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had been my constant companion in the house quite so keenly while I
was beneath the Heartwood s boughs. Instead I let the sweetness of
the air fill up my lungs.
Papa, please tell me that you didn t, I burst out, unable to
contain myself a moment longer. For surely, having come to the
Heartwood Tree, we had also come to the heart of my father s story.
No, my father answered. I did not. I might have doubted the
truth of Alphonse s tales, but I could hardly doubt the evidence of my
own eyes. I was standing beneath the Heartwood Tree, and it would
have been sacrilege to take one of it boughs. I would not have done
this, Belle, not even for you.
Then what happened, Roger? my mother asked quietly.
I stepped up close to the tree, my father said, and placed my
palm against the trunk. I m not quite certain why. To verify by touch
that which my eyes were seeing. Or perhaps simply to feel a part of
something I had been so certain could not exist. Something so
extraordinary.
He looked at my sisters and me, each in turn. I have seen each
of you being born, my father told us. Held you in my hands within
moments of your first breaths, yet still I had never touched anything
as alive as the Heartwood Tree felt in that moment.
I could feel its roots, curling deep into the earth. Feel its sap
rising. I could feel new leaves unfurl, petals quiver. And, at the core of
it all, it seemed to me that I could feel the very heart of the tree itself,
that sweet and bitter combination of love and grief, entwined.
Inseparable for as long as the tree should live.
My father paused. And when I finally dropped my hand, he
said, I felt I saw the world around me with new eyes. For how could
one stand in the presence of such strength forged from pain and joy,
and not be transformed?
He gazed into space, as if he could still see the Heartwood Tree
in his mind s eye.
Did you say you had brought in my saddlebags, Dominic? he
asked quietly.
I did, sir, Dominic answered, his tone slightly mystified. They
are by the door. Shall I bring them to you?
If you please, my father replied.
Dominic brought my father s saddlebags to him, placing them on
the table, spread out so that the leather strap that passed across the
horse s back was in front of Papa and the bags stretched across the
width of the table. Then Dominic stepped back, but I noticed he did
not return to sit beside April, but stayed close, just behind my father.
Papa rested his hands atop the saddlebags for a moment as if
mustering the courage to reveal what was inside. Then he undid the
lacing on one bag and flipped back the flap.
A sweet fragrance wafted out, one that made me think of the
whir of bees, of spring birdcalls. My father reached inside the bag and
removed a small branch about the same length and width as my
forearm. Its bark was dark and ridged, like that of an almond tree.
Bursting from the main limb were many fine, short branches, each
covered in either red or white blossoms.
My father held the branch in his hands a moment, as if weighing
its cost, then reached out and placed it in front of me on the table.
I did not break a branch from the Heartwood Tree, yet still I
have one. But I do not think that it was meant to come to me. I think
that it was meant for you, Belle.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
But how, Papa? How? I cried
I could not quite bring myself to touch the Heartwood branch,
for fear it should melt like snow beneath my fingers.
In just the way Alphonse s tale said it would, my father
answered simply. The tree gave up a branch of its own accord.
As I stepped away from the trunk, I heard a sharp crack
overhead and a single limb he gestured to the one that now rested
on the table in front of me this limb, came plummeting down. It
landed at my feet, directly in front of my boots, in fact. As if anxious to
make sure I didn t moss it. I bent down and picked it up.
My father sighed, and I had never seen him look so old.
There have been moments since, he said, his voice very quiet,
when I have wondered if I might have escaped if I hadn t done this, if
I had stepped over the branch of the heartwood Tree and let it be
where it fell.
Escape from what? Dominic asked softly.
My father started, as if he d forgotten Dominic was standing
behind him. From the Beast, he said. For that is all I can think to call
it.
The monster, I whispered. So there is a monster in the heart
of the Wood.
There is, indeed, my father said grimly. And though I still
don t understand, its fate it tied to that of the Heartwood. By its own
desire, if nothing else.
What can a Beast desire? April asked with a shudder.
Many things, I could imagine, my father said. But in this case,
in the case of the Heartwood Tree, the same as you or I.
To see the face of true love, I said.
Papa nodded. No sooner did I pick up the branch of the
Heartwood Tree than the Beast was there. It he seemed to come
from everywhere, and nowhere, all at once. One moment I was
bending over to pick up a treasure, the next I was felled by a cry more
terrible than anything I have ever heard on this earth. I tumbled to my
knees shielding my face with my hands, no thought of bravery in my
mind. That awful cry left no room for it. I was sure I would die.
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