Thirteen winters old
A FLURRY OFknocks at the cottage door.
‘Coming,’ Maylie called. She wrung the cloth in her hands and draped it across Tadrie’s forehead. Her aunt lay in bed, eyes closed, wheezing.
More knocking.
‘I said, I’m coming!’
Maylie marched to the door and kicked it open, frowning. A nasty, late-summer sickness was running rife in the village, and she expected this was a request for yet another draft of tonic to settle a stomach.
‘Your sister needs you,’ said Chrisanie.
Maylie was so shocked to see him that it took a moment to register what he had said. She looked at the ruffled wisps of his dark hair, then down at his clumpy boots and back up again.
‘You’ve got to come quick.’
Maylie occasionally spoke to Chrisanie at the schoolhouse. They walked the same route home in the afternoons and would sometimes stroll side by side through the village, chattering about this and that. But Chrisanie had never come knocking for her before.
‘It were just announced that Ravie will wed,’ said Chrisanie. ‘And your sister got upset in the main square.’
Maylie winced. ‘Ravie will wed?’ She was not really surprised.
‘Yes. A girl from Morccia. The mams have arranged it. ’Tis the news everyone’s talking about this morning.’
Maylie could easily imagine the state her sister would be in now. She glanced behind her at the dark room. A hump lay in the bed on the far wall, moaning.
‘I can’t leave.’
‘I’ll watch your aunt till you come back.’
‘You’re sure?’ asked Maylie, but she was already stepping outside.
Chrisanie nodded, though he looked uncertain, as if he had surprised himself with his offer of help.
‘Keep the cloth on Tadrie’s head cool,’ Maylie instructed. ‘And don’t open the curtains. The light hurts her eyes.’ She hurried down the path towards the village; then, after a few paces, she stopped and called, ‘Thank you!’ over her shoulder, before breaking into a run.
Hot and panting, Maylie burst into the main square. She heard the screeching sobs of her sister before she saw Esmelie, slumped beside the doors of the Sanctuary. It was a shockingly public and dramatic reaction even for Esmelie, but Maylie’s sister had been acting strangely recently.
The minster hovered near by, sometimes bending to whisper a few soothing words, which went ignored, before desperately looking about for help. The rest of the villagers had resolutely turnedtheir heads away, but Maylie could see them glancing and whispering to one another. It was not difficult to guess what they were saying.
‘Here’s your sister!’ cried the minister in relief when he saw Maylie.
Esmelie’s loud keening did not waver.
‘We should get her home,’ he added.
They hoisted Esmelie upright and half dragged her out of the square. She hung between their supporting arms, crying all the way, her brown curls falling over her face.
When they reached their cottage, Maylie dragged Esmelie over the threshold and said, ‘I can manage now.’
The minister tried to protest, but Maylie insisted. Pap might be in his bedroom and if he came out to find the minister in the kitchen, there would be a whole different sort of scene.
‘I’m at the Sanctuary if you need me,’ said the minister, before finally disappearing in a flutter of purple robes.
As soon as they were alone, Maylie crept up to Pap’s bedroom door and listened. All was quiet inside. He must be out. That was some good fortune.
‘What’s happened?’ she asked, turning back to her sister.
