21
Many Meetings
Two hours previous:
Will began to hitch up Jenny to the wagon, preparing to drive Rum and Belle into town, Belle wished to see if anyone else had fallen ill with Emma's sore throat and if so had brought several tinctures to help and also needed to get some more herbs from the apothecary, and Rumple needed to return to work if he was ever going to be able to support his family. As the boy put the harness on the mule, slowly tightening the cinch, he felt a presence beside him and looked about to encounter Mr. Gold standing there watching.
"You harness up Jenny quickly, like you've done this sort of thing before," the tailor observed.
"Well, I have, since that was one of my jobs when I lived with my parents and the troupe." Will answered, his hands still tightening the buckles.
They had acquired the wagon from the Miner brothers, who had brought it to carry wood shakes and lumber as well as tools to help repair the cabin and barn. They had left it for use by the family. Will had done almost nothing save work since waking up the next morning two days before. His days had been filled with eating, working, and sleeping. He was exhausted after dinner and quickly retired to his pallet in the barn, sleeping like the dead till Bae or Rumple roused him the next morning to help with chores and breakfast and begin all over again. The family was distrustful and distant, he ate with them, but almost never joined in on their conversation, because Regina and Bae ignored him like he didn't exist, and Belle and Rumple, while cordial, and not outwardly rude, made it plain that he was not trusted.
Will understood and accepted that penance. He was not surprised. Few trusted the Rom, or their relatives. Fewer still would trust someone like him. But he was lonely. He missed his parents and sister, and the easy camaraderie he had with the other members of the Merry Men, performing for the locals, trading new acrobatic tricks and sleight of hand, laughing at how easily some yokel was taken in by Madam Esmerelda's fortune telling. Now he had no one, and felt cast adrift.
Rum watched the boy, impressed in spite of himself at how he handled Jenny, who could be stubborner than three mules at times. But Will spoke to the mule in the soft cadence of the Rom, muttering to her in their language, and the mule quit balking and settled in the harness. The lad had a way with horses, he thought. But still, he was not going to trust the young man. He walked forward, a bracelet made of braided rope in his hand. Quicker than blinking, he gestured and the rope bracelet was about Will's wrist. Then it adhered to him tightly, almost like a manacle would.
"Sir?" the boy jerked, flinching at the bracelet's touch, even though it didn't hurt. "What's this?"
"That, dearie, is so you don't attempt to break your word and run from me," Rumple answered quietly. "It's a charmed bracelet. It will not allow you to step a toe off this property, unless I accompany you. And I will know if you try," he warned, his eyes glinting, hard as amber in the sunlight. "It also prevents you from doing or even thinking of hurting me or my family. If you so much as raise a finger against me or mine, it will freeze you in your tracks like a statue. And only I can cancel the spell."
Will swallowed hard. He had known all his life about the sorcerers and their charms and incantations, some to heal and some to harm, but he had never before been a recipient of either. He felt a shudder wrack him from head to toe. "But—I gave you my word," he protested faintly.
"I know. But what is your word worth?" asked the shaman sharply. "For some men, it is worth everything. For others, it is worth something only when they get what they need or want, and then it is worthless. And for some it's not even worth anything at all. Until I find out just what kind of man you are, the bracelet will stay. After all, you nearly killed me and my family. Why should I trust you?"
The boy sighed. Mr. Gold was right. He had given the tailor and his family no reason to trust him . . .and plenty of reasons not to. But it gave him a queer sort of ache to hear Gold declare that he was untrustworthy. He didn't know why those words, which he had heard before from townsfolk where the troupe had stayed for more than a night, bothered him so much, yet they did. Gold had spared his life, he owed Will nothing. Yet the boy found an odd compulsion within him to want the older man's regard. He had watched how Gold was with Bae, that easy camaraderie and loving relationship that Will had never really had with his own father, who had been quick to criticize and quicker to lash out with his hand when his son came back empty handed from working a crowd.
"Yes, sir," he said only, then finished rearranging the crates in the wagon bed and the blankets for his passengers. He was grateful for the respite from work and looked forward to this trip into town, even if Gold watched him like a hawk.
Some ten minutes later, all was ready and they were on their way. Luckily the road had been cleared somewhat and Jenny didn't find it hard to pull the wagon down the track into town. Rumple and Belle sat cosily in the wagon bed covered in thick triple woven wool blankets woven by the Mesquakie and also the spinner himself, as well as a large furry bearskin hide left by Horse as a token of his affection when he was semi-courting Regina. They had not heard from the young brave since his return to his people, and Rumple wondered how he was faring. Perhaps he could send him a message?
You can ask your Manitou how to summon foxes to you who would be willing to be your ears, eyes, and feet, Willow informed him. The little brethren will always aid you if possible, Rum.
Then I shall ask one soon. How do I summon one?
You Call, the shaman replied serenely.
He frowned. Call how?
Ask Fox. Fox will tell you. The Call is different for all shamans, since not all chosen animals are the same.
Are you always this vague? Rumple asked with a trace of annoyance.
Only in seeking shall you find. Or learn, Willow answered serenely. Telling you answers all the time makes for a lazy student.
Rumple supposed that was so. He rubbed his ankle absently as they rode. Do you think this ankle of mine can be healed enough so I can walk?
Only the Creator knows for sure. But in order for it to work properly, the bones must be put back together correctly. Find that wasicu doctor you met before and see what he says. If he knows what he is doing, he is your best chance.
"Rum? Are you speaking to Willow?" Belle asked, seeing how her husband's eyes suddenly seemed to gaze at something beyond normal sight and the staff beside him was glowing slightly.
"Umm, yes," he replied absently. "She says to speak with Dr. Frankenstein about my ankle. Perhaps I shall do so today, during my lunch. Will your errands keep you in town that long? We can have lunch together if that's the case."
Belle smiled. "I would like that a lot, Rum. And depending on how many patients have need of me, I could be here the whole day. I would also like to see what Victor has to say about your foot. He's supposed to be a something of a pioneer in the study of anatomy, despite his being sent down. And I know the basics but would like to learn more. But he came to town after I was banished and I didn't want to compromise our reputations further by being seen with him alone. You know how people gossip."
"Aye, I know," Rumple grimaced. "Gossips are like magpies, they wag their tongues even when there's naught to wag about, just to hear themselves talk."
He had no love of gossips, since they had ruined his reputation far beyond normal in his village long ago, keeping the old scandal alive. Belle too had suffered her share of rumors and still did, and even being married to him now offered her a thin veneer of respectability, but no more than that.
Rum could only imagine how that would vanish if they ever knew about him being a shaman, which was something he would prefer not to be known at the present time, considering the loathing felt by many whites towards the Indians. He would have to tell Will to keep his mouth shut about that.
He patted the pistol in its hidden holster under his jacket. Though he knew he could defend himself quite well with magic, it never hurt to have a backup just in case. Rum detested violence, and would avoid it if necessary, but if push came to shove and anyone threatened him or his family—he wouldn't hesitate to hurt them any longer. That was one thing being the Dark One had taught him—if you hesitate when it came to defending yourself, you would be dead. The element of surprise and using your brains were the strongest weapons in his arsenal, and he wouldn't forget that lesson again. He would have to see about acquiring a gun for Will, or at least a brace of throwing knives, for he didn't trust Tolle or Spencer not to try again to attempt to kill him and if the boy was going to act as his bodyguard and watch his back, he needed to be armed. Most people would have considered that folly, arming a youth who had once tried to kill him, but Rumple knew the bracelet's compulsion would hold and the boy would hardly try and kill him now when doing so would avail him nothing but more trouble.
He had learned during his tenure as the Dark One how to read people from their facial expressions and body language, and to see their honesty reflected in their eyes, so he could gauge which ones who came to him would keep their end of the bargain or not. Even before he had resorted to reading Will's aura, he had been able to tell the boy wasn't lying, but scared and desperate only. The aura reading had simply confirmed what he had guessed as correct. It was how he had sensed that Tolle and Spencer were as crooked as they came, and that Jack and Jeff Hatter were honest as the day was long. And that he could trust Belle and Regina when he had first met them.
Speaking of his wife . . .he lifted her hand and kissed the back of it, grinning. "You be careful, dearie, while you're in town. I'm sending Will to escort you, just in case."
"Rum, that's not necessary," she began, used to going on her errands of mercy without companionship.
He squeezed her hand gently. "Belle, humor me, please. Even after I beat Jones to a pulp, I still don't like you wandering Storybrooke without protection, especially after what happened to me."
"I understand, Rum, but . . .Will's going to protect me?" she looked at him askance.
"Yes, because I've made certain he won't harm you. And he'll protect you because he owes us." Rum told her firmly.
She narrowed her eyes. "Made certain how?"
"With a magical bracelet. He won't be able to try and hurt you, Belle. But he can and will be a deterrent to anyone trying to accost you, especially Jones and his ilk. Even Tolle or Spencer would be loathe to try someone with a witness nearby."
Belle sighed. "Normally I don't like compulsion spells, Rum. But . . .in this case I can see why you felt it was necessary. And it does relieve my mind somewhat. All right. I'll take the boy with me. Perhaps I can also take him to meet Mrs. Muffet, as I'm going to visit the orphanage and make sure none of the other children are sick with what Emma had. She can always use another hand around the place, and it'll keep him out of the tavern and working while you are."
Rumple nodded. "Yes, that would be a good idea. Perhaps you can speak to Mrs. Lucas as well, see if she has any heavy chores that need doing. And last time I was at the baths, I saw a sign for an extra attendant wanted. Plenty of opportunity for the boy to work and stay out of trouble."
Plus the more Will got to know the citizens of Storybrooke, and they him, perhaps he might also consider staying there when his "indenture" with the Golds was finished. Because Will living with them was not a permanent solution, and Rum already had enough on his plate with adopting Emma and adding an addition onto the cabin eventually for her, Bae, and any children he and Belle might have.
He did want more children, he thought, contemplating them with a soft sigh, and gazing at his wife lovingly. Of course, what came before the children was also wondrously pleasant and he almost wished his day was done so he could take Belle to bed again and play with her all night.
Belle was trying to think of any other places around town that might need a hand when she caught her husband's lascivious look and felt herself go dusky rose down to her feet. "Rum! Quit looking at me like that!" she hissed as they rounded the bend and were coming into town.
"Like what, mo chridhe?" he queried innocently, his cognac-colored eyes dancing. He used the Gaelic word for "my sweetheart", because he thought it beautiful. He made a mental note to try and learn this language if he could, and recalled that Will was half-Scottish, perhaps he had some knowledge?
"Like you . . .want to drag me into a stable and have your wicked way with me," she retorted, grinning.
"Me? With you in a stable?" he pointed at himself innocently. "Why, dearie! I wouldn't dream of it! The hay pricks you right through your clothes and is most uncomfortable. Plus the stables at Storybrooke are never unoccupied."
"Rumford Gold!" she poked him, pretending to be scandalized.
"What? It's true."
"You're incorrigible!"
"Ah, but I think you like incorrigible, dearie," he teased. "And 'tis no such thing when a man loves his wife like I love you." Then he put an arm about her and pulled her close so he could kiss her, making her giggle with surprise.
His kiss lasted about a minute, no more, and yet it left her aching with desire. She shook her head and muttered, "Now look what you've done! My mind is no longer on my patients, but on you . . .and what I would like to do with you tonight."
His eyes twinkled. "Well, I hope those wicked little thoughts will warm you as you walk through town. I am ever your servant, sweetheart."
She pretended to be annoyed, and fixed her hair, some of which had come undone from its knot and now straggled prettily down the sides of her face. "Mr. Gold, you have gotten me utterly discombobulated!"
"Allow me, my darling," he drawled, and carefully undid her upswept hair and then placed all neatly back into its bun and retied her ribbon. "There! 'Tis fixed and a thousand pardons for not waiting till later to kiss you."
"I wish we didn't have to wait till later," she whispered wantonly into his ear.
Rumple just smirked, and murmured, "Good things come to those who wait, dearie."
Up in the driver's seat, Will pretended he was deaf, though in fact he had very good hearing and could make out almost exactly what had been going on in the wagon bed behind him. It made him flush, because he had never felt that way with any girl before, despite the reputation of Gypsies as whoremasters and light o' loves. He also hadn't been privy to that form of real affection not even between his own parents, who were more like business partners and usually were more prone to swapping curses in Gaelic and Rom when they squabbled and flinging dishes at each other. But it seemed that Mr. and Mrs. Gold were one of those rare things—a love marriage, and it showed.
Once they had pulled up in front of the livery, and turned Jenny and the wagon over to David Nolan, whose parents ran the livery, Mr. Gold took Will aside and explained his duties for today, to escort Mrs. Gold wherever she wished to go and also to find some kind of work that would keep him in the townspeople's good graces while he worked at the shop for the day. "My wife shall accompany you to the orphanage and to the inn to speak with Mrs. Muffet and Mrs. Lucas. And you may go to the baths and speak with the young lad Archie and see if that position has been filled. I shall meet you at Granny's for lunch."
"Have a good day, Rum," Belle called after him as he limped away.
Then she turned to Will. "First stop, the orphanage."
Will followed her up the street.
They found Mrs. Muffet trying to hammer a stubborn board into place on the porch. And not doing such a great job of it either.
Belle opened her mouth to call out a greeting, but halted in case she startled the woman and made her hit her hand with the hammer, something that she appeared to be in grave danger of doing with how she was whaling away at the nail.
But Will simply said, "May I be of assistance, ma'am?" and bounded up the stairs like a great friendly hound pup.
Mrs. Muffet let out a little gasp and stood poised with the hammer in hand, until Will gently relieved her of it and said, "I can fix this in a jiffy, ma'am."
"Who-who are you?" she sputtered.
Will bowed to her congenially. "Name's Will Scarlet. I'm Mrs. Gold's new hired man. But I figgered that when she don't need me, and Mr. Gold is here working, I can do some work here too."
Mrs. Muffet watched as he neatly hammered the board into place. She wipe sweat from her brow. "Well, I cannot deny I need a hand around this place, with twenty children to oversee by my lonesome. What do you charge, Mr. Scarlet?"
"Will, ma'am. And for you, just something cold to drink and maybe a bit of a snack if you can spare some apples or cheese, I'm not picky." The boy shrugged. "I might not be all that big, but I have a strong back and can do most any chore that needs doing. Just point me in the direction of it."
"Why that's right nice of you, young man. Are you sure I can't pay you? How about five cents a day?" she offered.
Will hesitated, then said, "Ma'am, I don't feel right taking money from you," he began, because he could see that the woman probably didn't have a penny to spare given the condition of the place. "But I'd be beholden to you if maybe you could feed me lunch on occasion. I don't eat much."
Mrs. Muffet clucked at him like she did one of her charges. "You're like a sapling, boy. I can feed you what I do the other children here. Fresh bread with butter and jam, sometimes bacon, apples, cheese, and cider. When my garden starts producing I'll have salads and ham sandwiches for you."
Belle nodded. "A good bowl of porridge would do him good too, Martha," she told Mrs. Muffet.
"Aye, or chicken soup."Will blushed, feeling almost like a hog they were fattening. "Much obliged, ma'am. Do you have anything else that needs fixing?"
"Well . . .the door of the barn is loose and my cow nearly broke outta her pen because there's some boards down . . ."
"I can fix that, ma'am."
"The tools are in the toolshed," Mrs. Muffet called after him. Then she turned to Belle. "What a nice youngster. Where did you find him?"
"Well...you see Emma...found him freezing one night on our doorstep. The poor boy is an orphan...part of one of the tribes but his family was taken by the smallpox," Belle began. "And we simply could not turn him away."
She knew Mrs. Muffett would not question her tale, the other woman knew Belle was not one to turn anyone away, regardless of their heritage. She treated all as equals.
Mrs. Muffet's eyes softened. "You have a good heart, Belle. And I would have done the same, unlike some in this town." She snorted. "I had a feeling he was a halfblood, darling. Like your Regina, he has that look about him. Speaking of Emma, how is the lass?"
"She's improving under our care. Rum has been tending to her and...we have been thinking about making her part of the family."
"Good. I confess, I had hoped you would. Emma is a bright child, but sensitive and a bit of a daydreamer. She's a good little worker, but sometimes none too practical. And she's normally afraid of strange men, but she took to Mr. Gold straight off."
"He has a way with children," Belle declared proudly. "She's very special and Rum recognizes and encourages it."
Mrs. Muffet looked relieved. "You've got a good man there, Belle. And a stepson too. Not many would have stayed on the way he did, and he's as clever as you, inventing that brassiere! Why, I bought one and I must say," she dropped her voice a little, since this was a delicate subject, "I have never been so comfortable in my life! Stays pinch something awful, you know!"
"Oh I do," Belle giggled. "So much more comfortable. I must confess, the men who designed our undergarments in the past understood nothing about a woman and that we must have as much comfort as a man."
Mrs. Muffet coughed, and beckoned her to come inside the house. "Do come and sit awhile, and have some tea, Belle. Aye, I can think of much improvement to be made in our petticoats and . . .err . . .bloomers. And those garters! Always falling down!"
"Oh, I've had that happen many times and I can never refuse a good cup of tea," She followed the older woman into the house and sat down at the table.
Mrs. Muffet began getting the tea tray together, saying softly, "I'm so glad you stopped by, because I was getting a mite worried about Emma and then there was that dreadful fire over at your place . . .mercy, you were lucky you weren't burnt alive!" She crossed herself.
"We were blessed Mrs. Muffet. We're rebuilding and the incident has made us a stronger family unit because we weathered the storm together. And you needn't worry. We will care for Emma as our own."
"Well, thank the Lord for that!" the other woman said. She placed a sugar bowl, creamer, and cups on the table, along with some oatmeal cookies. "I just baked these this morning. I had to hide some because some of my boys can't resist stuffing themselves like Christmas geese!"
"They smell delicious." Belle picked up one of the cookies and took a bite. "Oh my...they are delicious...and I can see why you would need to hide them. My boys would devour them and have me make more!"
Mrs. Muffet looked proud. "They're an old family recipe. From my mama's mother in Aberdeen. She used to say, nothing beats a good oatmeal cookie, except maybe Scotch parritch, dearie." She smiled. "Your husband's from the Highlands too, isn't he? I can detect a bit o' Scots in his speech."
"Yes he is. Would you mind giving me that recipe? I'd like to try it at home and see if I can make them as good as you."
"Of course. Let me get some paper and a pen," she bustled into her secretary which was in an alcove off the kitchen, and began to write down the recipe, when the door slammed and a little girl's voice cried, "Mrs. Muffet, Zelena called me a cross-eyed cow!"
Now more than ever Belle was relieved that Emma was living with them. Zelena was a nasty child who boosted her own self-importance by making other children feel inferior to her and Mrs. Muffet had a difficult task trying to mend the girl's ways.
The matron sighed. "Now Jenny, what have I said about people who are mean spirited to ye?" she asked the eight year old, who was dark haired and wore spectacles for her poor vision.
The child scuffed a foot on the worn floorboards and said, "You said that some people don't understand that God made us all different and it should be celebrated and when people say nasty things to remember they're ignorant and don't know better."
It was advice Belle often gave Regina when her heritage was scorned in the town and ignorance unfortunately was a disease there that spanned many generations and it would take many more to become more tolerant and accepting of different cultures and customs.
"That's right, lamb. You are just as special as Zelena, even if you can't run as fast or have trouble catching a ball. You can read in the fifth form and you bake biscuits better than me, darling!" She hugged the small girl. "Now you send Zelena in here. Seems I'm gonna have another talk with her about her twitting and mocking you."
Jenny smiled and ran outside, hollering, "Zelena, Mrs. Muffet wants ta see ya!"
Mrs. Muffet shook her head as she returned to the kitchen with Belle's recipe. "That child fair near makes me want to tear my hair out! She came here full o' airs and with a nice dowry-if any man be fool enough to marry a termagant like she is. I try to make her mend her ways and to be kind but . .. I fear I am no' getting through to the lass."
Mrs. Muffet ran a hand through her hair. "Perhaps I'm no' strict enough with her.
"How so?"
"Well, I've sent her to bed without supper, and forbidden her to play outside, made her write apologies to those she's wronged, and lectured her till my tongue turned blue and she just ignores what I've said and does what she will anyhow. And the one time I spanked her, she laughed at me. I swear, it's like she's got a devil in her or something! Maybe a man would get through to her better."
"Perhaps but can you think of one who would be willing to take her in?" She knew Rum wouldn't want to because it would make Emma uncomfortable and they didn't want that.
"Unfortunately, there's not too much call for a man who needs a hoity-toity brat around the place, and I won't send her to the city, where she might be . . .put in a . . .house of ill repute." The matron said sighing. "I just wish someone could talk to her in a way that would get through her stubborn little head!"
"Hmmm...maybe Rum could help with that. I could ask him if you'd like?"
"Oh would you? I would be most obliged!" Martha looked extremely grateful.
"It's my pleasure. Our children can be a stubborn lot but he always manages to make them see reason."
Just then the door opened and Will came in, towing a pretty redhaired child behind him. "Ma'am, I caught this little gal trying to sneak away under the fence. Heard you was looking for her."
"You lemme go, you skunk!" Zelena growled, and tried to kick him in the shin.
But Will dodged her little foot, and said, "Hey, now you quit makin' a ruckus, you wee fiend, or else I'll give you something to make a ruckus about! Didn't your mama ever teach you any manners?"
Zelena made a face at him.
"Real gentlemen don't lay hands on a lady!"
Will laughed. "You're not a lady, not yet anyhow. And you keep making faces like that and you're gonna freeze that way."
Belle sat back, another idea coming to her mind as she watched the exchange between the two, thinking that even Will might be a solution to Mrs. Muffet's dilemma.
Zelena glared at him. "I will not!"
"Yup. Cause I saw it happen-to another little girl who was a snippy little nose-in-the-air brat just like you. She kept making faces like a gargoyle and one day-" he made a horrible face at her. "-she remained like that! And people ran away screaming down the street."
"You . . . you're makin' that up! Tellin' tales!"
"Cross my heart an' hope to die," the older boy said solemnly. "I was in Baltimore when it happened. And people still talk about it." He frowned at her. "You want that to happen to you? Have people point at you on the street and whisper here comes that gargoyle faced girl again? The one who was so mean her face froze up like a Halloween jack-o-lantern?
Zelena's eyes bugged out. "No!" She pulled free of his hand. "What do you know anyhow?"
"Plenty more than you, I reckon," Will snorted. Then he looked at Mrs. Muffet. "Ma'am, I brought this hooligan back to you. I just hope you got rope enough to lasso her to the stove or hogtie her like a misbehaving mule."
Zelena gaped at him. "I ain't no hooligan, you miserable bounder!"
Will cocked an eyebrow at her. "Miss, no lady would kick a man or talk to him that way unless she was nothing but a hooligan. And my da would say the only thing a hooligan lass deserves is a good switching and no dessert."
Zelena's face grew red and she muttered, "I'm a lady! I am!"
"Yeah? Then act like it." Will challenged. "Quit callin' people names and acting like you're a queen. A lady is polite and refined . . .or else she's no lady."
The child backed away, her lower lip trembling. "Mrs. Muffet, tell him I am a lady! My mama was a lady and so am I!"
"Really, darlin'? Does a lady tie other girls' ribbons together so they bang heads? Or tangle up my knitting? Or push little Andy into a mudpuddle?"
Zelena squirmed. "It was a game! I was a duchess and he was supposed to put a cloak across the puddle so I could walk on it, but he didn't have one, so I shoved him down so I could walk on him!"
Mrs. Muffet rolled her eyes.
"Sounds like a hooligan to me, ma'am," Will said, smirking.
Belle couldn't have been more proud of the boy, even sounding a bit like Rum as he talked to the rebellious child and some of Will's words seemed to be sinking in but Zelena had a stubborn streak in her that needed a great deal of time and patience to be tamed.
"No!" the child shrieked, sounding like a steam whistle. "Don't you call me that, you backwoods oaf!"
"If the shoe fits . . ." the boy said.
"Zelena, apologize to Mr. Scarlet this instant!" Mrs. Muffet snapped.
"I won't!" the child cried stubbornly.
Will shrugged. "That's all right, ma'am. Hooligans got no manners and don't know how to apologize."
Clever boy, Belle thought with a smile.
Zelena looked like she wanted to spit on him.
"I'm not a hooligan!" she yelled and stamped a foot on the floor.
"Then why don't you show us you're not and apologize?" Will challenged.
"Cause . . ." she looked away and at the matron again, who wore a stern frown on her face. "My mama always said ladies don't talk to riffraff." she sniffed.
"Mr. Scarlet is not riffraff. He's a guest who is helping me." Mrs. Muffet told her.
"Well then these ladies shouldn't be talking to you because you're acting like riffraff to me," Will retorted.
"M' not! You're mean!" she sniveled.
"Not as mean as you were to Jenny," Will retorted. "How's it feel, huh? You like it?"
The girl twisted the folds of her dress in one hand. "No."
"Then you shouldn't do it to anyone else if you don't like it. Think about that."
The girl scrunched up her face and began crying, though she had learned long before that tears were a potent weapon in her arsenal and how to summon them whenever she wished. Except Will had been an actor and could tell real tears from false, had she but known.
"You're not foolin me one bit. No crocodile tears."
Zelena's hands clenched. "I'm sorry I ever met you, Mr. Scarlet! I hate you!" she bawled and then she bolted out of the kitchen and into the dormitory.
"And you can stay there till supper, young lady!" Mrs. Muffet called. She grinned at Will. "Perhaps I ought to employ you as my new warden. How did you know how to handle her?"
"Ah...it's how my friend used to handle me when I acted like a dunce." Will smiled. "He calls it mind tricking."
"It's amazing!" Mrs. Muffet gushed. "How you coming with that door?"
"I should be done in a bit but I figured I'd catch your little runaway first."
"Thank you, Will. I think . . .this is the first time that girl has ever actually thought about her actions."
"Ehh she strikes me as the muleheaded type. I was like that for a long time...usually it was my sister or my friend who set me straight and without needin' to knock the sense into my head though I'm sure Archie was tempted a few times."
Mrs. Muffet raised an eyebrow. "It would seem they got through to you. Zelena's so stubborn not even a switching does much to curb her."
"My papa used that a few times...and it worked...for a bit..."
"Until you forgot," Belle said sagely. "My sister Anna was like that. Drove my papa crazy sometimes."
"I drove everybody crazy. Dunno why...just did...but I don't wanna be like that anymore. I shame their memory when I do."
Mrs. Muffet patted his arm. "You're a good lad, Will. Now set down and have a cuppa and some cookies. You're probably starving right about now."
"But wash your hands first," Belle reminded.
"I am kinda hungry...yes, Mrs. Gold!"
As Will washed his hands, Mrs. Muffet fetched an extra cup and plate from her hutch.
"Are any of the other children sick?" Belle asked Martha. "Have any of them come down with the same complaint as Emma?"
"No, thank goodness! But I believe Tommy Perkins has it. Emma was by him in church."
"Keep a watchful eye on the children, Mrs. Muffet. This illness is a difficult one for them the most."
"I will, Belle." She served Will some tea and two cookies. "If I see any signs they'll go into quarantine immediately and I'll send for you."
"I appreciate that."
Will bit into a cookie, and sighed in bliss over the soft chewy taste. "Mmm! These are heavenly. Not even my mama made oatmeal cookies like this."
"You'll be happy to know I'm getting the recipe," Belle said with a smile.
Wil grinned. "I'd fly to the moon and back for these, Mrs. Gold."
Mrs. Muffet gave him a third cookie. "A big lad like you needs to keep up his strength."
"For certain," he nodded, and then devoured the second cookie.
Belle visited with Martha for another twenty minutes before Will had completed the chores and promised to return again tomorrow to do whatever else was needed. Mrs. Muffet promised to have lunch for him and more oatmeal cookies.
Will was eager to go to the baths to see his friend and inquire about the attendant job. It wasn't hard work but it would keep him out of trouble.
As they headed over to the bathhouse, Belle said, "You go in and talk with Archie about the assistant job. I need to stop in at the apothecary and get some more herbs and simples. I'll meet you at Granny's in half-an-hour."
"Sure, Mrs. Gold."
Belle walked across the street to the apothecary shop, run by a pleasant blond haired man named Mr. MacIntosh.
Whistling an old Rom song for luck, Will entered the steamy confines of the bathhouse. The first person he saw was a lanky red haired boy with a pair of spectacles in his vest pocket.
Archie was carrying a stack of towels to the customers when he spotted Will. He set them down and glowered at his friend.
"I gotta talk to you," he said coldly with a hint of an Irish accent.
"Good because so do I, cricket," Will said softly. "And some of what I have to say . . . isn't easy," he spoke the last sentence in the Romany tongue, knowing Archie would understand it.
"Yeah I've been hearing rumors," Archie replied in their native tongue. "Outside."
Will followed him through a back door behind the bath house where the rubbish heap was.
He wondered what rumors his friend, more like his brother, had heard. Had he heard about the smallpox? Rosalee?
"When were you gonna tell me about Rosie? When I lost my teeth and my hair!?"
Tears brimmed in the corners of Archie's eyes.
Will looked ashamed. "I . . .I wanted to but . . .after the funeral things were . . .tough. And I didn't . . .I didn't know how to just . . .it happened so fast. One day they were healthy and the next . . .they were burning with fever and a rash . . . first Mama, then Papa, then Rosie. But not me. For some reason the devil didn't want me."
"We were gonna get married!" his friend raged. "I know we couldn't yet...not til I had enough money to support us but you knew what she meant to me!"
Will winced. "I know. It's why I couldn't stand to write you after . . . and the rest of the troupe were too bloody scared to take you my letter, they didn't even want to come near me, afraid they'd get it too . . .so I waited. I'm sorry, brother."
"And you are like my brother. I was hoping you would've had enough respect for me to come and tell me right away but you didn't! You went running around didn't you?"
Will hung his head. "I needed money, so I went down to the Long Wharf to play a few hands of cards. Won a few, lost a few and then . . ." he started to tell his friend about the deal he had made with Payton and Doug and stopped. "Something happened."
"You have something to do with what happened at the Gold place? No lies now!"
Will blanched. Sometimes Archie could read him like a book. Almost like he had Second Sight, which being half-Rom, he very well might. "I . . .I made a bad deal, cricket! I thought . . .all right I DIDN'T think . . .not then, was too drunk . . .and I needed the money bad and I thought . . .it was just scaring some old geezer into giving us his wallet. I wasn't gonna hurt him. Or his family. That . . .that fire wasn't my idea."
"But instead of being wise and walk away you played the fool and nearly killed that family. I Saw it Will. Mama used to tell me I had the gift and I didn't want to admit it but I saw it...I saw my Rosie..."
He pounded the wall with his hand.
"Oh, God . . .you didn't . . .!" Will moaned. "Don't . . .! I was an idiot . . .I couldn't think straight after . . .you know how I am when I get a few drinks into me, cricket. You know what whiskey does to me."
"Just like Papa, actin' like a damned fool and you're lucky I know you didn't harm those women or I'd been hauling your hide to Graham to make you dance at the end of a rope! Brother or no!"
Will flinched. "I didn't realize what they had planned . . .not till they were gonna do it. Why do you think I came back? Because I know I need to make amends. My mama and papa would be ashamed of me. So would Rosie. You think I don't know that?"
"Aye I know that and you make my sweet girl turn over in her grave when you forget your common sense!"
Will coughed. "I'm surprised she dinna haunt me. Or Mama come back and whack me with her skillet or Papa wallop me into next week."
"I could still wallop you with this!" Archie shook his umbrella in Will's face.
Will held up his hands. "No. Please, I still have blisters on my arse from the last time. That hurts worse than my papa's strap."
"You deserved it for pushing me and Rosie into that mudhole and making us sick because you caught us kissing!"
"She was my sister! I was defending her honor!"
"And what did she tell ya when you said that? She was more than willing to kiss me but we weren't gonna do more unless we were married proper!"
"She told me to keep my nose outta her business because if her honor had been offended she'd have taken care of it," Will muttered.
"Aye she would have. She was a spirited one, my Rosie. God I miss her, Will!"
"I know. So do I. I wish . . .sometimes I wish I had died with them. Why them and not me?" Tears glistened on his cheeks.
"That's something only God can answer but you shame Him by wasting your life on the drink and getting in scraps. You do right by that family!"
Will wiped his eyes with his sleeve. "Now you sound like my papa. Dinna fash yerself, laddie. I'll be good," he said, mimicking his late parent.
"That little girl...the hooligan..."
Archie trailed off, his eyes distant.
"What is it? What do you see a brathair?" Will asked in Gaelic, which was the tongue of both their fathers.
"A plague will come..." he murmured.
Will began to sweat. "No! Not the pox! Not here!"
He made the sign to avert ill luck.
"She comes to me, my Rosie...it will come for old and young..."
"Can we . . .is there a way to avert it?" Sometimes there was, since no vision of the future was ever set in stone.
"The cure ...the Fox will lead us to it.."
Will frowned. "A fox? An animal is gonna cure a plague?"
"A man with a past he will not speak but his redemption is the redemption of all..."
Will frowned. "I don't understand . . ."
"The Fox hides in plain sight above a field of gold..."
"Bloody cryptic visions!" his friend muttered angrily. But he knew that was how it was with Seers. They never gave you a straight answer because the answers must be discovered.
"The Willow will show him the path. ."
"Can I tell anyone else about this? Or am I supposed to keep mum?" Sometimes a vision could be shared, other times not. It all depended.
"The one you wronged the most...tell him and no other..."
"All right," Will agreed, though he feared Mr. Gold would think he was insane and have him put into an asylum.
Then again, the man was a shaman, so maybe not.
Archie blinked several times. "What happened?"
"You . . .You had a vision. Of a plague coming to Storybrooke . . .and some fox who was gonna save us all." He told his friend what he had said.
"Papa would take the switch to me!"
"Not if I don't tell him. And I owe you . . .because there were plenty of times you could've gotten my backside tanned and you didn't."
"He's seen me have one of my 'fits' he calls it."
"Tisn't a fit. It's Seer's trance."
Archie scowled "Y'know Papa...wants to distance himself from all that."
"Aye, but he married a Romany lass . . .and the Sight runs in both our roots," Will said philosophically. "There's no getting around it."
"Oh he tries...when he's not drinking too much."
Will heaved a sigh. He knew how Archie's da's drinking bothered him. His own father had been fond of the stuff, like any Scot, but he had never been a slave to it like some. "Papa would say that ye canna hold back the tide, and for those whom the Veil parts, best to heed what they say. My grannie Mac had the gift, remember?"
Then he gave his friend a clap on the shoulder. "Don't worry. I think I can distract him by telling him I'll be glad to take the position you have open. If he doesn't mind, that is."
"I think I can convince him."
"Thanks. Because you out of anyone here knows the truth of who I am. Well, the Golds know, but they're gadje not family."
"Aye but even gadje can become family."
"Only if they can accept the Way."
"They can..."
Will shrugged. "Maybe. Sometimes I look at Mr. Gold and . . .remember my papa. Not that he looks like him but . . .ah, 'tis foolishness I'm spouting."
"Your papa was more of a papa to me than mine is...thinks he's gonna go back into the tonic business but the doctor's wise to him."
"The one they say is digging up graveyards for corpses?"
"Aye tis a bit...odd but I've been talking to him and he says I should be a doctor myself..."
"Perhaps you should. Papa always did say if any of us had real book learnin' it was you. Me, I could barely sit still in old Juno's class for five minutes before I had to cut up some. And then my hands suffered for it, and my backside too once Papa found out I'd been in trouble again."
The troupe had their own school of sorts, run by the members, since no town school would accept the children of Gypsies.
"He says there's doctors that make a living just studying the mind and talking to people."
"That'd be right up your alley, so it would."
"Yeah but not around here though...over in the old country."
"Mmmphh," Will made a non-commital sound of agreement. "But that costs money."
"Money I can't get workin here...I would've just been happy living in the country with Rosie and having children…"
"Maybe this fox will come and drop some gold into your lap, eh?"
"Not much of a life without my Rosie..."
"I know. But . . .like your da used to say, we must bite the bullet and play the cards we're dealt. If you can't have one dream maybe you can the other."
"Maybe..."
"Well, best i have word with your papa about the job because I'm due to meet Mrs. Gold soon." Will said.
"Hurry up! He starts drinking early!"
Will headed inside, then asked directions to the office where Mr. Hopper was wont to be at this hour. He hoped the elder Hopper had not started drinking his rum yet.
The elder Hopper was seated at his desk, a half full bottle of rum sitting in front of him. "Will? What're ye doing in town, lad?"
Will swallowed. "The light has gone from my vardo," he began, in the softly formal expression the Rom used to denote great loss. "It was smallpox, and I am the last of the MacDonald's, d'ye ken?"
"Aye...and where are ye living now?"
"With the Golds. I owe them a debt, sir, and will not leave till I've repaid it in full. They saved my life."
After I nearly cost them theirs, he thought guiltily, trying not to squirm. He was damned lucky Patrick Hopper was not as discerning as his papa, Tam, had been.
"Ah...good...and how are you fixing for a job...be needin a bath attendant since the boy's been having his fits."
"I can do it, sir. If you'll have me."
"Aye I'll have ye if ye can talk some sense into my lad and make him stop talkin to the dear departed like a loon!"
"Aye, I can," Will assured him though he had to bite his tongue at Patrick's implication of Archie. "He's always listened to me."
"Now I know he was sweet on little Rosie but the boy can't spend the rest of his life mooning after her like she's gonna come back."
"No, sir," Will said, gritting his teeth.
"Well if your patrons don't mind I'll need ye to start tomorrow. Archie can show you what to do."
"Thank you, sir. I can."
Patrick poured himself another glass of rum. "Got business to attend to. See you in the morning lad and don't be late!"
"I won't, sir. Good day to ya."
Archie was waiting for him in the hall. "Was he drinkin?"
"Some. But he told me I got the job, I start tomorrow morning. And . . . ' he smirked. "I'm to keep an eye on ye, boy," he drawled in an almost exact mimicry of the elder Hopper.
Archie scoffed. "Must've been babbling about my fits. It's easier than dealing with him when he's drunk!
"Umm . . .aye . . .I reckon so."
Privately, Will wondered who would really keep an eye on whom.
"You even think about backsliding and..." Archie held up his umbrella.
"I won't. Saints, do ye need to keep that thing around?"
"It's my luck charm...my talisman."
Will sighed. Then he absently rubbed the bracelet Gold had placed upon him. "Lucky you. I'll see you tomorrow. Err . . what time should I be here?"
"Noon is when everyone comes in."
"I'll be there. But I'm coming early to help out Mrs. Muffet. She has a few things needing fixing around her place."
"And a certain child that needs a good talking to."
"Or a hand to her backside, my papa would say." Will shook his head. "If I'd ever talked to my elders like that-I'd not be able to sit down for a week."
"Still...she needs...something..."
"Well, I'll try and make her mind me . . .the way you and Rosie did for me when I was set on butting heads with everyone."
"Well when someone gives you a dose of your own bitter medicine tis a bit hard to swallow, aye?"
Will gave him a rueful grin. "I want to know how you didn't kill me?"
"Rosie would have sent me on my way and found another boy."
"I wonder how SHE didn't kill me," her brother remarked.
"She figured walloping you was less painful."
"Oh, she would," Will grunted. "She also wouldn't want Mama to curse her for killing her firstborn."
"Archie! Are ye out there having one o' your fits! Get to work boy!" Patrick bellowed.
He sighed. "I'm comin Papa!"
"Be seeing you," he waved then made his way outside.
Rum found out from Jack that they had sold a record number of brassieres while he had been gone that week-over 50 and one of them had been to a wealthy Bostonian lady there to take the waters, and she had promised to tell her circle of friends about it. Jack claimed this might have been the break they had been looking for. Rumple hoped so.
After he had sewn a few more brassieres, Rum decided to take a break and visit Victor Frankenstein's office, to see if the man truly could do aught about his ankle.
Jack waved him off. "Go see the doc, me and Jeff and the boys will handle things till you come back."
Rumple limped down the street and then over one. He found the doctor's office a rather small affair tucked in between a small seamstress's shop and a laundry.
As he entered the office a small bell tinkled.
A woman in a starched cap and apron sat nearly dozing behind a desk. She jerked up as the bell jangled. "Oh! Good afternoon! Do you have an appointment, sir?"
"No, but I would like to inquire about something to the doctor if he is in? I'm Mr. Gold."
"Of course. Let me see if he's available."
As the woman bustled into the surgery, Rumple looked about the room, which was bare of patients, like a house where all the children had departed.
With his insatiable curiosity roused he peered at the appointment book left open and saw that the pages were blank.
It seemed that the good doctor was lacking in patients.
He wondered if this was due to the stories circulating around the town about his work with corpses, something the locals considered sacrilegious.
It was very plausible that the rumors had driven people away as had the fact that he had been sent down from Harvard Medical School.
If his efforts proved successful Rumple would certainly help change public opinion about him.
Willow certainly seemed inclined to believe the rumors were false and this was his only chance to fix the leg he had damaged over fifteen years ago.
"Mr. Gold, please come in. The doctor will see you now."
Gold walked into the door the nurse held open.
He found Victor standing in a room with a large table in the middle of it of some kind of steel. The doctor wore a pristine white coat and had a black stethoscope around his neck.
"Good afternoon, Doctor. I . . .decided to come and see you about my ankle after my wife convinced me it might be beneficial," Rumple greeted.
"Well let's have a look at it and I'll see what I can do."
Rumple seated himself on the table, leaning the staff against it.
As Victor bent to unlace his boot, the tailor said, "You understand this is a verra old injury. Done before my boy was born, and I was always told there was nothin to be done for it."
"There have been some advances in medicine since then."
"Well, at least you're not saying it should have been cut off."
"Of course not! Butchers! Most of the limbs they've taken could have been healed with a little more knowledge and patience! I sir am no butcher despite rumors to the contrary."
"Well, I'm glad to hear you say so."
"My studies on the dead have given me many answers that could improve the quality of life for others."
"Indeed. And what have you learned about the living from the dead?"
"Some of my studies have led me to believe that many of us have a natural immunity to certain diseases and many illnesses, once attributed to witchcraft or the devil were simple the result of poor hygiene, and eating and drinking habits."
"And the body can sometimes repair the damage from an injury with the proper care."
"That makes sense. My wife is always saying that a well balanced diet will help your health. And she also recommends cleanliness as a normal state of being."
"Indeed. Filth is a nesting grounds for plagues."
"I did observe during my time in the army that the poorer a man's hygiene was, the more he seemed to come down with ailments. Colds, rashes, stomachaches and so on."
"Correct and with open wounds you are more susceptible to infection"
"Yes. There was always talk about the hospital tents about whether or not a man would survive the attentions of the army surgeons." Rumple shuddered.
"I . . .chose not to let them touch me after I saw . . .piles of limbs stacked knee deep and blood all over the table where they . . ." He cleared his throat. "My foot was smashed in by a sledgehammer."
"Did you have any exposed skin or bone when the injury occurred if you can recall?"
Rumple shook his head. "No. But it swelled to twice its size. And it hurt like bloody blue blazes."
"Did anyone ever attempt to set it...bandage it to allow the bones to heal back into place?"
"No. They were busy cutting off the arms and legs of my fellow soldiers and said they had no time for me right then. Fifteen minutes later I decided I'd be better off getting the hell out of there, so i wrapped it up myself in some old rags and grabbed a stick and ran."
Rumple paused. "I can't recall everything about how I made it home. My village was five days march away and I think I was feverish and out of my head or half that time."
"Hmmm.." He stepped back away from the table and wrote some notes in a journal.
"When i got home I had a newborn son and when our village physician went to look at it, he said there was nothing to be done but wrap it up and let it heal as best it could."
"I spent the next two weeks dosed on willow bark tea and poppy syrrup and my first wife was not pleased she had a cripple to tend to along with a baby."
He recalled one night when he had been unable to sleep because of the throbbing pain and Bae had been awake too-crying with colic and Milah had snarled that he should have died at least then she would have gotten a pension out of it. And for several minutes he wished he had.
"The poor care combined with the emotional turmoil hindered your healing process."
"What do you think by looking at it now?"
"There's something I'd like you to see."
He called for his nurse. "Could you help me bring my machine in please?"
Rumple raised an eyebrow. "What machine is this?"
"I'll explain in a moment. Its harmless and it will help me decide what we can do for you."
The machine was a long black cylinder with many protruding wires attached to it, set up on a rolling platform. There was a large pole attached with a sort of reflective light at the top that beamed down upon a shiny platform with some odd black surface. It looked like a crazy contraption to Rumple. He only prayed the thing worked.
"Now this machine...will allow me to see inside your ankle...and the bones. It's something I invented based on some studies I read and I believe it will be beneficial for patients in the future."
"You would be able to see...inside my foot? Is this some sort of magic?"
"It's science, Mr. Gold. A new form of magic without all the superstition."
Rumple was curious to see if this machine of the doctor's was able to do as he claimed. They carefully set his foot down on the table and the doctor turned several dials on the control panel. To the sorcerer's shock he could see the bones beneath the skin of his foot on display.
Victor pointed out where the bones of his ankle had been broken in two places and how they had fused together incorrectly. "That could have been avoided had a proper doctor-though most battlefield surgeons don't even have medical degrees—seen fit to set it when the injury first occurred. If that had happened, you'd have been able to walk normally on it."
"And now? After so long?"
"I could fix it. But it will take some surgery. I'd have to rebreak the bones, and then set them properly. But I believe that within three months you should be able to walk on that foot as if nothing were wrong."
"You are certain?"
"Yes. I wouldn't offer if I wasn't. The machine I have invented allows me to see exactly where I need to rebreak the bones and then it's a matter of putting them back into the correct position. The operation should take too long, maybe ten minutes. I would give you ether of course, so you'd not feel anything. That's another preparation I've been working with. Something to . . . make the nerves impervious to pain for a time."
"How does this work? Do I swallow something?"
"No, you inhale it, with a cloth dripped over your nose," Victor said.
"And how well does it work?" Rumple asked suspiciously.
"Very well. I've tested it on myself, had a cut that needed stitching and my nurse administered the ether while a colleague stitched my arm up. I felt nothing. When the ether wore off I felt slightly nauseous, but nothing some peppermint tea couldn't fix," Victor said cheerfully. "I also used it on some other patients I treated in Boston's South End with excellent results. I set a child's arm without needing anyone to hold him still and performed a tonsillectomy also."
"This is the first I've ever heard of such a drug."
"Oh, it's been around for centuries, Mr. Gold. Just not used as a means of numbing away pain. And I'm afraid since the rumors of my being a . . . err . . . necrophile . . . among other things surfaced and I was dismissed from Harvard, none of my colleague will take my breakthroughs in medical science seriously. They believe I'm mad . . . or a quack. But I assure you, I'm not. I have researched and spent countless hours testing this machine on myself, on animals, even my assistants, and the same with the ether. I'd like to consider myself a pioneer of medicine, if that doesn't sound too presumptuous."
"You may very well be, if this works on my leg," Rumple said. "When would you like to do this operation?"
"How does next Friday sound?"
"That sounds fair, doctor."
Victor beamed. "I promise, you won't regret it. All I suggest is don't eat before you come in for the operation."
Rumple agreed. "What do I owe you?"
"For a consultation? Um . . .five cents is adequate." Victor said, though he was so excited about finally getting another patient he would have let the fee slide, but he did have to pay his nurse.
Rumple gave him the money, then bid him good day, hoping that Willow was right and this would be worth it.
Have a little faith, Mystic Fox, Willow sent as he made his way back towards the tailor shop. You are the Creator's chosen, and He takes care of His own.
Does He? And what about those three women?
I never said that He prevents all evil, apprentice. Sometimes . . .evil prevails. But only for awhile. Then the pendulum swings back.
Rumple exhaled sharply. He knew that to be true. That was the eternal struggle of evil and good, with the universe like a chessboard and humans mere pawns in the Balance. But sometimes the pawns became knights and bishops, and affected game more than others.
Rumple had the feeling that his becoming a shaman had elevated his status from mere pawn to something like a knight or a bishop.
Page~*~*~*~Break
Regina was relieved when she heard the soft crunch of wagon wheels in the drive and peered out the front window to see the wagon come to a stop, and her parents disembark from the back, leaving Will to drive the wagon around the back and unhitch Jenny. She felt an odd sort of fluttering, like when you were expecting a surprise and someone had arrived just as you were thinking of it. She put a hand to her abdomen, which was slightly cramping, but nothing she couldn't handle. She recalled some of the women in Storybrooke who used to come to Belle's clinic complaining of "female troubles" and wondered what all the fuss was about? Unless for some their monthly was worse than others? Then again, she knew some white women weren't taught how to endure discomfort and pain as the Mesquakie were. An Indian child was taught from the cradle not to cry unless in dire need, because crying could give a hidden papoose away or startle game if the mother were hunting or being pursued by enemies. Even as youngsters, children rarely cried, for much the same reason, and also because they were taught to endure discomfort stoically, for a warrior who endured pain was considered brave. Children were taught to endure extremes of heat and cold, hunger and thirst, because life was hard and one never knew if one would have to face deprivation someday. Regina, as a shaman, knew how to endure better than most, for the magic was a demanding mistress.
Indeed, something had been happening to her magical senses as soon as her monthly had begun. They seemed . . .sharper, more acute, and somehow she found she was seeing auras all over. She could See the wards her papa had laid around the cabin, barn, and property. She could see the auras of all the animals—Bossy, Jenny, the chickens, even the pig Greedy Guts. Bae's aura glimmered in her Sight, all green and blue with tinges of gold—the aura of one attuned to earth and sky.
She rubbed her eyes, for they ached curiously and watered. She could also feel a pull at her navel, as if the earth were drawing her downward. It hummed in a way it had never done before, and she felt a sudden longing to run off into the trees, until she could run no more, and be alone yet at the same time she felt lethargic and not inclined to do anything but sleep like a bear in winter. Her skin prickled and she felt hot and then cold.
Bae dozed on the settle, while Regina sipped mint tea to settle her slightly queasy stomach and was happy when she heard the return of her parents. Perhaps her mama would be able to explain these strange feelings.
She blushed red as a sunset when she recalled what had happened outside. Surely the spirits had a good laugh at her expense. And Bae had been as mortified as she was, even though he didn't speak a word to her about it afterwards.
"Regina, Bae, we're home," Belle called cheerily as she entered the house.
Regina jumped up from the rocker, shoving the knitted blanket off of her lap, and went to hug her mother and father. She nearly squinted when she did so because their auras, especially her father's, were blindingly bright to her. And when she touched them, she could feel their love radiating from them in a wave of warmth.
"Mama, I have something to tell you," she said, and drew Belle down the hall towards her room.
"Has something happened?" Belle asked, concerned.
"Yes. I am . . . a woman now," Regina stated in Algonquin. Then she smiled broadly.
Belle's eyes grew misty with tears. "Oh! Then you . . .when did it happen, honey?" She had an odd feeling in her chest. Happy and proud and yet sad all at the same time, for it was then she realized that Regina was growing up, and was no longer the child she had been when Belle first came to live among the Mesquakie.
"Umm . . .this afternoon," Regina coughed. Then she told her mother everything.
Belle put a hand to her mouth. "Oh, dear! Oh my word!" she struggled to contain her mirth. "That must have been so . . .embarrassing for you. Both of you!"
"I think . . . for Bae more than me," Regina admitted, giggling slightly. "Because wasicu men prefer not to acknowledge a woman's body unless they are married. And certainly not when . . ."
"No. Poor Bae!" Belle began sympathetically, then she lost it and began to giggle hard. She could just imagine the poor boy's face.
Regina sniggered too, recalling it.
"Err . . .do you need any supplies?"
"Umm . . .not right now. I did borrow some from you," her daughter said.
"Well, you tell me if you need more. How are you feeling? Tired? Achy? Moody?"
"A little of everything." She winced as a cramp stabbed her.
Belle laid a cool hand on her forehead. "Would you like to lie down, Gina? I can make you some raspberry leaf tea and bring you a hot water bottle."
"Thanks, Mama. That would be nice," she said.
She retired to her room, feeling slightly sleepy.
Some minutes later, her door opened and Belle came in with a tray followed by Rum with a hot water bottle wrapped in a flannel.
Regina sat up, wondering if her father had been informed of her new status.
"Here you go, dearie." Rumple placed the hot water bottle on her tummy. As his hand touched her, she felt a sudden surge of magic and she almost jumped out of her skin. "What's wrong?" he queried. "Are you in pain, Gina? I have heard sometimes a girl's first woman's time is . . ." he said somewhat awkwardly.
"No, Papa. Not like that. It's my magic . . .it's almost . . .overflowing . . ." she felt like a pitcher filled to the brim with too much water.
He clasped her hand and felt with his own senses, the sharp connection to the earth, almost as strong as when he had awakened to his Manitou. His skin prickled and his own magic roused slightly in response. What is this?
It is the Awakening, Fox's voice sang into his mind. When a girl kit becomes an adult, her magic awakens thus. It is why most shamans insist upon a place away from others. So the magic within has time to settle. You need to help her pull it back.
I do? But how?
In shade and solitude.
The Manitou showed him what was necessary.
Rumple released his daughter's hand. "I'll be right back," he promised.
"Rum, where are you going?" Belle called, puzzled.
"To build a medicine lodge," he replied.
"What? Where?" Belle sputtered, agape.
But her husband was gone, and then she peered out the window, to see him on the side of the cabin, planting his staff into the snow. The staff began to glow and the glow spread, melting all the snow in a wide swath.
Then he struck the earth three times, and then there came an odd clicking sound and suddenly a woven grass and hide lodge appeared on the lawn.
Behind her in bed, Regina gasped, as she felt the magic thrumming through her, like a swarm of bees, and she threw off her covers and stood.
"Regina, where are you going?" Belle protested.
"Over there," the young shaman replied, and tugging on her moccasins, raced out the door. The earth beneath her feet hummed and beckoned, and as she entered the sacred lodge, she felt the magic gather, pooling about her like honey from a comb.
She paused, uncertain of what to do next, feeling the earth beating like a gigantic heart in her ears. It resounded and echoed.
Then warm hands clasped her own and Mystic Fox stood before her, his aura radiating a soothing calmness of gold and purple. "Like this, Daughter," he murmured, and together they drew the Power in, letting it seep through them, until they were filled with it, then Rumple showed her, as Fox had shown him, how to lock it away in a secret part of herself, to be used when needed.
Regina threw back her head and laughed, giddy with joy. She was both shaman and woman now . . .and she claimed the magic that was her destiny.