Escape from the Past

by Oppenlander, Annette

  Near the fireplace, Bero, Adela and their mother hovered over Juliana. They were all chatting at once. I didn’t understand a word, until I saw movement in the straw. Juliana had shifted her foot. The white bandage was still in place, but I definitely saw movement.

  In a flash I climbed off the platform. They all turned to look at me, their faces expressing something like wonder. On the floor, Juliana struggled to sit. She looked wide-awake.

  Her family parted as I approached and kneeled next to the girl. Gingerly, I unfastened the bandage to look underneath. I worried about smelling something putrid, but when I lifted the padding, I sighed. The skin around the gash had lost its puffiness. The wound looked crusted over and more pink than red. Carefully I prodded the undamaged edges.

  “What do you feel?” I said.

  “Like you’re poking me.”

  Was Juliana trying to be funny? I looked at her deer eyes. They were serious.

  “Does it pulsate, sting or burn?”

  Juliana shook her head. “It hurts, but not like yesterday.”

  Behind me, her mother sighed. Bero punched me in the shoulder. “Max, the healer,” he smirked.

  Hiding my sudden giddiness, I replaced the pad with a fresh one soaked in pine water, aware of Juliana’s eyes on my hands. Somehow it felt unnerving.

  “Do you have more tea?” said Juliana.

  “I’ll get the pine. Max can heat water.” Bero darted for the door. I followed him slowly. I was relieved the girl was better. That didn’t change the fact I was trapped in a stinky shack in a stinky village with no idea how to get home. My forehead pounded and my bowels demanded attention as I headed for the outhouse. I’d determined that the plants in the outhouse were for wiping. With longing I thought of the toilet paper I’d taken for granted.

  After breakfast and several cups of pine needle tea, Bero’s family headed to the Catholic Church in Rimbach while Juliana remained on the straw sack. The mother had changed her tone, filling my cup and handing me an extra piece of bread.

  “Come with us,” Bero said. “You’ll burn forever in hell if you don’t confess your sins and pray.” He looked toward the ceiling as if he were asking God to confirm. “You can come like that. Even if you look outlandish.” He nodded at my pants and sneakers.

  I imagined the whole village stuffed together in the medieval church. It had to reek like crazy. Not to mention they’d stare me down. Wanting to keep a low profile I shook my head.

  “Sorry, got other plans.”

  After Juliana fell asleep, I headed to the river. My body itched, my hair stuck to my skull and I smelled myself. It was time for another bath, no matter how cold. It was strange how my life had felt completely out of control. Ever since my father moved us to Germany I’d felt out of control like I lost my life. Because no matter how I argued or what I did or said, nothing made a difference. So I’d drifted, gaming every free minute and whenever I didn’t want to think about stuff which was most of the time. Today, for the first time I’d done something good. Even if it was in a game. The sun tried breaking through the layer of gray, but it had to be less than fifty degrees because I saw my breath. Ignoring the chill in the air and thinking of the cold water ahead, I fell into a run.

  The Werra looked peaceful, the path deserted. I stripped and took my T-shirt and underwear into the shallows to wash. Hanging the wet clothes across a clump of cattails I went to bathe. A duck took off, quacking loudly as I swam along the reeds. I was reluctant to go out farther. The river moved quickly in the middle. I’d never enjoyed swimming much except hanging out with Jimmy at the public pool where we’d played on the waterslides and watched the girls from our high school.

  A swan crossed the water thirty feet downstream, its head high and its beady eyes watchful. I turned. Swans could be dangerous. I thought of the swan roast on Knight Werner’s table. These people ate everything that moved. I shivered and mopped myself down as I climbed out of the water.

  I carefully stepped through the muck along the river’s edge. It was easy to cut your feet with this stuff. My underwear still hung on the cattails but I didn’t see my shirt.

  Then I froze. A woman stood near my clothes. She inspected my T-shirt, sniffing it and mumbling to herself. I crouched and peeked through the vegetation. The woman was dressed in layered blackish-brown rags over a dark-brown skirt. She was turned away from me and I couldn’t see her face, but her hands were wrinkled and covered with age spots.

  For a second I felt helpless. I was stark naked and if the woman stole my clothes, I’d be in huge trouble. It didn’t look like Bero and his family had extra outfits and I’d traded the only valuable item for the white fabric. I’d get a shirt, but that wouldn’t be ready for two more days.

  The woman bent down to touch my jeans and shoes. Again she mumbled. I had to do something before she ran off. I looked around for something to cover my middle but there was nothing suitable, just thin grasses and reed. The woman straightened. She’d picked up one shoe and held it close to her eyes. Maybe the old bat was half-blind.

  I catapulted from the weeds, yelling, “Leave my things alone.”

  The woman turned. I’d expected her to jump at my sudden outburst, but she looked at me calmly while lowering the hands that still held my shoe and shirt.

  “Good morn,” she said.

  I’d yanked my dripping underwear from the reed and twisted my way into the wet fabric. Ignoring the cold, I held out one arm. “Please give me my stuff.”

  The woman nodded and handed it over. She kept watching me. “You must be the new lad.”

  “Yeah, I’m Max. Who are you?” I knew I was rude, but I was too riled up to exchange pleasantries.

  “I’m Luanda, the healer.”

  I stared at the shriveled woman whose back was permanently bent and who reminded me of a witch. I wouldn’t have been the least bit surprised to see her pull out a broom and fly off. No wonder the villagers were afraid of her. Luanda stared at me. Her eyes, the color of rain clouds, were hidden behind layers of wrinkles. Her nose looked like a misshapen potato with hair sprouting from it. I lunged forward and whisked my pants from under her feet. Then I stepped back to put some distance between us. Still, the woman watched.

  “You aren’t from around,” she said. I wanted to roll my eyes. I’d heard it a thousand times. Wasn’t it obvious? But the old bat wasn’t finished. She glanced at my shirt again. “Nerds, hmmm?”

  I opened my mouth in surprise. The witch could read…and she still wasn’t finished.

  “Your journey has been long—and short.”

  I nodded while watching the beady eyes. If this was hypnosis, I was going for it. “Your world is very different from this one. You know much and yet…little.”

  She began to sound like an oracle, I thought. Maybe she was making up stuff—faking it—and that’s why Bero and his folks called her a healer. These people were too gullible. You could tell them anything and they’d get scared and cross themselves. The old witch was nothing more than a con artist.

  “Tell me about your mother.”

  That caught me by surprise. I’d been thinking about my mother before I went to sleep, but I’d been so busy making it through the day, that I’d pushed the thought of her away. Besides, I might get another lump in my throat and I had no time for that right now.

  “Her name is Barbara,” I began. “She’s German. Works at a bank.”

  I wanted to scream. In the U.S. it had been special to have a German mom. It obviously didn’t matter when you were in Germany. Duh.

  But Luanda didn’t seem to pick up on that. “Bank?”

  I nodded. “She works with money…coins.” Heck, I didn’t have a clue what she did. Not exactly. Something with business loans. I’d never cared to ask. Luanda stood watching me, her arms relaxed. I wondered why she didn’t seem more surprised.

  “My father left…we live alone.”

  The woman tilted her head. “You helped the tanner’s girl.” I nodded. “You’re a
healer—like me. Will you visit again?”

  I stared back in surprise. What did she want with me? I had no interest in seeing another smelly place. Maybe she’d transform me into a bird or worse…

  “I’m pretty busy.”

  She nodded and sniffed, the nostrils on her potato nose flaring. “It will rain today. Stay out of trouble, young Max.” For a moment her eyes sharpened while all the wrinkles scrunched together into a frown. “It can be a dangerous place.”

  Luanda turned before I thought of a comeback. A wind gust rippled across the reeds as if the woman had summoned bad weather. I shivered. If her face and tone were supposed to frighten me, it worked. I yanked on my clothes except for the shirt. My skin felt icy wet. I’d get dry and warm at Bero’s house. Even if it stank.

  Chapter 8

  In Bero’s hut I stoked the fire and hung my shirt above. Juliana lay with her eyes closed, the hair a loosely braided pillow around her. I took a sip of pine needle tea that stood forgotten from this morning and watched her. I wondered how old she was. I’d ask Bero without attracting too much attention. I needed to talk to him anyway. About the harvest festival and about what year it was. They’d gone to church instead of the fields, so it had to be Sunday. Was the game I’d traveled into maintaining the same schedule as home?

  “Why so serious?” Juliana gazed at me. She attempted to sit, but then her mouth twisted with pain and she slumped back down.

  I shook my head. “Nothing.” I pulled my bench a bit closer. “Tell me about Miranda. What do you do for her?”

  “I attend at meals, help with dressing, hair, anything she needs…” She shrugged.

  “You don’t like her.”

  Juliana shook her head. “She’s cruel and unjust. She accuses us of idleness. Everyone is afraid of her. I’d fancy serving Lady Clara. She was kind—and prettier, too.”

  “What do you know about her?”

  “Lady Clara visits with Lady Miranda a lot. I think she’s lonely—her husband is blind and not very nice to her.”

  “Why did she marry him?”

  “He was much different before he lost his sight. He was funny and joked with us maids. Now, he sits around and drinks.”

  “You worked for Lady Clara?”

  Juliana nodded. “Before her husband got sick. He’s one of the Lord’s vassals. Knight Werner is generous and lets them stay in their manor. But she couldn’t afford to keep us and I went to Miranda.”

  “Must be tough to be an invalid around here.” I remembered the girl’s wound. “Your leg feeling okay?”

  Juliana’s perfectly arched brows crunched into a frown. “Your speech is vexing. What does it mean…okay?”

  “It means fine. Like better or tolerable.”

  She nodded, but the suspicion stayed on her face. Ignoring it, I kneeled to take another look under the bandage. One couldn’t be careful enough. The gash looked as it had this morning. I wanted to touch her leg, the good part, but stopped myself. Instead I replaced the padding and stood up.

  “You look nice,” she said, her eyes lingering on my upper body. I glanced at my chest, which was still tanned from summer. Abruptly, I turned away, my cheeks feeling hot.

  “Thanks,” I managed. Clearing my throat I returned to the bench. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

  “What’s that?”

  “Someone you like and hang out with.”

  She looked at him in consternation. “Your speech is so strange. I don’t understand. What is hang out?”

  “You spend time with the person you like,” I tried.

  An inkling of a smile played around her mouth. “You talk funny. I serve Lady Miranda and see her guests and a few of the squires. They’re dim-witted. Mutter hopes I’ll marry one. She’s worried I’m getting too old.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Fifteen.”

  “You’re a teenag—You’ve got plenty of time.”

  Juliana shook her head. “It is best to marry early, to be protected.”

  “Why?”

  “Because when knights visit, they will take us if they desire it.” The perfect skin around her nose glowed pink. “I try to stay away as much as I can. Many of the maids have bastards.”

  “Like Lady Miranda’s bastard son?” I said, avoiding her eyes. Talking about sex was dangerous territory.

  She shook her head again in impatience. “That’s different. Ott is a Lord’s son. He’s Miranda’s only child.” She paused. “It is rumored his father is the Duke von Dörnberg.”

  “Who’s that?” I thought of forgotten history lessons. Nothing came to mind.

  Juliana shrugged. “The court master of a powerful landgrave. Do you have a lass?”

  “You mean a girl?” I thought of the girls in my school and how spoiled they seemed, my half-hearted attempts at kissing Julia Kellermann at a recent party. Juliana was a slave and afraid of getting raped at any moment. Somehow, I wanted to protect her. “Not really.”

  A rap at the door made me jump. Maybe Bero was being polite. I grinned to myself as I opened the door. Bero didn’t know the meaning of polite.

  “Why are you knock—?”

  Lady Miranda pushed past me into the room. She’d lifted her skirt a few inches as if she wanted to avoid contamination. Behind her a man in his twenties, dressed in black and green velvet, entered. His hair, the same color as Miranda’s, was long and stringy and topped with a droopy hat, ringed with some sort of reddish fur.

  “We’re looking for our maid,” Miranda said. “Ah yes, there she is.” Miranda’s gaze swept through the room, her eyes narrowed in disgust. “She’s deserted her post without the merest excuse. We came to collect her.” Miranda snapped her fingers at me. “Step aside.”

  “She was attacked by your son and needed help,” I said, stepping between Miranda and Juliana. I was at least ten inches taller, but the fellow behind her looked like he wrestled in his free time. His chest was broad and the sword on his hip looked well used.

  “What a brazen thing to say,” the man said. “Who are you?”

  “I’m Max. You?”

  “Mind your filthy mouth.”

  Miranda raised her arm. “Silence. I’m Lady Miranda. This is Lord Ott, my son and the master of our estate.”

  More like a rat, I thought. The guy’s front teeth were too large for his face as he stood sniveling behind his mother. The air of entitlement was hard to miss.

  “Juliana is bound to me,” said Miranda.

  “Juliana can’t travel.” I moved in front of the girl and crossed my arms. “She nearly lost her leg after your son stabbed her with a pitchfork.”

  Ott’s rat eyes squinted with loathing.

  “Surely, this is a most unfortunate misunderstanding. The girl is clumsy.” Miranda glanced at Juliana and the bandaged leg. “Why didn’t she ask for my aid if she had an accident?”

  “It wasn’t an accident.” ‘Cause your son is a lusty swine, I thought. “She may die if she’s moved right now,” I said instead. Below us Juliana started to moan in obvious agony. “She couldn’t possibly serve you well. She needs someone to take care of her.”

  “I’ll put her on my horse,” Ott grumbled.

  Miranda looked back and forth between the girl and me. Finally she sighed as if she’d been dealt a terrible blow. “I’ll expect her back in time for the harvest festival. We have guests and celebrations. I need her. Otherwise I’ll have to have her seized for stealing.”

  “She didn’t take anything,” I said.

  “She’s been given many things,” Miranda said. “Dress, shoes, food…lodging.”

  You slave driver, she’s been working for that I wanted to scream. Digging deep for self-control, I bowed my head. “We’ll discuss it with her mother.”

  Miranda turned to leave. “Yes, good of you to remind me. Juliana’s mother received two Schilling for her.”

  At the door, Ott glanced at the girl on the straw sack, his eyes raking across her body. I was ready to punch the guy i
n his ratty teeth.

  Ott scanned my outfit. “Bizarre robes and no manners. Somebody ought to teach you to honor your Lords,” he hissed. “Watch yourself.” His eyes blazed with something like hate before he followed his mother outside.

  Watching Miranda and her rat mount their horses, I suppressed the urge to kick him in his velvety butt. By the time I rushed back inside, Juliana was crying.

  “I knew she’d made an arrangement. Mutter never told me she received money.”

  I fumed. Gaming was supposed to be fun. Jimmy’s game was a nightmare, neither entertaining nor enjoyable. Helplessly I sat down next to Juliana and patted her hand.

  She threw up her arms and pulled me close. “Don’t let them get me,” she sobbed. “He’s lusty and…”

  Fighting to keep my breath under control, I clasped on to her. “When is the festival?” I whispered, sticking my nose into her hair.

  “It starts Friday night and ends Sunday morning.”

  “This Friday?” I felt the little puffs of her breath on my bare shoulder—exquisite.

  Her head moved up and down.

  “So, we have four days to figure this out.”

  “She’ll want me the morn of Friday.”

  I patted her back. “We’ll find a way.”

  She sighed and the room turned quiet. I should get up, I thought, but my body refused.

  “Caught you,” Bero announced into the stillness.

  I drew back. Nothing had happened, not even a kiss. But I felt guilty nonetheless. It had to look suspicious, me without a shirt, hovering over the girl.

  “Juliana cried,” I said, searching to steady my voice while jumping up and yanking my shirt from the fireplace. “Lady Miranda and her son, Ott, came to claim her. I sent them away, but they want her Friday.”

  “Likely story.”

  “It’s true,” Juliana said. “Mutter sold me to her.” Her eyes looked dark with anger as Bero’s mother entered the hut.