by M. J. Haag
“Do not turn. Stay as you are.” He sounded angry. Beyond angry, actually. His growl was so severe it was hard to understand him.
I stayed still, staring at the flames while I strained to hear him move. Suddenly he spoke from right behind me as he gently touched my hair, his tone conflicting with his touch.
“Your payment went to waste.”
Unsure what he meant, I remained quiet. He touched a tender spot near the crown of my head, and I flinched.
“Hurt again, girl?”
“Benella,” I murmured, very uncomfortable with him standing so close behind me.
“Not a pretty name,” he said with less of a growl.
“It’s after my father and mother,” I said slowly as his touch feathered over my head as if trying to find where I was hurt. “My mother had hoped after two daughters, the third would be a boy and planned to name him after my father, Benard. When I arrived, she’d been so upset that my father had suggested I still carry part of his name and hers as well, Nadelle. Benella is better than Nadard.”
The beast gave a surprised grunt, and he parted my hair. I knew what he intended and leaned forward out of his way.
“I cannot accept any more from you without knowing the price.”
He snorted.
“I give this freely.” He tugged me back and touched his tongue to my head for a second time. I wondered what he’d do if he got a strand of hair in his mouth, but then supposed licking my head wasn’t so different from licking his own furry hide.
It soothed the bare patches so much that I began to doze and leaned back against him. His warmth cradled me, and I fell asleep.
* * * *
At some point during the night, strangely muffled sounds of cawing roused me from a deep sleep. Curled on my side, I snuggled deeper into the pile of furs lying under me. From the darkness, something growled softly and silenced the bird as a large, warm hand soothed my hair. I sank back into my slumber.
In the morning, I stretched with a yawn and groaned. The cold cobble floor made me ache, and I sat up with a shiver and a frown. Hadn’t there been a pile of furs last night? Studying the kitchen, lit now by the sun that shone through several windows set high on the walls, I saw only my dress, boots, and underthings. No furs.
Recalling the hand on my head, my mouth popped open. The beast. I sprang to my feet and looked around, the shirt brushing my legs. Everything clicked back into place, and I hurried to dress as I worried what Father might be thinking.
I hesitated to take the shirt as I couldn’t remember how I’d asked for it. Unsure if it really belonged to me now or not, I folded it neatly and set it on the broken table with a look of regret.
* * * *
When I walked into the cottage looking disheveled, Bryn only spared me a censuring glance; and I knew I’d arrived in an untidy state too often in recent days. She washed dishes in a small tub on a plank counter near the stove. The table was empty and only the lingering hint of cooked food perfumed the air.
“Go borrow one of Father’s shirts. You’ll need to wash your dress before you can wear it anywhere. Father wants us looking presentable tonight. We’re to dine with the Kinlyn family.” Her flat tone told me what she thought of the idea, so I didn’t ask any questions about why we were going. At least I would get to eat.
Father’s bedroom door stood open, the trunk for his clothes at the foot of his bed clearly visible. Feeling intrusive, I knelt before the trunk and tipped the lid back. I hadn’t ever looked in Father’s trunk, as I never did the laundry. Bryn washed everything, folded it, and tucked it neatly away.
Inside the trunk, two distinct piles of clothes defined my father’s sad wardrobe. On the right, his two neatly folded white shirts and spare pair of trousers waited for their next use. The left pile doubled what the right had to offer with the addition of two neckcloths, worn and frayed, lying on top. Everything in the left pile had been patched or mended in some way. Loose threads dangled from frayed sleeve cuffs and patches adorned knees.
Carefully moving aside the neckcloths, I took the top shirt from the mended pile and shook it out. It would service for wearing on my treks in the woods and for around the cottage. I placed the neckcloths neatly back into the trunk and closed the lid.
In my room, I glanced once at Blye’s trunk of cloth and pushed back my resentment. I knew she mended his clothes and did a good job of it too, but she could easily make Father a new shirt. Was it fair to resent her when I’d ignored my own opportunity to help Father? After all, I’d slept in a very fine shirt Father could have used. Granted, it would have been a bit large, but Blye could make a shirt smaller. She’d proven that already.
Dressed in my familiar trousers and a borrowed, threadbare shirt, I bunched up my dress and took it outside where Bryn usually did the washing in good weather. Then, I began the long process of hauling water and soaping, scrubbing, twisting, and rinsing the dress. The process had to be repeated several times until the cloth began to look blue again. Giving it a final wring, I tossed it over a line Bryn had tied outside and wiped my hands on my pants.
My stomach growled, and I eyed the sky. Inside, the cottage remained quiet, and I wondered where Blye had gone. Wrinkling my nose at the thought of going inside, I set off walking east away from the village and the estate to see what the woods might offer me to eat. Though my intentions to stay away from the estate were pure, my mind kept going back to the shirt and the cheese; and soon, my feet were taking me north.
First, I checked the ground by the tumbled rock and found peas growing so thick that the plants twined together into a solid blanket. I stopped to pick a few, nibbling them to take the edge off my hunger, then stuffed a handful into each pocket, regretting my lack of a bag.
Continuing on, I walked the perimeter of the wall until I reached the gate, which swung open in a slow, loud arc to announce my presence. Assuming nothing, I stayed standing outside of the estate and looked over my shoulder, eyeing the peaceful trees behind me. Shadows claimed those nearest the estate, but in the distance I could make out some sun dappled branches.
Swallowing hard and hoping no one stood near enough to hear, I looked back into the shadowy estate and called out, “Are you there?”
Silence answered me.
“The shirt...I left it because I wasn’t sure if you meant for me to keep it or not. If you did...” Nothing inside the estate stirred. My stomach growled, and I reached into my pocket for another peapod. I chewed thoughtfully, enjoying the crisp sweetness while wondering if he waited somewhere inside, listening to me.
After several long moments, I gave up and turned back the way I’d come. I harvested more peas and carried home what I’d picked in the loose ends of my shirt.
Leaving all but a handful of my harvest on the kitchen table for Bryn to do with as she would, I secluded myself in Father’s study, picking a book at random to entertain myself until dinner. Occasionally, Bryn or Blye’s quiet voices would break through my concentration, but never long enough to listen to what they said.
Father arrived home and, with a twinkle in his eyes, complimented me on my new shirt. I met his smile with a grin of my own as I replaced the book I’d just finished and went to check on my dress. The damp air hadn’t helped the cloth dry through, so I was forced to wear a slightly soggy dress to the Kinlyn’s.
They lived close to two miles outside of town to the south, a long walk for Bryn and Blye, who never ventured further than the village on foot. Both walked side-by-side quietly matching steps as if on a march. Father and I walked behind them. Other than his cheery greeting to me when I’d returned home, he’d said little. Unlike their subdued moods, I happily looked forward to dinner. Anticipation of a good meal was only part of it. This would be my first official dinner at someone else’s home.
Mrs. Kinlyn, who I’d never met directly but had seen in the village on a few occasions, stood in the doorway of their modest home, watching for us. The trees had been cleared from around the house for quite a di
stance to allow for an animal shed and several fields. Uprooted trees at the edge of the fields, bordering the woods beyond, foretold of bigger fields for next year’s crops.
“Welcome,” Mrs. Kinlyn said with a smile as she motioned for us to enter. She looked close to Father’s age, perhaps a bit older, with windburned, brown skin. Tiny white lines fanned from the corners of her eyes from squinting in the sun. I found her happy smile infectious and smiled in return. My sisters murmured polite greetings.
Inside the square home, a single wall divided the room in half. At one end of the room, a long table with several chairs around it took up most of the space along with the hearth. The other side of the room held the kitchen with a modern iron oven. Two closed doors interrupted the plain wall, and I guessed they led to bedrooms.
At the table, six men sat waiting. Well, almost men since the youngest looked about nine. They all appeared freshly washed, and I bet they wore their best clothes like we did. The Kinlyn children had all inherited their mother’s smile.
“Please, sit. Everything’s ready. Henick, help me with the roast, please,” Mrs. Kinlyn said.
One of the older boys stood to help his mother while Mr. Kinlyn rose to greet Father and shake his hand. Introductions were made. Henick, the oldest at twenty, smiled when his father said his name. Renald, the next at eighteen, nodded politely, his smile never wavering. Kennen, close to my own age, winked at me when his father said his name. I wanted to wink back, but all eyes were on me so I just smiled in return. The introductions ended with Bolen and, finally, Parlen.
Mr. Kinlyn directed us to our seats with Father and me sitting near Mr. and Mrs. Kinlyn, and Bryn and Blye sitting at the other end of the table with Henick and Renald. Seeing the arrangement, I knew I had been correct in the purpose behind the dinner. The youngest, Parlen, sat to my right with Kennen across from me.
I listened with half an ear to Henick and Renald’s attempts to converse with my sisters. They politely asked after the interests of my sisters, but neither answered in enough detail to inspire an intelligent response. So the brothers started explaining about their father’s plans for their crops. I couldn’t understand Bryn and Blye. All of the Kinlyn men were handsome enough and had pleasant natures. Why weren’t they giving them a chance?
“What do you do here, Parlen?” I asked the sandy blonde boy sitting beside me.
He politely wiped his mouth before answering. “When we need to dig around a tree before pulling it, I help with the digging. Otherwise, it’s care for the animals and hunt for game.”
“Really? What do you hunt?” interest spurred me to ask.
“Mostly rabbit and wild hen,” he said. “But once I came this close to bagging a wild pig.” He held his thumb and forefinger up with an inch of space between.
Kennen laughed and picked up the story.
“He’s lucky the pig escaped the trap before he tried to wrestle him down. It had tusks enough to bleed him.”
“Kennen,” Mrs. Kinlyn said in quiet warning.
The only good conversation to be heard and it wasn’t fit for the dinner table. I suppressed a sigh and tried again.
“I trap rabbit, mostly. We don’t have anything else wild so near the village. If I cross the river to the east, I can usually find some type of bird.”
“River?” Parlen perked up.
“It runs south, just east of the village,” I said slowly, trying to visualize how far it might be from the Kinlyn farm. “I’d think you’d run into it less than an hour’s walk east.”
“S’True,” Mr. Kinlyn said in his quiet way. “Runs slow and deep for a bit.”
“Good fishing?” Renald asked with interest. All of the Kinlyn boys watched their father closely.
Mr. Kinlyn laughed slowly.
“Looks like we should rest the trees tomorrow and try for some fish.”
The boys agreed with a laugh. Liking the happy calm atmosphere of their home, I listened to their plans and ate until my stomach ached.
* * * *
The walk home seemed to take longer, but at least we didn’t walk in silence. Father asked Blye what she thought of Renald.
“He seems nice enough, but I’d still like to try to apprentice at a seamstress in Water-On-The-Bridge. The one we visited yesterday wanted to see an example of my work and said she would consider me if it was well done.”
Father nodded without comment and then asked Bryn what she thought of Henick.
“If I marry him, I will die before my time,” Bryn ominously predicted.
I wanted to ask her how she could possibly know when her time was but kept silent.
Father made no comment either.
Seven
The sun set as we followed the main road to the village. In the distance, the baying cry of a lonely dog broke the evening’s quiet. The scuff of our footfalls on the packed earth kept us company.
When we returned home, a large chest rested on the ground in front of our door. Attached to the clasp, a single piece of crisp parchment fluttered in the slight breeze. Father plucked up the paper before any of us could move close enough to read it and brought it inside, heading for his study. Bryn and Blye stared at the chest for a moment, neither moving to touch it. Skirting around it as Father had, I followed him to the study. After a brief delay, I heard Bryn and Blye follow.
“It would appear news of your need to marry has spread,” he mumbled looking troubled. “This note worries me.”
He handed the sheet over for us to read.
Sir,
This trunk is but an example of what I can offer for your daughter should you willingly part with her this very night.
Be warned, once you part, you will never meet again. If you consent, have her await me alone outside your front door in place of the trunk. If I find the trunk as I left it, I will know you have declined.
I couldn’t make sense of the scrawled signature that decorated the bottom of the page.
Neither Bryn nor Blye spoke as they both left to see what the trunk held. Father followed them while I narrowed my eyes on the writing. Who would mysteriously want to take one of them after the sun fell? And the request hinted that he had no desire to meet Father in person.
Setting the letter on Father’s cluttered desk, I slowly followed the sound of an excited squeal.
“Look at this!” Blye cried, pulling out a long length of smooth material that rippled in a cascade when she draped it over her arm.
Leaning close, I eyed the contents of the trunk. Obviously, the mysterious suitor meant for Blye to join him. Neither Bryn nor I had much care for material, though watching Bryn’s appraising gaze, I guessed she might be gaining an appreciation for it.
“I’ve never felt anything so fine,” Blye whispered, gently stroking the fabric. “To wear this...I would feel like a princess.”
“So you’d accept some unknown man?” Bryn asked.
“Wouldn’t you for this kind of wealth?” Blye said with a laugh.
Neither looked at Father, but I watched them all as they spoke. Father studied the contents warily. Blye saw nothing more than the wealth, not even the jealousy in Bryn’s gaze.
“I cannot allow it,” Father said finally.
Blye’s head whipped toward him; her disbelief plain. He held up a hand before she could protest.
“The wealth is alluring, but what if the man or your place in his life is not. I recall Bryn’s words about the Kinlyn’s hard life. They are a happy family with wealth enough of their own, but Bryn knew it wasn’t enough. You know nothing about him, and I fear sending you off into an unknown life without the assurance that I might check on you occasionally.”
Blye said nothing as tears spilled over from her eyes and slowly rolled down her cheeks.
“We will not reject the offer outright, however,” he said. “I will write a reply to leave with the trunk explaining a father’s need for assurances of wellbeing and happiness.”
Blye nodded and began folding the material with Bryn�
�s help as Father turned to retreat into his study once more. Blye could cry her pretty tears, but she was foolish to think wealth enough of a basis to marry a man. Look at the baker. He had plenty of wealth, but would that be enough to lie still each night as he lay beside me? I shivered at the thought. No amount of wealth would make that image pleasant enough to endure.
Leaving them to their cloth, I crept to our room to change from my dress. Having worn it as it finished drying, my skin felt itchy; and I couldn’t wait to put on my loose nightgown and scratch my stomach.
In the dim light of the room, something white stood out on my coverlet. Lighting the single candle stub we reserved for emergencies, I found the shirt I’d worn the night before laid out neatly on my bed. My stomach dipped. The beast had heard me at the gate. But why hadn’t he answered then? Why bring it to the cottage?
Hearing someone approach, I quickly blew out the candle and plucked the shirt from the bed. Blye shuffled into the room and mumbled that she was tired. I left the room, hiding the shirt from her view and knocked on Father’s study.
He called for me to enter in a slightly harassed tone. Feeling guilty for interrupting him, but not wanting either of my sisters to see the shirt before he did, I opened the door and slipped inside.
“I’m sorry for interrupting, but I wanted to give this to you.” I held out the shirt.
When he looked up from his writing and his eyes focused on what I held, he set his ink aside. “Not from the chest, but just as fine,” he deduced. “Where did it come from?”
“The estate,” I said without reservation. I’d gathered so many odd things from the enchanted estate it rarely drew any notice when I came home with something new. Though, everything in the past had been something to eat.
“This is a surprise. Tell me how you came by it exactly,” he said, standing and taking it from me. He studied it closely, missing my blush.
I couldn’t retell all of the details, just enough to appease his curiosity.
