lot of them. Tonight, promise or no promise, I would pack my things and go.
But that night, as I finally staggered back to my room, exhausted after another long day, my resolve had dimmed and reality set in once again. I had hardly any money, aside from a few coins Iâd managed to hoard. I could swipe some food from the kitchen, but once it ran out I would starve unless I found work, and the only work I knew was that of a servant. If I tried to get a job in any other big house in Ashberg, Iâd be found out and brought back in disgrace â for though my stepmother would no doubt love to get rid of me, she would be furious if my flight brought gossip onto the family. Indeed, no matter where I went to in Ashberg, I would be likely to be found out. Which meant Iâd have to head into the countryside, where there was the occasional large house with a staff of servants. But Iâm a city girl through and through â Iâve only been to the country once and only for a few hours, and that was when I was little and had gone to stay with a cousin of Fatherâs in a large estate about an hourâs carriage ride from Ashberg; I could hardly go there. As to Mamaâs home village, it was much further, more like two or three days away, deep in the forest lands. And though she talked about it sometimes, Mama had never gone back there. Even supposing I might get there, who knew what Iâd find? Iâd heard that the forest villages were practically empty these days. There would certainly be no work there as a servant, especiallyconsidering there were no big houses there as far as I knew. And I had no relatives that I knew about who might look after me.
Coward, I told myself bitterly, as I changed into my nightgown. You are a mouse indeed. Suddenly I heard a rustling, scratching sound coming from inside the cupboard. Talk of the devil and he shows his tail, Mama used to say. It sounded like there was a mouse in there, gnawing on my hazel twig!
I donât mind mice, not usually. There was one friendly one who kept coming to my room last year and who became a bit of a pet. I would feed it crumbs Iâd kept back from my meals and it would eat them out of my hand. And then my stepmother found out. Horrified that I would âencourage verminâ, she ordered a trap be set, and every night Iâd disable it. So, one day, she set out poison without telling anyone and, because I didnât learn of it in time, the mouse died. It was my fault. If Iâd not shown it kindness, the mouse might have escaped Grizeldaâs notice â my foolish attachment had put it in greater danger than it would have been in. I would not make the same mistake twice.
I wanted this mouse gone. I did not want it to think it was safe here and I also didnât want it to nibble on my hazel twig. Carefully, I crept to the cupboard. I slowly opened the door and stared in amazement, for it wasnât a mouse that had made the sound at all!
Inside my cupboard was a tree â a miniature hazel tree no higher than the length of my hand from wrist to fingertips, but still a tree, perfect in every way. It grew out from the jug, its roots suspended in the water, its tiny but vigorous branches covered in beautiful soft, green leaves that were touched with living gold where the light from my candle fell on them. And as I stared, I saw a slight movement amongst the leaves, a rustle carried by a wind I couldnât feel, a wind that came from â I knew not where.
I can hardly describe my feelings. To say I was astonished would be too slight; to say I was stunned would be too blunt. I felt awe fill me, and delight, and gladness. IÂ felt as if my heart was unfurling like the hazel leaves that had unfurled from the bud. I got down on my knees and put my face close to the little tree, breathing in its scent of green. As I did so, I could hear my motherâs whisper and feel her fingers in my hair.
I donât