by Jill Cooper
“There’s a traitor among us here in Rottenwood.” Rather than speak aloud, the Dark Lord Creighton had a way of projecting his voice into your head that was terrifying. Could he read what we thought?
I was terrified. Was I the traitor? Did he know about the books? Was he able to see it in me sure as I felt the weight of them in my bag? It had to be me.
It had to be.
“Those who keep the word of the ministers and my hunters need not be afraid.”
I blinked as his robe stopped in front of me. Clenching my teeth, my chin quivered, and my insides cried with fear. It was me. He was going to take me away, do horrible things to me to make an example of me. I just knew it.
I cast a sidelong glance at George and blinked back my tears. He started to move his hand toward mine and I shouted in my mind for him to stop. At just the right moment, a woman screamed in the distance and the bell chimed again, allowing us to lift our heads and sit back on our heels.
Rubbing my neck, I watched as three hunters dragged a woman behind them on a chain. She was my mother’s age. Her name was Kimmy Galesale. Not lucky enough to provide a service other than repairing wagons, her face showed signs of wrinkles and age beyond her years.
As people started to sit back on their heels, George and I followed suit. I looked on with equal measures horror and relief as Kimmy fought against her chains. She struggled to break free and the hunters tossed her onto the ground right in front of the Dark Lord Creighton. My heart quickened as they formed a single row in front of the minister’s building, leaving her alone with the dark lord.
One at a time they each raised their swords. I quivered and shook at the thought she might be executed right in front of us without warning.
The Dark Lord bent and gathered her hair in his skeletal hand, twisting her head back. Kimmy screamed, and her hurried breath puffed visibly through the air. I wasn’t permitted to look away, but I desperately wanted to.
“The good citizens of Rottenwood would not sit still for your treachery. Admit your crimes.”
She cried, her face twisted, and mouth opened wide. “Forgive me, my Liege!”
“They confess to hearing you mock your lord and the ministers. Do you deny the charge?”
“No, please. I throw myself at your mercy. I have a son. A husband….” she brought her hands together in a promise and a prayer and the dark lord pulled his arm back, straightening out his blade, angling it toward her chest.
Tears fell from my eyes. As Kimmy’s screams turned into pained anguish, I sobbed silently, George’s eyes were the only things that grounded me until the bells chimed three times in unison.
I dropped to my knees, my forehead to the pavement again and I let me sorrow out in waves as I chanted with the crowd.
“The Dark Lord Creighton is great in his protection. He is great in his majesty. He gives us all and he may take it away. The Dark Lord Creighton…”
George’s fingers stroked mine and all I could think of were the books I carried and how Kimmy’s fate could have been mine. I had done far worse than she had, far worse. I knew that, yet I hadn’t stopped.
I wasn’t sure if I could stop, but now, faced with what the future would hold for me, how could I do anything else?
****
What little sun we had, set by the time the crowd was allowed to disperse. Silence hung over us as everyone made their way home and I stuck close to George. Quiet as we were, his company was welcome as I made out my parents not far in the distance. Poppa saw me first, his portly appearance easy to see, and his eyes widened with gladness as I rushed toward them.
Momma, beautiful Momma, in her brown dress. She moved slower with a limp than she once did, and she wore tired lines around her eyes from what we had endured. George shook both of their hands as they stopped short of embracing me, but I saw the gladness in their faces and my heart ached to leap into their arms.
“It’s good to see you are finally home, Abby.” Momma stroked my cheek and she offered me a pursed-lipped smile.
“We’ll talk there,” Poppa said with a stern glance. “George, son, go be with your family. It’s something we all need tonight.”
George nodded and gave me a parting glance, his eyes saying more than he ever could. “Until tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow,” I agreed with a nod then watched him go, my heart yearning for so much more.
“Abby,” Poppa’s voice held a warning quality to it, “let’s get home so we can have a little talk, all right?”
“Yes, Poppa.” I swallowed hard and fell in time behind my parents. Poppa supported Momma’s elbow as they walked, and she rubbed the small of her back. To show such physical vulnerability suggested she was in great pain. I knew how she felt, bent over on my knees had put a real crick in my back.
“Did you seek out George even before coming to find us at home?” Poppa asked. “We were up all night wondering about you.”
“He found me on my way home. I just got off the train.” I swallowed and gazed around at everyone and realized I had pulled my messenger bag in tight to my body. “I’m sorry I was late, Poppa. Last night, the earlier train derailed, and it took some time for them to clean it up. If I had a homing pigeon, I would’ve sent word.”
My joke landed on deaf ears as we returned home to my father’s herbal remedies shop. The overhead bell tinged as I opened the door. The sweet smell of peppermint and the rustic twang of sage greeted me.
The space was small but there was a counter with glass jars and boxes filled with herbs, ointments and potions to fix ailments of the everyday variety. A small table by the window was where old-timers often sat, enjoying a cup of my father’s specially harvested tea. It was about as creative as we’re allowed to be.
Once we were inside, Poppa drew the shades down tight and Momma stood in the center of the room, with her arms open. She waited for him to return and they both embraced me. I rested my head on Momma’s chest and breathed in deep, smelling her cinnamon scent that must’ve been from baking. I reveled in the comfort as Poppa’s warm arms plopped against my body.
“We’re glad to have you home, dear one.” Poppa smiled as he took off his glasses and tears filled his eyes. “After what we just witnessed, I think we will only say be careful on your journeys.”
“I will.”
“I’m sorry you have to be the one to make them. Ever since we lost Tim…” Momma gazed past Poppa at the window, as though Tim was just outside, hurrying on his way. But we all knew what happened to him—no one had seen his body turned to ash, but we had all heard the stories. Everyone knew what happened if you crossed a hunter.
“It’s good practice for when I have my own merchant shop.”
Momma sighed and muttered under her breath and Poppa put his hand on my shoulder. “It’ll be George’s shop, Abby, you know that. Your job…”
“Will be in the kitchen,” Momma said sternly. “Cooking, cleaning, raising your child. Please remember that, Abby. Once you are wed—”
“I won’t forget.” How could I with everyone reminding me all the time?
Momma and Poppa exchanged glances. “Keep to ourselves. We stay inside and do what it is we need to do until our Majesty, the Dark Lord, moves on to another town.” Momma folded her hands together. “When he’s here, my bones do nothing but chill with fright.”
“Me, too, Momma.”
“Good, then you understand. Give your father the supplies you collected, then wash up for dinner. I’m going to need your help tonight, Abby.” Momma didn’t wait for me to answer. Instead she just climbed the stairs behind the counter to our second-floor kitchen. We were lucky to have such a spacious home, but as I watched her wince and move slowly, I wondered if Momma might do better in a smaller space.
“She’s moving slower than usual,” I said with a sinking feeling.
“Kneeling like that is hard on everyone,” Poppa said, but I noticed as he bustled over toward the counter, he didn’t move like it hurt. He didn’t even have a fain
t limp. “She just needs a short rest, you know. She’ll be back in fighting shape in no time.”
I believed his words because I needed to.
Behind the counter, my father climbed the sliding ladder restocking his supply of sage and thistle weed on the back shelves. Candles bolted with brass holders flickered back and forth on the wall and lit his body as he worked late. He never stopped working, did he? Even after what we had just seen, he couldn’t stop.
“Would you look at my wares now, Poppa? I picked up some great new salves. I think you’ll like this custom blend.”
“Yes, yes.” He lost his footing and nearly slid down the ladder.
I shook my head. “Poppa…”
“I know, I know. I need to be more careful.” He took his glasses off as if his health wasn’t a big deal. He cleaned the lenses before turning his attention to me. “Let’s see what you have.”
I opened my satchel in a way that he wouldn’t see inside. I took out the envelope of herbs and the assorted vials, then handed them over.
“Oh, thank you. Thank you….” Poppa went over the supplies and his tone of voice was distracted. “Slim pickings this time, isn't it?” Poppa sighed as he put the vials and herbs away. “It's like the minister doesn't even want healthy anymore.”
Maybe it was easier to control us if we were sick, but I dared not to say it aloud. They were listening, I was sure of it.
“I’ll go out again soon.” I forced a smile. “Pick you up some other things. This time maybe I’ll head to Elmwood. You know they have huge supplies of dried herbs.”
“Don’t be in such a rush to leave again. We just got you back, Abby.” Poppa leaned against the counter and gazed up at me. “Unless you are trying to run away from something.”
“Me? What would I run away from?”
Poppa nodded and walked around the counter to stand beside me. “You’re coming of age soon. A scary time. I remember when I was set to marry your mother. I had a lot of questions no one wanted to answer. What if we didn’t get along or we disliked each other? And…all the rest that goes with it.”
I hoped this conversation wasn’t going where I thought it was. “Poppa, I know about babies and where they’re made. Besides I…” I blushed as I spoke, “…I like George. He’s my friend.”
“Good, that’ll make things easier. But not everything is so easy to deal with. Your mother and I, for better or worse, allowed you to be an independent girl. Being married will be…different.” Poppa sighed. “I just hope we haven’t done you a disservice.”
“George and I will find our way. You’ll see, Poppa.” I squeezed his arm and he squeezed mine back.
“Keep your head down and do your work. Then maybe you won’t catch the minister’s eye.”
“You watch what you say, Robert Taylor.” I gazed past the counter at the small doorway to see my lovely momma wearing a white apron now, with a wooden spoon in her hand.
Poppa’s face reddened. “Sorry, Sandra darling.”
Momma’s face set sternly. “Hurry, Abby. I need your help up here.”
“Coming. I’m just going to wash up and put my things away.”
“Chop chop now, Abby!”
I turned and went down a small hallway that led to three small stairs. Down the stairs was a simple washroom and a dividing wall. Turning around the small division was my room. A mattress on the floor with gray scratchy sheets.
An unlit candle balanced on a slab of wood beside my sleeping spot. I knelt on my mattress and peeled up the corner so I could access the loose plank where I hid my treasures.
Inside were four books and several loose pieces of paper.
I had no illusions that I could change the world, but I just needed to save books. I couldn’t explain it. I just needed to do it just like I needed air to breath.
Three was all I had ever gotten my hands on, but I hoped one day to have many more. The only question was, what would I do with my collection as it grew? For now, I didn't worry. I slid the book out of my satchel, and fitted it tightly with the other books and a few pencils I had stored away. I didn't own a lot of things, but these were my most treasured possessions. To be away from them for even a short while….
I slid the paper Ralph had given me on top and used it to hide the books. Paper would be hard to explain but not as hard as books were. It wasn't safe to leave them in the house while I was away. I knew that but what other choice did I have? I had to hope that my dad's status as a merchant would protect us from the ministers and those who wished Tarnish Rose dead.
****
The kitchen was nothing more than a simple counter and a stovetop. A green curtain separated it from my parents’ small sleep space. A wooden table, dinged from years of use, is where we share the evening meal.
Porridge made from watered-down potatoes and corn was rounded out by some crusted flatbread. It’s simple and lean but it’s more than a lot of people have; we stretched it out as long as possible which sometimes meant adding more water than potatoes.
Poppa dunked his bread into the watery porridge to soften it up, something that never failed to get a rise out of Momma. “Robert Taylor, I’m sitting right here. You know how I feel about that. Now look…porridge is dripping from your mustache. Oh, minister!”
I hid a snicker behind my napkin. Poppa dabbed at his mustache with his finger. “Anything happen on your trip I should know about, Abby? Any trouble?”
Coughing, I took a sip of water. “Pardon? What? No,” my voice rose playfully, “of course not. No trouble.”
“Well, except for the train derailment,” Momma said.
“What?” I asked, then realized what she was talking about. I blinked. “Oh right, but that wasn’t trouble. Just a little bit of…excitement.”
Momma’s eyes widened. “Excitement is nothing but a curse, that much is for sure. Rather have trouble than that.”
With a sigh of relief, Poppa slumped down slightly into his seat. “A normal life is a dull life. That’s our mantra, isn’t it, Sandra?”
Momma nodded. “From your mouth to the workmen’s ears.”
Poppa crumpled up his napkin. “Big day tomorrow. A celebration tomorrow night; we have dinner with George and the Tippins, finalize marriage arrangements. The day after, I’ll need you to head down to the workmen’s center and wait for this week’s ration.”
My feet got sore just thinking about it, but I wouldn’t argue about such an important task. My belly rumbled just to think about all the new yummy food we’d have to eat. “Yes, Poppa.” I forced a smile.
“I’m sorry, Abby,” Momma said. “My back just isn’t what it used to be and all that standing…”
Poppa gave her a sharp look, which didn’t generally happen. I straightened up and stopped chewing my mouthful of potatoes.
“We keep that to ourselves. If the ministers were to think you weren’t pulling your own weight…”
He didn’t need to finish his thought. It horrified me to think the ministers would remove Momma because she couldn’t work the store anymore. She was more important to us than that and the idea that she’d become a forgotten just like Ralph and Mary…. I could never forget her, even if the ministers forced me to.
“I won’t breathe a word of it,” I said.
Poppa nodded happily, then spooned up some more food. “Things will get better once George marries into the family. Less work for all of us.”
George. My stomach tightened into knots at imagining my life as a married woman, dependent on someone who wasn’t family for survival. The idea of being with him, of us having our own place, being able to show each other affection in private…well, it excited me. Yet terrified me.
“And less food to go around.” Momma sighed.
“Until George and I are sent to Iffletown,” I whispered, and a silence fell over the table.
“He’s a good boy, Abby. You’ll be fine, well cared for, and the ministers will provide a shop just for you to get on your feet,” Poppa said.
Momma’s face was crestfallen. “Oh, Abby…. We’ll be permitted to visit when your baby is born, and that occasion will delight us.”
And that was it. I would have a new responsibility, a new family and I’d need to forget about the old? It wasn’t fair—none of it was—and I couldn’t stop the rising of tears or the swelling of the sob in my chest.
“But you’re my family. I want to stay with you.” The pain overtook me, even though I hadn’t realized it was there. I ducked my head down low and covered my face, feeling the tender hand of my father on my shoulder.
“It’ll be all right,” he whispered, but I heard Momma huff.
“To cry over what we cannot control is foolish!” She slid her chair back and its legs slammed into the ground. Startled, I gawked up at her face and saw her eyes held tears, too, but Momma didn’t say anything further. She gathered up some supper dishes and hurried over to the sink to wash them.
“It’s all right to be scared of new things,” Poppa said, “we understand, Abby. More than you know.”
Grateful for his words, I nodded, but it was cut short as Momma hollered from the sink. “Can I get some help in here? Abby, come here. Now.”
Poppa sighed with apparent exasperation. “Sandra, if you could give her a minute.”
“It’s all right.” I dried my tears, picked up my plate and brought it into the kitchen. I knew my mother didn’t like emotions to get the best of her. Momma moved over from the sink and pointed to the cloth in the basin. “Wash those. When you’re done, lay out the bowls for tomorrow morning’s breakfast, and proof the yeast.”
I nodded. “Yes, Momma.”
“Good.” She held her lips rigid together and I wanted to ask her why she was so mad? I had cried; it wouldn’t have been the first time. Instead, I just washed the dishes like I was told and listened to Momma stomp around the kitchen cleaning up while Poppa sat at the table in his chair.
