A mourning-cloak butterfly danced on the air, fluttering delicate maroon wings with a distinctive border of black dotted with blue and capped by frilly yellow.
Jewel gave chase until the butterfly flew into the trees. Then she searched the ground, gathering up items to stuff into the pockets of her pinafore.
Returning to the blanket, she sat on the edge and emptied her pockets. Using some stones, sticks, and moss, the child attempted to build a little fairy hut, something Torin had done with her previously.
Ivy remembered watching his hands that day. They were long-fingered, scarred across the knuckles from years of chores he'd never been raised to do. Yet, he could cleverly fit bits and bobs of wood and stone and moss and woven grass into a quaint tiny house to charm the fairies to come live there. She sighed.
Since she knew from experience her pupil would adamantly refuse help, Ivy soaked up the sun, although she kept her face shaded by her straw hat. She hoped for the feeling of peace that often seeped into her when she sat in the midst of nature. But her thoughts refused to settle.
Keeping a casual eye on Jewel, she allowed herself to ruminate on Torin’s insistence on isolation, asking herself the question for what must be the sixty-seventh time. And then she went over the same answers for the sixty-seventh time.
I need to point out the evidence.
Jewel’s excitement about being with her “aunts” and “uncles” and the contrast to her sobs of sadness and listlessness ever since.
The love and staunch protectiveness formed by a circle of friends who were practically family, who would stand between the child and any who dared to judge, criticize, or reject her.
That Jewel must be lonely without realizing it, for she’d never even seen another child, much less interacted with one.
In the company of other children, Jewel would no longer be limited to solitary play.
If only Torin would meet with the Nortons and Bellaires. Even the school mistress, Mrs. Gordon, of whom I’ve heard only good reports.And then there’s the Swensens, who live right there.She glanced up the mountain, as if to spy their house.Mrs. Swensen checked on Cora and Brian during his recuperation. The daughters are sweet girls, according to Elsie and Cora. The fact that Inga faithfully carries our correspondence up and down the mountain speaks well of her character.
Ivy wholeheartedly believed if positive results came from Torin taking the first step, that success would lead to more—one at a time. Both his life and Jewel’s would open up.And so will mine.
For the third time, Jewel tried to raise two pieces of wood to use as corner walls to hold up a piece of moss roof, only to have them fall.
Ivy admired the child’s persistence.
Her pupil tried again with the same results. This time, though, Jewel burst into tears. “Broke,” she wailed. She looked pitifully up at Ivy, her blue eyes drenched. “Can’t.”
“Oh, darling!” Concerned, Ivy swooped to kneel next to the girl and put an arm around Jewel’s shoulder.It isn’t like Jewel to cry when she can’t do something.She chastised herself fornot paying closer attention and intervening.Of course,the pile of stones and sticks wouldn’t make a hut!
“You tried hard. You just need more building materials. When Papa gets back from his walk, we’ll ask him for some. Then you’ll be able to make your little house.”
Jewel stilled. But tears continued down her cheeks.
Her heart aching for the girl, she kissed the top of Jewel’s head and stood. “Come on, sweet girl. Let’s go home. Maybe Papa is back already, and he can help you.”
Jewel sniffed and rose, leaning against Ivy’s leg.
Pulling out her handkerchief from her sleeve, Ivy wiped the child’s face. Then she held out the square. “Blow your nose, darling.”
Taking the handkerchief, Jewel obeyed, and then handed it back.
Keeping a careful eye on her listless charge, Ivy balled the handkerchief and tucked it into her apron pocket. She let out a slow breath, wondering if the child was coming down with something or just moping. To check, she placed her palm against Jewel’s forehead. But her skin didn’t feel warmer than normal.
Although relieved Jewel wasn’t ill, Ivy was only slightly reassured.Sometimes, heartsickness is harder to heal.
After picking up and folding the blanket, she decided to head home using the meandering forest path, rather than the quicker walk on the road. Hopefully, there’d be enough flora and fauna to distract Jewel from herbrokenhouse.
Today, though, Jewel trudged, seemingly unseeing, her shoulders drooping, so their walk took half again the usual time. They came out where the path through the woods ended.
As they moved onto the road, Ivy saw three stair-stepping blonde girls walking their direction.The Swensens!
She froze. Her first instinct was to grab Jewel and duck back into the trees. But she moved too late.
Brave didn’t, skittering into hiding.
