by S H Cooper
The house is unusually hushed. I can hear Drake moving things about in his room. He probably thinks he’s being quiet. Instead of going to my room, I tiptoe past it, down the hall and around the corner to the short, stone stairwell leading to my parents’ chamber. A peek around the corner shows that their door is slightly open. A muffled sound comes from within. I can’t quite make out what it is, but it makes goose pimples sprout up along my arms.
I almost lose my nerve and turn back around. I haven’t seen Father yet. The thought of him lying in his bed, as pale and still as he’d been on the field, makes me want to run away again. And Mother. She must be furious with me. I’ve done nothing but cause trouble all day.
While I hesitate on the steps outside their door, the muffled sound becomes clearer. It’s Mother. She’s speaking. It’s so soft, obviously not meant to be heard by anyone else, and through the small opening in their door, I see her kneeling at the bedside. Her back is to me, and she’s clutching one of Father’s hands in both of hers.
“The children are all fine,” she whispers, staring into his face. “You did well. You taught the lads to defends themselves, you saved our Mary. You did as you always promised for our wee ones…” Her voice cracks and she crumples against the bed, her forehead pressed to his knuckles. “You can’t do this to me, Patrick. I can’t do this without you. We need you. What are we going to do without you?”
Her shoulders shake with silent sobs.
For the first time, I feel like I’m really seeing my mother. Here, in this private moment she never would have wanted me to witness, I realize she’s as scared as I am. She’s hurting just the same. But she’ll never show it. She’s making herself be strong for me and Drake and Joseph. She’s allowing us to mourn while she holds us and tells us it will be alright even when her own heart is breaking. She’s protecting us from as much grief as she can.
I had never understood why Father said he was the sword of the family, but she was the shield, until now.
I look away from my parents, to the wooden headboard of their bed. There are words carved into the arch over their pillows. I can’t read them, but I know them all the same: You and me forever.
Father had said that to Mother the first time they met. He’d been a young knight, barely beyond a squire, and there’d been a feast in the village. He told me, while she blushed and tutted, he’d never seen a prettier maid than Mother, and when he spoke to her, she was sharp and witty. He was certain she was the one he was going to marry from that night on. Every time they met after, for the whole six months of their courtship, he’d tell her, “Whatever else happens, it’ll be you and me forever, Kitty”.
I slip quietly back down the steps, my teeth clenched tight. Once in my room, I dig into the bottom of the trunk at the end of my bed. At the very bottom is one of Father’s old travel packs I’d hidden away. I never really thought I’d have a use for it. I think of my Mother, trying so hard to hold us all together. I think of my brothers. I think of my father. I think and I pack; two dresses, a colorful shawl Mother knit for me, a brush. I leave the petticoats behind.
My pack is only half full, but I don’t know what else to put in it. I look around at the carved dolls sitting on my rocking chair, at the half finished rose sampler with its needle still threaded with red string, at my bed with its green quilt and white stars stitched in it. I run my fingers along the remaining dresses and undergarments in my wardrobe.
I’d give it all up instantly if it meant getting Father back.
My family is the only thing in the world that really matters to me. Even if Drake weren’t going, I’d still follow Torren. As foolish as it might be, I have to. I’ve always been the one they’ve protected most. Now it’s my turn.
Whoever this Meverick is, whatever he’s plotting, he’s not going to take my parents’ forever. I’m not going to let him.
Chapter Seven
When a soft knock sounds on my door, I quickly shove the travel pack into the back of my wardrobe and then perch myself on the edge of my bed.
“Come in,” I say.
Mother opens the door enough to step inside, then closes it after her. She’s washed her face, clearing away any signs of her tears. I can tell she wants to say something, but doesn’t seem to know how. I don’t know what to say either, so I just shift awkwardly. She crosses over to the rocking chair and gently touches its arm. A small smile tugs at her lips.
“When you were a babe in arms, your father used to sit with you in this chair. He built it special for you,” she says.
“He did?”
“Aye. You were so much fussier than the lads.” She laughs softly. “You’d cry and cry no matter what I did, then he’d come in and pick you up and rock you until you slept. Some nights, it was the only thing that would settle you. And goodness forbid he try and put you back in your cradle. You’d kick right up until he was holding you again. He lost many a night’s sleep to you and this chair.”
My lower lip begins to quiver and I rub my hand over it. I have to wait a moment before I’m sure I’ll be able to speak. “I’m sorry, Mother.”
“He made all these for you, too.” She pats each doll on its head as if she hadn’t heard me. “He didn’t know the first thing about carving toys for a lass. We almost went cold that first winter for all the wood he used, but he was determined to get it right.”
I sniff and gaze guiltily down at my lap. I didn’t know that I’d always been such trouble.
One of the dolls, my favorite with the dark thread hair, is suddenly staring back up at me. Mother is crouched in front of me, and she presses the doll into my hands. She strokes my cheek and I lean into her touch.
“My sweet, silly lamb. You have nothing to be sorry for. The only thing your father has ever wanted was to take care of you. He’d never have slept again if it meant you didn’t cry. He’d have cut down every tree in Moorsden to make you the perfect doll. He would take a hundred more arrows for you to keep you safe.” Her words tremble slightly, but she is smiling. “And if he ever heard anyone trying to make you apologize for that, he’d be furious. None of this was your doing. You can’t blame yourself.”
“I shouldn’t have been there,” I hug my doll to my chest.
“No, you shouldn’t have,” she agreed gently, “but Loleck said things would have been a lot worse if you hadn’t warned them.”
“Maybe Father could have —”
“It doesn’t matter what might have been,” Mother says. “What’s happened, happened, and now we will manage as best we can.”
“But —”
She clucks her tongue at me. “None of that, Mary. Let’s just be thankful for what we still have today. Tomorrow, though, you and I will have a little chat about just what you were doing there, young lady. Now, supper needs tending. Why don’t you go see your father, let him know you’re home, then come help me, aye?”
I nod and she straightens after kissing the tip of my nose. After she’s gone, I stay in place for a long while, fiddling with the thick strands of my doll’s hair. I leave her propped up against my pillow when I go to see Father.
My parents’ room is stuffy and smells strongly of medicine when I finally force myself to go through their door. The shutters are closed and latched and a fire has been lit in their hearth. Father lies on his back beneath their furs. From a distance, it looks almost like he’s asleep, except he has no color in his face. As I get closer, though, I see that his mouth is open slightly and the corners twitch every now and again. His eyes are rolling back and forth between his closed lids, like he’s having a terrible dream. Beads of sweat drip down his forehead.
I wish I could wake him.
I’m ashamed that I can’t look at him for very long. It feels too much like looking at a stranger.
Worried that he’s too warm and trying to busy myself, I fold the furs back to his waist. The medicine smell rolls like a pungent cloud out from beneath them and I quickly pinch my nose. But when I see the bandages wrapped around
Father’s middle, I forget all about the smell.
Dr. Willis’ work is neat and tight. Whatever poultice he used has seeped through on one side, leaving a dark stain on the linen. At least, I tell myself it’s only the poultice. I imagine it’s to help fight infection, like what he put on Drake’s hand when he cut it. That earthy, bitter scent is familiar.
If Torren is telling the truth, it won’t do much good for Father.
I slip my hand into his and, for the first time, his fingers don’t immediately close over mine. They feel cool to the touch. I make myself look at him. It’s a long time before I trust myself to speak, and even when I do, it’s only in a small whisper.
“I’m going to make this better, Father,” I say.
His lips twitch and his eyes roll and he doesn’t answer me.
“I have a friend, she’s going to take me to find a cure. You don’t have to worry, though, Drake is going with me. He’ll protect me.”
I can’t bring myself to add, just like you did.
I lean over the bed and give him the tightest hug I can. “It’s going to be ok. I promise.”
After dabbing his forehead with a damp cloth Mother had left on his bedside table, I give him a kiss on his cheek and hurry away. I don’t want to cry in front of him. Once outside the room, I lean heavily against the door and bury my face in my hands. I stay there until I feel dried up. Like I’ll never be able to cry again.
It’s a draining, exhausting feeling, and I trudge to the common room on heavy feet.
Mother’s set the table for supper, something I usually would have done, and is ladling the stew from its pot into bowls. Drake is on a stool beside the fire, dragging a cloth slowly up and down his sword’s blade. He doesn’t acknowledge me when I come in. Joseph is sitting against the wall with a book open in his lap. He’s just staring down at the page though. I doubt he’s actually reading. He grunts a greeting when he notices me.
“Come, children, eat,” Mother says, waving us to our seats.
No one mentions the empty place at the head of the table where Father always sits. Out of habit, Mother has filled five bowls, but only realizes it once she’s sat down and looks across the table at an empty chair and the steaming bowl in front of it. She laughs softly to try and hide the way her chin quivered.
“Dunderhead that I am,” she says and begins to rise to clear it away.
“I’m hungry anyway, Mother.” Drake is quick to snatch the extra stew up and slurps it noisily.
“Me too,” Joseph follows his twin’s lead and grabs the heel of bread that had been beside the bowl. He stuffs half of it in his mouth in a single bite.
“Manners or it’s out to the barn with both of you,” she scolds the lads. Her laugh is more genuine this time.
With the tension broken for the moment, we all relax enough to enjoy the meal. Joseph distracts us further with a story, a tale about a lass on a quest to find her lost dog. It’s silly and sweet and has a happy ending. There’s no talk of the battle and I’m not asked about what I was doing at the field. We act as if Father has just gone to bed early and is sleeping while we laugh and eat.
The sun sets outside the window. Joseph tells us two more stories, both as lighthearted as the first, while Mother washes the dishes and I practice my stitches on a torn pair of trousers. Drake makes jokes and teasingly asks me to show him how to sew. It’s almost normal. It’s almost exactly how I want to remember my last night home.
“Alright, my wee one,” Mother says to me when it’s finally gone dark out and our only light is from the fire in the hearth. “To bed with you.”
“It’s still early yet,” I complain. The yawn that follows immediately betrays me.
She tugs the end of my braid and nudges me toward my room. “Off you go, lamb.”
“One more story, Joseph?” I ask over her shoulder.
A sudden rush of panic has twisted my stomach. I don’t want the evening to end. I don’t want to say goodnight to my mother. Not when I know it really means goodbye.
“No more,” she says with a note of finality that leaves no room for argument.
Joseph can only shrug.
I look helplessly at Drake. Surely he must be feeling the same way. Scared, guilty, overwhelmed with doubt and uncertainty. But he just lifts a brow at me and shoos me with his hand. He’s as calm and unruffled as I’ve ever seen him. With nothing else to do and no help coming from my brothers, I hug Mother and hold on tightly. She returns it and kisses the top of my head.
“Everything will be fine, lamb,” she whispers.
I stare up at her face, trying to commit every part of it to memory. How blue her eyes are, the way the firelight brings out the red in her hair, the lines around her eyes when she smiles. I don’t want to let go.
“Bedtime, Mary,” she says gently.
I linger at the end of the hall and look over the common room one more time. The panic is roaring inside me, but I can’t let it show. I bury it under the warmth of that moment. I drown it out with the sound of my family laughing together. I am a McThomas, and I will be brave.
Alone in my room, I pull the half-empty travel pack out from my closet and set it on the foot of my bed. My doll is against my pillow where I’d left her, and I pick her up to hold her against my cheek. She’s just a toy, I know, and probably not something I should be taking with me, but I stuff her into my pack anyway. She’s a small comfort for the road ahead. As an afterthought, I also add my unfinished embroidery to the pack. My parents would want me to keep up with my stitching.
I change into an older dress, one I won’t care about if it gets dirty, and curl up beneath my furs with my pack tucked in beside me. I don’t expect to sleep, just to wait until Mother and Joseph go to bed, but my eyes start to drift closed. I hadn’t realized how tired I actually was until I lay down. I fall asleep to the sounds of Mother and my brothers murmuring from down the hall, my arms wrapped around my travel pack.
A soft tink, tink sound wakes me some hours later. The house is quiet and the soft glow from the fireplace that shone under my door has gone out. I sit up, panicking all over again, but this time I’m afraid Torren and Drake will have left without me. I throw my furs back and swing my legs over my bed.
Tink. Tink.
I freeze in place. The sound is coming from my window, as if small stones are being thrown against the shutter. I slide the rest of the way out of bed and creep to the window to pull it open slightly.
A small ball of light hovers on the other side. I almost slam the shutters again in fright when Torren says, “What took you so long, you daft girl? I’ve been knocking for ages!”
I squint and see that the light is coming from the fae herself! She’s surrounded by a golden orb that flickers and shimmers like fire. I release the breath that I’d unintentionally been holding.
“Mary,” she hisses, snapping her fingers in my face. “Hellooooo?”
“Sorry,” I reply. “I just woke up.”
“Good, you got some sleep. Are you ready, then?”
“I...I think so. I just need to get Drake.”
“He’s not with you already? Honestly, you two…”
I close the window and leave her muttering outside while I grab my pack and sling it over my shoulder. Out in the hall, I stop and look toward the steps leading to my parents’ room.
“We won’t be gone long,” I promise in a whisper.
I hope it’s true.
The lads’ door is open a crack and, when I peek in, both beds are empty. Immediately I think the worst: Drake’s gone and he’s taken Joseph instead of me! But he couldn’t have. Torren was outside my window, she’s still waiting for me. Drake would have needed her to lead them to the cure. I calm myself with a deep breath and run my hand along the wall to guide me to the common room.
Drake and Joseph are both sitting in the dark at the table. They look up sharply when they hear my footsteps, but relax when they realize it’s only me.
“Joseph?” I ask, confused, a
s they push their chairs back to stand. They both have a bag at their feet.
“He woke up when I was packing,” Drake said with a shrug.
“How could I not? You’re a right bull, the way you stomp about,” Joseph replied.
“I told you to go back to sleep!”
“After seeing what you were doing? No way!”
Their voices are getting louder and I get between them, pressing a finger to my lips. If they keep it up, Mother will hear them for sure.
“You told him?” I turn to Drake.
“Well, it’s not like I could lie about what I was doing with all my clothes and food,” Drake says with a defensive sniff.
“He’s my father, too, Mary,” Joseph says. There’s a note of hurt in his voice. Of course he wouldn’t want to be left behind. “If you’re going, I’m going.”
“What about Mother? We can’t leave her alone,” Just the thought of it is enough to bring fresh tears to my eyes.
“The whole village will be looking out for her,” Drake reassures me. “She won’t be alone.”
“She’s going to be so worried.” My hands seek my braid out of habit and I twist it.
“I’ve left a note,” Joseph says. “It’s on the hearth. She’ll understand.”
A little orb of light flashes suddenly in one of the front windows and I have to stop the lads from going for their swords.
“It’s just Torren!”
“The fae? She’s here? I can meet her?” Joseph can’t hide his excitement. It must be like one of his stories coming to life for him and I smile slightly despite the heaviness in my stomach.
“Aye, she’s waiting.”
“Then I guess it’s time,” Drake says. “Are you ready?”
I bite my lip and hesitate. I want to say that I don’t think I am ready. I need another moment. Another hug from Mother. To see Father again. Everything is happening too fast! I’m afraid.
Instead, I hear myself say, “Yes.”
Drake leads the way to the door with Joseph just behind him. Moonlight spills across the threshold when he opens it and illuminates the room in pale white. I take one last, long look around at my home, the only place I’ve ever known, and then I follow my brothers outside to the waiting fae.