THE furniture stood like a gleaming maple forest in a quiet corner of the antique mall, each piece elegantly carved and smelling of lemon oil. I stared with wonder at the canopy bed in particular. Its four posts twisted toward the ceiling and the silk lining in the top formed a beautiful sun-burst pattern. The huge headboard below was a riot of scrollwork and various fruits carved with such artistic talent as I had never seen.
“Oh,” I whispered.
Soren ducked his head. A tinge of pink bloomed on his golden cheeks. “Welcome to my home.”
“It’s so beautiful. Do you live on the inside?” I asked, although I doubted it. Soren was so big, how could he fit?
“No, we nest on the outside.” Soren waved at the furniture.
I eyed the area Soren was waving at, but couldn’t see anything.
“You should wave as they’re waving to you,” he said.
“Where?” I asked.
“Everywhere. You only have to really look in order to see. Just like humans. Although humans never bother to look.”
So I really looked. I ran my eyes carefully over the beautiful bed, the matching highboy, the bookcases, and dressers. And then they were there, dozens of spindly arms just like Soren’s, waving at me in a most cheerful fashion.
“I see them. I see them,” I said, waving wildly.
“My family,” said Soren as the dryads climbed slowly down the furniture, stopping to wave every few steps. When they got closer, I felt a blush come over my own cheeks. They didn’t seem naked, but I couldn’t make out any clothes either. I was able to ignore this with Soren because there was only one of him. A whole family of possibly naked dryads made me want to run the other way, no matter how friendly they seemed. I backed up a few steps, uncertain about what to do.
“What’s wrong, Matilda Whipplethorn?” asked Soren.
“They’re…” I hesitated. Should I say it? I didn’t want to insult anyone.
“Yes?”
“Are they wearing clothes?” I asked at last.
Soren grinned at me. His wood-grained lips stretched farther than I’d thought possible.
“Oh, thank you. So kind of you to say.”
I bit my lip. “Um.”
“Mother,” said Soren, waving to the closest dryad who was walking toward us with painfully slow steps, even slower than Soren’s. She had the same intricate wood-graining, but she was slightly shorter with large eyes and a small bow of a mouth.
“Mother, this is Matilda Whipplethorn and…” Soren grinned even wider, “she thinks we’re naked.”
Soren’s mother clasped her hands together. “Music to a mother’s ears.”
I looked back and forth between them. Soren’s mother laid a warm hand on my shoulder. Again, I felt nothing but sweetness coming from the dryad.
“We’re not naked, dear. We’re painters,” Soren’s mother said.
“Painters?” I asked. “What do you paint?”
“The greatest canvas. Ourselves.” She held her hand up in front of me and rubbed away a strip of wood-graining, revealing pale brown skin.
“Oh.” I didn’t want to state the obvious. Paint wasn’t clothes. No one with sense would think so. Maybe Soren and his family weren’t dangerous, but they might be crazy. “I think I’d better go.”
“Does this help?” Soren’s mother stepped back and appeared to lift her skin right off her hip.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Our clothing, dear. We’re painters. We paint everything to match our beloved trees. It is a huge compliment that you thought the illusion perfect.”
I dropped my hands. “It is perfect.” I turned to Soren. “I was worried you were naked the whole time.”
“I should’ve known. You looked at me so oddly.” Soren laughed and was joined by his family. They all crowded in, patting me and giving thanks for my compliments.
Soren’s mother put her long arm around my shoulders and led me away. “Don’t crush the child, people. I suspect Soren brought her to us for a purpose, not just to feed our vanity. Vanity is our great weakness, that and walnuts. You don’t have any walnuts, do you?”
“Sorry, no,” I said.
“Too bad,” she said. “What would you have us do, my son?”
“I would have us help.” Soren put a hand on my shoulder. “Tell them, Matilda Whipplethorn.”
“I’m looking for someone. A little boy. He’s a wood fairy. A wood fairy like me, I mean.”
“He’s your brother?” asked Soren’s mother. “Another Whipplethorn?”
I grimaced. “Not a bit. He’s not my brother and he says he’s a Whipplethorn, but he’s not.”
Soren examined my earring and tested the sharp tip with his finger. “What is he then?”
“He’s an Ogle. His family moved into Whipplethorn Manor late and changed their name. My family is original to the house. We came with the first stick of wood. We’re real Whipplethorns.”
All the dryads nodded as one. “So sad,” some said.
“I thought it might be something like that. Such a sad thing,” said Soren’s mother.
“Sad? It’s not sad. He’s just pretending to be a Whipplethorn and going around acting better than us when he isn’t even one of us.” I planted the ball of my earring on the floor and held it like a flagpole.
“Perhaps you’re too young to understand. Take us for example. We dryads are tied to our trees.” She gestured to the furniture. “First we lived in our trees in the forest, and then our trees were cut and fashioned into furniture. We’ve traveled from house to house and finally to this antique mall, but we’ll never willingly be separated from our trees. Something terrible must’ve happened to separate the Ogles from their home. You’re wood fairies like us. You must feel the same about your trees as we do.”
I considered what she was saying. I’d never thought about it before, but my parents said we came with the first stick of wood to Whipplethorn Manor. They said that our family had always been with the mantel. Did that mean we were with the mantel before it was a mantel? I did know Gerald’s family didn’t belong to any particular bit of wood in the house. They just found an empty spot and burrowed in. Nobody minded. Other families moved in when they needed a place. It was the changing of the name that bothered people. I once heard Grandma Vi describe it as disloyal. Disloyal to what? Was Gerald’s family disloyal to their original tree?
“I don’t know,” I said. “I guess they must’ve left the Ogle house for a reason. I never thought about it.”
Soren’s mother squeezed my shoulder. “About this little boy, who are you looking for?”
“Gerald. He’s about this tall.” I gestured the appropriate height. “His wings are not as…” I stopped. I was going to say that his wings weren’t luminescent like mine because he wasn’t a Whipplethorn, but it didn’t seem like the kind of thing Soren’s mother would want to hear. “His wings are blue and grey.”
“Why did he leave you?” asked Soren.
“He wanted to find his parents. I tried to tell him to wait, that they would find us. But he climbed out the window and ran away.”
“So your parents are gone, too,” said one of the other dryads.
“Yes, but they didn’t leave us. It was an accident.” I flushed and looked around, daring anyone to say otherwise. “I’m the babysitter and I decided we had to stay together when the humans came. Maybe I should’ve let him go when we were still at Whipplethorn.”
“Tell us what happened,” said Soren.
He gestured for his family to sit in a semi-circle around me. They carefully folded their long legs and arms in and waited for me to tell my tale. I bit my lip, searching for the words to explain what had happened.
“Humans came,” I said.
“They always do,” said one of the dryads.
I told them everything about the humans, the mantel, Gerald, baby Easy, and my sister, Iris. The dryads asked few questions. They seemed to know everything before it happened in my story. When I f
inished, Soren rose to his feet and told his family to do the same. It was a slow process.
“You must find Gerald immediately,” he said. “Your sister is right. It’s not safe out here for little ones on their own.”
I looked around at the dryads standing around me with expressions of worry on their painted faces. “What could happen?” I asked.
“Well, there’s the spriggans for one,” said Soren.
“We met one,” I said. “He came into the mantel.”
The dryads murmured to each other. An intense worry radiated off them and settled in my chest. All I could think about was Iris. She was alone with Easy. Alone.
“Was the spriggan very interested in Gerald?” asked Soren’s mother.
“He offered to take him off our hands,” I said.
Soren’s mother turned to him and he began giving orders. He told certain dryads to organize a search and another one to get supplies. He ordered his mother to take care of me and she led me around the back of the bed to one of the legs. It looked normal from a distance, but up close it was out of proportion. The Maples’ home was built right on the leg and painted to match. Soren’s mother opened a long, narrow door at the back and ushered me inside. Tiny pinholes in the walls let in light. My eyes took a moment to adjust in the dim glow after the glaring light of the antique mall. When I could see, I was astonished by what I found. The house was bigger than it looked, with several rooms and comfortable furniture. Everything was wood or painted to look like it. Soren’s mother sat me on a cushy couch and left the room. The fabric on the couch was silky and painted to look like Birdseye maple, my favorite wood. I ran my hands over the fabric again and again. It was so perfect I wished my parents could see it.
Soren’s mother came back into the room with a warm cloth and a set of clothing, wood-grained, just like hers. “Here, dear. Tend your scratches and change your clothes. They’re ruined, anyway. There are some here in the mall who would help you, but they’d be shy of you in your present condition.” She turned and left, closing the door behind her.
I brought the clothes to my nose and sniffed them. They smelled like Dad’s wood shop just after he’d cut a fresh piece of maple. I breathed the scent in until my lungs could take no more, and then slowly let the air out, pressing the fabric to my face. I heard the door open and looked up.
Soren’s mother peeked around the edge of the door. “Hurry, dear. There’s no time to lose.” Then she disappeared again.
I nodded and wiped my face and scratches. There must’ve been an antiseptic on the cloth because all my scratches tingled and left a pink tinge on the cloth. I realized how awful I must look. It was a wonder Soren didn’t run the other way when he saw me. I probably looked like I’d been in a war, and in a way, I had. A war where I seemed to lose every battle.
I slipped off my tattered jumper, blouse, and tights. The blouse survived all right, but my jumper and tights were trashed. The new clothes were way too long for me, but fit in every other respect, except that there was no place for my wings to emerge. The clothes felt wonderfully clean and new against my skin. They were soft, probably woven from cotton and painted with intricate detail.
The door opened again and Soren’s mother asked, “Are you finished?”
“Yes, but the clothes are too long and I can’t get my wings out.”
She came in with a piece of glass. “No matter. We’ll fix that.” She cut the hem of the pants and the cuffs of the sleeves. Behind me, she cut long slits down the back of the top and pulled my wings through.
“Done,” she said, patting my shoulder.
“If the spriggans got my sister, what would they do to her?” I asked.
“How old is she?”
“Ten.”
“She’s too old for them. We’re lucky you’re long past the valuable age. You’d have brought a pretty price,” she said. “We must go. Soren will already be leading the search.”
We went out the door to find most of the other dryads were gone or still walking away. They didn’t move very fast, but they looked determined with their straight backs and strong steady strides.
“What would they do to Gerald then? He’s eight,” I said.
“They’d sell him. They’re traders. Children are their favorite merchandise.”
“Sell him. Like a slave?”
“Exactly like that. Children are easier to work with. They adapt better than adults,” said Soren’s mother.
I walked beside the dryad in silence. It was unbelievable. Slavery. I had heard of it, but didn’t know it was still practiced. My parents definitely should’ve told us about spriggans. Sometimes scared is better than ignorant. But who would buy Gerald? All he could do was annoy people. As worried as I was about Gerald, I still had a queasy pit in my stomach about Iris. I couldn’t remember a time when my little sister wasn’t dogging my heels. We were always together, whether I wanted to be or not. Now Iris was all alone with Easy. I didn’t think she’d open the door to the spriggan, but maybe he could trick her. Iris was as curious as she was sweet.
Soren’s mother took my hand. “It’s not too late. We’ll find him.”
I nodded. All I wanted to do was get back to the mantel and check on Iris but I couldn’t, because of Gerald. If anything happened to Iris because of that stink fairy, he’d regret it.
CHAPTER 8