"To the bear."

She nodded, her eyes bright. I thought she might weep, but she didn't. "Don't let's talk about this anymore, Neddy."

"I won't press you," I said. "But if you do wish to talk about anything at all, I am here."

"Thank you," she replied softly. And we began making our way back to the farmhouse.

"What is that nasty Widow Hautzig doing here anyway?" Rose asked in a low voice as we saw Mother and the widow coming out of the front door.

"She and Mother have grown thick as thieves," I replied.

"What does Father think of it?"

"He barely notices, he's gone so much. And..." I paused. "Well, there is ill feeling between Mother and Father."

"Because of me?" Rose said quickly.

"It began then," I answered, somewhat unwillingly.

"I am sorry to hear it," Rose said. "Oh, how I wish Father would return!"

"So do I," I replied fervently. "What joy it would give him to see you back home."

Rose

I HAVE ALWAYS THOUGHT time to be a very fickle thing. When you are unhappy, doing something you'd rather not do, time crawls at the slowest, crudest pace. But when you're happy, it speeds up faster than a skier racing down an icy mountain.

The moments at home seemed to fly by.

How I wanted Father to return! So he'd know I was well and safe, and so I could make up for the anger I'd shown him before I had left. The thought of him wandering the land, looking for me, maybe even putting himself in danger, was almost enough to dampen the joy I felt being home.

The journey from the castle with the white bear had been much like the one before, but the white bear wasn't in such a hurry and I was not so confused and apprehensive. That first moment when I stepped out the doors of the castle in the mountain, I thought I might burst into tears or faint or have some sort of hysterical outburst, but I did nothing except stand there, breathing in my first draught of fresh air in more than six months. The air was fragrant with spring flowers. It was sheer bliss.

The white bear had watched me, letting me get my fill, then he had said, "Come," and I climbed onto his back. I was awkward again after so long. And it felt strange to me, riding on his back as if he were my pet horse, especially because I knew him so well. It was almost like climbing onto Neddy's back. But I was quickly distracted by the immediate need of finding my balance as the white bear began to run.

We stopped occasionally to eat and rest, though always well away from any town or people. He was very good at finding berries and other fruit, and even brought me fresh meat (seal, when we were by the sea, and badger or stoat inland), which I cooked over a fire. My appetite had returned.

Because I was not in such a daze that time, I was even able to enjoy the travel. I marveled all over again at the underwater sensations in my sealskin apparatus. It was the most extraordinary thing, to blindly float through water, carried like a tiny child.

He spoke to me several times during the journey, which may have been part of the reason we went slower. The talking always wore him out and he did not move as swiftly afterward.

During our first stop after crossing the sea, he said to me, "Only a visit ... If you do not return ... great harm."

The word "harm" was said forcefully, yet he did not seem to be threatening me, only telling me a fact; as if the possibility of harm was something he had no control over.

"A month ... one cycle of moon ... no longer," he said.

"I understand," I said.

"They ... family ... will want you to stay ... will do anything."

"I give you my word," I said a little shortly, annoyed by the suggestion that my family might behave less than honorably or trick me into staying.

He plowed on, with great effort. "Do not tell ... They will ask ... not tell." He was agitated, more upset than I'd ever seen him. His eyes were fixed on me, entreating.

"I promise," I said.

"Your mother ... Be most careful ... Do not tell ... about white bear." His humanness was wearing thin, I could see; he was struggling to form the words. "Do not ... alone with mother ... not listen." He gave a low growl, almost of pain, and turned, padding slowly away from me until he disappeared from view among a large cluster of trees.

He returned a short time later with two dead hares. We did not talk while I prepared and cooked them.

He left me several furlongs from the farm, by a brook with a willow tree bowed over it. "I ... go no farther ... In a month ... here ... I will wait." Again those eyes were fastened on me, devouring, as if the sight of me had to last him a very long time.

For some reason I wanted to reassure him. "I will be here. One month." Then I looked up at the blue sky and could just make out the sliver of the new moon. "When the moon is new again."

He lowered his head, then turned and bounded away. I watched him a moment, marveling as I had before at his grace, the enormous strength in that massive body. At that moment it was impossible to believe that such a great beast had anything to do with the invisible figure who had slept beside me every night. But then I remembered that the last night before we had left the castle, my visitor had shivered for the first time since I'd made the nightshirt.

"Rose?"

It was Mother. I had been home a little less than a fortnight and that afternoon had taken a walk by myself, saying I wanted to collect flowers for the dinner table. I was lost in thought when Mother found me by the creek we used to call Rosie's Creek. I started a little, dropping a few stems of oleander. She bent over to retrieve them.

"I'm sorry I startled you," Mother said, "but I wanted to see you, alone. We have barely had any time together since your return."

I took the flowers from her, saying, "It's nearly suppertime, isn't it? We'd better be getting back," and I began to walk briskly in the direction of the farmhouse.

Mother laid a hand on my arm and I was forced to slow my pace. "There is no hurry, Rose. I must talk with you. It is important."

Her voice was trembling a little and I looked at her sideways, surprised.

"Oh, Rose, I have been wanting to explain, about your birth."

I became alert.

"You left so suddenly, there was no chance..." Her voice was choked with emotion and she coughed to clear her throat. "I know that you were very angry. That you felt we had hidden the truth from you. I realize now it was I who had hidden the truth from myself. That was the real lie. I was so set on what I believed to be the truth, I could accept no other. Your father tried to reason with me, but I would not listen. I still do not understand, but I must acknowledge now that you have a streak of northernness in you."

I opened my mouth to speak, but she stopped me. "Very well, perhaps you are even all north. I don't know—the circumstances of your birth were so muddled. But I will tell you that there were reasons, good reasons, other than the empty space on the compass rose, why I did not want you a north. Reasons that spring from love, not stubbornness. And I do love you, Rose, no matter what point of the compass you are."

Tears stung my eyes. I did not realize until that moment that those were words I had never thought to hear from my mother. And had longed for.

She saw the tears standing in my eyes and pulled me to her, stroking my hair gently. I felt like a small child again, being comforted for my freshest hurt.