weeks; the one who brewed then helped her drink the cure-all and rose hip tea that would speed the healing and dull some of the pain; she was the one who had held Titania still twice a day so that Ma could replace the compresses. She was the one who had given Titania the mirror when she asked for it and held her when she cried at her reflection. She’d seen the change in her sister’s personality long before anyone else.
"Well, this bird won't pluck itself." She paused then added, "I don't know if Bull and Jones will come back with anything."
"Pater doesn't need to know about this one," said Titania.
Titania stood up and went to get the coat. Mixer protested when she took it away from him. She heaved the great fur onto her shoulders and turned up the collar. Mixer reattached himself to the hem. Bits of the fur spilled from between his clenched fingers.
"Where is everyone?" Titania asked.
"Well, Bull and Jones are hunting. Porkchop is out in the back field somewhere. Jelly and Forest are probably in the woods. Who knows where Narrow has gotten himself."
Titania looked down at Mixer. He looked up.
Mixer had been looking for a way into Pater's house since they'd arrived. He didn't know enough about him; he needed proximity. He’d noticed that Titania had become increasingly restless as the winter had dragged on so when Pater got sick, Mixer saw his chance to use her impatience against her. He had first suggested that she help Jelly care for the old man. That had gotten her inside the house. Now he suggested that she do something nice for Santa, which would get him inside.
He waggled his head at her, thoughts flowing from his mind to hers. Titania frowned. She saw something behind her brother's eyes she didn't like.
"I can take him for a while, if you want," she heard herself say.
Santa watched Titania look at their brother. Was that a smile? Santa held out hope that Titania's internal wounds could still be healed.
"Thank you, that'd be helpful."
"I'll bring him back for dinner." Titania picked up Mixer, tucked him inside the coat and left the barn.
___
Titania trudged back to the house. Mixer peered out from the top of the coat, his eyes darting right and left.
Before the accident, Titania had never known sadness or anger or frustration or understood it in others. But she recognized it in the faces of her family and she had only to look at them and their hurt would abate.
The accident did more than disfigure her face, it disfigured her talent. All the feelings she'd never felt before — the sorrow, the spite and rage — came in waves and hurt more than the burns had. She couldn’t take her own hurt away, let alone that of her family. Her only protection had been the emergence of a new talent.
When the Landlord came to collect his first spring cider, months after the accident, he found Titania standing outside by the press house door. She had heard his horses and cart on the road long before they appeared and had been drawn outside, her eyes closed and her head bowed. She walked slowly to the rain barrel and peered over the edge at her reflection in the water. Her narrow face and angular body had rounded and plumped, her hair had turned from fox red to birch blonde. She felt taller. She was beautiful in a way she had never been, even before the accident. But just below the surface, where only Titania could see, was the real her, the skin pocked and puckered.
The Landlord brought the horses up hard when he spotted her. He held the reins in one hand and swiped the other over and down his mouth and chin. He took a deep breath. He didn’t remember ever seeing this one before.
Maybe, he thought as he steered his horses into the yard, she’s been keeping her away from me. Naughty, naughty. He smiled then. He’d see to her. And the girl.
It had worked, Titania marveled. The Landlord hadn’t seen her scarred face. He had seen what she had seen in the rain barrel. Beauty.
Her family was another matter. No matter how hard she tried to will the change for them, she failed every time. They couldn’t see it. Neither could the Constable. Although the Constable, Titania had noticed, only seemed to have eyes for Porkchop in those days anyway.
She stepped into the house, hoping that Pater hadn’t returned. He hadn’t. She put Mixer down on the floor and sat at the table.
What had happened with Pater when he was sick still weighed on her mind. It was obvious from how he’d reacted that he’d seen someone other than her, but she had no recollection of a change happening. With the Landlord, even without confirmation in a mirror, she’d always felt it happen. At first she’d passed it off as a result of his fever but ever since he recovered whenever she looked at Pater in a particular way he would do whatever she asked.
___
Since they arrived Narrow had spent countless hours sketching the farm and the route they’d taken to get here. He had a similar map of the orchard rolled up in his pack.
He thought a lot about Pa and the trips he used to take. He’d head out early on his two-wheeler with a small wooden cart attached to the main shaft and disappear up the road. Narrow would watch him from the bedroom window upstairs and wish he could go with him. Pa called them his hunting trips but he almost never came home with something they could eat. Instead, he’d cart home containers of all shapes, sizes and colours; clothing; furniture; wheels. Whatever the family needed, Pa could usually find. It wasn't always an exact match but whatever he found was always put to good use. Narrow had learned a lot from Pa about how to take things apart and put them back together.
Narrow had explored the furthest of any of his brothers or sisters, even Bull and Jones who sometimes had to go miles before finding game. He loved every minute of it. At the orchard his time had been spent cleaning equipment, pruning trees, harvesting fruit, weeding, or doing a hundred other small chores. And there had always been Ma and the switch if he set one toe past the tree line. He had few responsibilities here and a whole new world to discover.
It was Narrow who’d discovered the second outhouse camouflaged behind a stand of red birch trees close to the reed beds. He also fixed the eavestroughing of the second, black cistern he found at the back of the barn. The dark colour absorbed the sun's heat and even after the coldest nights, the water often remained unfrozen and sometimes even lukewarm.
He was the one who’d followed the creek until it straightened out then ran parallel with the far end of the unploughed field before curving away and dropping off an embankment to the valley below. On the edges of the field, Narrow had also picked out evidence of previously dug rainwater diversion channels.
Eventually, he ventured off the property entirely. Some days he turned left on the road out of the farm, sometimes right. At Porkchop’s order he was careful and always followed the main road, noting smaller roads and paths that veered off it. Those would be explored another day. Every now and then he’d stop and sketch new details on his map.
When the heavy snows and freezing rain began he’d been kept inside, ordered by Porkchop to help her sort out the mess of crates and equipment in the barn. But then the thaw came.
That morning he got up with Bull and Jones, leaving Porkchop still snoring beside Santa. After filling their water containers and grabbing some food, his brothers had disappeared into the woods. Narrow headed for the road and when he got there, veered left and headed for Honey Hill in the distance.
By mid-morning, Narrow had reached its base. The area was covered in honeysuckle bushes. When he reached the flat top of the hill, he had a new appreciation for what the Constable had told him. One side narrowed upwards to an edge that had some scrubby bush plants clinging to its top. It looked as though a giant had punched off the top half of the hill face.
He sat down on the edge of the plateau, his back to the ragged cliff, and swiped his long curly hair away from his face. Porkchop, unlike Ma, didn't care about the length of his hair. The air was cool and fresh and the sun was warm. The view was like nothing he'd ever seen before. After several moments, he realized that he was holding his breath and slowly
let it out. Pine forest coated the land in a dozen shades of green. He took out his map and some charcoal and drew.
The sun was almost overhead by the time Narrow put away his things, slung his pack on his back and started up the incline to the top. The climb was almost vertical in spots and Narrow had to grab hold of whatever roots and rocks he could to keep from sliding backwards. At the top, he stood up straight and took in the sight.
He saw the farm; saw Santa get water from the front cistern and Porkchop as she stomped around in the back field. Then his eyes took it all in. Beyond the farthest edge of the field the land dropped away into Spoon Valley. Pa had been right; from this height it really did look like a big serving spoon. A mix of spruces, firs, pines, maples and birches lined the sides. The valley rounded at the north, stopped by a line of trees that spread out and up, but opened up at the south end. And somewhere, he knew, on the other side of the valley was the orchard.
He looked down at the road they’d taken last fall to reach the farm. He took out his map, compared it with his new vantage point and made a few corrective marks. He stood for a few minutes more on top of the cliff, breathing in the smell of thawing dirt. He found an easier path down the hill and, when he was almost at the bottom, found a few cure-all plants growing off the side, their purple blossoms long since