by Jill Cooper
“Abby! Abby, stop!” My father called to me, but I didn’t stop, I just kept going. I ran to stay ahead of the fear and the loathing I felt for the ministers, and now for my own parents. By the time I entered our shop, I was sobbing. I leaned over the counter and lost myself to something I wasn’t even allowed to feel.
Panic. Desperation.
I just wanted George back. I just wanted him back.
“Abby,” Poppa said quietly as he placed his hands on me in a comforting way, “it’ll be all right.”
“How could you?” I whipped around and pushed him back. “How could you want me to marry him? Them? Did you see how they treated their servant? Didn’t you hear how they talked to me? I mean nothing to them and I’m just a way for them to secure more from the ministers!”
“We won’t have you turn into that servant, you hear?” Momma said sternly. “A spinster who refuses to marry has few choices, Abby.”
“I don’t want to be a spinster. I want George back, Momma. I want George!” My face crumbled.
“I know, sweetheart. I know.” Momma held my face and kissed both of my cheeks. “I wanted him in our family, too, but we must deal with what’s happened. Wishes don’t come true. He’s been sentenced to death for what he’s done. It’s cruel, sad, and part of life. You must move on. You must pick someone new.”
“Why four weeks? Why the rush, Momma? Why?” I wrapped my arms around myself, staring at her, desperate for answers.
“He is coming to age sooner than you are. He must wed, too, which is why his family jumped at this chance. You know what would happen if he didn’t? If you didn’t?”
I nodded. “I’d be a house slave. A spinster.”
“And he’d be a bachelor,” Poppa said. “Which is even worse.”
“Much as we are torn up about George,” Momma’s eyes softened. “We need to protect you.”
“With him?” My heart cried out in pain. “He won’t let me do the things I do now. I’ll never get to visit these places that I visit. Poppa please…”
Poppa nodded and for the first time I saw a glimmer of hope. “We’ve given you freedom, afforded you too much of it. I’m sorry for that, Abby. I’m sorry for all of it.”
He agreed with Momma? My heart sank. I closed my eyes and felt so helpless, trapped between a hard choice and no choice. What could I possibly do now? I had no choice—that was the reality of it.
“Our shops will be joined,” Poppa said with a rush of excitement. “If we play our hand right with the ministers, we’ll get a servant, someone to help Momma in the kitchen. Then no one will need to know—”
“Robert Taylor!” Momma’s eyes grew wide. “You stop right there!”
“That she’s sick? That her back hurts so much she can’t help you in the shop and run the family home? You’ve hidden it for years, Poppa,” I challenged him. “Do you think an arrogant pig like Timothy will protect me, cover for me, love me like you love Momma?”
When neither of them said anything, I tore out of there for the comfort of my room. It was all I had left, and I didn’t know how much longer I was even going to have that.
I leaned back on my mattress, my hands tucked behind my head, and gazed up at the ceiling. Dinner had been good, and the cheese had been tasty, but there was a bad taste in my mouth from everything that had transpired.
“Abby!” Momma called from right outside my sleeping spot. “Please, let’s talk about this.”
There was nothing to talk about. Nothing at all. Soon, I’d be married and chained to a man who cared for nothing but himself, or I’d refuse and be labeled a spinster and cast out of my family for being nothing more than a burden.
More than any other time, I needed my books. I grabbed them from beneath my floorboards, and I held them tight then gazed down at the map. The one that pointed to a destiny I hadn’t been sure about.
It was mine. I needed to seize it. I couldn’t stay in Rottenwood if it meant marrying a lout of a husband, and I couldn’t stay if it meant George would be dead in a matter of days.
I would run, I would leave. But first, I had to break George out—even his mother if she was still there. George’s wish would come true after all.
Chapter Thirteen
Robert and Sandra
“We pushed her too far, Sandra.” Robert stared down at his wife as she lay in bed and he puttered around the sleeping quarters in their upstairs bedroom.
“I know, I know.” She sighed and stared up at the ceiling. Robert found the longing in her eye heartbreaking.
“You want to show her how much you love her, I know you do.”
“I want to keep her safe, Robert. I want to give her a normal life. I don’t want her to be unique, I don’t want her to be anything other than Abby.” As she spoke each sentence, Sandra slammed her hand down on the comforter, each blow growing stronger than the last. At the end, she defiantly crossed her arms.
Robert sat on the edge of the bed. “But we know we can’t change who she was born to be. We know what she is, and we can’t change it.”
“It’s all my fault. My family. My inability to control everything. I just want to keep my baby safe. When the ministers…the dark lord, if he senses her…”
“He’s out of town, gone on to more important things. Her secret is safe.”
“For now, but for how long? If only Mrs. Tippin hadn’t lost control that night. If only George…he was to be a good husband for our Abby.”
“I know.” Robert rubbed his hands on his flannel pajama legs. “With time, Timothy may turn out to be…a decent husband.”
“His name will come with honor and prestige, maybe even hide who Abby is a little bit longer.”
“There will come a time, Sandra, when we will need to let Abby go. She is destined for things far greater than you and I.”
Sandra shook her head. “Never. She is ours to keep. Ours to protect. I won’t fail on this, Robert Taylor, and you know when I put my mind to something—”
She whipped herself into a frenzy, just as she always did. Robert kissed her hand, lovingly stroking the once soft skin, calloused with time, but his love for her stayed strong. “Sandra Taylor, when will you learn you can’t control everything?”
Sandra huffed a quick laugh. “Never, most likely. Never.”
Chapter Fourteen
Tarnish Rose
Early the next morning, I left the house wearing my dark robe. The overcast sky still brought a light rain down and the last thing I needed was to pick up a cold, not with everything I had to do. Mrs. Richardson expected me that morning, and it was an appointment I’d keep, if for no other reason than I couldn’t let others know what I was planning.
Creeping along, I used canopies in front of businesses and residents’ homes to stay out of the rain as I headed toward the barracks. I didn’t get too close, just near enough to see through the stone archways that led to the scariest part of the city. Downtown, where the hunters lived freely and the minsters governed with an iron fist.
The ruins in that area weren’t safe for humans. Instead they were haunted by the ghastly forms of the hunters. In the center of it all, the giant dome building the ministers used to exact punishment and where those sentenced to death awaited. Giant gray and black flags of the ministers out front flapped a dreadful tune in the breeze.
George was in there. He knew of a way out, but didn’t mention a way out.
I stood there for a while and studied the tower, watching how the hunters came and went from the building when I saw it—an area in the back of the tower where the death hunters emerged. Maybe a tunnel.
Tonight, I would go, and I’d find my way out. I’d only get once chance and it could equal my death. However, a better sentence than becoming Timothy Richardson’s wife. I wouldn’t die unhappy, miserable, and afraid.
If I were to die, I’d go out on my terms.
I turned back and put my hands in my pockets to keep warm, heading back to the family shop. Poppa would expect me to be th
ere and to do my chores before I went for my dress-fitting. Neither of those two things appealed to me, but I had to do what I must.
On the way back, a familiar figure lurked beneath the canopy across the way. Curious, I watched as the tall, frail form searched for a way inside. If caught, she’d find herself in a heap of trouble.
“Margret,” I whispered and hurried over to her. “What are you doing?”
She startled. “Abby, I didn’t see you.” She tossed something behind an empty bin, but I could tell it was a crowbar.
“What are you up to?”
Margret searched for an escape but then tears sprung to her eyes. “I’m so hungry, Abby. The food bins were empty by the time I advanced in line. They just kept letting family after family go ahead of me.”
My stomach twisted with guilt. I knew Margret’s family was on one of the lowest rungs in town. I’d gone ahead of her, I’d gone ahead of everyone, and that just consumed me with so much guilt.
“You got nothing for the rest of the week?”
“Scraps.” Margret pushed her lips together. “Momma says we’ll get by, but we’re starving. We’re hungry and she fainted the other day. She pretends it’s nothing, or that it’s a cold, but I know that’s not it. My insides are eating themselves and I just want to lay down and cry sometimes.” Full on sobs rocked her body and she used the hem of her robe to dab her tears away. “I can think of nothing else.”
My poor friend, I grabbed her hand. “Pull yourself together and follow me. I won’t let you starve.”
Margret shook her head. “I can’t ask you….”
“You’re not asking. I’m offering. And I won’t take no for an answer.” I hooked my arm through hers and we headed back the way we came, up the hill toward my family’s shop.
“Your parents…what will they say?” Margret whispered. “They won’t tell the ministers what I was going to do, will they?”
I questioned my parents’ motives in a lot of ways, but I doubted they had slipped that far. “They won’t. They are no friends of the ministers.”
Margret relaxed as we walked through the city square and back to the family shop. Inside the coast was clear, but I smelled breakfast and Margret groaned loudly. “That smells so good.”
“And you’re welcome to have some. Come, Margret. Please.” I offered my hand even as she stared at it. She was unable to take it—and I didn’t push—but she followed me up the stairs to my parents’ loft kitchen.
“Abby, we thought you weren’t…” Momma paused with her wooden spoon in her hand. “Oh, hello. You brought a…what is this?”
Poppa stood from his chair and adjusted his glasses. “Margret, isn’t it? I remember I traded you an ointment for bedsores a few weeks back.”
“My father was ill. It helped him greatly, thank you.” Margret’s eyes never left the floor and her mousy voice near shrill.
“Margret’s having breakfast with us and then we’re going to pack some food for her to take home. This week, the food stores ran out before Margret and her family got anything.” When my parents stared at me with dumbfounded expressions, I felt my anger boil to the surface. “She’s hungry and needs our help.”
“I made enough for three…” Momma apologized.
“I’ll go without for this meal,” I said defiantly. They wouldn’t dare turn away a hungry friend, would they?
Margret’s head rose up sharply. “Abby, no.”
“Sit, please. There’s sugar and milk for the porridge.” I slid the chair out and banged the legs on the ground to awaken her spirit. When Margret sat down reluctantly, I pushed Margret’s chair in. Momma returned to the stove and Poppa sat back down.
“Tea?” he asked Margaret. “Why don’t you tell me a thing or two about your parents?”
“We’re soap makers, sir,” Margret whispered. “I fear one day Rottenwood won’t need three soap makers and we’ll be out on the streets. Labeled as forgotten.”
“Nonsense,” Poppa said as I scooped oatmeal into a bowl for Margret. I sprinkled cinnamon and sugar on top, more than I would usually take. “The city will always need soap.”
“If you’re trying to make a point, you’ve made it,” Momma said from out of the corner of her mouth.
I slid the bowl of porridge in front of Margaret. “Eat up. There’s plenty more where that’s come from.”
Before Margret left, I packed up with some hearty foods her family could eat. While she waited downstairs, Momma followed my every move. “The loaf of bread? Really, Abby!”
“They have nothing, and we have too much. We can bake our own bread.”
“And if the food rations don’t come this week and we need to stretch our food out to two? It’s happened before. I know you care about others. You worry about your friend, but we have to look out for ourselves.”
“They’re starving,” I said simply, and it should’ve been enough. Momma’s eyes blinked rapidly; she was probably thinking up some other excuse, but I got out of there.
Downstairs, Poppa and Margret were having a polite chat about the dreary weather. “At least it’s not as dreary as it was last week,” Margret said.
Poppa laughed. “Indeed, it can always be drearier.”
“Here you go,” I said to Margret and handed her the bag.
She shook her head. “Oh, this is too much. Abby—”
“Think nothing of it. We have plenty. Take care of yourself and your mother.”
Margret nodded as she gazed down at the food. “I’ll find a way to repay you one of these days. I promise. Both of you. Thank you so much.” She kissed my cheek before leaving the shop quickly, as though we might change our minds at any moment.
I could feel Poppa’s eyes on me, but he didn’t dare make a scene yet. As I pushed the door opened he called to me. “You have chores. Where do you think you’re going?”
“To hurry along to my appointment with Mrs. Richardson. If you want me to marry into that family, we’re all going to make concessions, aren’t we Poppa?” I couldn’t keep the anger and disdain out of my voice. It was all I could do to keep from yelling and running straight for the train station, but my plan was at hand.
I had to remain calm. There was still so much left to do.
****
I stood in front of a full length mirror, not able to believe my eyes.
“Stand still, please.” Mrs. Richardson tugged at the heavy fabric dress I wore. She had pinned some black lace to my hair as a makeshift veil. The dress itself was layers of satin and lace, with a strongly fitted corset around my middle. I hadn’t struggled to breathe that much since I’d come down with bronchitis as a kid. The shoulders of the dress puffed up higher around my ears and my sleeves draped with lace. It was couture in an elegant manner, unlike anything I had ever worn.
And I hated it. From the tall black boots that had to be tightened with rods and thick laces, to the hat she told me I’d need to wear. If this was what being a woman meant, I wanted no part in it.
Mrs. Richardson tilted her head and regarded me once she finished pinning my dress into place. It was as if I was a ragdoll who would fall apart at a whim. “A brooch, right in the middle of your neck; it’ll make everything come together just perfect. Your features are dainty and small—I’ll make sure they come alive in your wedding portrait. Hopefully you don’t mind sitting for a sketch. Family tradition.”
“No, Mrs. Richardson,” I said quietly, happily knowing soon I’d escape with George, or soon I’d be dead. Both of those options sounded better than the nights with Timothy that awaited me.
“Good,” she said happily as she clapped her hands onto her hips. “I think you and Timothy will make a beautiful child, but not too soon. Let’s get your tailor shop a chance to get off the ground before you’re changing nappies.”
My stomach rolled at the idea. I stood still, and Mrs. Richardson took the veil off my head and unhooked the back of my dress. “He doesn’t think I’m attractive.”
“Nonsense. Don’t l
isten to him. He likes to put on a brave front. Make everyone hate him, which he’s been good at thus far.” Mrs. Richardson helped me down the steps and took me to a partition. I stood behind it, peeling my dress off. After I handed it to her, I dressed in my regular merchant clothes.
“Being married off isn’t easy…I remember what it was like. It was nearly twenty-two years ago for me. Four full years before we got our blessed Timmy.”
The ministers encouraged a year of marriage before a child, no more, and no less. “That must’ve been stressful for you.”
“Oh, you don’t even know. I thought I’d go prematurely gray.” Mrs. Richardson laughed. “All that was forgiven, of course. It took a while to fall back into the ministers’ good graces again, but it happened. Keeping them happy can be hard. I’ll train you in everything you need to know before your shop is opened in Evertown.”
That was where Margret was going. I tied my hair back before stepping out from behind the partition. “I look forward to it, but can we start tomorrow? I’m exhausted and I still need to do my own chores when I return home.”
Her eyebrows furrowed severely. “It’d be best if he didn’t give you those anymore. Four weeks to a wedding isn’t enough time to do everything that needs to be done. I’ll speak to him. For now, run along. Tonight, if you wish to see Timothy, do come by before seven P.M.”
“Thank you.” I offered a light curtsey and then was on my way. The idea of seeing Timothy again turned my stomach and I quickly dismissed it.
I strolled back to the family shop, watching the sky. The sun was beginning to set. With George’s execution in the morning, I had to move fast, swiftly, and nothing was going to stop me or get in my way.
Soon, we’d be riding the train out of Rottenwood. And we might never get to come back.
Chapter Fifteen
Tarnish Rose
I ate dinner quietly with my family that night, both of them trying to engage me in their own way, but I refused. Soon, I would be leaving and while I was angry, I didn’t want to harp on the fact—I’d probably never see them again.
