The Stepsister's Tale

by Tracy Barrett

  “From the woods,” Maude whispered, pointing at them. Jane snatched her sister’s hand down. Maude leaned close to Jane. “What are they doing here?”

  “They must be desperately hungry,” Jane whispered back. “Mamma said that they only come out of the woods when they’re starving.” The hot, dry summer had made game scarce, and she knew herself how scarce berries and mushrooms were.

  “Why?” Maude asked. “Aren’t they glad to be working for us? Mamma says the servants were always so happy, when we had them.”

  “Hush!” Jane was in an agony that her sister would be overheard. She didn’t know how the people of the woods felt about the Halseys, but she didn’t believe they were like the happy maids and nannies and footmen and butlers that Mamma talked about. She even thought, uncomfortably, that perhaps those same servants hadn’t been as contented as Mamma always said.

  Maude tugged at her sleeve. “If they fix the house, do you think we’ll give parties like the ones Mamma talks about?” Jane felt a ripple of excitement at the thought, followed by dread. They didn’t even know how to curtsey, much less dance. How would they talk to people they didn’t know?

  The men swarmed up ladders and over the roof, and tiles crashed down to the ground. They shattered as they fell from the great height, leaving scraps of dark gray slate everywhere, so the girls retreated into the house. Isabella was sitting in the big chair, drumming her little fingers on its arm. Her father was seated opposite her, leaning forward and speaking in a low and pleading tone. “Just until tomorrow, darling. You can take the carriage out all day tomorrow, if you like. The pony’s too tired.”

  “Please, Papa,” Isabella wheedled. “I want to take it out today. It’s so noisy here—I’m sure it’s giving you a headache. I want to take my carriage to the river where it’s quiet.”

  Mamma came into the room, wiping her hands on her apron. The smell of slightly soured milk accompanied her, as it always did when she had been in the dairy. Isabella wrinkled her nose. Jane could tell that Mamma had noticed the grimace, but she said nothing about it, instead addressing the man. “The work is progressing nicely. There must be a dozen men. At this rate, they will have a little money to spend in the village on Saturday.”

  “I won’t pay them until they’ve finished,” Harry said. “You must be firm with workmen. If you’re not, they take advantage of you. Leave it to me, Margaret.” And he added in a lower tone, “It’s my money, after all.” Mamma turned away.

  Maude pulled Jane into the hallway. “Why does he care when they’re paid?” she whispered. “They’ll finish the roof. Mamma wouldn’t have hired someone who would cheat us. Harry can buy Isabella a golden carriage and shoes made of glass. Why won’t he pay the roofers?”

  Jane shook her head, unable to respond. She knew that Hugh’s father had not had work for a long time. He was a herdsman, and the hot, dry summer had dried out the fields so much that many farmers had been forced to slaughter animals that they couldn’t feed. Still, Hannah often managed to trade herbs or doctoring for eggs or even an occasional chicken. Some of the other families were in even more want.

  The roofing went on steadily, except that a day was lost when it rained hard all morning, filling the dry fountain with water that turned to greenish muck. More water poured in through the holes of the roof, and Jane and Maude tried to catch the worst of it with buckets and washtubs. At least the cisterns on the roof would be filling, and they wouldn’t have to wear out their arms pumping water.

  After the sky cleared that afternoon, the men were able to resume work, but less than an hour later, a young man slid off the wet tiles and crashed down into the courtyard. He groaned as he was carried away on a ladder.

  “Make them some tea,” Mamma said the next afternoon. “There’s a chilly wind, and they should be ready to take a rest.”

  “Must I, Mamma?” Jane knew that her protest was merely a token one, and she was already untucking her legs from under her. Neither of the younger girls stirred. Whenever Mamma didn’t say whether she or Maude should do something, Jane always wound up doing it.

  “The ladies of the house look after the workmen,” Mamma said. Jane turned her exasperated sigh into a cough as she stuck her needle carefully back into the tablecloth she was mending. She knew that Maude’s repairs would be ragged lumps rather than her own almost invisible seams, but if Mamma wanted her to leave her work...

  She stood awkwardly on the drive, holding the largest tray she could manage, with a large pot and a stack of cups. Nobody took any notice of her. I knew this would happen, she thought, and was about to go back in when one of the men glanced down and saw her. He turned and said something over his shoulder that Jane couldn’t catch. One or two of the men laughed, and she felt herself flush. She forced herself to hold the heavy tray steady as they came down the ladders, and then one by one they came to help themselves. Each nodded as he poured himself a cup, and a few tugged at the brim of their caps. “Thank you, Miss,” one of them said, startling her so that her reply froze in her chest before it made it to her lips.

  The tray grew lighter with each cup poured and removed. The large man she had seen holding the wood ax was the last. After the man had taken a cup and nodded his thanks, he turned as though expecting to find someone with him. “Will?” he called. No answer. The man put his cup back on the tray and strode off, returning a moment later with the boy, who was scowling and dragging his feet. The man picked up his cup again, and the boy stopped short. The man pushed him forward with an impatient, “Go on.”

  The boy raised his eyes but didn’t look Jane directly in the face. “Thank you for offering—” His father nudged him in the back, and he hastily added, “Miss. But I don’t care for any.” He looked at his father as though to say, “Satisfied?”

  Jane knew that the boy was feeling terribly uncomfortable, and she tried to keep “Serves you right” out of her voice as she answered, “I don’t either. My sister usually makes the tea, but I did it this time and I don’t really know how. I’m afraid it isn’t very good.”

  As though surprised at her friendly tone, the boy finally looked at her, and he broke into a reluctant grin, showing white teeth. He instantly quenched the smile, but for that moment he had appeared friendly, and Jane could see humor in his dark eyes. The man gulped down his tea. The two of them returned to work, and Jane returned to the house, thinking she would never understand the people of the woods.

  Chapter 6

  Jane pushed aside wet leaves and poked among tree roots, hunting for mushrooms under the trees near the house. No luck. The berries, too, were long gone, and the few nuts that fell rotted quickly in the soggy ground. She turned back toward home, her empty basket dangling from her arm, and was met by Betsy on the drive. The puppies were old enough to allow her to leave them occasionally, and she frisked around Jane, clearly thrilled with her liberty.

  Jane paused. Mamma always said not to go into the forest, where there were wolves and boars, as well as bandits and the people of the woods, who, Mamma said, were half-wild. And there was that strange flicker as of pale cloth or hair that she had seen in the trees that day, followed by the singing. No, she wouldn’t risk it.

  But if she brought Betsy with her, and if she stayed on the paths that surely continued through the trees, what harm could come to her? Betsy would give warning of any wild beasts, and while she was gentle, she was large, and anyone seeing her would keep their distance. And maybe Betsy could catch a rabbit—even a squirrel would be welcome. If Jane skinned it and cut up the meat, they could tell Mamma it was a rabbit, and she would never ask why the bones were so tiny, or why it tasted different. Jane couldn’t remember when she had last eaten meat. She made up her mind and whistled to Betsy, who followed along willingly.

  As they left the familiar band of trees nearest the house, Jane rested her hand on the big hound’s head. The touch comforted her. T
he narrow path soon dwindled to the point where it was barely visible. Branches overhung it, shaking cold droplets into her face as she pushed through them. Jane swallowed. Surely she would be able to find her way back, but even if she couldn’t, Betsy could. Dogs always knew where they were, didn’t they? Especially mother dogs who had left their puppies behind?

  She searched in the wet leaves, but found nothing. She ventured a few steps deeper into the woods, and then a few steps more. Now that she had disobeyed Mamma by coming this far, she might as well keep going until she found something or until the sun was near setting.

  The forest was eerily silent, as though it was watching her. No birds sang; no small animals rustled in the sparse underbrush. Birds don’t sing in the rain, she told herself, even though the rain had stopped. The rabbits and squirrels aren’t gone—they’re just keeping still so Betsy won’t notice them.

  As she pushed aside a branch, she realized that Betsy wasn’t next to her. She looked around and saw the dog standing a few yards away, her head up, ears pricked, nostrils twitching.

  Betsy gave a little whine. Jane started to ask, “What is it, girl?” when she heard it, too: a distant voice, high-pitched like that of a woman or a child, singing a few notes of a song. It’s not the wind, she told herself. That’s a person—a person singing deep in the forest. She felt the hairs on her arms rise. The same voice repeated the notes, a little louder. Betsy’s head whipped around to the left, and from that direction there came a deeper voice singing a different tune. A low rumble arose from Betsy’s throat.

  And then a dark shape moved out from behind a tree. Bare branches between her and whatever it was kept Jane from seeing it clearly, but she didn’t wait for it to get closer. All the tales that Mamma told them by the fire on winter nights—stories of witches who baked children in their ovens, and evil little men who danced around bonfires and stole babies, and giants who ate people as though they were chickens—flashed into her mind. She turned and fled back up the path, dropping her basket and not daring to stop to pick it up. She barely noticed where she was going, and just as the thought I’m lost popped into her mind, Betsy appeared next to her. The two of them sped down the path and finally burst into the pastureland behind the barn, where their own two goats swung their heads up to stare at them, and Baby mooed at her.

  Betsy ran on to the barn and her puppies, but Jane’s knees felt weak, and she sat down on a stump. If Betsy hadn’t been with her, she would have thought she had imagined the singing. But she knew she hadn’t imagined that shape, that dark thing that had moved slowly from behind the tree. Was it a person? A bear? Someone from the world of the fairies?

  The cow ambled up and nudged at her pocket. Jane pushed the big head away. She had found no late apples, and even if she had, she would have kept them to give to Mamma instead of to the cow.

  When her heart slowed and her legs stopped trembling, she stood and smoothed her dress. She took a deep breath and headed toward the house. Something about what happened tickled at her brain. Something had not been the way it was supposed to be—and not just the voices singing and the shadowy form. What was it?

  Trying to puzzle it out—and wondering how she would explain the loss of the basket—she rounded the corner of the house and stopped short at the sight of Mamma, Harry and the roofers, gathered in the drive. Harry scowled at the crowd, his hands on his hips. He stood on a step, forcing the workmen to look up at him. Mamma, next to him, had laid her hand on Betsy’s head to quiet her, but this was unnecessary; the big hound looked out calmly at the assembled roofers, clearly sensing no threat.

  “It’s not that we’re not glad of the work,” the man in front was saying, his cap in his hand, “it’s just that we were promised our pay on Saturday, and today is Saturday. We’ve worked hard and done as we were told—”

  “You have not,” Harry said sharply. “You were to have finished repairing the roof and there are still holes.”

  “We would have finished this afternoon,” said the man, equally sharply, “and we will come back after the Sabbath and work until it’s done, but you know what happened. First the rain, and then there was that mishap. Young Jeremy is a good worker, and without him it was impossible to end on time. We lost several hours tending to him, Lady Margaret.” His voice was respectful as he addressed Mamma.

  “I know you did. I was remiss in not visiting him. How is he coming along?”

  “His leg is broken,” said another man, in a rougher tone than the first. “It’s doubtful whether he’ll ever again be a useful wage-earner.”

  Mamma made a distressed sound, but Harry broke in. “When he chose to be a roofer, he chose to take certain risks. If he couldn’t afford the risk, he should have found other work.”

  “What other work?” said the second man, raising his voice. “It’s been near impossible to make a living here ever since the prince forbade us to hunt in our forest and fish in our streams.”

  “He won’t even let us chop wood for sale,” chimed in a new voice. Jane saw that it came from the curly-haired boy—Will. He stood with a hand on his wood ax and his head thrown back defiantly. He glanced in her direction, and she quickly dropped her eyes, but she was sure he had seen her looking at him. She felt flustered and didn’t know why. Why shouldn’t she look at him? She glanced back and saw that his gaze was still turned in her direction, so she looked away again hastily.

  “Your forest? Your streams?” Harry laughed, but without humor. “You forget whose land you live on. The land you call ‘yours’ belongs to the king. It’s his privilege to decide what is done with it.”

  “We’ve always been allowed—”

  “That’s beside the point. You did not finish the work you had agreed to do and I will not pay you tonight.”

  Feet shifted and grumbles arose. Hugh clutched a trowel, his eyes cast down. The rough-looking man with a gray beard who stood in front, still holding his hat, said, “Lady Margaret?” Mamma looked at him. “Lady Margaret, your father would never have treated us like this. Nor your grandfather.”

  Mamma lowered her eyes.

  The man turned to his fellows. “Come along. We’ll get no pay this day.” They left, dragging their tools, some silent, some grumbling. Hugh cast a glance over his shoulder at Maude as he followed them. Will glared at Harry, his eyes so full of resentment that Jane flinched again, even though the look hadn’t been directed at her.

  When only a few workers remained, the spokesman stepped forward and tugged on his cap. “Good night, Lady Margaret,” he said, and then more quietly, “We all know it’s not your fault, Mistress. We’ll be back on Monday morning and finish the task. If he pays us, well and good. If not, we’ll call the work a friendly act to an old neighbor.”

  Mamma raised her eyes. Jane saw tears shining in them. Mamma nodded her thanks to the man, who tugged his cap once more, then turned and followed the others. Betsy trotted after them, hoping for a friendly pat on the head, but they ignored her, and she turned aside into the barn.

  “What did that man want?” Harry asked sharply.

  “He was just remembering my father,” Mamma said. “Come, girls, it’s getting chilly. Let’s go sit by the fire.” They left Harry alone on the steps.

  “Where have you been, Jane?” Maude asked as they trailed after Mamma.

  “Mushroom hunting,” she answered shortly.

  “Did you find any?”

  Jane shook her head.

  Maude’s face fell. “I found some chestnuts,” she said glumly. “And I pulled up the last of the carrots.”

  “That’s what we’ll have for supper, then,” Jane said. She wished Maude would stop talking and let her think. What was it that had happened in the woods that was nagging at her?

  They ate in silence. Harry gave Isabella most of his supper. Jane realized that the man’s clothes were hanging a bit loosely.

/>   “What are you staring at?” he snapped.

  She turned her gaze away hastily and didn’t answer.

  Cleaning up after supper was quick, since they had no cooking pots to wash. Mamma laid the chestnuts on the fire to roast for a treat before bed, and Jane went out for the day’s second milking. She took the full bucket to the dairy and was about to turn back to the house when her eye caught sight of something on the stump where she had stopped after running out of the forest. Had she left her shawl there? No, she was still wearing it.

  She looked around, hesitating to go just those few yards closer to the woods in the dim evening light. A chilly breeze rustled the branches of the dark trees and raised the hairs on the back of her neck. Was it really a breeze, though, and not some forest spirit? Don’t be silly, she scolded herself, and forced herself to hold her head high as she crossed the field, the soggy leaves squelching unpleasantly underfoot.

  She stopped short when she reached the stump. It was her basket—the empty basket that she had dropped in her flight from the strange voices. Only it wasn’t empty now. Jane marveled at the plump, white mushrooms that filled it almost to the brim. Something darker lay under them; she lifted out enough mushrooms to see three red and green apples. They were small, but bright and smooth.

  Jane glanced at the woods. Nothing moved and she heard no sound, but somehow she knew that she was being watched. She stood, clutching the handle of the basket, and called, “Thank you” to the dark trees. Still nothing, so she turned, feeling a prickle on her back. How was she going to explain the food to Mamma? She had already told her she had found no mushrooms.

  She walked slowly, trying to think of something. “I found these earlier today but I lost the basket and was ashamed to tell you, and then I found it again”? Even Maude, much less Mamma, wouldn’t be fooled by that. “These were growing in a place I forgot to look in earlier, but I remembered as soon as I got to the barn, and went looking in the dark”? That might explain the mushrooms, but what about the apples?