Page 20 of The Thirteenth Count

“We do not abandon those who stumble,” her father said, his eyes finding hers from across the Grove, “for we all may stumble.”

What he was saying hit hard. Especially after seeing the Deadwood’s gratitude firsthand and how callously she had regarded them just days ago. Growth came to a person in the most unexpected ways, and for Fern, she had her father to thank for that.

Her father’s voice cracked as he went on. “When the Mother calls us to new paths, we must trust in her wisdom, even when we cannot see where those paths lead. For without trust, what is our faith?” He took a moment to compose himself, then looked between Fern and her mother. “Love guides us forward, even through separation.”

Tears pricked the corners of Fern’s eyes as she watched her father struggle with his emotions.

“May the Mother watch over all her children…” He looked at Fern once more, a tear rolling down his cheek, “especially those who must walk difficult roads.”

Her father closed his eyes, collecting himself before stepping back from the lectern. The Grove fell silent except for the rustle of Red Autumn leaves overhead.

Then the whispers began.

“Did you hear what he said about new paths?”

“That was no ordinary service.”

“This was about his daughter, right?”

“After what happened at the Count…”

Fern’s mother squeezed her hand tighter as people began to rise from their benches. Some approached with sympathetic smiles. Others hung back, watching with curious eyes. But all attention was on her.

“Keeper Corvus,” called Anders, a man Fern had known since she was young, “that was… quite moving.” His gaze shifted to Fern. “Seems the Mother has plans for your family.”

Her father managed a weak smile. “The Mother’s will is not always clear to us, Anders.”

“Seems clear enough to me,” Anders pressed on. “An elevation such as this… some things aren’t coincidences.”

Her mother stepped in front of Fern. “We appreciate your insight, but we truly must be going now.”

The crowd was growing larger, suffocating. Fern tried to back away, but more people kept coming.

“Your daughter is Mother-touched!”

“Thank the Mother on this glorious day.”

“We have waited so long, you must let us shake her hand.”

“Please, just a moment with her!”

“I’d love to talk with you all, but I’m very busy.” Fern bowed, knees wobbling. “I’m so sorry.”

“Mother-touched!” someone called out, and others echoed it. “Mother-touched! Mother-touched!”

Fern pressed closer to her father as hands reached out toward her. This is a nightmare.

“We are leaving.” Her father took Fern by the shoulder and held her close. “I’ll see you at next week’s service.”

“Mother-touched!” they chanted as her father pushed through the crowd with her mother in tow.

By the time they reached their gate, Fern’s hands were shaking. Her father fumbled with the latch, glancing back toward the Grove where a few stragglers still lingered, watching their house.

“How about some lunch?” her mother asked quietly.

Fern took a measured breath. “I’d like that. Are there still honey cakes left from this morning? I’d… love to have one.”

As they sat around the table, the unease was worse now than it had been in the morning. Her father refused to sit in his seat at the head of the table and opted for the chair by the window. Her mother tapped incessantly against the wood with the back of her spoon. All Fern wanted to do was eat a honey cake, but it tasted like woodchips. Even Sprout’s nerves were fried, and he mewled constantly.