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1
Hazel
Shutting the back door as quietly as possible behind me, I can’t help but flinch as the latch slips into place. I pause, hardly daring to breathe as I wait for the sound of approaching footsteps from within.
Nothing.
Exhaling softly, the air rising in a steamy puff from my lips, I turn and make my way through the garden. The earth crunches beneath my feet, and I fight off a shiver as I wrap my arms around myself for warmth.
It shouldn’t be this cold, not yet.
A glint of early morning sun catches my attention out of the corner of my eye, bringing me to a standstill. Frowning, I stop to look at the sunny marigolds my mother planted so long ago, their bright petals covered in ice.
Glancing around the rest of the garden as the growing light brings it sparkling to life, I suddenly realize everything is blanketed in a fine layer of frost. My heart skips a beat in my chest as I gather my skirts to turn and dart down another path.
Reaching the vegetable patch, I sink onto my knees as I stare at the damage the frost has done. Browned and wilted herbs and vegetation are sprawled across the earth, their lives cut short far too soon. I can’t help but feel like I’ve just lost several dear friends as I contemplate what to do next.
Merelda is going to kill me for this, if starvation doesn’t take us sooner.
I know this isn’t my fault, but I doubt my stepmother will see it that way. How was I supposed to know we’d get a frost this early?
Let alone at all.
Winter should still be a good two months away, and even then, it’s rare that we get more than a few weeks of it.
Carefully gathering what is already too far gone of the vegetation, but still usable, into the makeshift basket of my skirts, I stand.
I’ll have to make sure that I harvest whatever remains to be salvaged as soon as possible, but for now that’ll have to wait.
Taking one last look at my poor plants, I turn to retrace my steps through the garden and continue on down the hill.
Reaching the chicken coop, I unlatch the door to let them out for the day, smiling at the soft cluck of their greetings as I scatter the remnants of my plants on the ground for them to enjoy. Ducking inside, I collect what few eggs I can find, tucking them into the gathering of my skirts.
“Come now, Florence,” I sigh to the broodiest of our hens as she chatters at me and fluffs up her feathers in frustration. “You know I can’t very well leave you nesting with a chick-less egg, sweet girl. Besides, I’m a little short on breakfast supplies this morning.”
I can’t help but feel a little guilty as I slip a hand beneath her feathery skirts to extract the egg hidden beneath her, but I know it’s for her own good as well as it is mine.
We lost our rooster several months ago, and we’ve yet to go to market for another. I make a mental note to mention this yet again to Father.
Perhaps, if I can catch him alone before the others awake, he’ll allow me to go to market by myself. Gods know the last thing he needs right now is more work, and I’d be all too happy to have a day out of the house for once.
The early morning sun warms my face as I leave the chicken coop. I’m already late to starting our morning meal, something my stepmother will certainly comment on if I don’t hurry.
I can already see her frown forming in my mind, and I’ll be lucky if a frown is all the punishment she doles out.
Racing back up to the house, I pray to the gods she hasn’t woken let alone checked the kitchen yet. Breathing a small sigh of relief as I step into an empty kitchen, I’m grateful to see the fire is just starting to warm the cold stone.
Fighting off another shiver, I gently place this morning’s bounty on the counter. I stare down at them for a moment, only now realizing that I’m still one egg short.
I suppose that means it’ll be another egg-less breakfast for me. I’ll have to make do with what remains of the staling bread I made several days ago and perhaps a bit of cheese. There might even be an apple or two tucked away on a back shelf if I’m lucky.
My stomach growls at the thought, only serving as a reminder that I’d been sent to bed hungry the night before after Merelda found the parsnip stew I’d made to be wanting. I hadn’t even been allowed to stay up to greet Father on his return.
Turning, I slip into the small pantry to collect a rasher of bacon as well as my own meager breakfast. A bit of bread, some molding cheese, and a half-browned apple.
It’ll have to do.
Taking a strip of cloth, I dampen it in some cool water before wrapping my bread in it and placing it on the stone by the fire to warm.
