“Ow! You cheated! That isn’t fair.” Peter flails, clawing, but her mother ignores him.
She drags Peter close, her voice dropping to something low and ugly, almost unrecognizable.
“Life isn’t fair. You learn that when you grow up.”
Peter’s cheeks color like he’s about to cry. Jane’s mother turns to Arthur, who stands slack-jawed and staring. Her mother gestures to the boy by Tiger Lily’s side.
“Take him and get out of here.” When Arthur doesn’t move, Jane’s mother lunges forward, her teeth bared. “Now!”
Arthur scrambles to obey, grabbing the other boy’s arm when Tiger Lily lets go. They run, not even looking back at Peter. They’re cowards, Jane thinks. She knows Peter has been beastly to them, but Arthur and the other boy are meant to be his friends. Shouldn’t they have at least some loyalty to him? Or maybe that’s the problem. Peter doesn’t have friends, only people he orders around.
Timothy told her that Arthur and the others never remember the horrible things Peter does. If they did, would they be happy here? Maybe some part of them does remember, and that’s why they run.
“Jane.” Her mother speaking her name draws her attention. “Take those swords. I need you to guard the entrance.”
“Yes, Mama.” Jane bends to pick up Arthur’s dropped sword.
Something about Peter’s blade makes her uneasy, and she doesn’t want to touch it. She can’t see where Tiger Lily kicked the other boy’s sword, but it doesn’t matter. Even if she handed one of the weapons to Timothy, he wouldn’t take it, determined that he’s been “kilt” by Arthur’s sword all because of Peter and his ridiculous rules.
She wants to ask her mother what she means to do, tell her that this all feels wrong, but surely her mother knows. Surely after coming so far to find her, her mother would never do anything to put them in more danger. Moving on stiff legs, Jane crosses to stand next to Timothy. The sword feels strange in her hand, lighter than she expected, but still awkward. What if Arthur comes back and brings the others? What if she has to use the blade?
“No matter what you hear, don’t come any deeper into the cave. Do you understand me?” Her mother’s expression is the same she used to summon Peter to her side. Still caught in her mother’s grip, Peter looks stricken, miserable. Jane swallows hard.
She nods, not trusting herself to speak; the look in her mother’s eyes frightens her. What’s deeper in the cave? What does her mother mean to do? Peter’s eyes widen, his body ever so slightly trembling. He glances at Jane, and for a moment, his expression turns imploring, as though she might stand with him against her mother. Jane quickly looks away.
“Let’s go.” Tiger Lily tilts her head, indicating the direction of the orange glow.
A look of fear passes over her mother’s face, lightning-brief, then she nods at Tiger Lily. Jane bristles. Why should this stranger go with her mother, while she must wait here? Jane glances down at Timothy. He’s a small, pale shape in the dark. Her mother can take care of herself, but Timothy cannot. It isn’t that Jane is abandoning her mother, or even the other way around. Jane lifts her chin, putting her shoulders back. She is choosing this. She will stay behind for Timothy.
She sits, putting her arm around him. Timothy’s expression is grateful, but even so, Jane’s heart sinks as she watches her mother and Tiger Lily drag Peter deeper into the cave.
“What do you think will happen now?” Timothy’s voice is small, but Jane still startles. Even with his weight pressed against her, she’d nearly forgotten he was there, her mind so taken up with worry for her mother.
She resists the urge to ask him how he can talk if he’s been killed, pointing out the illogic of Peter’s rules once more. In truth, she’s glad for Timothy’s voice. It’s something to listen to other than the sound of their breathing, the sound of her mother and Tiger Lily’s footsteps fading into the dark. Jane shifts, trying to get more comfortable on the stone, but there’s no comfort to be had.
“I don’t know.” It’s the only answer she can give. She wishes she had even some idea of what her mother had planned, but she’s at a loss. And she still can’t shake the feeling something terrible is about to happen.
“Jane?” Timothy’s voice is even softer than before.
She turns to look at him. He isn’t looking her way but staring straight ahead. Something in his fixed expression makes his eyes look sunken, the shadows around them deeper. Even his body leaned against hers seems rigid and cold, and she has to force herself not to shudder.
“What is it?”
“I think I remember.”
The way Timothy says the words makes Jane’s heart flutter, like it’s a live creature, jumping around in her chest and wanting to escape.
“Remember what?”
“Before I was here.” His words are halting, and he continues to stare straight ahead. She doesn’t want him to go on, but it would be unfair to tell him to stop just because she’s afraid.
“You can tell me, if you want. If it would help.”
Timothy’s breath comes more rapidly, his shoulders hitching beneath the pressure of her arm. His expression is fearful, but at the same time, the words seem too big for him, too much to hold back.
“There was a little wooden boat someone made for me. We went to sail it in the pond at the bottom of the big field. The grass grew up so tall we couldn’t see the house anymore.”
Jane holds her breath, dread filling her. She wants even more now for Timothy to stop, but her tongue sticks to the roof of her mouth; she can’t get it to work at all.
“The boat got caught. I thought I could reach it with a stick, but I slipped.” Timothy trembles harder now. There’s
