It's not that Teakettle was perfect, by any stretch of the imagination. Prone to scratch at the bedroom door, to beg for a bit of food at suppertime, and occasionally known for stealing Brandy's stockings, Teakettle suffered chastisements oft. But, alas, she was perfect for Brandy. An Irish Setter of such mild temperament, even a perfectly horrible person could not prod her into baring her teeth, unless his intent was to harm her owner. The two frolicked about as chickens in the coop.
Many a sunny afternoon found Brandy and Teakettle roaming the shores, searching for bits of coral, seashells, or brightly colored rocks to add to her collection. Upon turning twelve, Anna allowed her a bit of freedom in the afternoons. Early in the morn, Brandy saw to her own education, working at arithmetic or learning history from her mother. Mondays she worked with Dr. Parker, learning about medicine. But every afternoon, Brandy had to herself.
This day, Brandy scoured the surface of the water, looking for a glimpse of her beloved canine. Her heart pounded so fiercely, she could scarcely catch her breath. She felt the sting of brimming tears threatening to set her face awash.
At the last possible moment, she caught a glimpse of something. A bit of cloth Brandy kept tied to Teakettle's scruffy neck flashed on the horizon. She slid out of her heavy gown and into the chilly water of the bay. The twinge of guilt she felt for disobeying her mother's orders not to swim alone was quickly erased by the urgency of the moment.
Brandy never took her eyes off of that pink spot on the break of the waves. She swam until her arms burned from the effort, and still she kept swimming. Ever onward she pressed, impatient now with the distance that still separated them. She screamed at herself, "Faster, you must swim faster!"
At last, her fingers curled around the orangey-red fur and dragged Teakettle's nose to the surface of the water. Kicking with all her might, she struggled to keep them both afloat. An outcropping of rocks loomed above the water line too many feet from her.
She dragged the lifeless body behind her as she swam with all her might to reach safety. Just high enough, it was, to let her kneel, and be half out of the water. Teakettle did not respond to her cries. She lugged her onto her lap, and cleared the water from Teakettle's lungs. Brandy pressed her ear to Teakettle's mouth, to see if she was breathing. But Teakettle lay lifeless across Brandy's knees, and her tongue hung out the side of her mouth.
Sobbing into Teakettle's coat of fur, Brandy lost her balance. A wave crashed against her, knocking the two into the icy water. Brandy's head hit the rock, knocking her unconscious...
The sand was cold beneath her fingers, but her face was warm and wet. An incessantly licking tongue would not stop washing away the saltwater from Brandy's face. Teakettle stood protectively over her and continued her onslaught. Brandy threw her arms around the dog, and dragged her none to gently to the sand, with a grip so tight Teakettle wiggled to get air. She wriggled with delight, and Brandy started to laugh. Then to cry. A close call, it had been.
Smoothing her hair as best she could, Teakettle's relieved owner led her back to the lovely flat around the corner from her mother's dress shop. She hoped her mother still lingered at the shop, for she would receive a stiff scolding for the swim. The key turned in the latch, and the darkness of her home brought her an immediate sense of relief.
Brandy swiftly moved to the bedroom to brush out her long, red hair. She sat on her stool, before a long mirror, trying to bring order from chaos. Her hair was matted, and Brandy twice yelped in pain as she dragged her mother's ivory handled brush through it. A scalp more tender than her own, Brandy could not imagine. She hated brushing it herself, preferring the gentle, patient hand of her mother. The sun caught a strand of it, and it shone like copper.
Her mother frequently commented on her bronze locks of hair, murmuring how her father need not have gone off to search for treasure, when a trove of bronze and copper had been placed as a crown upon his daughter's head.
After much ado she looked reasonably neat and set her attention to preparing the evening meal. Mrs. Farnsworth had taken the day off. A kindly woman, though her wrinkled visage made one think otherwise, whose hands, gnarled from a disease that brought with it much discomfort, occasionally kept her from her duties as chef of the Chase household.
Brandy hummed as she took down the small barrel of cornmeal, intent on her mother arriving home to a warm meal. As Brandy lit candles, Anna's key slipped into the lock.
Anna, delighted to find corncakes with hot syrup, sausage, and fried potatoes awaiting her, praised her daughter's efforts. Brandy flushed with pride and wrapped her arms tightly about her mother's neck. The golden ringlets framed her delicate features, and Brandy thought there did not exist a woman more beautiful than her mother.
Her mother tasted a bit of Johnny Cake and moaned.
"Tsk, Tsk. We should have prayer first," Brandy reminded her mother.
A look of remorse washed across Anna's face, as she set what was left of her temptation onto her plate.
"Of course we should."
With grace said, the two sat around the cherry dining table and spoke of their day. Brandy, careful not to mention Teakettle's close call, gave her mother an animated description of the shells she'd collected, and Anna seemed not to notice her daughter's demure behavior.
"Mother, it has been ages since you last propounded a story for me. Perhaps we could move to the divan after supper, and you could share another tale of Willow and Laurel with me."
"I suppose it would be a welcome rest from the day's work. Let us finish up the supper dishes first."
"Of course." Brandy eagerly began clearing away the dishes, and Anna served herself a bit more before the platters disappeared for scrubbing.
In the fashion she carried over from childhood, Brandy lay across Anna's lap, and hung her now long and gangly legs off the edge of the divan. She swung them happily, anticipating a new adventure, a tale of the Butterfly Girls.
Her mother's proficiency at storytelling never ceased to capture Brandy's attention. And so she began...
)
Two daughters. Two adventures. One day. Out in the middle of the grog with no torch and no help, Laurel fights her way through the tall grass. No one had to tell her that the pouch around her neck might be the salvation of the entire Butterfly Colony. Moving on instinct and with determination will be the only way she stays alive. The daughter of a dress shop owner, too, risks her own life to save a friend. Without a chance observation, her mother mightn't have known, but alas ... the door has been opened to another world, and it might take some time for mother and daughter to discover its full import.
