The Cottage in the Woods (45 page)

The next morning I held her lovingly on my knee. Reminding her that there was no one left to threaten her now for telling
the truth, I asked her whether she would try to answer some questions.

“All right,” came the quiet reply.

“Very good, then. Shall we start?”

Goldilocks nodded.

“First, I’ve been wondering if you have another name, besides Nellie, a last name—like
Vaughn
is Teddy’s last name?”

She shook her head.

“Let’s see. Can you remember living somewhere else before you lived in the shoe with all the other children?” She cast a frightened look my way, and I assured her again that there was no one left now to harm her. Then I tried a different tack and asked whether there was anyone she missed from that former life, perhaps Nana and Ompah? She nodded again, with a tragic expression on her little face.

“Can you tell me about Nana and Ompah, and how you came to be separated from them? Sometimes it feels better to tell someone about things that make us sad.”

Her lower lip trembled, but instead of crying, she began to talk in a small, timid voice. “I used to be little,” she said. “Nana and Ompah took care of me.”

“Really? No wonder you miss them. What do you miss the most?”

“Nana singing. And Ompah sitting me on his knee. He told me stories.”

“And what about your mama and papa? Do you remember anything about them?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think I had a mama and papa.” The lower lip started trembling again.

“Do you remember why you left Nana and Ompah?”

“It was music. The beautifullest music. I followed it. I just had to. All the other children around were following it too, but I was the littlest. It was a man all dressed in funny clothes playing music on a pipe, and all the children ran after him, and so did I.”

Thunderstruck, I asked her, “Your town, was it called Hamelin?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it was.”

“What do you remember next?”

“We went a long, long way, with no dinner, and my legs were so tired, but I didn’t want to stop. I wanted the music. I wanted to hold it. But they were all going faster than me, and I couldn’t catch up. They wouldn’t wait for me!”

“Where did you go?”

“I fell by the side of the road and cried and cried, and they kept going and left me there all by myself.” A tear ran down her cheek, and she sniffled into her handkerchief.

“I’m sorry, Nellie. That must have been terrible for you. So you never found your way home again?”

She shook her head, the tears coming freely now. I soothed her as best I could, marveling at the revelation that this was a child the Pied Piper had forgotten. When she had calmed herself, I asked, “And what did you do then?”

She seemed reluctant to talk anymore, but I praised her for being brave enough to tell her story, and promised her that would be my last question. Then her words started flowing like a dam had burst.

“I was lost. A long time. I slept under bushes. I walked and walked. Sometimes people passed me, and I put out my hands to beg for food. They threw coins, but I couldn’t eat them. I was so hungry! That’s when Gabe found me. He took my coins and
sent me back to beg for more and more every time somebody came by. Then he said his ma could use a beggar like me, and he threw me over his shoulder and took me.” She buried her face in her hands. “I don’t want to talk about anything else!”

I held her close for a long time, until her distress had waned. I told her that she’d done beautifully, and then I sent her off to find Teddy while I went to confer with the Vaughns. They responded to the revelations with dismay, Mr. Vaughn saying gruffly that there was only one right thing to do: they must send someone to Hamelin to try to find Nellie’s Nana and Ompah.

He arranged immediately for Mr. Caswell to make the trip, though there wasn’t much to go on, only the name
Nellie
, and the fact that she had been separated from her grandparents during the Pied Piper’s great theft of Hamelin’s children when she was very young. Nevertheless, it took only a few days for the lawyer to return with information, for there was a story known throughout the village of Hamelin of a respected old couple, Hannah and Hiram Chase, who had died of grief shortly after they lost their grandchild Nellie, barely more than a toddler at the time. Mr. and Mrs. Vaughn decided, on hearing this, that Nellie had been through enough, and need not know about the deaths until she was older. They started adoption proceedings the same day.

By now the lilacs were in bloom, and preparations were going forward for my wedding. There would be very few guests: just Reverend Wright’s sensible parents, and the Vaughns as witnesses. Reverend Snover would officiate. Though sentimental touches like wearing my mother’s wedding dress, or carrying
a traditional bouquet, or having a flower girl strewing petals seemed somehow silly and inappropriate, I reasoned that I would only be married once, and might appreciate the memories of such things to look back on later in life. Accordingly, I took Mama’s dress out of mothballs and set about refurbishing it. Teddy was to be our ring bearer, and Goldilocks was to be the flower girl, and there would be a small wedding breakfast put on by Mrs. Snover afterward. My snout was mostly healed, with a little bump and a scar where it had been struck, and though I was still self-conscious about it, Mrs. Vaughn insisted that it gave me character, and would in no way detract from my appearance as a bride.

Mr. Bentley had stayed on to offer the Vaughns his friendly support during the appeal, and through the investigation into Goldilocks’s past, which followed, but now that things had settled down, he planned to take his leave. He came to me to say goodbye one afternoon as the children and I walked in the garden.

“I hear that congratulations are in order,” he said kindly but, I thought, with some pain in his voice. I hoped my engagement hadn’t hurt him, yet I could see no remedy if it had, other than the solace of his own fiancée’s company.

“Yes. Next week Reverend Wright and I will be wed. We didn’t want to wait.”

“Permit me to wish you every happiness.”

“Thank you. We will be happy enough.”

“Happy enough?”

“I mean happy. We will be happy.” There was a little silence between us, then I said, “I never had the chance to thank you properly for climbing the cliff after us. And for everything you did.”

“I don’t need thanking,” he replied. “I would do it again in a heartbeat.”

He took my paw, and bent to kiss it. “Goodbye, then, Miss Brown,” he said softly, his words like a caress, and he turned and departed, taking all my happiness with him.

I found myself counting the days until my wedding, waiting desperately for the feeling of relief, of fullness and guiltlessness, I had thought would come to me once I had made the decision to marry Reverend Wright. Perhaps, I reasoned, it would only come when the marriage was accomplished—when there was no way back to Mr. Bentley.

And so the day arrived. I stood in my room, in my mother’s silk wedding dress, the epitome of old-fashioned romance and femininity. It didn’t look like the dress of someone who was marrying for plain friendship, though I told myself once again that I only wanted the life of a good wife to a good and virtuous bear. This much I thought I could have, even though my heart would always belong to another. But Mama’s gown was no plain dress; it was the embodiment of a romantic dream: a four-tiered skirt, an off-the-shoulder lace collar, long embroidered over-sleeves, and a blue velvet belt, tied in front with a bow. It was a dress to make dreams come true in.

At the church, I waited with Teddy and Goldilocks in the vestibule for the music that would accompany me down the aisle. Mrs. Vaughn arranged my veil with a wreath of wildflowers on my head, and handed me the lush bouquet of lilacs that I was to carry. Goldilocks’s eyes widened as she scattered a handful of
flower petals in front of me, and said softly, “You’re so
beautiful
, Miss Brown.” I suddenly felt that to be beautiful in the eyes of a child was to be beauteous indeed. I wondered how Reverend Wright would see me, and decided that for this one special hour, I would feel beautiful, and glory in my mother’s precious dress.

The processional music began, and Goldilocks and Teddy started their walk down the aisle. Watching Teddy’s erect back as he strode self-consciously in his Sunday suit, I had visions of how my own cubs would look someday. Ahead, I caught a glimpse of the fine bear who was to be my husband, and I thought how happy and full my life might be. Happy enough, and full enough.

Following the path of strewn flower petals, I stepped off toward my future.

What does happiness consist of? Is it in the fulfillment of a dream, or in the striving after it? Is it conferred on us from without, or generated from within? Perhaps it is all of these. I only know that it is best when shared.

Today is a good day for sharing. It is fall, my favorite time of year. The leaves are red and orange and gold, and two larks have struck up a competition for the most exhilarating song in the garden. I sit at my open window as I write, coming to the end of my story. And what shall I impart to you of myself? That I am at peace? That my life is worthwhile? That I am happy enough? I will tell you.

Six months have passed since Reverend Wright left me standing at the altar.

“I can’t do it,” he whispered to me after I’d walked up the aisle. “You look so … so … like … a real bride.”

“Reverend Wright,” I whispered back in consternation, “what is the matter?”

“It’s the dress, you know. A veritable confection. You should wear this dress for the love of your life, not for me! I’m suddenly very much afraid, Miss Brown, that I could never make you happy.”

“But I wish only to be content and useful, Reverend Wright.”

By that time there was a buzzing of whispers in the pews behind us as the few guests perceived that things were not going according to plan, and Reverend Snover, who was officiating, put up his hand and asked them for their patience.

“To be content and useful is enough for me,” Reverend Wright whispered thoughtfully, “but not for you. I’ve been so blind. I should have known it from the beginning. But now, as I see you like this, it seems so clear. Can you ever forgive me?”

In that moment, before God and everyone, I was forced to accept the truth of what he said. It was not enough for me, I finally acknowledged, a single tear making its way down my cheek. This marriage could never be a substitute for my heart’s desire. I was filled with warmth toward this fine, well-meaning bear, but it was not enough, would never be enough.

“There is nothing to forgive,” I whispered back. “I’m afraid you are quite right in your objection, but if you leave me here now, Reverend Wright, I fear it will ruin your reputation.”

He smiled slightly and answered, “Imagine me as a cad, a bounder! I rather think it will do me some good.” Giving a little bow, he shook my paw, announced to the witnesses that we had changed our minds, and, with his head erect, walked bravely away down the aisle.

Mr. and Mrs. Vaughn gathered around me and asked if I was all right. Mrs. Vaughn offered me her handkerchief, but I assured them both that I was only slightly discomposed. The
Vaughns, though puzzled by the abrupt cancellation of my wedding, said very little about it, Mrs. Vaughn only observing that it was better to change our minds before rather than after the ceremony. Reverend Snover laid his hand on my head and said, “Let this be a new beginning for you. Live well and fully, and trust your Maker to arrange things as he will.”