02-24-2012, 07:40 AM
She simply thought she might die.
The weight of the satchel tugged at her shoulders as she plodded forward. Every bone in her body ached. Marie Shepard was exhausted.
Her fist shot up before she hesitated. Eyes darting anxiously, she performed a quick inventory of her appearance. Bony fingers alternately tugged and smoothed her dress over her lanky frame. The satchel, much too full for this late in the day, was adjusted and readjusted until it sat at the perfect balance between comfortable and easy to access. She raised her hand once more, paused to exhale sharply, and rapped the cottage door.
Nothing.
With a slight frown, Marie plucked a ball of yarn from the satchel and rewound the thread that had loosened itself. She knocked again.
Nothing.
Her neck arched to scan the surrounding field for movement. Perhaps the Millers were tending the crops or whatever it was that wheat farmers do.
Nothing.
An exasperated growl rolled from her throat as Marie returned to her cart. Settling into her seat, the girl cracked the mule’s reins. No sense dawdling on a day like today.
It had started as a day full of promise. Tomas was not one to fall ill, so the excitement of venturing on his weekly route soon overwhelmed any pity she felt for his sour stomach. Granted, it was a fairly established barter route – no heated arguments, no scales, no appraising – but it was a much desired break from the monotony of spinning and herding. She often rode with her brother when she was younger, so she had looked forward to a chance to prove herself on her own. Maybe her family could even expand the route, give her a route of her own!
It had turned into a day of disappointment. Just like the rest of the houses, there would be no warm morsels of beir bread from Missus Miller, no loaves or flour to trade for her family’s wool. Not even a pleasant greeting and an uncomfortable discussion about tough times in the fields and oh we’re so sorry dearie, but we just can’t afford a luxury like wool when we are struggling to get food. Just… nothing.
It was strange. There was no festival, no esteemed visitors, no illness that her family had heard of.
At least the final stop was the market within the town itself – a chance to see people on this long, lonely day. Two nights at the inn would give her a chance to pick up some groceries, unload some of the surplus wool for a lower value, catch up on some gossip. And, if she was lucky, she might see…
Marie blushed. No sense getting lost in her girlish fantasies. Not when there was business to be done, especially not on a day like today. She straitened in her seat as the cart rolled to the outskirts of town.
Well. Now she could see why nobody had been home. The streets around the square buzzed with people, more crowded than she had ever seen, maybe the most crowded streets ever. There had to be at least fifty people gathered! Something must have happened, something recent, something urgent. Tying the mule off at the inn, the girl pressed towards the commotion.
A break in the crowd and her heart skipped a beat. It was him! His steely gaze seemed focused on everything and nothing all at the same time. So intense. So rugged. So… dreamy.
“’Tis a cryin’ shame, yeah.” Missus Miller’s brogue snapped Marie from her musing. The older woman wrapped her arms around the gaunt teenager with a mournful sigh. “A cryin’ shame.”
“Missus,” The girl twisted to see her embracer. “What’s going on? I went to your farm, and nobody was there, well, nobody was anywhere, and they’re all here.”
The woman stepped back and clutched her scarf. “Oh, mercy, mercy me. Oh, dearie, I apologize, but there’s been a- an accident. It’s put people over the edge, it has. Poor Missus Bottom, she was always such a sweet– and now she’s gone.”
“Gone? She’s… gone gone?”
“Aye, afraid so. Like Mister Parish and the others. Oh, poor Matilda…” Tears welled in the woman’s eyes.
Marie glanced to the center of the crowd. Swallowing a hard lump, she turned back and twisted her hair between her fingers. “What ab-, er, how is Master Sickert handling it? What with his, uh, father and all?”
The woman chuckled. “Tried to give a black eye to an elder. Boy’s got spirit, yeah. He’ll need it. He’s helpin’ lead the volunteer investigation, the one set up by the Council, bless his soul.”
Marie’s eyes clung to the fur-clad youth seated with the elders. “We should all do what we can.” She squeezed the woman gently. “Thanks for- for letting me know about Missus Bottom.”
“Aye, lass.” The woman tucked a stray lock of hair behind the girl’s ear. “Take care. Especially these days.”
Her polite smile turned to a confident smirk as Marie marched towards the Council member at the center of the square. She took her place in line with the other volunteers. Oh, she would take care, all right.
The weight of the satchel tugged at her shoulders as she plodded forward. Every bone in her body ached. Marie Shepard was exhausted.
Her fist shot up before she hesitated. Eyes darting anxiously, she performed a quick inventory of her appearance. Bony fingers alternately tugged and smoothed her dress over her lanky frame. The satchel, much too full for this late in the day, was adjusted and readjusted until it sat at the perfect balance between comfortable and easy to access. She raised her hand once more, paused to exhale sharply, and rapped the cottage door.
Nothing.
With a slight frown, Marie plucked a ball of yarn from the satchel and rewound the thread that had loosened itself. She knocked again.
Nothing.
Her neck arched to scan the surrounding field for movement. Perhaps the Millers were tending the crops or whatever it was that wheat farmers do.
Nothing.
An exasperated growl rolled from her throat as Marie returned to her cart. Settling into her seat, the girl cracked the mule’s reins. No sense dawdling on a day like today.
It had started as a day full of promise. Tomas was not one to fall ill, so the excitement of venturing on his weekly route soon overwhelmed any pity she felt for his sour stomach. Granted, it was a fairly established barter route – no heated arguments, no scales, no appraising – but it was a much desired break from the monotony of spinning and herding. She often rode with her brother when she was younger, so she had looked forward to a chance to prove herself on her own. Maybe her family could even expand the route, give her a route of her own!
It had turned into a day of disappointment. Just like the rest of the houses, there would be no warm morsels of beir bread from Missus Miller, no loaves or flour to trade for her family’s wool. Not even a pleasant greeting and an uncomfortable discussion about tough times in the fields and oh we’re so sorry dearie, but we just can’t afford a luxury like wool when we are struggling to get food. Just… nothing.
It was strange. There was no festival, no esteemed visitors, no illness that her family had heard of.
At least the final stop was the market within the town itself – a chance to see people on this long, lonely day. Two nights at the inn would give her a chance to pick up some groceries, unload some of the surplus wool for a lower value, catch up on some gossip. And, if she was lucky, she might see…
Marie blushed. No sense getting lost in her girlish fantasies. Not when there was business to be done, especially not on a day like today. She straitened in her seat as the cart rolled to the outskirts of town.
Well. Now she could see why nobody had been home. The streets around the square buzzed with people, more crowded than she had ever seen, maybe the most crowded streets ever. There had to be at least fifty people gathered! Something must have happened, something recent, something urgent. Tying the mule off at the inn, the girl pressed towards the commotion.
A break in the crowd and her heart skipped a beat. It was him! His steely gaze seemed focused on everything and nothing all at the same time. So intense. So rugged. So… dreamy.
“’Tis a cryin’ shame, yeah.” Missus Miller’s brogue snapped Marie from her musing. The older woman wrapped her arms around the gaunt teenager with a mournful sigh. “A cryin’ shame.”
“Missus,” The girl twisted to see her embracer. “What’s going on? I went to your farm, and nobody was there, well, nobody was anywhere, and they’re all here.”
The woman stepped back and clutched her scarf. “Oh, mercy, mercy me. Oh, dearie, I apologize, but there’s been a- an accident. It’s put people over the edge, it has. Poor Missus Bottom, she was always such a sweet– and now she’s gone.”
“Gone? She’s… gone gone?”
“Aye, afraid so. Like Mister Parish and the others. Oh, poor Matilda…” Tears welled in the woman’s eyes.
Marie glanced to the center of the crowd. Swallowing a hard lump, she turned back and twisted her hair between her fingers. “What ab-, er, how is Master Sickert handling it? What with his, uh, father and all?”
The woman chuckled. “Tried to give a black eye to an elder. Boy’s got spirit, yeah. He’ll need it. He’s helpin’ lead the volunteer investigation, the one set up by the Council, bless his soul.”
Marie’s eyes clung to the fur-clad youth seated with the elders. “We should all do what we can.” She squeezed the woman gently. “Thanks for- for letting me know about Missus Bottom.”
“Aye, lass.” The woman tucked a stray lock of hair behind the girl’s ear. “Take care. Especially these days.”
Her polite smile turned to a confident smirk as Marie marched towards the Council member at the center of the square. She took her place in line with the other volunteers. Oh, she would take care, all right.
[SIGPIC][/SIGPIC]
If life gives you lemons, hand them to me!
I've got a great recipe for lemon meringue pie.
If life gives you lemons, hand them to me!
I've got a great recipe for lemon meringue pie.