She wasn’t sure, until Jack burst into the drawing room, dragging a sobbing Jill behind him. Both Blue and Willie followed quickly as the youth stood defiantly in front of Mother, his blue eyes dark with fear and determination.
“Help us.” Jack swallowed, pushing a red curl out of his eyes-he desperately needed a haircut, Mother thought, apropos of nothing. “Please. They’re coming for us, and we’ve nowhere else to go.”
Jill, wearing only Jack’s shirt—he stood bare-chested and barefooted, his face cut, bruised and dirty—collapsed at Mother’s feet, still crying.
“I don’t want to go back there. Please help us,” she begged, wrapping her arms around the older woman’s boots. “I just want to be with Jack. That’s all I want. It’s all I ever wanted.”
Mother swallowed, blinking fast, thinking faster. She squatted down, cupping Jill’s tear-streaked face in her palms, and kissed the girl’s forehead.
“Mother will make it all better,” she promised. “Come with me.” They did. They all did—following her down to her bedchamber. Mother packed three bags, one for Jill, one for Jack, and another, larger one, for herself.
“Mother, can I ask—?” Blue frowned as the woman began to change out of her usual attire, donning man’s breeches, cinching the waist tightly, a man’s white shirt, certainly Artan’s and entirely too large. She tucked in into the breeches, pulling her hair back tightly before turning to Blue.
“I think you know,” was all Mother said, tossing the two smaller bags at Jack’s feet, along with a clean, warm change of clothes for each of her charges, who immediately scrambled to dress themselves. “Blue, three horses, please. The fastest we own.”
“Not the carriage?” Willie’s voice was high and panicked, and Mother patted him absently on the head as she passed.
“Not this time,” she murmured, plucking a dark wool cape from a hook. “Not this last time.”
“Mother-” Blue sounded almost as distressed as Willie, but she gave him a sharp look, her eyes flashing.
“Horses, Blue,” she instructed, waving him toward the door. “Now.” He gave a brief nod, turning on his heel and heading toward the door. A short time later, they were all mounted and riding toward the borderlands. Mother knew the way well enough, and her charges were both good riders, swift and skilled, keeping up with her frenzied pace without too much trouble. She only wished they’d been under cover of darkness, but there was no time to lose. Cutting across fields, driving the horses over streams and fences, she avoided the main road, too afraid they would cross paths with the King’s men, come to claim his property.
They were over halfway there when she realized they were being pursued. At first, she had hope that it was Blue, mounted and riding to keep an eye on them, but when the riders came into view behind them over the crest of a hill, she saw the King’s banner flying, and knew they had to hurry. Digging her heels into the horse’s side, she spurred him on, and both Jack and Jill did the same, glancing behind at what Mother’s wide eyes had found.
If Mother could get them through to the borderlands, she decided, just on the other side of the portal, they could disappear, blend into the strange, overly populated land beyond, and escape their fate here in her world. And me, too, she thought, leaning into the horse’s mane, trying to make herself as streamlined as possible. I can disappear forever, become someone else, live my life out over there until I’m an old woman, bouncing Jill’s babies on my knee and pretending they’re my own grandchildren.
The thought pained her, but it was also freeing, and she took only a moment’s glance to gauge the distance between she and the riders. They were closing in fast. Too fast. She didn’t know if they were going to make it.
Yanking a sharp left on the horse’s reins forced him in that direction. She heard him panting, knew he was foaming at the mouth from the run, and wished she didn’t have to drive him so hard, but she dug her heels in, cutting through a swath of trees, hearing Jack behind her and Jill behind him, following at a breakneck pace. They all knew the stakes, it seemed.
The horse’s hooves had a hard time with the soft soil beyond the trees on the way up the hill, but she pushed onward, hoping it would give the riders behind them even more pause. Over the crest of the hill was a wide swath of field, bordered by a old wooden fence. The horse cleared it easily, directly over the faded “No Trespassing” sign, and Mother steered the steed right, forcing it onto a well-worn path that twisted and turned in the midst of the grass and flowers.
When Mother quickly dismounted in front of an enormous rock, as tall at her horse’s back, Jack pulled up short, the horse rearing, turning to avoid Mother’s steed.
He helped Jill down and unhooked their bags from the pommel.
“Hurry!” Mother urged, unhooking her own bag and swinging it over her shoulder.
Jill stared, open-mouthed, as Mother began to step through the rock. Not onto or around, but through it. Her hand appeared to be gone at the wrist as she turned to
them, her eyes wide, the sound of the riders arriving behind them coming in a deafening thunder.
“I can’t go in there,” Jill whispered, shaking her head and pressing herself to Jack’s side.
“Yes you can.” Jack grabbed her arm, pulling her along, glancing behind him as the King’s men arrived behind them, beginning to dismount. Their shouts—Halt! In the name of the King! Stop! You’re under arrest!—filled their ears, but Mother grabbed Jack’s hand, pulling hard. She saw the King himself, riding behind the forward riders, his face red with rage. She saw George, as well, pointing at her, yelling something, and she hoped it would be the last time she ever saw his round, pasty face.
Mother thought they were home free. Her stomach lurched as it always did when she stepped through the portal, her body immediately cold, but Jack’s hand was warm in hers, and the sounds of the King’s men were fading. Then she hit a wall, and the wind was immediately knocked out of her. Mother went flying backward, knocking Jack and Jill back with her. The three of them sat, dazed, in a collapsed heap, caught between the King’s men on one side and-Mother shaded her eyes, and saw the King’s crest on the chest of the man who had stepped through the portal—more of the King’s men on the other.
The search party, she realized almost immediately, before the man even spoke.
“No sign of Father Goose, your majesty,” the knight called in direction of the King. The rock revealed more of his men, half a dozen in all, coming through the portal. “We have reliable reports he’s deceased.”
Mother rolled her eyes and scoffed, picking herself up and dusting herself off.
“Reliable reports? Please!”
“You overstep your bounds, Mother.” The King moved his horse toward them, towering in the saddle in spite of his short stature.
“She needs a firm hand.” The voice made Mother shudder and she glared at George, who moved his own horse up beside the King.
King Cole’s lips pressed into a thin line as he surveyed the scene, the two redheaded youths huddled together on the ground, Mother standing defiant, her packed back still slung over her shoulder.
“Your husband is dead,” the King said low enough just for hear ears, his eyes soft for a moment. ”Accept it.”
“Never.”
Mother’s jaw tightened in defiance.
“I am making an official decree!” The King’s voice boomed over the field. “Father Goose is dead!”
Mother’s heart leapt to her throat, but she didn’t move, didn’t speak, refusing to look at George in the eye, although he tried to catch it, his fat, rosy lips stretched into a wide smile.