She glanced at Zeke. They both looked at Hagbard. A twinkle lit his eye as he nodded.
Dinner forgotten Beti and Zeke pried the boards. Below they found undisturbed clay. She’d wondered if there would be a deep hole perhaps leading down to an unidentified cellar. Once again prepared for this journey, Hagbard handed her a short handled shovel.
It didn’t take long for a chest to peek out from the loosened clay. Beti plopped herself down the floor and stared at the box. No where near as big as her visions of a pirate’s chest, the box was plenty tall and wide enough to fit a very large hat. Beti slipped a finger over the clasp. Had her mother been the last to touch its surface?
She held her bracelet to her nose.
“She wanted ye to have the choice.” Hagbard’s gruff voice filled the silence in the little cabin.
The clasp fought her fingers, but in a trice she had it open. Indigo velvet lined the box. Overlapping layers covered its contents. On top lay a letter folded in the pattern her mother favored.
Mama.
Carefully she pealed the seal from the fragile parchment. Turning from Hagbard and Zeke she feasted.
My dearest Behethlan,
Ye will be reading this because your time has come. I pray it is Hagbard who brings the message that you must choose a future.
Be not dazzled by the contents of this box. It is but one road, and it is far rockier than the mountains of our home. Hagbard will give ye details of life at court, but trust me my dear that all that glitters is not refined silver. Ye must seek our Savior’s advice before deciding ye path. Perhaps He has raised ye up here so ye could bring His wisdom home to Fjellyoricket. Perhaps yer home is here in a new land that grows so quickly I worry for its ability to remain free. I know ye will make the right choice.
I hope to be with ye as ye open this box, but if I am not, know that ye may trust Hagbard. I trust him with my life. If it is not Hagbard, then seek ye own council. Ye are such a clever girl, I trust ye to make the right decision.
Love,
Mama
Beti refolded the precious missive and pressed it close to her heart. She looked up into the eyes of Zeke who, with somber expression, nodded toward the box.
She squeezed the mist from her eyes and gently lifted a corner of the cloth. It was in remarkably good shape. The room remained quiet. Slowly corner by corner she drew back the protective cover to reveal yet another layer, this one of black felted wool. She removed it in more haste. Nestled in the center, a circlet of silver winked in the candlelight.
It was heavier than she’d thought. A circle of silver with seven triangular rays. The tip of each ray opened in a diamond shape. In the center of each opening dangled a concave circle that twinkled with the slightest touch. Inside was a cap of indigo studded with silver sequins.
“Ye mother’s coronet. She last wore it at her father’s coronation.”
Wonder filled her heart as she studied the filigreed work of the rays. It needed a bit of a polish, of course, but she’d never seen anything like it in her life. A fairy queen should be crowned in such a delicate sparkly thing.
“There’s more.”
Beti pulled the black wool out of the box and placed the coronet down. Below the blue velvet lay a bag.
“Of course, a new one will be made for ye, but ye mother thought ye would like to have hers.”
A mantle fashioned of indigo velvet and snowy white fur slid from the bag. Nothing short of a miracle kept it in wearable condition. While not large enough to fit a grown man, its ample proportions were enough to swallow Beti. Reverence quieted her heart. Her quickly conceived plan of running to her mother’s homeland was perhaps not the best idea she’d ever had. Perhaps she’d been too quick? This was real.
“Put it on child.”
Beti focused on Hagbard.
She hesitated. “I have yet to accept the responsibility the wearer must undertake.” What were those responsibilities? Her mother had the advantage of growing up in a royal household. She’d known what she was refusing. Beti didn’t know what she was accepting. When had she’d cared for anyone but herself and her household?
“Nonsense. It is but a warm cloak.” Hagbard stood to place his cup on the table. “Ye will need its warmth before the night is over.”
A fair point that brought her back to the present. Last night at been one of the coldest nights she’d ever spent, and she was not eager to repeat the experience. Already the heavy cloth warmed her lap. Before standing, she took one last look in the box. On the bottom lay a pair of knitting pins stuck into a ball of wool.
Heart soaring, she pulled out the needles slightly bent by the work of her mother’s hands. A stocking, by the number of stitches cast on, rested there waiting to be completed. The wool looked to be in as good a condition as the cloak. How Mama must have searched for the project never dreaming she’d packed it away so carefully with her past.
“Will ye not try it on?” Zeke asked.
Beti clutched the cloak, needles, and yarn as she stood. She placed them on the table and retrieved the coronet from the floor. After receiving prodding from each of them she placed the coronet on her head.
“It is perfect, Lady.” Hagbard grinned from his chair.
Perfect was a good word, but Zeke thought regal more fitting. Next Beti wrapped the cloak around her. And with that the ordeal of the last twenty-four hours, recorded in her torn and dirty clothing, was gone. Covered by the sumptuous robe and coronet, she radiated elegance into the tiny log hut. He couldn’t’ve peeled his eyes away with a newly sharpened whittling knife.
Dangly circlets caught firelight and splashed it around the room, but they couldn’t compare with the color of Behethlan’s eyes, indescribable except of green water in a pool of sand. Her nickname no longer suited. How could he call her Beti, even in his mind? She was Behethlan, tender and fierce. At once beautiful and strong. Brave. The woman. He could never let her go. It didn’t matter if he had to stand behind her in a stone palace filled with guards and who knows what intrigues. She was his. Together they would face whatever the future held.
Beti took the coronet from her head, placed in carefully on the black cloth before her on the table and resumed eating from his cup. Once she’d finished, she wiped the cup and filled it once again. She offered it to him with trembling hands.
“Are ye well?”
Confidence radiated from those green pools. “Aye.”
She returned to the table and picked up the needles and began to count.
“Ye are knitting?”
