Natasha Luepke - Buttercup, Called Coin

And so here I am, standing atop the tallest hill outside town. Cripes, even the wind is violent - it pulls at my hair and clothes, dark hair and dark skirt swirled and tossed in every direction. My long red sleeves billow as banners.
I shade my eyes; the sun oppresses.
Smoke is the first to enter. It drifts forward, languid. For it I am waiting. It takes no notice of me, cares not that I am tired and sunburned and scared. And, I fear, the trolls behind the smoke will care even less.
I take a deep breath. I can feel the townspeople behind me. I must protect them; succeed in this area where I have failed so many times before.
The harder I concentrate, the more my mind wanders...

It is before dawn and already chaos.
"Wolf, Clover, Deor," Mama whisper-shouts. I curl up against the headboard and blink in the faint taper light. It is lost as it falls across my narrow bed. My brothers stir in their larger bed across the far wall.
"Mama?" we echo one another.
Our loft is small; Mama can kneel in the middle and gather the three of us to her.
"Papa is downstairs. You must leave, my little ones."
"What, Mama?" Wolf asks, still groggy.
"You know Winter has been missing for a week. Lady Morning-Glory is up to no good. It's not safe here anymore."
"Mama, surely we can protect you," Wolf insists.
"We must fight for what is ours," Deor puts in.
Mama lets out a breath. "Oh, my little ones. You will be just fine." She draws us to her, and we are entangled for an eternity, a mother and her children, a wolf and her cubs.
Then she disappears and we are left to pack.

Downstairs, Papa greets us with packets of bread and bacon.

And we hug and kiss and whimper and are pushed out the door.

Mama grabs my arm, though, before I am fully across the threshold. She produces a small cloth pouch that she thrusts into my hands. It clinks.
And then she is gone; it's all gone, hearth and heart, and my brothers and I are alone on the forest path.

I open the cloth pouch. Inside are two worn coins with holes punched in them and leather cord threaded through.

And we are called back to our tiny dark village. Cora is there to meet us. Cora, my bright opposite, an animated wolf-sister who talks enough for the both of us. Cora who does all the things I cannot, and does the things I can even better.
"I tried to stop them, please believe me, I tried, but they had ropes and torches, and the prison walls are so thick --"
"Take a breath, Cora," Deor says. "Now, what happened?"
"They came for us, the farmers, our friends, they came for us wolves. They locked us up, and they didn't let Ma and I out till later, till after. We didn't even have a window, so we couldn't see but we could hear." She shudders.
We remain silent.
"Ma is missing now, too. Aye, and I found this." She hands a piece of paper to Wolf; it is stained and creased. Wolf reads it to us. It is from our mother.

Deor and I return to our cottage. It is ransacked, broken. There is nothing left.
"Now what?" Deor asks in wonder.
I look up. Instead of our low ceiling, I see tree branches and sky. I run a hand through my hair, tug at the ribbon on my gown.
I remove Mama's cloth pouch from my pocket. I hand one coin to Deor and tie the other around my neck.
Deor swallows. "Okay."

Sun and moon and weeks of travel lead us to a shining border town: Avon.

It stretches across three kingdoms. It bustles and breathes, it is whitewashed and clean, it is a no-man's-land of pariahs. It is beautiful.

"This is paradise," Deor says. "A land of dreams, everything we were promised as children."
I smile and nod.

We walk, dazed, through town. And then Deor whispers to me, "Clover! That man has a wolf's tail! And that lady has a cat's!"
Indeed. Everyone is like us.

The townspeople swell around us, women in short dresses and short hair, men in fitted suits and hats. Out of the maelstrom, a figure approaches us.
She is devastatingly elegant: straight, short purple dress, beads clacking musically, a small hat perched on bobbed red hair. She stares at us, and I feel quite tattered in my long gown, empire waist, and frayed ribbon.
She takes our arms. "Come with me."
She is a fox.

She leads us to the stoop in front of the post office.
"Clover and Deor?" she asks. We nod.
She leans back and crosses her arms. "Your arrival here has brought death. But it shall bring life."
I am speechless.
Deor begins to say something, but she cuts him off. "My name is Isabella. Welcome to Avon."

"What are you going to do now that you are here?" Isabella asks us.
"Is there a newspaper in this town?" Deor asks.
"Yes. And they always need people to set type."
Deor grins. "Will you be okay if I leave you for a bit, Clover?" he asks me. I nod. We are brother and sister. If we stay together for much longer, we will kill one another.
Isabella supplies him with directions; he kisses me on the cheek and is gone.
I am alone with this cryptic postmistress, she who knows us already and dispenses fates as well as prophecies.
She scrutinizes me, hand resting on chin. "Now, then, Clover... Smart, pretty girl like you, I'm sure..."
But a young man on the steps interrupts her. "Afternoon, Isabella!" he calls.
"Henry! Just a minute, Clover," she says and the two disappear inside.
He is a white wolf, like Cora.

I lean against the railing and close my eyes.
"Good day, Isabella!" from Henry wakes me. He pauses on the steps, tips his hat at me and is gone.
"Sorry," Isabella says. She produces a piece of paper and a pen and begins to write. "There is a very nice inn just two buildings down from here. They'll give you room and board. It's called the Broken Heart. Take this to the owner." She hands me the note, gives me a pat on the shoulder and I am on my way.

I walk slowly down the street, the sun burning holes into the back of my dress. So I am to work at an inn, decided just like that without so much as a by-your-leave. Oh, I don't really mind, I suppose. I don't know what I want to do. No one's ever asked me. What was there to do in Rougefleur, really? Our parents taught us to be self-sufficient and I suspect always intended for us to leave home, to make our fortunes. Cora and I talked of moving to some grand city and taking up at a dress shop or hat shop, go to dances on Saturdays, and have all the men fall in love with us. But we are wolves; we only need one man.
I have spent my life taking care of the house, looking after older and younger siblings. Nothing wrong with that, really. But I want to do something great, something very important. I would like a monument dedicated to me.
For right now, I'll work at the inn. I'll figure it out.
There is a library across the street from the Broken Heart. I've never seen a library before.

The Broken Heart is large, and constructed of whitewashed wood. The sign bears a pink heart, torn in two. People stream in and out. I find the owner behind the front desk; she is rosy-cheeked, round Mary.
"Ah, Isabella sent you. Good, good. Follow me." She puts an arm around my shoulder and shows me the place: large front room with large windows, large back room with a long bar, two floors upstairs for guests, large kitchen in back, with a stable yard beyond.
"A corner of the kitchen will be yours. Now, I'll be needing you to cook, clean, light fires, muck out the stables, clean up after brawls. I've got serving girls, so you won't have to do that. Can you do laundry?"
I nod.
"Good, good. That's it. Start tomorrow."
I accept, then. I am tired of running, tired of thinking, tired of looking after my little brother. I am just tired. This seems mindless enough.

Oh, but this work is hard and demeaning! How did Mama do this? My back and shoulders ache, reek of grease and vomit, I fear my legs may drop off, my face is red from the heat of the kitchen. Mama, how did you do this? I miss you, Mama.

I meet Deor at Isabella's once a week for dinner. He loves typesetting and may even get to write.
"And the inn?" he asks me.
I shrug.
"Good, good..." And then he turns to Isabella and I self-consciously play with the potatoes on my plate.

I see Henry, the wolf from the post office, in the front room of the inn. He is usually with a group of friends or a group of books. I only see him very occasionally, when I am seeing to the fire or cleaning. Puts me in mind of the way my parents met. But whenever I think of that, I am reduced to tears and must leave.

Sometimes, in the mid-afternoon when no one is around save for me, I curl up in a corner with a book. I try different things: history, philosophy, medicine, children's stories. I like it all.
One afternoon, Henry sits alone at his table. "Are you busy?" he asks me. I look up from my sooty corner of the hearth. "Clover, right?" I nod. He smiles, and it is rakish and charming. A creamy, dreamy boy, as my brother might say. I mark my page and run a hand through my hair, straighten my apron.
He hands me a large notebook. "There; I'll recite what it says, you tell me if it's correct." I nod and he begins. I follow the words carefully. He is flawless. I hand the book back and he smiles his thanks.

Law. Law he recited to me. That beautiful technical language. It did not protect my family, but is meant to. It can protect others. My next afternoon off, I look for law books in the library.

A year. A year Deor and I have been here. He loves it here, and I should. He loves it all: his job, Isabella. It is a beautiful world.
I like it. I do like bumping into Henry. He is idealistic, like my little brother. A lawyer, after all. I suppose I do not like the inn, nor that I have no idea what to do instead. Trapped here because of my own wishy-washiness. Makes me sick, really. I save my pennies, but I don't know what for. Perhaps I should work in the library.

Right now, though, I am stirring linen. Steaming dark cauldrons of white. My arms are as twisted from stirring as the cloth is.
"Clover!" Mary calls across the yard. I wipe the sweat from my brow and join her. She hands me an envelope. "This arrived for you and your brother." She turns around and heads back into the kitchen.
The envelope trembles in my hand. I fear it. I have not heard from Wolf or Cora in over a year, what if...? I turn the slim piece of destiny over: it is post-marked the Fourth Kingdom. From a prison there. I shudder; I know from Henry that they are tough on criminals.
I slide my fingernail along the flap. The letter was to inform us, Clover and Deor of Rougefleur, that our brother had been found guilty of sheep worrying, a most terrible offense.
I take a deep breath. Guilty.
Even worse, the letter continues, he was found in the vicinity of a murder; the murderess, Cora of Rougefleur, was captured as well.
Captured.
The words began to blur-Snow White Memorial Prison, ten years...
If there was a murder, it had to be Lady Morning-Glory. Cora and Wolf, both locked away now. Small cell, most likely, one window, perhaps, all stone, no grass or sky. And another death, too. Am I at peace, now? No, I am worse; not only are my parents dead, my brother is locked away for - ten years - an eternity. That might kill Wolf.
All this destruction... The sun is bright. I see black.

Henry is standing over me when I come to. I blink and rub my head.
"Take it easy," he says, and offers me water.
I take a tentative sip. We sit beneath a tree at the side of the yard.
"I was getting my horse," he says, "and I saw you faint. Feeling better?"
I nod, slowly.
"What happened?" he asks. I hand him the letter. He reads it as colors start returning to my world. The leaves go from gray to green.
"Oh, Clover," he says. "I'm so sorry." And he hugs me. The world explodes into brilliant color.

Deor sighs after he reads the letter. "Oh, sister, what are we going to do? We told them..." I shake my head and sniff.
"Do you ever miss...our parents?" he asks.
We cry. I miss Mama and Papa, Wolf, Cora...I miss my childhood. Life was never simple, nor easy, but I miss the days I thought it was.

Summers are hot here. The heat rolls off the streets, attacking passerby. It is like a vampire, this heat; the victim is left languid, wilted, exhausted. Escape? One can run but one cannot hide; even the most subterranean cellars become sweltering.
On these days, I am stuck outside doing laundry or worse.
If I am lucky, and granted a free morning or afternoon, I flee to the library across the street. The Stratford, it's called.
The quiet, the stillness, it fills me with peace. It is always calm and cool, re-energizing.
And that's where I am this afternoon, leaving the dusty, bright street for the musty, dark library.

There is construction in the corner; tarps cover half-completed shelves. Sawdust covers every surface and hovers in the air. I crouch so that I may peer beneath the tarp.
Someone taps me on the shoulder and I jump up, startled.
"Oh, Clover, it's you; sorry," says Juliet, the head librarian. Her soft voice booms in the silent library. I place a hand over my heart and try to steady my breathing.
"This," she says, gesturing to the mess, "will be the new Children's Section. Kids today, they don't read enough. Not like us." She laughs and elbows me in the ribs; I cough a response. "So, this section will be especially for them: large type, lots of pictures, that sort of thing."
I nod and smile my pleasure.
Juliet puts her arm around my shoulder, walking me toward the front desk. She whispers conspiratorially, "You know, Clover, it's just Bianca and me working here. With this new section, we could use another set of hands."
I gape in astonishment.
"Here, wait." Juliet leans beneath the desk and produces a sheet of paper. "Here's an application. Think about it. It'll get you out of that kitchen."
I take the application.

That night, I meet Deor and Isabella for dinner.
"Oh!" Isabella says after we sit. "A new opportunity for you, Clover."
"What, sis?"
I half-shrug, but Isabella says, "A door has been opened. Use it."

Today is beautiful: no rain, not too much sun, perfect for fishing or gardening or flying kites or a million other things. There is no one at the inn, so I find the darkest corner and simultaneously work on my application and my resignation.
"Hard at work, I see," Henry says at my shoulder. I turn and smile up at him. "May I?"
I hand him both papers.
"Good for you, Clover. Step up. Of course, if you're going to be a librarian, you'll have to wear your hair up, like this." He takes my hair and piles it on top of my head.
We stare at one another; he ensnared in my hair, almost, and is very close. Very close. I swallow. Then he lets go and we laugh uncomfortably.

I like Henry. No, I am fond of him. I care about him. He's smart and always treats the waitresses well. He looks beautiful. He is the first one I've ever considered...considered for a mate.
I am a wolf, I should be more aggressive, I know. We mate for life, and if I should lose him...I don't know what would happen.
Deor, for example. There was never a time before he was courting Isabella. They locked eyes; she gave her prophecy: that was it. They take it slow, to be sure, but now they have all the time in the world.
I do not know if foxes mate for life.
But with Henry there is fear. Not fear I'll be rejected, I could handle that. Not fear I'll be humiliated, that he likes - loves - someone else. But I have seen the power of love, and that frightens me. It is strong, it requires strength, and it takes strength. And it requires protection, something at which I've never been very good.
Mama loved Papa, Papa loved Mama...they tried to get past that, but they couldn't, they couldn't let one another go. Strength, protection. But they were doomed, then, to be wolves forever. And it killed them, their love. Mama loved us and sent us away. Strength and protection. And now I must spend the rest of my life without her. And we could not protect our parents, so Wolf and Cora killed. And now I may never see them again.
So love frightens me. It is awesome, in every single sense of the world. But I worry about Wolf, Deor, and Cora, and will have to add Isabella to that list, that mental note of who is important. I don't want any more obligations, to owe anyone love, protection, devotion. I do not want to commit myself entirely to one person and then have them taken away from me.
But it appears I have no choice.

I can read and write. I've never thought of myself as stupid. But, till...Wolf is the clever one, Cora is all-action, and Deor has a way with words. When we were kids, Wolf would come up with elaborate plans for adventures in the woods surrounding our house. Cora would protect us from danger, real and imagined. Deor would get us out of trouble when we were caught. And me? I would make sandwiches.
But standing here in the library, a fair representation of all the world's knowledge at my fingertips, I feel power. My parents always told me I could be whatever I want. And I've been reading since my arrival in Avon, trying to figure out what that is, what I want. It's like a secret everyone knows but me. I'll learn it, though. Being here in the actual library, the world is mine. Even if I remain within these walls for the rest of my life, never to taste again sunlight, left to roam the stacks, I would be happy. Happy to dance among the books, to help others discover what they want.

I do the grunt work here at Stratford: sorting, stacking, shelving, arranging, dusting. The books are beautiful, bound bricks for castles of knowledge. I have more free time here, and I sit and read.

Spring. Much more enjoyable here than last spring at the inn. The day is light, the sun is in good spirits, and I am planting flowers. That was my idea, the flowers. Mine.
I clap my hands to free them of soil, step back to admire my work, and wipe my brow.
"You did all this?" asks Henry, suddenly at my side.
I nod.
"It looks wonderful."
I beam.
"Can I ask you an enormous favor?"
I nod vigorously.
"Tomorrow is it, Clover. Everything I've been working for; everything with which you've helped me. One last, enormous test, and I will be a lawyer. I have all my books and notes here" he nods to the bag in his hands "and plan to take up a table in there" a nod to the library "and study. If I fall asleep, will you wake me?"
I smile and nod.
"Thank you. I'll be eternally grateful." I watch him enter the building.

Henry studies ferociously, stranded in a battlefield of fat books and creased papers.
"You know, he never really studied in here before," Bianca says as we watch him from the main desk.
"Aye, he only joined us when Clover joined the staff," replies Juliet.
Bianca giggles and I blush.
"Mmm, it's closing time," says Juliet.
"Hate to interrupt him," Bianca murmurs, wrapping a short blond curl around her finger. "I know! Clover, if you stay here, he can stay."
I cough in surprise.
Juliet nods. "I'll give you the day off tomorrow. You can make coffee in the back room."
I snort indignantly.
"C'mon, what do you say?" Bianca asks.
I sigh. I agree.

I make coffee and leave the pot for him on a nearby table. I try to disappear, dusting the dustless, arranging the arranged.
The night ticks on, and I pull up a chair and watch Henry. He does not sleep.

Nor do I. I don't really like to. At the inn, I was too exhausted not to, and now I try to read myself into a stupor. But I fear sleep. It allows me to think terrible things, shameful things. I am sure Wolf, Deor, and Cora do not entertain thoughts like mine, especially so long after the fact.
I study Henry. Did my parents have a trial? Could someone like Henry have helped them? A lawyer, I mean; Henry would have been burned, too. Was their hair cut off first? How much did it hurt, did it last long? I take a breath. Did they call for mercy, implore their neighbors for help? Did they curse their children for abandoning them? Could we have helped? Did the crowd cheer? Do they feel remorse now?
I shake my head. Wicked thoughts. My parents were good people. It's not fair. It's not fair there are so many evil people alive in the world when my parents are dead!

"Clover! Are you okay?" Henry asks, concerned. Much to my dismay, I am crying. I shrug him off and hide in the back room beside the stove.
Dawn lightens the room, and I hear him call good-bye. And when I return to the main part of the library, he is gone.

After two years, I still do not know Isabella, the mail vixen, all that well.
After two years, I know Isabella's flat very well.
She lives in two cramped rooms above the post office. These two apartments are the opposite - in structure and feeling - of the town as a whole. The town is bright, vibrant, airy. Isabella's place is dark, smoky, full. She has at least three lifetimes stuffed into her rooms. At one point, we had eight people living in our house in Rougefleur, and it wasn't as crowded as Isabella's.
The first room is kitchen, dining room, living room, and parlor. A large wood-burning stove rests in the far corner. Furniture jumps from the walls in a multitude of colors and patterns. Herbs and flowers dry in the rafters. Paintings and prints adorn the walls. The room is a claustrophobic's nightmare, but there is something comforting in its cluttered eccentricity.
The second room, the back room, is her bedroom. This I have only glimpsed, but it seems to be an extension of the first.

And so, this is where I am, this crazy kitchen on this warm summer night. I am seated at the scratched, round wooden table in the center of the room with Deor and Isabella, ready for our weekly dinners together.
The table is scattered with small bowls of salad and large platters of chicken. Deor and Isabella shoot glances at one another, smiling coyly, giggling, hands fluttering: grasp, let go, grasp, let go.
Finally Deor grins and speaks. "Clover, Isabella and I have decided to get married."
I just stare at them. My little brother. Married. In love!
"Clover? Say something," Isabella says.
"Can't you see? She's speechless," says Deor.

They want a fall wedding; we have only a few months to plan. I agree to help Isabella with the embroidery and beadwork for her dress.
Deor walks me home. "You like Isabella, don't you, Clover?"
Do I know her? I nod in the street-lamp light.

I wish I knew her. I walk to work; shops have banners proclaiming Isabella's engagement, flowers fly, people sing. The entire town is celebrating. I pick my way to the library. I step inside the door and am immediately assaulted by Juliet and Bianca.
"Clover! Clover! Is it true our Isabella is marrying your brother?" they cry.
I slowly nod.
Juliet shakes her head. "Ah, Isabella, that breaker of hearts. I hope the wedding's in a large enough place that the whole town can come."
I raise my eyebrows.
"I was afraid she'd elope," Bianca puts in. "She's so private."
Indeed.

I sit on one of Isabella's couches. It is pink and covered with roses and is hideous. I strain my back and eyes as I carefully follow the penciled in pattern. The dress itself is lavender, with long skirt and sleeves, very unstylish and very un-Isabella. But it is beautiful, the stitching flawless, the fabric soft, the fabric perfect with Isabella's red-orange. I am doing work along the collar, cuffs, and hem.
I have not done embroidery in ages and my fingers tremble. I have darned my things, and Deor's, but delicate work...that is for a woman with leisure.
I have not had true free time in years. I was quite good, though, when I had been able to practice this art.
Isabella busies herself at the table, writing lists. I know she and my brother will not want for much; every restaurant, bar, and inn in town is putting up food and drinks for their reception. Private citizens offer to pick flowers.
I sigh and roll my head back and forth; this is hard work.
Isabella looks up. "Let me get you some tea, Clover." She fetches a cup and sits beside me on the sofa. She watches me for a few moments.
"This is my mother's dress," she says finally. I look up.
She smiles wanly. "Well, was, I suppose."
I cock my head.
"We've never gotten to talk, have we?" she continues.
I shake my head.
She smiles again. "Not much to say, right?"
I smile at that.
She shrugs. "My mother was a gypsy. I suppose that makes me one. I inherited the ability to see the future from her. The Huntsman found our camp and we were scattered. I was just a kid...I never saw my mother again.
I would return, sometimes, to the old camp and salvage things. The things in this room. And one day, I found Avon. It wasn't anything then. Just a few buildings-farms, taverns, that sort of thing. But I could see its potential, so I rented this building and created the post office, not there was much need for one. Everyone was welcome, though, to talk or sit. I befriended everyone, for they are my own."
I stare at her.
"I call people here. All who are lost. Everyone is here because of me. Avon is my life."
I swallow. I hug her.

All is lost in the heat of planning. I stack books, trying to alphabetize titles, though my word skills are shot, all from poring over lists. Oh, complicated simplicities, meant to keep track of chaos, but in turn only creating a new, more monstrous chaos. Who will supply flowers? What kind? And food. There must be enough food for at least a week of revelry, whole farm animals to be turned on spits, whole birds to be dressed, barrels of beer...
And I just ache. I spend my days at the library sorting and stacking, my nights at Isabella's, hunched over cloth.
But she is happy. My brother is happy. The whole town is happy. And so I am happy.

This evening, the moon is bright-not full, but soon. I sit on the post office's railing, pushing a needle by moonlight. And torch light. I hold my work up to the lamp, my mouth full of needles and embroidery floss. I hear steps.
"Clover! I've been looking for you." It is Henry.
I look at him, though my mind is distracted, torn into a thousand cross-stitches.
"We did it! I'm a lawyer now..."
I want to tell him how proud I am, how unsurprised...But I am busy; I have work to do. So I smile at him, and I think to reach out to pat him on the shoulder, and then I return to the task of needle pulling thread.
He walks away into the darkness.

Autumn falls to us ever more quickly. Plans, plans, plans... It will not be a wedding march, but a wedding parade; Deor and Isabella will walk arm-in-arm from the post office to the courthouse, crossing almost the entire town. They will be married in front of the courthouse. And I? I will attend both. I will lead them down the street. Is this unconventional? Well, who can rightly say?

And with deadly speed, the wedding day is here. Isabella's dress is complete; Deor has a fine suit. Flowers line the avenue, presenting a rainbow to compliment the orange and red of the trees. I peer from the window of Isabella's apartment: the streets are already being lined. I resume fixing Isabella's dress.

"You did such a wonderful job, Clover," she says, hugging me. I smile and smooth the creases from the gown.
She stops my hands and looks me in the eye. Those eyes...mesmerizing. "I love your brother. And I'll be glad to have you for a sister."
She pauses. "And one day, I will meet your brother Wolf, and I am glad to have him for family."
I stare at her a moment. Dear older brother, how does he fare in prison?
Isabella smiles. "Why don't you check on your brother?"

He is dressing in Isabella's bedroom. I knock, then enter. So handsome-dark hair brushed back, fine fitted suit, tail wagging excitedly.
He grins at me and spreads his arms. "Well?"
I grin back.
From beneath his shirt, he produces the worn coin that is the twin to mine. "I wish Mama and Papa were here."
I sniff and straighten his jacket.
"Deor?" Isabella calls from the next room.
"That time, I guess," he says. He hugs me, and exits into the front room.

Mama and Papa... I stare into Isabella's scratched mirror. It hangs from some twine on a nail high in the wooden wall. I fix the flowers in my hair; straighten the ribbons on my dress. I am green, my usual color. And the dress is long, as usual.
What would Mama and Papa think of all this? They never married. My eyes grow red. If they had married, would I be a lady, my brothers lords? I wipe a hand across my face. Probably not.
I wish they were here. What I feel is beyond heart-breaking, when I think that Mama and Papa must miss this, and my wedding, Wolf's, should he have one. That they will never bounce a grandchild upon their knee. That I have to do this all alone.
In the mirror, all I can see is an image of fire, my ears deafened by imagined screams.
"Clover!" I hear from the other room.
I finger the coin at my neck. The mirror only shows a cluttered bedroom and a cluttered Clover.
"It's time! C'mon!"
Oh, I am a wicked child who dreams of fire.

"Ready?" Deor asks me. I nod and head downstairs.

The streets are thronging, teeming, overcrowded. People cheer when I make my appearance on the porch. I tremble as I slowly take the steps. The sun is so bright; it blots out the faces of the townspeople. For a moment, I know what it is to be loved unconditionally and universally.
I take the path step by step; out of the corner of my eye, I can see Isabella waving.
My head hums when we make it to the courthouse. I do not listen to the vows and promises. Can you hear this, Mama? We are just fine, like you'd said we'd be. Can you feel us, Wolf? We wish you were here.
And now there is a great cheer; Avon's savior is married. Flowers and rice fill the air, and my brother and sister-in-law kiss. There is music and food and dancing.

The happiness is too much for me, and I retire.

And that is how the years pass: beautiful and simple and mundane. Life, death, marriage, separation. It is life, in all its fine details. And in this time, Deor moves up to traveling correspondent for his newspaper, and my Henry becomes mayor. And Isabella runs the post office and I take care of the books at the library.
It is very ordinary and very wonderful.

Ten years. Ten years since this place found my little brother and me, ten years since our family was separated. I still live in Miss Ophelia's Boarding House for Women; I still stack books. I do not change: ten years older, but not particularly wiser. Sadder, perhaps.

And I still spend once a week at Deor's and Isabella's, eating dinner at their scratched round wooden table. This week is no different than usual.
Deor grins and pulls a hand through his hair. "The paper has given me a new assignment: I'm being sent to Beantown, to cover Wendell's visit. The town's coronation gift is a throne. It's a big story."
I grin and go around the table to hug him. I can hear Isabella sigh. Deor and I look up. She shakes her head.
"Deor, I don't think you should go. There will be death."
We stare at her, our arms still around each other.
Deor forces out a chuckle. "C'mon Isabella; I'm just going to write a story. You can come if you like."
Isabella forces a smile. "My dear, if you are happy, I am happy." She then joins in our hug.

Isabella is never wrong.

I feel something about Deor's announcement, too; some suspicion, some doubt. Worry, perhaps, a feeling with which I've not really had to deal since coming to live in Avon. But I remain silent. If Isabella cannot convince Deor to stay, how can I?

Deor continues: He is to leave tomorrow, with a coach and team provided by The Folio, the newspaper. Prince Wendell should arrive a day after that; Deor will write his story and be home.

I come the next morning to see Deor off. The horses attract a crowd.
"I'm surprised the Prince isn't coming here," comments one citizen.
"We're not part of the Kingdom," someone else puts in.
"No?"
Isabella appears on the porch and smiles. "We don't really exist as much."
The crowd laughs.

I push my way through them to get to my brother. More than once, I hear, "Who is that?" I am but a shadow.
Another round of hugs and Deor is off. The small crowd disperses in the dust, but Isabella and I pause a moment on the porch. Isabella shakes her head. I turn to her, but she enters the post office. I must get to work.
I hum to myself as I shelve books. I am in the far corner at the lowest shelf; I sit on the floor. Biographies. Too dry for me. I sniff; the one I am holding is about Queen Riding Hood. What is a book like that...
"...doing in here?" It is Henry.
I shake my head and roll my eyes. I hand him the book.
He sighs, as he crouches next to me and accepts. "She was responsible for the flight of more than one wolf pack, eh?" He places the book on the shelf. "Anyway, I wanted to find you to ask if your brother had already left?"
I nod.
"Mmm...I wanted to be there, but I got caught up in a meeting. We should really have a coronation gift for the prince, but what could a town like Avon offer? Well, I doubt Prince Wendell even exists."
I offer a commiserating nod of the head.
"Well, well; duty beckons and I see you have work here. Take care, Clover."
I smile at his back as he sweeps away clothed in both fine tailored suit and authority.

I sleep, but fitfully. Something is pulling at me, playing with my thoughts and gut. I cannot see anything, and can only feel the faintest of tugs. Occasionally, I see fire at the edge of my vision; when I turn my head, it is gone. It has rained a bit during the night; the puddles shine...they shine like glass. They are clear and appear to be living mirrors.

I repair bookbindings in the back room and listen to Juliet and Bianca.
"When is the coronation?" Bianca asks.
"Oh-I can't remember just now. A month, perhaps?"
"Do they let the press go? Wouldn't it be great to have our own traveling wolf there?"
Juliet chuckles. "I don't know about press. And I don't think a wolf would be welcome."
"Is Clover here?" a third voice interjects.
I return to the main room; it is Isabella.
"Clover-Deor sent a pigeon to the paper. Something's gone wrong-the prince's carriage just passed Beantown by. He's going to stay in town a bit longer."
I take a breath. Juliet and Bianca look at one another.
"Something wrong, Isabella?" Juliet asks.
"I hope not," she says grimly.

After work, I gather a few things and head to Isabella's. We sit on her couches and drink coffee but do not talk. I worry. Isabella thinks. I wonder what she can see? I wonder if her visions torture her or ever bring her joy.
The candles burn low. What could happen, really? I know Isabella's fear has rubbed off on me; I don't know what it is I fear.

Two days; two days Isabella and I are tense, two days and all I can see are fires and mirrors.
After work, I return to Isabella's. She stands on the porch, a pigeon perched on her shoulder. Her breathing is erratic, but her voice is calm. "War, Clover. This pigeon is from Deor, but it doesn't mean... It means he was alive when he sent it, but..."
I jump up the steps and rest a hand on her arm.
She takes a long breath. "No one else in town knows. But apparently, the trolls have attacked Beantown, and it lies in ruin."
I look away.
"The trolls will be on the move," Isabella says softly. "I have to tell the rest of the town."

My little brother... What have I done? Nothing; nothing at all. I did nothing to save him. Without him, I have no one in this town. And that, too, is my fault. I thought other people should extend a hand to me, that I was special, that I bore a mark of sadness and respect...that people would want to win my friendship, not that I should try to earn theirs. I am a shadow.

As Isabella calls out the news, I walk home. Mud swirls around my feet, I move in slow motion. I carefully enter the wooden boarding house, place each foot squarely on the proper steps, find my room at the far end of the hall, dig out my key, open and close the door, then collapse on my bed. I weep.

The next morning, I walk to the post office. Fire has left my vision; the roads are dry. Isabella and Henry stand behind the counter; the mail slots behind them are empty. No incoming mail.
"They're coming this way; they're going to attack us," Isabella says softly.
"Isabella, I'm at a loss. We have such a small militia... I know a few archers can send flaming arrows; should we try to attack their equipment?"
Isabella drums her fingers on the counter. "Maybe, but we'd need a lot of firepower..."
"I suppose I could try a truce?"
"You can't negotiate with trolls..."
"I have to do something."

The time has come. I must speak. The words tremble at the tip of my tongue; they are rusty and I have no oil - I can only push them out: "No! No. I have seen everything I love destroyed. I will not have that happen to you. No fire."

Isabella and Henry stare at me. Isabella nods, but Henry looks shocked.
"Clover... I never realized I'd never heard your voice."
Isabella's face is haggard. "What should we do?" The shadows beneath her eyes are valleys.
I think carefully about my words. They are soft, they are thrushes, but they are mine. Now I can use them to direct.
"Earth, perhaps, and air, and definitely water...but not fire."
Isabella nods. Henry stares.
"Let's continue this upstairs," Isabella says.

We invade Isabella's tiny table: coffee cups, worn bits of paper, ragged pencils... I sketch out my plan. Where this plan comes from, I cannot say; I read a lot.
"We will need to work quickly," I say, "and we will need the cooperation of the entire town."
Isabella and Henry nod.
"Three stages," I continue. "One: leather."
"Leather?" Henry echoes.
I shrug. "Perhaps it is only a stereotype, but the prevailing view holds trolls love leather. Good leather. And they hate imitation. So, if we can pelt the army with both extremes, we can distract them."
Isabella smiles.
Henry swallows. "We only have two catapults, and they're old."
"Large sling-shots," Isabella suggests. "Made of rope, maybe, that has to be controlled by several people."
I nod. "Two: water."
"The water towers are full...the rivers are bursting their banks..."
"Good," I sigh. "Because for this part of the plan, we must deluge the army. Drench everything."
"We have several hoses," Henry says. "But we don't know the size of the army; it might not be enough..."
"Then there's three," I finish. "If nothing else works, then we can call in our militia. Archers, right?"
Isabella runs a hand through her hair. "And farmers with scythes."
I lean back in my chair. "I don't know if this will work. But we have to do something."
Isabella nods. "Clover, I can think of no other way."
"If nothing else," Henry puts in, "we can get children and the elderly to safety."
I nod.
Isabella takes the paper on which I'd been sketching. "Okay... Henry, announce a meeting this morning; plan it for this afternoon. Give everyone the day off. We'll lay out the plan and ask for volunteers. I will be in charge of the water; Henry the militia..."
"I will lead the first attack," I say.
"Are you sure?" Henry asks.
I nod. "I will keep watch on the hill and give the signal."
"All right," Isabella says.

When I enter the library that morning, Juliet and Bianca are already talking about the meeting.
"Do you know anything about it?" they ask me.
I shrug helplessly. "It has to do with the trolls."
Bianca shivers. "So frightening. I'd take to the woods now, but first I want to hear what Isabella has to say."
"The mayor, not Isabella," Juliet corrects.
"Mmm..."

The meeting is to be held inside the courthouse, but there is not enough room. Henry and Isabella address us from the steps. Henry tells us the plan, who will lead. The crowd gasps when he says that Clover shall lead the attack. Who is Clover?
Isabella then asks for volunteers. Everyone who can stand volunteers.

We are working on borrowed time. Isabella and I inspect catapults and hoses, braid rope for slingshots, and ask forgiveness of the fish for taking water from the river. Henry works on bows and arrows.
I do not own many clothes. I take my favorite green dress and add long bell sleeves in bright red, so our army can see our signal.

Two days.

Isabella stands on her porch and cries out, "They are coming!"
I hear her from my room in the boarding house; it is early yet. Fumbling into my dress, I stick my head out of the window: "Positions!"
There is a panic. Children, valuables, and food are hidden. Catapults roll out, hoses dragged. Everyone hurries to be in the right place.
I climb the hill at the southern border of the town.

And so here I am, standing atop the tallest hill outside town. Cripes, even the wind is violent - it pulls at my hair and clothes...
I shade my eyes; the sun oppresses.
Smoke is the first to enter. It drifts forward, languid. For it I am waiting. It takes no notice of me, cares not that I am tired and sunburned and scared. And, I fear, the trolls behind the smoke will care even less.
I take a deep breath. I can feel the townspeople behind me. I must protect them; succeed in this area where I have failed so many times before.
I whisper to us a phrase I learned long ago, something my mother was fond of: "Thaes ofereode, thisses swa maeg." She told us it meant, "That went by, so can this." Ah, but that is passive. I have since learned, from one book or another, that it can also mean: "They overcame from that; so may I from this." And that is active. I think.

There they are; I can see an army, an angry, ugly swarm. My heart beats faster; my breathing accelerates. I watch them advance. What was I thinking? We're all going to be killed, and it will be my fault. I couldn't save my parents or my brothers; what made me think I could save an entire town?

I can see the leader's eyes. Is he the king or is he just an army commander? I don't know. I don't want to know. But they are yellow and terrible. I stare at them a moment.
"We are nothing!" I call to him. "No one knows we are here, so you cannot gain from our defeat."
He stops for a moment. But he raises his arm and opens his mouth, to give the order, I know; I beat him to it.
I lift my arms high above me, red sleeves flapping, and cry out, "Now!"

The catapults are deafening. They make a terrible clatter as they come into view. Next come the slingshots, held like banners. The troll is shocked, I think.
I step back. Position. Everyone is in position. "Ready. Aim. Fire!"

I move behind the lines, watching the leather fly. I suppose pelting the opposing army with anything would have worked; regardless, the trolls are distracted. Blankets, jackets, shoes...all whiz through the air. Supplies running low, I look for Isabella. She appears at my shoulder.
"Aye, now," she whispers.
"Fall back!" I call as Isabella cries, "Advance!"

No time to practice, to train, yet the move from earth and air to water is smooth, simultaneous. I take my place at a hose as Isabella takes place as commander.
The monster is hard to control, but we aim the water over the hill. It arcs, beautifully, and at times a rainbow appears. I do not wonder if we hit our mark, if the trolls are retreating; all I can think about is not loosing my grip.

My arms ache from holding the hose, my legs ache from being braced in the mud.
I hear "Clover!" drift my way. I can only feel that it is Isabella. I return to the front.
She stares down the hill and spreads her palm: Look at that. Retreating backs and peaceful trees.
"You did it," she says. I stare at her.
"Fall back!" she calls. "They will not be back!"
Amidst dances for joy and songs of victory, I ask: "Are you sure?"
She laughs. "I am sure, Clover, I am sure."

I sit on Isabella's porch, enjoying the celebrations. Three bands play at once; no two couples dance the same dance. Isabella climbs the steps and hands me a dark glass; I can only guess the liquid it contains.
She sees my worried face and smiles. "They will not be back. We are not worth it."
I relent and smile. "But...Deor?"
She is quiet. "He is alive."
I watch her enter the post office. I watch the festivities.
Henry approaches me. "You saved us, Clover."
I look away. I hope so.
He holds out his hand. "Will you dance with me?"
And I do, I whirl in my battle-stained skirts, I ring my red bell sleeves.

Perhaps the troll I yelled at believed me. Perhaps we are not worth it because we fought back, because we are part of three kingdoms and none. I do not know. But the trolls do not return. Sometimes, refugees find us, and we must treat the terrors of the trolls.

A few weeks after Avon is attacked, a young half-wolf crawls into town. He is bloody and misused, but will recover. His pockets are filled with notes. It is my brother; Deor returns to us. He escaped in the night and lived in the woods.

And it is perhaps a month later when a royal messenger appears, wearing the livery of the Fourth Kingdom. Prince Wendell is to assume the throne.
"Mmm," Isabella muses. "Something does not feel quite right about that..."

Another royal messenger appears a few days later. The trolls are gone. The Evil Queen is dead. Prince Wendell is on the throne. We are pleased by this news.
"But," Henry asks, "why are you here? I didn't think we were Wendell's subjects. We are animals..."
The messenger holds his proclamation up. "You are invited to join the Fourth Kingdom. All wolves have been given a royal pardon. A Noble Wolf saved the Nine Kingdoms."
A mighty cheer goes up.
"Who do you mean?" Deor asks the messenger as the messenger tries to leave.
"Have you not heard? A wolf named Wolf was instrumental in the restoration of the kingdoms."
Deor and I look at one another. The messenger leaves.

The next morning I pack. I stop at Isabella's kitchen for coffee and announce my departure.
"Where are you going?" Deor asks.
"Wolf is out there; prison didn't kill him. I must find him and bring him home. His girl, his Virginia, she will be welcome too."
"But--"
I smile at my little brother. "I have amassed quite a fortune these last years. I don't buy clothes or books, and very little food. So, now I will buy a riding skirt, and a horse, and I will seek out our wayward brother."
Deor hugs me.
"Good luck," Isabella tells me.

I gather up my few belongings and head out, red sleeves trailing behind me.