The Cottage in the Woods (25 page)

At last he finished, patting Goldilocks on the head and telling her she was a good girl, and, putting away his instruments, he directed us into the sitting room, where he questioned us at length about the child’s brief known history and behavior.
Finally, he gave his diagnosis, which was both hopeful and disheartening: he had found nothing, he explained, no physical reason why the child could not talk. Her little strangled cries proved that in unguarded moments her vocal cords were capable of producing sound, and the examination showed no physical impediment to speech. Some great shock, perhaps, or pathological fear had silenced her, but her disability lay only in the inner reaches of her own mind. He offered no more than slim hope that with time and care she might recover.

“If anything vill induce the child to speak, it vill be the company uff other youngsters,” he said. “That is my prescription. Und a vord to the vise: do not try to compel her. Iff she ever does begin to attempt speech, it vill be ven she feels safe und free to do so. I vish you the best uff luck.” With that, he took his departure, and I waited with budding optimism to see whether the Vaughns would take the doctor’s advice and allow Goldilocks to associate with another youngster—namely, Teddy. My own belief was that both young ones would benefit from the contact: he could act as a good example to her, and she could help alleviate the loneliness of his being an only cub. I knew the decision was not so simple, that once Goldilocks was introduced to the schoolroom, there would be no keeping her presence in the household a secret. Still, they surely weren’t planning on keeping the child shut up in the east wing forever, and I had faith they would do what they could for her.

Later that day, the Vaughns proceeded to question me about both Goldilocks’s progress and Teddy’s, and then, seemingly satisfied with the answers, Mrs. Vaughn asked me if I thought I could manage the two of them together, still meeting the specific needs of each.

“Before you answer,” Mr. Vaughn interjected, “I must
remind you of how tumultuous their encounter was on the day we found the child here, and how mesmerized Teddy was by her. Far from being a calming influence on her, he was drawn into her frenzy and ran after her. Should you agree to this new arrangement, you will be responsible for maintaining order, as well as holding them to high academic standards.”

“I understand, sir,” I said, “but I’d like to try. Goldilocks has learned to trust me, and she adores hearing about anything that Teddy says or does, so I think there is no reason for her to fly into a frenzy again.”

“If they are so taken with one another,” Mrs. Vaughn put in, “then perhaps their companionship should be made contingent on their good behavior, so that misbehavior would result in separation. That is probably the best motivation we could give them to do well.”

“May we attempt it, sir?” I asked.

The Vaughns concurred, and so it was decided. The next morning as Teddy and I sat working over his primer, Mrs. Vaughn opened the schoolroom door and leaned in, informing Teddy that he was to have a visitor—that she was here to do her schoolwork, and if they were both very good, and got their work done, the visitor would come again tomorrow. Teddy, whose eyes had grown wide, stood up and said, “I’ll be good, Mama! I can be
very good
, can’t I, Miss Brown?” He turned and looked at me.

“Yes, Master Teddy,” I responded. “You can be very good, and you can help your visitor remember to be good too, can’t you?”

At that moment, Mrs. Vaughn stepped through the doorway, holding Goldilocks’s hand, and the two youngsters saw
each other. Goldilocks’s eyes sparked with instant recognition. Teddy’s realization came a moment later, perhaps because her appearance was changed so from the first time he had seen her. “It’s her!” he cried, and the two flew into each other’s arms like long-lost friends.

My eyes met Mrs. Vaughn’s and observed them glistening with restrained emotion. “I’ll leave you to it, then,” she said, smiling, and withdrew from the room.

Only then did I glance to Nurse’s corner by the windows and notice Nurse, standing at attention, an expression of shock and consternation writ large on her countenance. Though I knew she had been one of the few servants informed of the girl’s presence in the house, she had clearly not expected this, just as I had neglected to take Nurse’s presence into account when we were making our plans for Goldilocks to join us in the schoolroom. A chill of apprehension shot through me as I contemplated the possibilities for mayhem. The situation would require vigilance. Perhaps it would be sufficient that out of consideration for Goldilocks’s dread of windows, I had placed the youngsters’ desks on the opposite side of the room from Nurse’s accustomed spot.

Despite this shadow on the horizon, the morning got off to a fine start, with Teddy eagerly showing Goldilocks to her somewhat oversized desk, then taking his own seat, head erect, paws folded formally on his desktop, the very model of an attentive student. A meaningful glance to his smaller schoolmate was all it took for her to straighten her spine, and fold her hands carefully in imitation of him. This augured well, I thought, for the new arrangement. As we progressed through the morning lessons, I encountered my first dilemma, which was that every
time I turned my back on my students, I would wheel around only to find the two of them squeezed into Teddy’s seat, hands and paws folded decorously on the desk, silently signaling their intentions to be ever so good if allowed to remain together.

“Teddy,” I finally inquired, “do you like this arrangement, then? Can you do your work with Goldilocks next to you?”

“I don’t mind it,” he answered shyly.

I quickly evaluated the possibilities for benefit or for trouble. In the end, guided by the conviction that they might learn as much from each other as they would from me, I simply went on with the lessons.

From that point on, things improved, though I soon found that Goldilocks’s attention was all for Teddy and Teddy’s lessons, and that her desire was to imitate him in everything. Thinking it better to take advantage of this impulse than to quell it, I encouraged Teddy to try to teach Goldilocks the simple counting games I had played with him. Though she continued to hold up three fingers in answer to every problem, I could almost see the little brain working, grasping at the concepts that Teddy revealed like glimpses of so many stars flashing tantalizingly in the night sky. Teddy never seemed to rush her or lose patience with her. The child watched his face, harkening to his every word—comprehending him or not, we could not tell—until from time to time her own impatience and frustration would erupt in a brief show of temper, characterized by her banging the desktop with her diminutive fist, and covering her face with her hands. Then Teddy, captivated by her mercurial moods, would curl his arm about her shoulders and coax her into trying again. And so, their education proceeded, and the preternatural bond that was to grow between them took root. Nurse looked on from her corner lair, brooding and inscrutable.

It had been arranged that the child would stay until lunchtime. Beyond that I could not foresee. I hardly dared hope that even Teddy could induce Goldilocks to come outdoors with us for the afternoon’s natural history lessons, which we observed in all but the most extreme weather. She still would not go near a window, let alone outdoors. Was it that devious lout Gabriel who had terrified her? Could he have some hold over her even now? We could tell Goldilocks that the grounds were patrolled now, that the faithful Harry had been assigned to protect us in our wanderings, but it would take a great deal of trust indeed for the child to believe that we could protect her from one such as Gabriel.

The winter holidays were soon upon us. I had a fortnight free to spend at home with Papa, and though I looked forward to it with longing, I had some anxiety about leaving Goldilocks at this stage of her development. Her progress in the schoolroom was quite encouraging, and it seemed an unfortunate time for the schooling to stop. Mrs. Vaughn proposed that Goldilocks might continue to spend her days with Teddy in the nursery, but I could foresee all manner of trouble under Nurse’s tender ministrations, and so I suggested that Teddy instead be allowed to visit Goldilocks’s chamber under the supervision of Mrs. Van Winkle. It was a simple matter to convince Mrs. Vaughn that it would be too much to ask of Nurse to handle the two youngsters all day on her own. And so it was decided.

Having done what I could for Goldilocks and Teddy, and said my goodbyes, I packed my valise and bid my cantankerous mirror goodbye as well.

“Just cover me up, then, if you please,” it replied. No sooner
had I done so than a mellow snore reverberated through my chamber. I calmed myself, and giving a last look to my cozy little room, I picked up my bag and closed the door, thinking of the inexperienced young bear I had been when I first set foot there, and how much I had changed since that day. Then, on an impulse, I proceeded to the east wing, where I leaned in at Mr. Bentley’s office doorway to bid him farewell. I was greeted only by an empty seat. Having no time to search for him, I swallowed my disappointment and went on my way.

The ever-faithful Harry escorted me to town, patiently standing by while I went into the bookstore looking for a gift for Papa. At last I found a beautifully bound volume of his favorite book,
Don Quixote
, to replace the old, worn-out copy he kept by his chair. I set off on the afternoon train with a light heart, my valise in one paw, my carefully wrapped package in the other.

Papa’s old housemaid, Lucy, was there at the station to greet me at journey’s end. Normally a sturdy, cheerful person, she seemed uncharacteristically depressed. “I’m so glad you’re here, miss,” she said fervently. “Your papa’s been poorly and couldn’t come himself.”

“What is wrong?” I asked as she helped me with my bag and we began the walk home.

“He’s quite ill, miss, though he won’t admit it. You know how good-natured he is, even in times of trouble. It started with a little cough, but now it affects his breathing. It’s keeping him up at night, and sapping his energy so that he’s stopped doing most everything that he used to do,” she continued. “He insists it’s just a touch of the grippe, and won’t give me leave to call in the doctor.”

We walked down the street in a worried silence as I told
myself that it couldn’t be that bad. Papa had always been so strong and vital! Surely all he needed was some tender, loving care, I thought when we turned up the hill toward home. As we approached, I paused and stared at the old homestead with fond eyes, noting that it seemed a little smaller and a little shabbier since I had seen it last. I saw that Papa’s rose garden, usually so carefully cut back and wrapped in burlap against the winter freeze, stood withered and frozen, the last wrinkled brown blossom teetering in the wind. A cold foreboding seized my heart. I hurried through the door and made my way to the familiar old parlor, where we had spent so many contented hours sitting by the fire when I was but a cub, Papa watching over me in steady benevolence, the Gibraltar of my little world. At first I did not espy him, so shrunken did he seem, propped up in his overstuffed chair, draped with a heavy shawl. I went to him, kneeling at his feet and looking up into the dear, tired face, thinner now than I remembered. His eyes seemed to focus on something very far away as he puffed on his old pipe.

“Papa? Papa, I’m home.”

The brown eyes fluttered, and turned to me, a little dim but still twinkling, and a slow smile spread over his furry face.

“Ah, if it isn’t my own wee Ursula, the apple of my eye and the beat of my heart,” he croaked, lifting his paw to pat the top of my head. His speech was a hoarse echo of the rich, deep voice I knew so well. “Home at last, are you? I’ve been waiting for so long.” He dropped his paw heavily, and an icy knot formed in my chest. How frail he was! I kissed him on the snout, noticing now that it was streaked with silver, and found that it was hot and dry.

“Papa,” I announced, hiding my fear. “Papa, I must be stern
with you. You’re ill, and you belong in bed. Let Lucy and me help you up to your room, then I’ll send her for the doctor. Be good now.”

“No, no,” Papa objected. “Don’t fuss at me. I’m perfectly all—” He broke off in a fit of coughing that seemed to shake his whole body as I watched helplessly.

“That’s it,” I declared, more cheerily than I felt. “It’s off to bed with you this minute. Let’s get you settled before the doctor arrives.”

He treated me to an expression of pained martyrdom. “Termagant!” was the choked rejoinder.

“Here, Mr. Brown,” Lucy cajoled. “You heard Ursula. Just lean on me. I’m strong as an ox!”

With a mix of patience and determination that I had learned from Papa himself, I soon had him bundled into bed, sitting against the pillows and sipping some good hot chamomile tea. I sat by his bedside, telling him stories, all the while, of my life with the Vaughns, and about young Goldilocks.

When Lucy finally returned with Dr. Deeb, he greeted Papa with, “Well, my friend, what are you up to?” and swiftly banished me from the room. Obediently, I went downstairs to the parlor to await the doctor’s verdict, while Lucy retired to the kitchen to busy herself with supper. For a time I paced back and forth, listening to the floorboards creak. Then I sat in Papa’s chair by the fireside, staring at nothing while anxious thoughts crowded in. Daylight was fading. Lucy brought a tray from the kitchen, but I wasn’t hungry. To keep my spirits up, I lit the candelabra and began to hum a familiar melody, then recognized that it was Papa’s favorite hymn. As the words went through my mind, they both alarmed and sustained me: