his goods on his back, took Petal by her slender hand, and off they went through the sunless forest.
When he had gone far enough — that is to say, when he became too exhausted to continue — Aron put down his load and said, 'Here! Here is where we shall live!' And right on that bosky spot, he built a new cottage of sticks and thatch. He included a small room for Petal, a larger one for himself, and a still bigger one for the cooking hearth, table, chairs, and, of course, his loom, which he had the ox drag through the forest before he returned the beast to its owner.
Convinced at last that his daughter was now where no young man would find her, or at least where she'd be too far away to be worth the bother, Aron resumed his weaving. Such a location among the reputedly magical woods was inconvenient for him, for he had to make long trips to his customers in Gateway, but it was worth the peace of mind that came from knowing that his daughter was safe from anyone who would dare try to take her from him.
As for Petal, she cried for days and days. She wanted to go back to Gateway. She wanted to flirt with her suitors.
But Aron said, 'You'll get used to it here. Soon, things will be back the way they were before all this foolishness started.'
Petal did, in fact, stop crying, but things never quite went back to the way they were. Petal was lonely, and she never looked happy.
'What's the matter?' Aron finally snapped one day from his loom while Petal, long-faced, was sprinkling fragrant pine needles on the floor. 'I was good enough company all these years!'
'Oh, Father,' said Petal, pausing in her work, her eyes watering, 'I still love you but as MY FATHER. Now it's time I loved another, as my husband.'
'Nonsense!' said Aron with a wave of his hand. 'There'll be plenty of time for that when I'm dead!'
'Don't talk that way!' said Petal, stepping toward her father, dropping the rest of the pine needles.
'What way? One day I'll be gone, and then you'll be able to entertain all the young men you want!' And, with that, Aron turned his back on his daughter and continued his weaving.
The arguments usually went that way, and they always broke Petal's heart. Finally, she stopped bringing up the subject, which was what Aron wanted, anyway.
The days settled into a routine. Aron worked methodically and constantly at his loom, and Petal tended the cottage and the garden. Neither said much to the other. Petal continued to look sad, and Aron, even way out in the forest, continued to feel uneasy:
What if one of those tom cats should sniff his way to the cottage, after all? What if a whole gang of them should arrive and start wailing at his door?
Or, worse yet: What if Petal sneaked away?
This last thought truly began to worry Aron. He kept a constant eye on his daughter, which caused many uneven threads in his weaving. He became so nervous that if Petal were out of his sight for any length of time — and he did not hear her, either — he'd jump up from his loom, knocking over his chair, and cry out, 'Petal! Come here!'
'What is it, Father?' she'd call, hurrying into the cottage, with, say, a basket of mushrooms she had been gathering.
Aron never answered. He was just glad to see his daughter, and, relieved, he'd pick up his chair and resume his weaving.
Nights, though, proved even worse for Aron than the days. It was then he had to sleep, and so it was then he could keep neither eye nor ear on his daughter. He kept waking at the slightest sound, thinking Petal might be sneaking away, and he kept checking up on her in her room. She was always there, curled up beneath her blanket on a mattress filled with her fragrant pine needles.
But then, on one warm summer night, shortly after midnight, Aron peeked into her room and found her bed empty.
'Petal!' he bellowed, stepping from her door back into the large room. 'Petal!'
She didn't answer.
Aron ran outside into the benighted woods, where only sprinkles of silver moonlight fell through the canopy and broke up the dark forest floor, the way Petal's pine needles broke up the cottage floor.
'Petal! Petal!'
There was no answer except for the hoot of a lone, unseen owl.
All the rest of that night, Aron scrambled about the dark woods, calling his daughter's name and bruising himself as he hit his head on low limbs and banged fully into unseen tree trunks.
By the time the sun rose, sending its early morning rays to light the misty air and awaken the birds, who promptly began their warbling, Aron was ready to faint from exhaustion. He had been searching and calling all night. Defeated and heartbroken, but determined to march to Gateway to fetch his daughter if need be, he trudged to his cottage to get his stick.
Yet, when he got there, whom did he find, sleeping curled up in her bed as innocently as a doe, but Petal.
Aron rubbed his swollen eyes. His heart soared with joy. Was it possible, in his great concern, that he had missed her sleeping there the night before? Everything was as it was supposed to be — except, Aron noted, that there were little puddles of water, footprints really, leading up to Petal's bed. This was curious, but Aron didn't give it much thought. He was happy to have his daughter back. He told himself he would try to be nicer to her from then on, for the last thing he wanted was to drive her away.
That morning, when his daughter awoke, Aron acted more chipper at the breakfast table. Petal was surprised by his new demeanor, but she welcomed it. She, too, was happier.
'You see?' said Aron as he sipped his tea. 'Do you see how easy it is for us to be friends?'
'Yes, Father,' said Petal as she nibbled at a muffin. 'Forgive me for my pouting.'
'No, no, it is I who must ask for forgiveness. I've been an ogre.'
'Only because you love me. I know that, now.'
Aron reached over and patted his daughter's soft, fair hair, which felt, strangely, a little damp. Again, he gave this little thought. For the rest of the day, he whistled at his loom while Petal hummed in her front garden — which, actually, wasn't growing as well in the constant shade of the woods as it had in Gateway.
In any case, for all his outward pleasantness, Aron, that very night, tossed and turned uncomfortably in his bed, certain once more that his daughter had indeed disappeared the previous night. And those puddles popped into his mind, perplexing him.
It was no use. Aron jumped out of bed. He had to check up on his daughter. But he didn't want her to know, for then she'd be truly angry at him. So he tiptoed ever so quietly to her room.
She was gone.
Aron grew frantic. He bolted out of the cottage. But before he could call his daughter's name, he saw in the moonlight that sprinkled through the tree cover Petal herself, dressed in her flowing white gown, just disappearing silently between two enormous tulip trees.
Again, Aron was about to call to her, but he stopped himself. Was she meeting someone? He had to know. He decided to follow and catch her in the act. He rushed back into his cottage, grabbed his stick, and hurried out to catch up to his daughter.
He passed between the two tulip trees and found himself on a path, one that he had not even known existed. It was narrow, virtually covered with fern fronds, but it was illuminated clearly by the full moon, for there was a slit in the tree canopy that followed the path exactly.
Aron failed to see his daughter, but he walked along the bending path, confident it would take him to her. Using his walking stick for its intended purpose, he proceeded as quickly as he could without making too much noise. All around him, just a step away to his right or left, was the gloomy forest. Only those trees nearest the path were partly lit, their dark and gray trunks marking his way. Behind them, the trees were cast in shadow. And farther from the path still, the trees were in total blackness.
The croaking of frogs grew louder, and soon he came to a small glade, in the middle of which was a pond. Petal was standing on its bank near an old beaver dam, her long white gown bathed in the sky's ghostly light. For several moments she did nothing but gaze at the black water, upon whose surface floated many lily pads, their white blossoms open to the moonshine.
