At nine years old, Chandler Leighamoore lives carefree on her family's homestead, chasing sprites and scheming alongside her brother, Sawyer. She's mysteriously drawn to the vicious woodlands surrounding them but is shackled by Papa's only rule: nev...
The next morning, after feeding the chickens alongside Sawyer, I ran off to find my father—in the barn as usual. The barn door was heavy—almost impossible to move aside. There my father stood, grooming his prized Percheron, Sterling. Nothing was more precious to my father than Sterling, well other than his children.
"Morning father." I said, enveloping him in a hug.
"Good morning Chandler. Finished with your chores?" He asked.
"Yes."
"Good, then you can help me brush Sterling." He said and handed me the grooming brush. I jumped up excitedly but could only reach his underside. The bristles combed right through Sterling's dappled gray coat. I thought about the story Sawyer told last night. Maybe I could persuade father to allow me to search for the lady of the lake. Unlikely, I thought. Considering the way my father thought of sprites, I doubted he would believe a children's tale.
It was worth a try. So I started.
"Father," I asked with a nervous note.
"Yes."
"Do you know the story of the Lady of the Lake?" I asked. He momentarily set down the bucket of water he was using to fill Sterling's trough.
"I do. I recall your mother reading it to you and Sawyer many nights. Why do you ask?"
I began fiddling with the brush and stumbling over my words. "Um...I was just wondering. What if it's real? Maybe if we found the lake we could find a cure for mother—and Adelaide!" I heard my father stop completely. His boots crunched the hay and I squeezed my eyes shut, waiting for the worst.
"Chandler."
His stern voice told me it was pointless in taking this any further. It was a doomed conversation from the start.
"—you're growing up. Perhaps it's time you spent less time in the clouds and more time on the ground."
"But father!" I protested. He stopped me and took the brush.
"No, enough with this nonsense. If you even think about stepping foot in that forest, I'll tie your wrist to the barn door young lady!"
"You don't have to worry about me going into the forest!" I shouted. Never before did I have the nerve to raise my voice at my father, "I'm afraid of it." I mumbled.
"Sebastian tells me you're afraid of the dark." He said. I huffed out an angry breath but stopped when my father set his hands on my shoulders and looked me directly in the eye.
"Chandler. I'm going to share with you the best advice I could ever offer."
"—and what's that?"
"That no child born in Arwyn is born afraid of the dark—but of what's in it." He said, "Everyone has to face their fears at some point—and its time you faced yours."
He smiled, something I wish he'd do more often. "Go fetch a pail of water for your mother and step-sister." Then he sent me on my way.
So I left. Drew the water and headed inside.
»»————————————««
"Mother!" I exclaimed, shoving my step-brothers aside. She was bone thin and ghostly pale. All it could take was a small gust of wind and she'd crumble into dust and blow away. I wasn't even sure if I was looking at my own mother!
"Boys. Leave please. I would like to have a word with Chandler—alone." She said. They obeyed and left.
She drew me closer and I listened intently, eyes fixed on her every move—if she moved. "What is it?" I asked her, my voice barely above a whisper. Bayaard came to my side and set his head on the bed, ears drooping over the blankets.
"You should go. You need to." She spoke.
"Go where? Need to do what?" I asked, reaching for her hand.
She let out what I think was a laugh, but sounded more like the dying breaths of a bird. "Go to the lake."
"You heard us last night?" I asked. She nodded slightly and coughed.
"Darling, I'm afraid that I'm running out of time. I don't want to leave you, or your brothers. If I don't make it, I need you to promise me that you'll take care of your brothers. For my sake." She pleaded.
Tears were coming down my cheeks and hitting the quilts that layered the bed. Then she slipped the polished opal ring off her finger, placed it in my hand and folded my fingers over it. The very same ring my father gifted her before they married.
"Just—remember me..."
She closed her eyes and fell back, the pillow gushing out air that dried the tears on my cheeks. I cried out for my brothers believing that my mother had just died in front of me.
Sebastian checked her pulse. She was still breathing, just tired.
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