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go through the Wood. We can go around. Think of it as a bad dream,
Roger. But now you are awake; you are back with us.
 I gave my word, my father said.
 In fear of your life, sir, Dominic put in quietly.  Surely you
need not honor a bargain made under such terms.
 Perhaps not, said my father.  But  
 Papa isn t going to go at all, I heard myself say.  I m the one
this Beast really wants. He s made that clear enough. I m the one who
can carve the wood. If not for me, Papa never would have picked up
the branch in the first place. I m the one who should keep the
promise.
 How can I allow that? my father asked, the anguish in his voice
ringing as clear as a bell.  What kind of father sends his daughter into
danger while he himself stays safe at home?
 The kind of father who trusts his daughter, I answered.  And
who is wise enough to recognize that he has no choice. Surely this
Beast only wants what we all do: to see the face of true love. If I can
show him that  
 True love! my mother suddenly exclaimed.  What can a Beast
know of love?
 Perhaps this is what he wishes to discover, I said.
 Perhaps, cried Maman.  All I hear you say is if and perhaps.
Those are fragile words to pin your hopes on, let along your life, ma
Belle.
I leaned forward then, and did what I d feared to do, until now. I
took the branch of the Heartwood Tree between my hands. The rough
bark bit into my palms.
 I have felt& different for as long as I can remember, I said
quietly.  Even before the space between my name and my face
became so great that I found a way to disappear inside it.
I lifted up the wood, as if to test its weight, and felt the fine
tingling in my hands that always heralded my ability to picture what
the wood was holding in its secret heart of hearts.
 I do not know if what I will find inside this wood will be what
the Beast wants. But we all know that I m the only one of us who will
find anything at all. I may not, but we all know Papa cannot. In which
case perhaps and if may be stronger than they sound.
  I do not understand you, my mother said.  It is almost as if
you wish to go into danger.
 Of course I don t, I replied.  But I won t send Papa back, not if
I can help it.
My father pulled in a breath to speak. I stood up before he could,
still cradling the Heartwood bough.
 You are tired, Papa, I said.  All of us are confused and
frightened, but none of us need to go anywhere right this moment. Let
us speak no more of this for now.
I gave Maman a tired smile.  Perhaps tomorrow will bring a way
out that we cannot see today.
 Perhaps, said my mother. She stood up.  Come upstairs,
Roger, she said.  You are tired. A proper rest in your own bed will do
you good. Belle is right. Whatever must be decided can wait until at
least tomorrow.
Papa and Maman climbed the stairs, their arms around each
other. April and Dominic went outside, speaking in quiet voices.
 I ll do the dishes, just this once, mind you, Celeste said. She
paused for a moment, gazing at the branch of the Heartwood Tree.  It
really is beautiful, isn t it? she said.  Do you suppose it wants some
water?
 I ve been thinking the same thing myself, I said.
And so, while Celeste cleared the dishes, I took the heaviest of
our pitchers and filled it with water. I placed the Heartwood branch in
the pitcher and carried them both up to my room. I set the pitcher on
the windowsill beside my bed. Then I curled up on the bed, gazing at
the blossoms of the Heartwood tree, listening to the sound of my
parents voices as they spoke quietly in the next room.
I closed my eyes and felt the small house, which had become
our home, safe and snug and comforting, around me. But even with
my eyes closed, I saw the petals of the Heartwood Tree, as if their
image had been etched onto my eyelids. White as freshly fallen snow;
red as heart s blood.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The Heartwood branch sat in its pitcher on my windowsill all week, its
petals never fading, its fragrance filling the house. I cannot say my
family ever grew comfortable with our strange new situation, but they
did become& resigned.
 There were no more emotional scenes or arguments, though
every time I looked at my mother, I saw the fear and sorrow in her
eyes. Much as it grieved me to see it, it only strengthened my resolve.
I would not send my father back into the Wood. I must be the
one to leave home.
On the morning that Papa or I needed to honor the agreement, I
awoke early, even before Celeste, who is always the first one up, to
stir up the stove. I washed my hands and face, then stood a moment
considering. What does one wear when going to pay a visit to a Beast?
I wondered. What else should I bring along? For I had no idea how
long I d have to stay.
This last thought was all it took to send me hurrying into motion.
Moving quietly, so as not to awaken my sisters, I put on my
plainest everyday dress, the one of gray homespun, and laced up my
sturdiest pair of shoes. Then I spread my favorite shawl out on the bed
and set my bundle of carving tools in the very center, adding an apron
and several pairs of stockings to the pile. I folded the ends of the
shawl into the middle, and tied it into a bundle I could carry by
slipping my arm through the knots.
It wasn t much. But then that was precisely my intention. That [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]