“Mrs. Rose, come look!”
Rose lifted her head from feeding the chickens and furrowed her brow. Now what has that child found? she wondered, as she straightened up. She set down the feed bucket and headed over to the flower beds, where Merry had been sitting with Althessia in the morning sun, the two of them filling the air with giggles.
The sight that greeted Rose had her close to bursting into laughter. Althessia was dressed up in a small yellow dress with a giant butterfly sewn haphazardly along the front. Adorning the baby's head, and Merry's, were matching circlets of yellow and white wildflowers – Merry's circlet sitting crooked on top of her vivid red curls. “Where … child where did you get that dress?” Rose kneeled down to get a closer look at the fabric, the stitching amateur and uneven.
“I made it for her,” Merry replied happily. “I found the fabric in a shop and I decided to make Althessia a new outfit. It's the first thing I ever sewed!”
Rose glanced up at Merry's face, noting the pride and satisfaction there and smiled. “Well, you did … a fine job for a first time,” she said with a nod. “I'm sure I've some scraps of fabric,” she added, keeping her tone light and conversational, “if you'd care to practice sewing. I can even teach you if you'd like.”
Merry's grin widened at the offer. “I'd love to learn!” she exclaimed, the emphatic nodding of her head sending the circlet down further on her head. “Then I could make Althessia lots of pretty dresses. And maybe make myself a new dress, and Emra ...” The girl starts making a list of things she'd sew, much to Rose's surprised amusement.
“Then it's settled,” she said, standing up. “I'll go through my things this evening and see what I've left. Now, let's go inside and I'll make us some tea and lunch ...”
“Oh! Let me! I can take care of lunch while you relax Mrs. Rose,” Merry said, gathering the baby in her arms as she stood. “You're always working, so let me do this.”
Rose opened her mouth to argue, but seeing as Merry was eager to help and – Rose couldn't help but wonder – trying hard to atone for her recent disappearance, she finally agreed. “Alright, I'll sit down a spell then. There's fresh cheese and bread in the larder ...”
The two women head into the house, Rose giving Merry quick list of what was available for the midday meal, before heading to the sitting room, while Merry raced back to the nursery.
As she sat down, a groan of relief escaped her lips. She had been working too hard lately, and her muscles ached from the extra load though she rarely paid mind to their protestations. Still, it was nice to be able to sit and rest for a few minutes before she had to resume her chores.
As she leaned back, her eyes fell on the leather journal and she reached over to pick it up, opening it to where she left off.
My days are a blur, sleeping in the day, moving and foraging in the evening and night. I stay out of sight, or cover my head so none may see me. Me, Aneira ferch neb, unwanted by my village. Unwanted, even by my own father who kept me alive. Cloben, the villagers would whisper as I passed – gurach. I did not understand their hatred, their anger at me. I was different. I did not – do not know why I am. My father mostly ignored me, except to make sure I was clothed and fed. My mother, I was told when I finally asked, was dead. When I asked how, my father looked at me with despair and – hate? Anger? I had killed her, he said bluntly. I did not press for more that day.
I have cut off my hair. Burned it. What I kept, I have braided as a reminder. Never trust anyone.
As Rose turned the page, a small braid of hair caught her eye. She picked up and examined it, the color a brilliant silvery white, smooth as silk and as long as Rose's arm. What beautiful hair, she thought, and so long. She felt a slight pang, wondering if she would have been able to do the same, then reached up to her own long hair, pulled up on her head, and shuddered. Tucking the slender braid back into the book, Rose continued reading.
I felled a small deer today. Finally fresh meat. I will remain at this campsite long enough to prepare it for travel. Tonight I feel strong.
I dreamed tonight, of a hunt and a woman with dark hair and dark eyes. Of lightning and fire. Of a baby with yellow eyes … and death.
“Mrs. Rose, supper is ready,” Merry tapped on the door and called in.
Rose blinked and looked up from the book, bringing herself back to the present. “Alright child, I'll be right there,” she said, then looked down and reread the last line, before she set the journal aside on the couch and headed to the main room.
A birth … and a death ...
