Author's Preface
The chestnut tree’s thick foliage shielded Delilah from visitors, but her mother would frown upon such a relief, as it would prevent an easy kidnapping. Delilah had dared to sit on a sturdy branch one summer afternoon. Sunlight filtered through the green shield, highlighting the pages of her book.
The garden gate squeaked when it opened, and Delilah held her breath. She noted the page number and closed the book; her gaze drawn toward the gate through the branches.
She could see someone coming, and Delilah checked her left side, wondering if she could sneak further up the tree and hide before they spotted her.
“You missed the fuss at the market today,” Claudia said, her deep voice rising like the beauty of a dawn to Delilah, allowing her to breathe. She sat back on the branch, thankful for her friend.
“So you brought the fuss to me by scaring me like this?” Delilah teased.
Nine-foot tall Claudia stood at the base of the tree, pulling her rose-red hair down from a bun with her six-fingered hands.
“Yes, because I come bearing news; guess who I saw not far from here,” Claudia said.
“Someone coming for me? Did that widower follow you here?”
“I’ll bludgeon him if he did follow me, but no,” Claudia laughed, meaning it. She pulled off her work apron and folded it over an arm.
Delilah braced the branch with a five-fingered hand and jumped down. She smoothed her red-tinted blonde hair and tucked the book under her arm. Her light brown freckles lay across the bridge of her button nose; her gray eyes wide and round. Her dress fit under her bust and fell to the ground, keeping her figure modest.
“Who was it?” she asked, looking up at Claudia.
“A pure fae . You would have swooned, I’m sure of it!”
Delilah dropped her gaze and nodded.
“I don’t suppose he was–”
“Young, yes, and came alone,” Claudia said, her smile coming out.
Delilah took a steadying breath, wondering if he had left yet or if she could see it for herself.
“Did Clive and his father drive it out yet?” Delilah asked in a whisper.
“Not yet, but aunties evacuated all the unmarried women,” Claudia said, hiding her disappointment that she did not get to see the fae up close.
“It might have kidnapped one of us,” Delilah said, holding her hands in front of herself.
“Hardly,” Claudia laughed. “If he did, he’d come after one of you smaller, more fae-like girls.”
Six-foot-tall Delilah rubbed her lips and took her book to hold with two hands, only wondering for a second before she banished the thought.
Delilah’s family estate stood behind Claudia, the windows reflecting the garden’s splendor and hiding occupants. She started toward the garden path, and Claudia drifted with her, passing by a blooming sunflower.
“Fae are dangerous. You don’t know that it wouldn't hurt you,” Delilah scolded in her feather-like voice.
“The man was shorter than you; I bet if you gave him a solid slap, he’d cry his way off the mountain. He’d flee from me, with or without claws,” Claudia said confidently.
“It’s not wise to–”
“Oh, we’re all fine. It was just interesting to see a pure fae; I wanted to meet a real one,” Claudia said.
Delilah allowed a small smile, yet hoped Claudia’s voice wouldn’t carry and let others know they spoke of such taboo things.
“It would be interesting,” she agreed, unwilling to admit more.
“I’m sure Clive will address it. He’s so,” Claudia tilted her head and grinned, reflecting on the man who loved her. “...protective.”
Delilah twinged a frown, hating a lupine for no particular reason.
“As he ought to be,” she said quietly.
Claudia glanced down at her friend and cleared her throat, regret sharp on her tongue. They wandered through the flowering blooms and prized roses interspersed with grand trees.
“Was the fae half beast, like they say the burdened ones are?” Delilah asked.
Claudia shook her head, recalling the short moment she had to see it before being ushered away.
“Not at all. He could have blended in with your family if he had redder hair and pure bones.”
“Oh,” Delilah said, considering it. “What was he doing?” she asked, looking over her shoulder at the house’s windows.
“Just standing in the square, talking to someone’s father. Aunties came through every single shop and took us all out. They were sure he would fall under his beastly burden at the sight of us.”
Delilah grimaced outwardly, but her heart flipped.
“I think he’s here to sell something and will be gone again. Sychar has nothing for fae.”
Claudia hummed, a teasing smile spreading across her face as she looked out of the corner of her eye at Delilah.
“Go on, ask,” she said, nudging Delilah’s shoulder.
Delilah slowed and became very interested in a blooming zinnia instead of answering.
“He wasn’t handsome,” Claudia said, her words dissolving into laughter.
“But how?” Delilah cried, turning away from the bright pink blooms. “The last ones I saw were so –” she stopped her gushing lament when she saw Claudia’s expression slip into a polite smile and her hands folded in front of herself, holding her apron.
“How do you do, Mrs. Hueman?” Claudia said over Delilah’s head. Delilah turned around and spotted her mother’s attention descending on them.
She gulped. Claudia contained a shudder.
Dressed in a blood-red apron over a plaid dress, Mrs. Hueman stood two inches shorter than Delilah, yet her bright red hair, six-fingered hands, and fair complexion revealed her giant heritage. With a tight updo and a practiced smile, she simply waved at the young women wasting time in her flower garden.
Claudia waved in return, unsure of what she could say that would please Mrs. Hueman.
“It’s okay to go,” Delilah muttered, obeying her mother’s implied command to come inside by changing route to go to the house. Claudia smiled and saw herself out, panicking only slightly that Edith Hueman watched her go with those razor-like hazel eyes. Once Claudia latched the side gate, she breathed a sigh of relief.
Delilah approached her mother and straightened her posture.
“I cut three batches of soap and thought I’d spend the afternoon in my tree,” Delilah told her.
“You act as though I cannot look through a window. What did Claudia want?”
“Just to visit and ask what I am reading,” she said, showing the book.
Edith nodded, assuming the book was more useless droning about fae and their wars.
“I’d like you to freshen yourself and meet me on the porch very soon. Do you understand?” Edith asked, her hazel eyes set on Delilah’s gray hesitation.
“Do…should I expect to be returning to my own bedroom or–” Delilah whispered.
“No one is coming to kidnap you as a bride, but I need you not to smell like trees, nonetheless.”
Edith went into the house, and Delilah crept after her, watching the ground in thought. They passed through the mudroom, where they left their shoes, and Edith turned into the kitchen as Delilah went through the house, passing the dining room, rumpus room, where she left her book on an end table, and then up the stairs. Two younger siblings passed her, both running down as Delilah dragged herself up.
Edith continued outside, peering over the front garden at the mountains and silently scolded them for allowing a storm to roll into the valley.