to forgive Mother, if he can. She needs him, I think"
"I will tell him," Neddy responded.
"And keep an eye on Widow Hautzig, Neddy. I don't trust her."
"Nor do I."
"I'm sorry that I didn't get to meet your Master Soren. Thank him for me, for all he's done for us. And Neddy..." I turned and looked him in the eye. "Go to Trondheim, study with the scholar there. Do not wait for me to return. I will know how to find you if you are not here."