by Sandra Kopp
“And with you, Mrs. Greene. Now I must pack.” Luwanna paused and ruefully regarded Emily’s soiled handkerchief. “I will wash this and bring it to you tomorrow.”
“No, you won’t.” Emily took back the handkerchief and squeezed Luwanna’s hand. “I’ll take care of this. You tend to your packing. Godspeed, dear Luwanna. May you find better fortune than what Garris has dealt you.”
“Thank you. I will never forget your kindness. Goodbye.” Luwanna nodded to Melinda, then turned and melted into the crowd.
Emily shook her head. “Tragic! But with so few men left she’d stand little chance of finding a husband even if she weren’t half Rauth.” She turned to Melinda. “Well, we have our own matters. I’m making drapes and you’re going to the butcher.”
Melinda handed back the cloth. “I’ll come over later if you’d like some help.”
“How about tomorrow, if your mother doesn’t need you? I can always use an extra hand.”
“I will,” Melinda promised.
Emily crossed the street to her waiting buggy. Melinda hurried to a newly built shop situated on the corner. A wooden cleaver engraved with “Shaw’s Meats” hung by two ropes from the eaves above the door. Butcher Sam Shaw, a jolly gray-haired man of about sixty, was a kindly soul, but as Melinda approached, strange foreboding seized her. Her hand, poised to open the door, froze.
“Something’s amiss,” she murmured, “but what? I see no threat, yet dread to enter.” She heaved a short sigh. “Come, Melinda, you’re simply caught up with Luwanna’s situation. She has gone her way and you must go yours. Now get to it.” Squaring her shoulders, she opened the door and stepped through.
To her surprise—and dismay—she found herself the only customer.
“Ah, Melinda, come in! How lovely you look in that blue frock.” The butcher winked and beckoned her closer with a bob of his head. “I have something very special for you today.” His piping voice carried an uncustomary sing-song lilt that annoyed Melinda. He wiped his beefy hands on a corner of his bloody apron, picked up a paper-wrapped package from the table behind him, and placed it on the counter. His gray eyes glittered beneath bushy gray brows. His nose twitched, rabbit-like, above his full beard.
Melinda approached, unnerved by his probing stare. “What do I owe you?” she asked, fumbling in her pocket for the coins.
His arching brows sent furrows rippling up his forehead. “Nothing, nothing, my dear. I told your mother plainly that these are a gift. Besides, your beautiful smile rewards me enough.”
Melinda regarded him warily. “Surely you require some recompense for your wares.”
“Aye.” His smile faded, replaced by a stare so intense she felt it would bore holes through her. “Your mother has news. That’s all I will say.” His smile returned as he pushed the package to her. “There now. Off you go.”
Melinda numbly took the package and started for the door.
“Oh, Melinda!”
Melinda turned.
“Aren’t you going to wish me ‘good day,’ Melinda?”
Melinda nodded shortly as she opened the door and stepped out onto the board walk. As she pulled the door shut again, she shuddered. Turning toward home, she ran as she had never run before.
“Melinda, that you?” Sarah Greene turned from stirring the pot hanging over a low flame in the massive fireplace. Sorrow over her husband’s death had whittled her already thin frame to little more than skin and bones, and the stray wisps of hair hanging out from under her cap had changed from burnished auburn to dull gray. Her faded, too-large gray dress hung limp and shapeless.
Panting, Melinda leaned against the door a moment before crossing the room, the hand holding the package extended. Eagerly Sarah snatched it and tore the wrapper off.
“Oh, yes,” she murmured. “These are the loveliest steaks one could hope for!” She glanced up at Melinda and smiled.
Melinda took the coins from her pocket and handed them to her mother. “Mr. Shaw acted very strange. He wouldn’t take any money and he said you have news.”
“I do, indeed.” Sarah clicked her tongue. “You, my dear, are to be married!”
“Married? To who?”
“Mr. Shaw.”
Melinda gaped. “Surely you’re not serious!”
“With your father and fiancé dead we cannot hope to survive. Mr. Shaw adores you and will provide very well for both of us.”
“But he’s an old man!”
“An old wealthy man.”
“Then why don’t you marry him?”
Sarah sighed. “He adores you—not me. Now let’s not argue, Melinda. Times are hard. We must make do with what we have and seize whatever opportunities come.”
Melinda pleadingly searched her mother’s face. “Please, Mother, don’t make me do this. He looked at me today the way an old dog looks at a piece of meat. Just the thought of him touching me makes me cringe! And his breath reeks! I could smell it all the way across the counter.”
“And yours smells like roses, I suppose.” Sarah sighed. “You’re a pretty girl. Any man would be honored to have you. And look, he’s given us these wonderful steaks.”
“You sold me for a piece of meat?!”
Sarah’s shoulders slumped. “No, dear. These steaks are a gift which Mr. Shaw prepared especially for us. Listen, my husband is dead. Your Thomas is also dead. Few men remain. We must go on. As you said, Mr. Shaw’s an old man. He likely won’t live much longer anyway. You’ll be a wealthy woman. Now, come. Let’s eat these steaks, and then we’ll see what you have to say about marrying Mr. Shaw.”
Melinda moistened her lips. “What if I went to Teptiel instead?”
Shock and horror filled every line on Sarah’s careworn face. “That sorry collection of huts and shacks? There’s nothing there but ruffians and Wyars! That’s all that can live in that rough country! And Teptiel lies near Ha-Ran-Fel, which is wilder and more desolate yet! No, Melinda! I won’t hear of it! If you love me at all you will stay right here and become Mistress Shaw!” Melinda hung her head and Sarah cried, “I’ve done this for you, Melinda!”
Melinda’s heart sank as she turned away.
CHAPTER THREE
Emily Greene stared at her niece’s haggard face. “Melinda, you look positively dreadful!”
Melinda trudged into the parlor and plopped down on the cushioned hassock by Emily’s chair. The morning sun pouring in through the window gave the hardwood floor a golden sheen and lent a cheery warmth she could not feel. “I didn’t sleep.”
Emily finished stitching the drape she was working on, laid it aside, and reached for another. “Why ever not?”
Melinda forced a rueful smile. “Haven’t you heard? I’m to be married—to Mr. Shaw.”
“Sam Shaw, the butcher? Goodness, he’s old enough to be your grandfather.”
“I know. But he gave Mother some steaks.”
“I see. To seal the deal, I’ll warrant.” Emily clicked her tongue and shook her head. “Well, I find the man a bit odd, but nice enough—and you’ll eat good. Your Uncle Edwin and I know Sarah is struggling these days so we put together a bridal chest for you: A few dishes, money, clothing and such. I’ll give it to you before you leave today.” Emily smiled with fond remembrance. “A couple of years ago we put together a bridal chest for another young lady who was supposed to go to Teptiel. Unbeknownst to us, she never intended to stay there, but went on to Ha-Ran-Fel and became queen.” She chuckled. “However, Teptiel is where she ended up.”
“Did you know about this—Mr. Shaw, I mean?” Melinda asked. “Is that why you put the chest together?”
Emily shook her head. “No. We just knew that someday you would marry.” She reached over and patted Melinda’s hand. “Don’t worry. I know you’re nervous, but everything will work out. You’ll see. Now, let’s finish these drapes. I will pay you handsomely for your help and give you the chest when you leave this evening.”
“Thank you.” Melinda hesitated and then ventured
cautiously, “Would you lend me your pushcart to carry it?”
Emily’s brows shot up. “Of course, but it’s rather heavy. Why don’t we just let your uncle take it for you?”
Melinda shook her head. “He’s busy getting the stable ready. I’ll just borrow your cart and then bring it right back.”
“Well, you’re a strong, healthy girl. Very well, then.
Melinda’s heart pounded as she took the cloth Emily offered, threaded a needle, and went to work.
Between the two of them, the work progressed swiftly. Melinda said little, merely listened and nodded occasionally as Emily prattled on about the special menu she was planning for the inn’s first guests, an official delegation from Valhalea that included one of Uncle Edwin’s dearest friends, Charles Bordner. Her brain churned as it transformed the idea hatched the previous night into a plan of action. Determination spurred her on, yet guilt knotted her insides. Mother would worry and then panic when Melinda did not return. Distraught, she would scour Garris, searching in vain for her only child. And then she must face Mr. Shaw. What explanation could she offer him?
I know it’s cruel, but Mother wouldn’t even listen to me! Have I no say in my own future? How would she feel, were our roles reversed?
How would you feel? She is securing your future, Melinda’s conscience argued. With no husband, what else can she do? And with no fiancé, what else can you do?
But it’s so selfish of her!
It’s selfish of you!
He’ll not touch me with those bloody hands or kiss me with those hairy lips! I will go to Teptiel and build a new life—and then I’ll send for Mother.
Terror seized Melinda as she considered the impending journey with only the clothes on her back and whatever compensation Aunt Emily provided. Melinda had never ventured outside Garris before, never sailed the raging Ashgard River or experienced boisterous Langhorn. Teptiel lay far to the north near the Alpenfel foothills—uncharted wilderness, in Melinda’s mind. She had gleaned her meager knowledge of the place from Garris’ fertile folklore: A tiny town amid scattered farms subjected to midnight raids by bands of marauding Horse Lords, while nomadic Wyar clans from the heart of the Dark Lord’s realm camped in the surrounding foothills. Would the Wyars treat Melinda with the same scorn Luwanna suffered in Garris?
If you love me at all, her mother’s voice cried.
Beads of perspiration glistened on Melinda’s forehead. Mother, don’t you love me? I’ve nothing here! Besides, I’ll not be alone. I’ll travel with Luwanna. And, if prospects there prove bleak, I’ll return.
And marry Mr. Shaw?
Melinda set her jaw and sewed faster, refusing to entertain that thought or to hear the debate still raging inside her.
They worked tirelessly, stopping only to enjoy the delicious salad Emily prepared for lunch. Melinda scarcely noticed time’s fleeting passage. Only when she saw that no more unfinished drapes remained did she realize the lateness of the hour.
Outside, the wind whispered through the willows. A stray gust stirred the ruffled curtains on the half-open window and stroked their faces with airy fingertips.
Emily knotted her thread and laid the finished drape aside. “Last one! We’re all done.” Beaming, she patted Melinda’s hand and rose. “Let’s get your chest, and I’ll give you some money. I’d have never finished in time but for you.” Humming, she led Melinda into the library.
Melinda glanced out the window, where the late afternoon sun had turned the Ashgard’s waves to rippling gold. The Lady Ashgard waited at the pier and she chafed, wishing she could just grab her things and run.
“Here we are.” Emily took a leather purse off the shelf and opened it. “Here’s some money for your help and for your new life as Mistress Shaw.” She retrieved a handful of coins and let them dribble back into the purse through her fingers. “Twenty gold coins.” With a beaming smile, she handed the purse to Melinda.
“Oh, Aunt Emily!” Melinda’s eyes misted as she threw her arms around her aunt. “I don’t deserve all that!”
“You deserve all that and more,” Emily declared, holding her close. “Now let’s get that chest.”
She released Melinda and bustled across the room to two large chairs flanking the fireplace. A quilt draped across one of them had been arranged to cover something on the floor beside it. Emily threw back the quilt and Melinda gasped. “It’s beautiful!”
Handsomely finished, with an ornately-carved lid, the oak chest measured roughly thirty inches wide, twenty-two inches high, and eighteen inches deep.
“Your uncle made that,” Emily told her proudly.
“And it’s just beautiful! I can’t think of any other way to describe it.”
“Are you sure you don’t want Uncle Edwin to take this home for you? I would hate for it to fall.”
“I’ll not take him from his work. I’ll be fine.”
“Very well.” Emily left the room and returned with the inn’s pushcart.
Together they maneuvered the chest onto the narrow cart. Judging from its weight, Emily must have crammed it full, Melinda thought wryly. Perhaps she should leave it but, should Fortune smile and grant her a husband, she would welcome these gifts.
The sun hovered just above the Ashgard’s restless waters as Melinda labored her heavy cart down the rutted dirt road toward the pier. Thankfully, Emily had not insisted on showing her the chest’s contents. Melinda had tarried too long already.
The listless air smelled of honeysuckle and the river. Melinda savored the fragrance, but wished for a cooling breeze. The humid air heightened the clamminess of her exertion.
The left wheel hit a hole. Melinda gasped as the cart shifted and almost fell. Groaning, she threw all her strength into righting it. Keeping one hand on the chest to steady it, she rocked the cart back and forth until the wheel bounced free. Melinda forged ahead, ignoring her aching back and arms, bursting lungs, and the sweat pouring down her face. The Lady Ashgard’s twin masts soared above the warehouse just ahead and she willed her beleaguered body on faster.
Finally she rounded the end of the warehouse and, puffing and panting, lumbered toward the dock where the Lady Ashgard lay anchored. Already the passengers had assembled, ready to board.
A narrow sign inscribed “Pier Master” hung over a doorway near the opposite end of the warehouse. Summoning her last ounce of strength, Melinda rushed to it and dragged her cart inside.
“Please, sir,” she gasped, “have you any room left?”
The clerk stared. “Yes, but the ship’s about to leave.”
“But I must sail tonight!”
“How much cargo have you?”
Melinda gulped and indicated the trunk. “Only this. But I have to return the cart. I’ll only be a minute.”
The clerk shook his head. “You’ve not enough time.”
“I’ll hurry. How much is the fare?”
“Two gold coins.”
Melinda opened her purse, extracted the coins and handed them to the clerk. He took them without a word and then directed a young man to load the chest onto the ship.
“How much time have I?” Melinda asked.
“Maybe ten minutes. No more. They’ll not wait,” the clerk admonished.
“I’ll be right back.”
Seizing the empty cart, Melinda bolted through the door and down the road, the cart bouncing crazily behind her as she raced to Greene’s Willow Inn. Once there, she placed the cart outside the door, knocked twice, then sprinted back to the pier. Heart pounding and faint from exhaustion, she reached the dock just as the gangplank began to raise.
Melinda waved frantically. “Wait! I’m here!”
The gangplank hesitated and then dropped. The pier master motioned Melinda over and, willing her enervated legs on a little farther, she pounded up the ramp and onto the ship. The gangplank raised, the sails unfurled, and the Lady Ashgard shuddered slightly and glided upriver.
Luwanna stood at the rail, waving to her tearful parents o
n the dock. The tan skirt and turquoise jacket enrobing her lithe frame accentuated her olive skin and brown eyes.
Melinda slumped against the rail near Luwanna, trying to calm her hammering heartbeats and wheezing lungs while considering the dreadful spectacle she must present. Sweat stained her bodice, her hair hung limp and straight, and the extreme exertion had flushed her face and neck.
Swallowed by twilight, the Garris pier soon disappeared. Luwanna sighed and turned from the rail. Her gaze lighted upon Melinda and she stifled a gasp. “Are you all right?”
Melinda nodded weakly.
The hand pressed to Luwanna’s mouth lowered a little. Recognition lit her face as she pointed a tapered forefinger at Melinda. “You were with Mistress Greene yesterday.”
Melinda nodded again. “I’m Melinda Greene, her niece.”
“What are you doing here?” Luwanna cocked her head. “Are you running away?”
Melinda managed a shaky smile. “I, too, face an unbearable future in Garris. I thought about your undertaking all night. Though daunting, the prospect of a new beginning in a new colony exhilarates me. Might I travel with you?”
Shyly Luwanna reached out and squeezed Melinda’s hand. “I would welcome a companion.”
CHAPTER FOUR
“Easy, girl.” Merewyn patted Windrunner’s neck and glanced at the mare’s hindquarters where Arris tugged at a tiny pair of legs. A warm breeze fragrant with freshly-mown hay wafted into the barn. A thick mat of clean straw filled the stall where Merewyn’s faithful steed prepared to foal.
“Almost there,” Arris panted. “Just one more puussh. . .”
Groaning, Windrunner raised her head and flattened her ears. The foal pulled free. Arris caught it in his arms and laughed with delight.
“Stallion or mare?” Merewyn rubbed her hand along Windrunner’s back as she hurried to her husband’s side.
Arris’ eyes sparkled. “A fine stallion.” He carefully set the foal down, laughing again at its wobbly attempts to stand. Windrunner nosed him aside, nickering softly as she nuzzled her firstborn.
