I headed back to the house. What could I do? There had to be a way to bargain with her. What would she want in exchange for Luke’s safety? She could have it all. I climbed the stairs and stepped into the hallway. Wait. What was that?
I inclined my head toward the kitchen. Laughter? I listened closer as my feet began to move in that direction. The sounds of a child laughing floated through the air. My heart sang with hope.
I stepped up to the kitchen doorway and peeked through the entrance. I gasped at the sight of Gretta helping Luke drop clumps of some kind of hairy herb by the fistful into a stockpot of some kind of brew.
I let my eyes drink in the sight of my boy laughing.
Gretta leaned her wrinkled and gnarly face close to Luke’s and planted a kiss upon his cheek. Could it be? Did Gretta mean him no harm? Did she love him?
***
The castle walls shook as the heavy wooden door slammed behind Luke.
He dropped his carved wooden horse and toy wagon beside the door and then stomped up the stairs, caked dirt flying in every direction.
I leaned back against the railing to allow him to pass. But one look at his face, and I couldn't let it go. I reached out a hand and lightly grasped his forearm. “Lu? What's wrong, honey?”
The little boy raised his face and looked into my eyes. His own eyes brimming with tears that were already streaming white tracks through the dirt on his face. “Who are we? Why are we so weird? No one lives in a castle like this.” He gestured with his arms and looked from the floor to the four-story foyer ceiling. “Why can't we be normal?”
I put my hands on his shoulders and pulled my boy close. I squeezed as hard as I dared. I wished I had an answer for that. Oh, how I wished I could explain it away. Make it different. Make us the same. What would I say to him? He'd never asked before. Maybe I could deflect his question, at least for now.
“What brings this up now? You've always liked living here. What nine-year-old boy wouldn't want to live in a castle?” There. Maybe that would be enough to take his mind off of everything.
“Yeah, mama. A castle is fun for exploring and making up stories. But to live in? It's strange.”
I tugged on his arm and led him behind me down the stairs. I dropped to my knees on the ceramic floor, and held both of his hands. I looked into his eyes. “Who told you it's strange, Luke?”
He wouldn't look at me. He scrunched his eyes closed. “No one.”
The first rule of being a mother was to never believe it when children said that. “Someone said something, sweetie. You can tell me.”
“It was just…just the dumb boys at the schoolhouse. They said you were a witch, or a ghost, or something.”
I knew I never should have sent him for schooling. All I had wanted was for him to be a normal boy, but what now? I rubbed my face with my fingertips, trying to ease the stress. What could I say that would make him understand, and give him an answer for the boys at school?
“Well, this castle has been in our family for generations. Maybe they're just jealous they don't have a castle to live in.”
“Yeah, I guess.” Luke shrugged. “It's just…” He shook his head. “Never mind.”
“No, you don't. You tell me what you were going to say. I'm right here before you, so there's no better opportunity to get your thoughts out.” I pulled him over to the settee in the den.
“Well, some of the kids say that you must have something wrong with you, because you don't come out of the house ever. None of the other mamas and papas know you. You've never even met my teacher. No matter how you look at it, that's strange. Especially since it's not like you're off working at some farm or caring for someone who’s dying.”
He let the words tumble from his mouth. One after the other. Words he’d probably been storing for some time as he took note of the work his friends’ parents did. I would not cry. No matter what. This wasn’t Luke’s fault.
“Is there something wrong with you?”
***
As it always did when he came bursting in, the castle walls shook as the door slammed behind Luke.
“Hey? Mother? Can I use the wagon? I have a date.”
I slumped to the floor of the bathroom. Maybe he wouldn't find me in there. How long could I hold this poor boy off? He had a life. He wanted to date and marry and be a father. How would I convince him that we needed to keep private just a little while longer? And how long would possibly be long enough?
Had Gretta been right all those many years ago when she said bringing Luke into this house as my child would be a huge mistake? Then again, even if she had been right, it didn't matter. Luke was my son. Come what may.
“Mother? Where are you?” Boots clumped on the stairs outside the bathroom door. Gretta would soon hear him and poke her head out of her bedroom if I didn’t respond.