Dark Shimmer (26 page)

“I traveled with my father too.”

“A girl?”

“I told you, I'm not a liar.”

“Sorry. It's just that I've only ever heard of one girl who traveled with her father. In fact, I knew her, briefly. We traveled together, the four of us, to a monastery. It was right after my mother died. The girl's mother had also died not long before.”

“So you commiserated?”

“Hardly. She was three. Maybe four. Argumentative with her father—my father disapproved, but I thought she was fun.”

She's silent. After a long while, she says, “That's it, then. Travel is the answer.”

Sebastiano rubs the back of his neck. “Listen, I'd like to help you.”

“Why?”

“I'm not sure. Maybe because this is the longest conversation I've ever had with a young woman, just the two of us talking. It feels…intimate.”

She's quiet. Did he offend her? “I don't know why I speak so openly with you. I didn't mean to upset you.”

“Don't apologize. I know what you mean. I know exactly what you mean.”

His breath speeds up. “Let me help you.”

“You can't.”

“At least tell me who you are.”

“Never. I don't really know if anything you've said is true, you see. I don't know why you came to this cabin out of the blue.”

“Because of the stag. Someone killed a stag on my land. I brought the arrow with me. I wondered if the men here had seen anything.”

“The stag? Oh, no! That's my fault.”

“You shot the stag?”

“Don't be foolish. I don't hunt. But Giallino came across the animal yesterday. Bini had convinced everyone that I love venison after some stupid remark I made, so Giallino shot it. But it got away. I'm so sorry. The last thing I want is for these men to get thrown out because they violated their agreement with the landlord.” Her voice breaks. “They are good men. The stag is my fault. Please forgive them.”

“Are you crying?”

No answer.

“Don't be afraid. I won't punish them. In fact, I'll bring you venison, cooked a special way. I swear. Don't cry.”

“I'm not crying out of fear. I'm crying because Giallino was so sweet. They're all so good.”

“Well, that's no reason to cry.”

“Sure it is. Go now. Go on your travels. Go before I believe you're sweet and I open this door and die.”

B
iancaneve lays the squirrels on their backs in a line: six of them. She skins one and keeps the pelt. Alvise has promised to show her how to make new gloves and hats for all of them once there are enough pelts. Actually, Biancaneve knows quite a bit about sewing. But she accepted Alvise's offer because she could see it made him feel generous. They all like to help her these days. She skins two more squirrels and throws a tail on the pile of pelts. She's good at this.

There's a loud rap on the shutters. Her heart jumps. It's been two days since Sebastiano was here. He has probably gone traveling already. It's foolish of her to hope. But if it is him, she's decided to tell him her name, to see if he recognizes it. After all, when he was twelve, he and his father went traveling with a girl and her father—and the girl's mother had died recently, and she was only three or four. Biancaneve cannot remember traveling with anyone but Papà. Still, she does have an isolated memory of riding in front of a big boy on a wonderful, fast horse, and the boy being ever so fun—and she has no idea who he was.

She goes to her bed and reaches under the pillow for the arrow Sebastiano left outside the front door. She twirls it in her fingers. Sebastiano was quick at sparring. That was interesting. The men of this cabin all dote on her now; Sebastiano was a welcome change. It was exciting to talk with him. The flutter in her stomach right now is due to nothing more than a hope for diversion from the routine. “Who's there?” she calls.

“That's not the right response,” comes Tommaso's voice.

Biancaneve shoves the arrow back under the pillow. She goes to the window and opens a shutter. “Hi, Tommaso.”

“You're not supposed to answer. Don't you know the rules yet?”

“Of course I know the rules, Tommaso. If I don't answer, then you have to keep knocking, and eventually you shout out your name, and I say I'm fine. But it's cold. Your knuckles get raw. So I figured I'd spare you some pain.”

“Me? Just me?”

“Well…Tommaso, of course I want to spare you pain. You're very sweet and dear to me. But I want to spare everyone pain. Don't you want everyone to have safe knuckles?”

Tommaso frowns. “I don't know if I care.”

“Well, I do. Thank you for checking on me.”

“Don't open the shutters to anyone else.”

“All right.”

Tommaso peeks in the window. “You've skinned only half the squirrels.”

“Don't worry. You'll have plenty for dinner.”

“Want me to help?”

“No. I like doing it.”

Tommaso picks a thorn off his jacket. “Don't answer next time.”

“See you at dinner.” Biancaneve closes the shutters. She finishes the squirrels fast, cuts them into pieces, and throws the meat into the bubbling pot.

Rapping at the shutters again.

“I'm not here,” calls Biancaneve. “Does that satisfy you, Tommaso?”

“I'm not Tommaso,” comes a quiet voice. Biancaneve can hardly hear it.

“Who are you?”

“I'm lost.”

Biancaneve trembles. “Go away.”

“I don't know which way to go.” It's a woman's voice. Refined. But not Mamma's. Still…

“I can't help you. I have no idea where anything is.”

Sounds of sobbing.

“Don't cry,” says Biancaneve. “Please don't cry. I'm not allowed to let anyone in.”

“I don't care about coming in. I just want a little encouragement. And maybe a cup of something warm to put in my belly. I've been walking for hours.”

“Walking from where?”

“I'm not sure. My cousin lives nearby, toward Treviso. I'm visiting. I was with a group of hunters who went off after a bear. It's hard to talk through the shutters. Won't you open them?”

If she keeps a hand on each shutter, she can close them quickly in an emergency. The woman might be strong, though. “No.”

“Well, all right. At least this stump is good to sit on. I need the rest.”

A stump? There's only one stump, for splitting wood. It's far from the window, far enough that if someone made a rush for her, Biancaneve would have plenty of time to close the shutters. She opens the shutters just a crack.

A stocky woman in a bright orange dress sits on the stump. It's a fancy dress; she doesn't belong here. The peddler-woman disguise was more convincing. If this is really Mamma, she's doing a worse job than before. And hunting a bear? Really, now. Suddenly fury rises in Biancaneve's chest. “So what did you do when they went after the bear?”

“I told them I'd wait. And I did. I waited and waited. But they didn't return. It was hours. Finally, I started after them. And here I am.”

“You should have gone back where you came from,” Biancaneve says sharply.

“I wish I had.”

“It was stupid to set off into the woods.”

“I've been telling myself that for the past hour.”

How can you argue with someone who keeps agreeing? Biancaneve looks hard at the bedraggled woman. Her dark hair is in clumps. She has fat cheeks, reddened in the style of the nobles. She doesn't look anything like Mamma. But Mamma is clever. “What would you like to eat?”

“What do you have?”

“Tell me what you want.”

The woman sniffs the air. “Do I smell cabbage? I love cabbage.”

Mamma hates cabbage. And tears glitter on the woman's cheeks.

Still, Biancaneve is almost sure Mamma cried when they were sitting on the
fondamenta.
She cried as she drugged Biancaneve. And the eyes of the old peddler woman—her eyes spoke of tragedy even as she pulled on the bodice lace. “I'll put a cup of broth on the sill and close the shutters,” Biancaneve says. “Don't come near till I've secured them shut.”

“That's hardly hospitable of you.”

“It's the best I can do.”

“You act as though you're afraid of me.”

“I am,” says Biancaneve.

“Oh, how awful, to be afraid of a lone woman lost in the woods.”

“The last lone woman lost in the woods tried to kill me.”

The woman's face shows horror.

Biancaneve closes the shutters. She fills a cup with broth, then opens the shutters the tiniest bit. The woman is still on the stump. “Here.” Biancaneve puts down the broth and closes the shutters again. She listens.

After a few moments, the woman's voice comes. “It's good, that broth. Thank you. I put the cup back on the sill.” Her voice sounds distant again.

Biancaneve opens the shutters. The woman is sitting on the stump and the cup on the sill is empty. “I'm glad you enjoyed it.”

The woman opens a pouch and pulls out a silver toothpick. She cleans her teeth. Oh! She's missing a left front tooth. No one could fake that. This couldn't be Mamma! Relief floods Biancaneve. How harsh she's been to the poor woman. “Do you need anything else, dear lady?”

“No, I better be on my way.” The woman slips the toothpick back into her pouch. “I feel better. You must be a fine cook.”

“I'm learning.”

“If you eat, you should cook.”

“That's right,” says Biancaneve. “We should all help in the chores of life.”

The woman laughs. “I didn't mean it so seriously.” She tilts her head. “You have beautiful hair.”

“Thank you.”

“I have nothing to pay for the broth with. But I do have a comb.” She pulls a silver comb out of her pouch. “It's old and in need of polishing. But I'd be pleased if you'd accept it as my thanks.”

“Don't be absurd. A cup of broth is nothing compared to a silver comb.”

“A cup of broth and a few words when you're hungry and tired and alone in the woods—that's worth a lot. Please accept it. I have another at home anyway. Close the shutters and I'll put the comb on the sill.”

“All right.” Biancaneve closes the shutters. “Did you do it?”

“Yes.” The woman sounds distant again.

Biancaneve peeks. The comb is on the sill and the woman is back on the stump. It's a simple comb, but really very nice. Biancaneve likes the curved handle. “Pity that I don't have a horsehair switch to clean it with.”

“You can use pine needles, if you must.”

“Or maybe squirrel tail. I have plenty.”

“That sounds like a good idea.” The woman shakes a warning finger. “Boil the tail first so you kill the vermin on it.” Then she brightens. “Anyway, there's no hurry on the tail. I cleaned the comb just the other day. Go ahead, comb your hair. Or let your mamma do it.”

“I don't have a mamma.”

The woman grimaces. “I'm sorry to hear that.” She looks infinitely sad. “Alas. I wish I had a daughter so I could comb her hair.” She seems to be holding back tears. “I could comb yours, if you like.”

“You're so kind.” Biancaneve forces a smile. There's something painful in the woman's face. Did she lose a daughter? Fear pricks at her for a moment. But this woman is older and missing a tooth; Mamma is too caught up in beauty to pull out a tooth, no matter what. Biancaneve looks down at the charming comb again. “No. You should leave now.”

“Cautious.” The woman nods approval. “What a dear and good child you are. May I at least watch?”

Biancaneve pulls the comb gingerly through her hair.

“Such wonderful hair,” says the woman.

Biancaneve combs harder now. That's the right way to comb. She digs in and combs and combs. It's so good to be doing this, after months of being unkempt. She'll look like herself again, even if inside she's all ajumble still. Comb, comb, comb. It's as though she can feel the glossiness grow.

Oh! Intense heat bursts through her skull. She looks at the woman in amazement.

The woman stands and waves, and weeps.