Return to Blueberry Wood

It was indeed a wicked Winter that year. The Mole closed the bank
after a week of constantly clearing the snow from his door, and he and
his wife slept their way through until Spring. Simper, the village
mayor, declared a state of emergency - although the elders laughed it
all off with tales of far harsher Winters from their youth, when the
snow was infinitely thicker and deeper and food even harder to find.
Amper, the oldest grandam of all, even told of a year when the sun had
given up shining, the sky had been so cold, but nobody really believed
her. Amper was always telling them stories, and most of them were
probably true, but the thought of the sun disappearing altogether
filled everyone present dread. So they dismissed it as no more than a
fairy tale and whispered that Amper was getting even scattier as her
Woodgiven Years wore on.

But for Spinky the story was true. Only it wasn't some legend of times
long since passed, for Spinky it was the Winter upon them. That whole
first night he wept over the remains of Lily's present, too afraid to
touch the scattered shards, too angry with himself to lay down the key
that dug into his hand he held it so tight. The whole night he
despaired at the coming of Winter, but not as much as he dreaded the
Spring that would bring him once more to the lake where he would have
to tell Lily what happened.

And the whole night, the old Mole sat staring into his huge log fire
while his sprouts and blueberry chutney lay untouched by his
side.

In the morning Spinky returned to the bank, offering his mother no
explanation for the misery he was in - though she needed no explanation
at all. Determined to collect his own heart and dash it to pieces in
sorrow, he knocked on the big wooden door and rested his head on its
frost-covered frame as, once more, he started to cry. He was there for
only an instant before the door swung open and the old Mole rushed him
inside.

"So you have the key, my boy," said the old Mole excitedly. "What in
the wood took you so long?"

Spinky told him the news. The Mole sank into his seat, gesturing for
Spinky to do the same. They stared at the fire in silence.

As the fire crackled away and fresh snow began to fall outside, Mrs
Mole entered the room. Ferrying a tray of warm milk and scones, she
glided from the doorway to her husband's side without so much as a
sound.

"Ah, so this is the young man you've been fretting about," she observed
as she laid down the tray. "So, why the long faces?"

Spinky and the old Mole looked at each other, afraid to tell her in
case doing so made it more real.

"Well, did you bring back the key or not?" she asked impatiently.

Spinky held up the key.

"So what are you waiting for?" she tutted with her hands on her hips.
"Scared to take your heart back and carry it through a little bit of
snow, are we?"

"It's broken," Spinky told her meekly.

"The key? Doesn't look broken to me, my love."

"No, the heart she gave him," her husband informed her.

"Nonsense!" she cried. "Nothing's so broken as can't be fixed. You seem
to be forgetting something, Moley my dear. Remember the time I dropped
yours in the sink, while I was doing the washing up? Or that evening
last Winter, when you knocked mine off the mantelpiece after all that
mulled wine and brandy? We soon had them fixed up good as new, didn't
we, lover?"

Spinky looked back and forth between them, his eyes widening with
hope.

"Yes, but the young boy doesn't know what he's doing," said the banker,
shaking his tired, monocled head.

"And you think you do?" she brought him up short.

He looked at her blankly.

"Don't worry, dear," she smiled, patting her husband warmly on the
head. "You do a pretty good job of it, really. Not as good as you do
with your banking, which is something I've learned to live with, but
you do me proud all the same.

"And as for this little fellow, he has every hope in the wood. All he
needs is to buck his fretful ideas up. He should quit moping around
here, for a start. I don't know... the two of you sitting there,
staring at the fire and pondering how dreadful it all is, when all the
while the snow's getting thicker and thicker outside.

"Now, take this key," she demanded, snatching the silver source of
Spinky's misery from his hand, "And fetch this young man his
heart."

The Mole took the key from his wife and disappeared into the darkness.
A series of clanks, clatters and clicks later, he was back with
Spinky's father's box in hand.

"Now, you take this," said Mrs Mole, snatching the box from her husband
and handing it to Spinky, "And take it to your beautiful Lily. Quickly,
mind, but not so quick as to risk bringing it or yourself to any harm.
And as soon as you're done, you get yourself back here and get to work
on that pile of pieces you've left back at home."

Spinky stared at her, box in hands, desperate for something to
say.

"Well, don't just stand there like a lost earwig," she glared, wrists
on hips. "Get out there and do something."

He nodded stupidly and hurried out into the cold, forgetting to close
the door behind him but forgiven, just this once, by the smiling couple
within.

Spinky made his way through the woods, following the snow-covered
trails that only yesterday had brought him home with Lily's gift held
tight. Shrouded in white, the forest was an eerie place and Spinky soon
grew afraid. The box grew heavier and heavier under his arm, and he
found himself swapping arms more and more frequently and stopping often
to gather his breath.

By the time he reached the lake, he was seriously thinking he didn't
have the strength to go on. He stopped for a moment, and sat on the
box, rubbing his icy fingers together.

"You want to be careful with that, little tiger," came a voice from
just over his shoulder. "You only get the one and we wouldn't want it
freezing up in such a cold and desolate place."

Spinky turned to see the Bedouin striding toward him, wrapped from head
to toe in thick, white cloth. Behind him on the path stood a snow-white
stallion, saddled with all of the Bedouin's belongings.

"Here, let me give you a ride, little one," said the mysterious
wanderer, reaching out a leather-gloved hand. Then he lifted Spinky and
his box in one, carried them over to his horse and swung gracefully
into the saddle.

"Now," he said when Spinky was comfortable. "Where do we want to
go?"

Spinky reeled off the list of directions through his chattering teeth
and they arrived at the village in no time. The place was deathly
silent and there wasn't a person in sight, since everyone was afraid of
the Bedouin, but Lily's loving descriptions of her home were enough to
lead Spinky straight to it. The Bedouin lowered him down from the
horse, and Spinky crept up to Lily's window. Then he placed the box
beneath it, knocked on the frosted glass and hid in a nearby bush,
where he waited for her to appear.

The sight of her face at the window was almost too much for him. She
looked so terribly sad and nearly ran from his hiding place to console
her. But then she caught sight of the box, and her face brightened up
with a smile. She leaned out of the window to lift it inside, and he
felt his belly go all warm and tingly. He blew her the smallest of
kisses and crept back to the Bedouin's horse.

The Bedouin dropped him off at the edge of his village, and Spinky
rushed to the bank to offer his thanks before heading home. The Moles
were clearly delighted to know he was back safe and sound.
Nevertheless, Mrs Mole insisted he miss milk and scones and get
straight back home. After all, he had his own mother to feed him and
plenty of work to do.

Hungry and thirsty but ever obedient, Spinky did as she said. But,
although he smiled at his mother to ease her concern, he didn't stop
for a second for food. Instead, he ran straight to his room. And there
on the floor, damaged but clearly not broken, and surrounded by
beautiful tiger lilies, lay Lily's delicate gift.

So Spinky's Winter was bleak. But it wasn't because of the shattered
heart that had lain on the floor of his bedroom that very first night.
It was because the deep drifts of snow that soon formed outside seemed
to block out all hope of the Spring. And not once through that Winter
did the sun ever shine for him, but he remembered her face all the
same, as he sat at the frost-covered window, spending every last moment
fixing the dents in her heart.