Chapter 23: The Gate and the Tree

I went to the gate alone.

Hamish walked me to the porch steps and stopped there.

"I'll be right behind you," he said. "If you want me, you only have to look."

"I know."

"I'm not asking you to see her."

"I know that too."

The gate was open a hand's width, and the wardens stood back on either side.

She stood outside it in the road.

I almost didn't know her.

Her iron-gray hair had gone white, and the knot had come down on one side.

She wore a thin brown coat with the buttons mismatched, and she had no cane.

Her hands were bare and red from the cold.

She straightened when she saw me.

"Yvaine MacAulay," she said.

"Beatrix."

"I walked from the county road."

"That's thirty miles."

"Twenty-six." Her mouth moved. "I am fifty-eight years old. It took me two days."

I waited.

She looked past me at the house.

"I wasn't going to ask you for anything," she said. "I am not going to beg."

"I never begged in my life, and I won't start at a gate."

"Then why are you here?"

"One hour." Her voice shook, and she steadied it. "I want to see him."

"I'll stand in the road if you like. I'll not speak. He was in my arms for five years."

I let her say it.

I had planned something for this moment, a long time ago, when I used to lie awake thinking about her.

I had planned words that would flay her.

Now I stood in front of an old woman with red hands and had nothing like that in me.