spied Fred and his sister, and called out, “Dad,
where’s Willoughby?!” He quickly made his way toward them. Jazz,
annoyed at being left with the rug, dumped it on the porch and
using a hockey stick – she’d packed plenty of hockey sticks along
with her luggage - hacked her way through the backyard.
Fred ’s stance changed as Bram approached. He moved slightly
uneasily and Nettle watched one cheek puff out before expelling it
slowly. Nettle gave her father a shrewd look. “Yes, Dad, where is
Willoughby? We found his birdcage, but no bird.”
Bram
arrived. His golden face and trusting blue eyes looked expectantly
up at his father. “Where is he, Dad?”
Fred said it, as gently as he could. “I let him go.”
Both siblings were stunned. “What? But why?” asked Bram.
“This,”
Fred replied, looking around at the trees. “Is his
home.”
Bram’s
confused gaze slipped from his father to Nettle. “But he’s been
with us forever. What if he’s forgotten how to live in the
wild?”
“He’s a
bird, a wild bird, he’ll remember. I couldn’t keep him locked up in
a birdcage any longer. Not once we got back here. It wouldn’t be
right,” their father answered.
Nettle
slipped an arm around her brother, feeling his shoulder slump
beneath her hand. She shot a sharp glare at her father. He should
have discussed it with them both, before going ahead and letting
their family friend go. Sometimes he was a right idiot.
She gave Bram’s shoulder a gentle shake. “Dad was doing what
was best for Willoughby.”
“Besides,” jumped in Fred, in a desperate attempt to cheer
up his son, “I have a feeling he’ll be back soon.”
“ Why?” Bram’s face crumpled on the verge of tears. He said
with a plaintive tone, “Surely he’s just flown off and forgotten
us.”
“He
hasn’t, OK. So trust me on this, Willoughby will come
home.”
Bram still
didn’t look as if he truly believed his father.
Knowing
her brother, Nettle tried a different tactic. “It’s better for him
to be free, isn’t it, and visit us from time to time?”
Bram chewed on
his bottom lip thoughtfully. “Guess so.”
Jazz,
huffing and puffing and walking with a decided air of disgust at
having to deal with the unpleasantness of being outdoors, arrived.
“What’s going on?”
“Dad let
Willoughby go,” said Bram, his bottom lip pouting.
Jazz
gave a scornful laugh. “Is that all?”
Nettle gave Jazz a blistering glare. Jazz caught her look
and silently returned - well-it’s-true . Nettle sighed softly . Jazz really was a block-head at the
best of times. She needed to change the subject fast. Her father saved her
the trouble.
“So has everyone finished their schoolwork?” asked Fred.
With the
endless travelling the Blackthorn’s did, the two siblings completed
their work by correspondence. They missed out on the school
experience and making friends their own age, but quickly finishing
their schoolwork in the morning and having the afternoon to explore
the latest town they’d found themselves in certainly made up for
it.
Bram
answered, “Dad, it’s the school holidays. Besides, you told us to
tidy the cottage.”
“Oh,
right, right. How’s that going?”
“Forced
child labour is illegal, Uncle Fred. Just so you know,” Jazz said
twisting her hockey stick around in her hands.
Bram
rolled his eyes. “You haven’t exactly done much, Jazz, just moaned
a lot.”
“Did
too!” She fluttered a hand in front of him. “I chipped two nails
dragging that awful rug out of the house.”
Nettle
pulled a face behind Jazz’s back that made Bram laugh. Jazz quickly
spun around, but only caught Nettle’s quick change of expression to
commiseration. She glared at her cousin suspiciously.
“Come
on,” urged Fred. “You three back inside, there’s plenty more work
to be done in the cottage.”
All
three groaned and gave Fred varying looks of annoyance. Nettle led
the way across the backyard toward Blackthorn
where’s Willoughby?!” He quickly made his way toward them. Jazz,
annoyed at being left with the rug, dumped it on the porch and
using a hockey stick – she’d packed plenty of hockey sticks along
with her luggage - hacked her way through the backyard.
Fred ’s stance changed as Bram approached. He moved slightly
uneasily and Nettle watched one cheek puff out before expelling it
slowly. Nettle gave her father a shrewd look. “Yes, Dad, where is
Willoughby? We found his birdcage, but no bird.”
Bram
arrived. His golden face and trusting blue eyes looked expectantly
up at his father. “Where is he, Dad?”
Fred said it, as gently as he could. “I let him go.”
Both siblings were stunned. “What? But why?” asked Bram.
“This,”
Fred replied, looking around at the trees. “Is his
home.”
Bram’s
confused gaze slipped from his father to Nettle. “But he’s been
with us forever. What if he’s forgotten how to live in the
wild?”
“He’s a
bird, a wild bird, he’ll remember. I couldn’t keep him locked up in
a birdcage any longer. Not once we got back here. It wouldn’t be
right,” their father answered.
Nettle
slipped an arm around her brother, feeling his shoulder slump
beneath her hand. She shot a sharp glare at her father. He should
have discussed it with them both, before going ahead and letting
their family friend go. Sometimes he was a right idiot.
She gave Bram’s shoulder a gentle shake. “Dad was doing what
was best for Willoughby.”
“Besides,” jumped in Fred, in a desperate attempt to cheer
up his son, “I have a feeling he’ll be back soon.”
“ Why?” Bram’s face crumpled on the verge of tears. He said
with a plaintive tone, “Surely he’s just flown off and forgotten
us.”
“He
hasn’t, OK. So trust me on this, Willoughby will come
home.”
Bram still
didn’t look as if he truly believed his father.
Knowing
her brother, Nettle tried a different tactic. “It’s better for him
to be free, isn’t it, and visit us from time to time?”
Bram chewed on
his bottom lip thoughtfully. “Guess so.”
Jazz,
huffing and puffing and walking with a decided air of disgust at
having to deal with the unpleasantness of being outdoors, arrived.
“What’s going on?”
“Dad let
Willoughby go,” said Bram, his bottom lip pouting.
Jazz
gave a scornful laugh. “Is that all?”
Nettle gave Jazz a blistering glare. Jazz caught her look
and silently returned - well-it’s-true . Nettle sighed softly . Jazz really was a block-head at the
best of times. She needed to change the subject fast. Her father saved her
the trouble.
“So has everyone finished their schoolwork?” asked Fred.
With the
endless travelling the Blackthorn’s did, the two siblings completed
their work by correspondence. They missed out on the school
experience and making friends their own age, but quickly finishing
their schoolwork in the morning and having the afternoon to explore
the latest town they’d found themselves in certainly made up for
it.
Bram
answered, “Dad, it’s the school holidays. Besides, you told us to
tidy the cottage.”
“Oh,
right, right. How’s that going?”
“Forced
child labour is illegal, Uncle Fred. Just so you know,” Jazz said
twisting her hockey stick around in her hands.
Bram
rolled his eyes. “You haven’t exactly done much, Jazz, just moaned
a lot.”
“Did
too!” She fluttered a hand in front of him. “I chipped two nails
dragging that awful rug out of the house.”
Nettle
pulled a face behind Jazz’s back that made Bram laugh. Jazz quickly
spun around, but only caught Nettle’s quick change of expression to
commiseration. She glared at her cousin suspiciously.
“Come
on,” urged Fred. “You three back inside, there’s plenty more work
to be done in the cottage.”
All
three groaned and gave Fred varying looks of annoyance. Nettle led
the way across the backyard toward Blackthorn
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