by Shea,Lisa
He smiled tenderly, holding her hands in his own. “And what if I was – and what if while riding on my horse he was spooked by a snake. What if I had died seven years ago, all because I was healthy.” He gave her hand a pat. “We tend to imagine best-case scenarios for what life should have given us,” he reminded her. “We assume that the alternative would be that we would be wealthy beyond measure, or in ideal health, or have some other ultimate benefit. In reality, it is just as likely – if not more likely – that the situation could be far worse.” He gave a low chuckle. “Maybe this illness is an ultimate blessing. I am still alive, I have you by my side, and my mind is as sharp as ever. There is much to be thankful for.”
His eyes shadowed slightly. “I just wish it had not caused such a burden for you.”
She brought his mittened hands to her lips, a reassuring smile spreading on her face. “I treasure our time together,” she countered, “and you are absolutely right. If my choice was to lose you seven years ago, or to have you alive, safely on the couch, enjoying our time together, then absolutely I choose this. Anything else can be dealt with. I still have you, and that is what matters.”
He smiled fondly at her. “Then together we are wealthy beyond all measure,” he agreed.
She closed her eyes, leant against him, and felt the truth of his words resonate fully within her soul.
Chapter 9
Jessame curled up in her cottage bed, pulling the covers tightly over her head, the thunderstorm hammering on the roof in a steady rhythm. The rich, musty smell of rain flooded through every corner of her home. The noise was almost deafening, and she felt safe, cocooned within its clamor. Nobody could reach her here. She was protected, shielded within these four walls.
The image of Berenger’s warm eyes came suddenly to her, as it always did, as it did each morning over these past ten long years. She no longer had to wonder where he was or imagine what he was doing. She no longer had to pray that he was whole, that he was healthy, that he was still walking and living and breathing.
He was right here. He lived only a few miles away, safely at peace in her own village.
She sighed in resignation. He was here - and insurmountable walls stood tall between them, colossal, stone structures which never could be breached.
She wrapped her arms tightly around herself, a deep ache cascading over her. As much as she adored her father, and as much as she treasured her time with him, the thought of Berenger could still cause such a black loneliness in her being that it drove out all other emotion. He had been a part of her life for so long that experiencing his absence was like losing a part of herself. She tried to push it away, but an emptiness swelled within her, an ebony chasm which felt as if it could never be filled. The hollow in her heart was a well without end, a shaft that delved into the echoing depths of the earth.
Finally she forced herself to leave the nest of the blankets, to move to the table. She idly scratched at her wax tablet for a while, increasing a number here, dropping one there. It was all simply guesswork. She still had no strong sense of who the culprit might be.
She found herself gently tracing a curving fish, its elegant fins moving it in a half-circle, its eyes bright and alive. Realizing what she was doing, she erased it with a firm motion, drawing the wax smooth over the place it had occupied.
Frustrated, she stood, reaching beneath the table to draw out the dagger hidden there. Standing in the center of her room, she began practicing knife-thrusts. She imagined her opponent first tall and gangly, then short and stout. She envisioned him attacking her from behind, or perhaps grabbing at her legs.
Finally, worn down, she tucked the knife back into its hiding place and stared around her. The rain pounded down in its steady tattoo, shading the room in grey shadows. She felt utterly lost.
There was a knock on her door, and her heart leapt. Berenger had come to check on her. She turned the wax tablet upside down on the table, scanned the room one last time, then pulled open the door with enthusiasm.
A sweet looking girl, maybe fifteen, stood there in the rain, her long, curly red hair poking out beneath the hood of a thick mouse-grey cloak. A warm smile brightened her freckled face.
“My name is Denise; I am Baldric’s girlfriend,” she greeted, a twinkle in her eye. “Might I come in?”
Jessame thought she caught the hint of motion in the trees behind the girl, but with the dense rain it was hard to tell. She nodded, stepping back, welcoming the girl into the room and closing the door behind her.
Denise turned to look up at Jessame. “I won’t take up much of your time; I know you are busy,” she offered. “I just wanted to come by and say thank you for what you did for Baldric.”
“It was my pleasure,” responded Jessame, smiling. “And you are welcome to stay as long as you wish; it is quite brutal out there.” She suddenly remembered just what her disguise was, and she blushed. “Unless you would rather not?”
Denise’s smile widened, and she plunked herself down on the stool, leaning back. “My mother is an herbalist, and she has seen the village folk in all manner of embarrassing states,” she declared with a wink. “I will go where I like, and talk with who I will.”
Jessame’s heart warmed. No wonder Baldric was so fond of the lass. “Your Baldric is a loyal fellow,” she praised to the girl, taking a seat beside her. “He was the perfect gentleman with me.”
Denise nodded. “I know he was,” she agreed. “And I put a little special something into his friends’ ales the next day, as a warning for them not to try that particular trick again.” Her eyes sparkled. “I believe they could not leave their chamber-pots for hours.”
Jessame chuckled. “Apparently there are some useful benefits to being talented with herbs,” she mused.
Denise looked down to rummage in the bag at her belt. “Speaking of which,” she commented, “I brought something for you.” She took out a handful of green-white flowers and placed them on the table.
“Angelica?” asked Jessame in confusion. “I think my father uses that as a flavoring in his ale sometimes. Thank you very much; I appreciate your gift.”
Denise’s brow furrowed slightly. “There is no need to dissemble with me,” she offered in a lower voice. “I do not condemn you for your chosen path.” She glanced down at the herbs. “Even if you have another way to prevent a seed from being planted, I still recommend you give this a try. It is quite effective.”
Realization hit Jessame, and she looked away. It had never even occurred to her that women might take this kind of action.
Denise’s hand was warm on hers. “I did not mean to offend you,” added the young girl with concern.
Jessame brought a smile onto her lips. “Not at all,” she reassured the girl, turning back. “It is just that I so rarely talk about these things with others.” She pulled a small leather pouch from her belt and swept the herb into it, pulling the strings tight.
Denise smiled at her gently. “Feel free to talk with me about anything you wish,” she encouraged Jessame. “My mother and I have probably seen any malady you could imagine, and many more beyond that. All sorts of spots and stripes can occur in the strangest places.” She winked. “No matter what it is, just let me know. I am sure I can help out somehow.”
Jessame found herself warming to the forthright young woman. “So you enjoy working with herbs?”
Denise nodded with pleasure. “Absolutely,” she agreed. “It makes me happy to help people feel better.” She gave her head a slight shake. “So many times a patient waits until a malady is truly nasty before coming for help. If they would just get over their sensitivity in talking about it, we could have treated it months earlier! Why are people so nervous about discussing their natural body functions? We all do these things.”
Jessame glanced around her small cottage. “But perhaps some things …”
Denise shook her head. “What you offer is one of the most basic drives of the human body,” she countered. “For example, could we sim
ply choose to stop eating?” She smiled encouragingly. “I am here to help, whatever it is you need,” she stated again. “Do not hesitate to come to me if you need help, or just someone to talk with.”
Jessame found a welcome brightness was brought into the gloomy day by the open-minded faith of her young friend. She wished she had something to offer in return. She gave a look around her small room; there was not much to present to a visitor. She had never thought of this situation coming up.
“Would you like some ale, or perhaps an apple?”
Denise shook her head no, her eyes taking in at a glance the meager state of the home. “That is very sweet of you, but I will not impose on your hospitality further. I should get back. My mother feels the miller’s baby will come at any time, and I should be there to assist.”
She drew herself to her feet. “Please remember, if you have any concerns or issues, our door is always open. We can help with a number of situations that might come up in your line of work.”
“I appreciate that,” murmured Jessame. Denise’s repeated offers had her suddenly wondering just how hazardous this field was. She had not given it much thought; had imagined it was fun flirtations and enjoyable activities. It was starting to seem more dark and dangerous.
Denise pulled open the door, and the steady curtain of rain created a wall between them and the rest of the world. “Well, keep us in mind,” she said again. “We are always there to help.”
“Fare well,” offered Jessame. Then the girl was pulling up her hood, heading down the road, vanishing from view almost instantly in the grey streams.
Jessame’s hand went to her hip, and she hefted the leather bag of flowers in her palm, opening the top. They were breathtakingly pretty, ethereally delicate … and their purpose was to stop the creation of a new life. For so many years she had dreamed about having children, about dancing with young babes bearing Berenger’s laughing eyes. And now, to imagine …
She pulled open the bag further, and in one swift movement she dumped out the flowers onto her front stoop. She watched as the rain washed them away into the dirt. She held out her hands, thoroughly rinsing them in the deluge.
The powerful vision remained, the small, trusting child in her arms, his large eyes staring up at her, eyes she knew so well …
She turned, shaking the image away. This was no time to get lost in musings of what-if. She had to remember her focus. There were innocent young women whose lives had been stolen. She was the only one who stood ready to bring the murderer to justice.
She walked up to the mantle, running her hand along the curves of the horseshoe, the delicate shape of the sewing needle, and finally resting on Millie’s wood box.
She took it up in her hands. While in many ways she and Sabina had been quite different in their outlooks in life, in the end they had both ended up in the same situation. Both were being judged by the world solely for their stated profession. Both were scorned, dismissed, and rejected because of the role their fellow villagers thought they held.
While Jessame was only playacting at her task, she had begun to understand some small portion of what Sabina must have dealt with every day, in every action she took while moving around town, buying supplies, or even passing people on the quiet lanes.
Jessame’s heart went out to Sabina, to her misplaced trust in a man, to the betrayal which had driven her to a desperate choice. How afraid must she have felt; how alone, how isolated?
Jessame looked for another long minute at the wood box, then at last she opened the lid to stare within the small enclosure. The copper coin lay there in the shadows. Its shape was curled around into a gentle bowl; a small hole pierced one end to allow the thin chain through. A traditional love token.
She had felt uncomfortable examining it before now. It seemed almost as if she were intruding on Sabina’s disappointments. But now she felt a kinship with her childhood friend. They had both experienced the scorn of neighbors, the dismissal of each person they passed. She had some inkling of what Sabina had experienced.
Jessame looked down at the small coin, sadness easing through her. She hoped that Sabina had enjoyed at least a few days of the thrilling adventure she craved before the desperate downward spiral began. She hoped Sabina had felt moments of glory, of absolute delight, before her stableboy had abandoned her to the streets.
She held the metal item in her palm, looking at the head side, a forward-facing view of King Henry II. Idly she flipped the token over in her palm.
She froze, her face draining of all color.
On the back, etched with a careful hand, was a trout. She knew that design, knew every line of its form.
Berenger had done this.
Berenger had carved that same curved fish shape into the large rock by the fish pond, working on it for week after week until it was just right.
He had taken delight in adding the scaled form into the bark of every single tree in her orchards.
Once he had used an ink quill pen to draw it with painstaking care in the palm of her hand. She had not washed her hands for weeks, treasuring it, watching as the fish faded … faded …
Jessame dropped the bent coin token into the box as if it had burned her.
Berenger had given Sabina a love token.
It was several long minutes before her mind could even wrap itself around the idea, before the reality of it became a presence for her to examine. The idea seemed so outrageous, so illogical – but the proof was laying there before her.
Was that why he had refused to turn back on the day he left? Was that the reason he had not told her he was leaving? Had he instead spent that time with Sabina, making his farewells to her, placing the token around her neck, lowering it in place over her heart …
Jessame’s mind whirled in a chaotic spiral. Sabina had talked of having a back-up plan. Had the stableboy simply been a diversion for her, someone to keep her entertained until Berenger returned to her loving arms? When she had taken the apartment in the next town, was it to keep an eye out for Berenger’s return, so that he could find her easily and they could start their new life together?
Tears slipped from her eyes, streamed down her face, as the image grew stronger in her mind. Sabina, her wide smile and exuberance for life, well trained in all ways of pleasing a man. Berenger, strong, sure, returning from exotic locations to be with the woman he adored. Sabina would open her arms to him, and he would go to her … he would draw her into a deep kiss …
Jessame closed the lid with a snap, standing and putting the box back on the mantle. She stared at it for long minutes, the shape blurred and out of focus. For so many years she had been the one in that vision; she had been the one Berenger was coming back to. All these long years she had been wrong.
Sabina had won.
She drew in a breath as the shock of it overwhelmed her. Sabina had bested her in the one contest that really mattered – the only contest that she cared about with all her heart.
She turned hard from the mantle, pulling the front door open and stumbling the short, drenching distance to the bank of the stream. She collapsed at its edge, taking shelter beneath the canopy of an oak, staring dissolutely at the quickly running water. Her mind whirled and eddied with the currents of the stream. Dark pain rolled over her, billowing around her, threatening to drown her whole.
Finally the steadiness of the drumming of the rain, the regular, coursing stream at her feet, eased the ache in her soul. She pulled a sleeve across her face, drying the tears there, and took in a long, shuddering breath.
This had all happened ten long years ago. Sabina had been, what, eleven? Perhaps Berenger had sworn her to secrecy about their pledge. Perhaps he had wanted them to wait for his return to announce it openly. The young girl would hardly have gainsaid him.
Jessame picked up a small rock, tossing it into the swirling water. Perhaps it had been Sabina who had chosen to remain quiet about the token. News of a beau might have interfered with her flirtations in the intervening years
. She might have expected him back soon and, when he did not arrive, she thought it best to hedge her bets.
Jessame thought again of how much Sabina loved to beat her in every challenge, in racing to the gorse-lined fence, or in standing on one foot in the middle of a thunderous rainstorm. Perhaps it was simply that Sabina adored the power of her secret – in knowing that she had stolen something that Jessame craved with all her heart – and that Jessame would never even know about it.
She shook her head. Maybe Sabina had never even loved Berenger. Perhaps her task was merely to capture his heart, and, that done, she moved on to new challenges.
Jessame thought again at how Berenger had been callously informed of Sabina’s new profession by Cassandra, that morning by the church. He had run after Jessame afterwards, his eyes rich with pain, asking for more details. He had truly seemed shocked and upset. A twinge of pity for Berenger ran through her heart. It seemed he had trusted his love to Sabina – and in return she had run off with the next handsome man to come along. And then she chose whoring over being with any other man after that. Jessame could hardly blame Berenger if he felt pain at being so quickly and thoroughly abandoned.
She rolled her shoulders. It was all in the past now. Both Berenger and Sabina were in the past. She could hardly wish either one ill now, not when fate had dealt such harsh blows to them. Berenger already knew Sabina had abandoned her pledge and gone with another man. He would soon learn that the love of his life had been murdered.
And Sabina … she had paid the ultimate price for her dreams of adventure and excitement. Her young body lay cold, still, eternally trapped in the dark earth.
Jessame drew in a deep breath, her eyes on the stream. Slowly, steadily, she found a new strength growing within her. Whatever else had happened, those ten long years ago, Sabina had been a friend once. Sabina had grown up with her, played with her, had shared her table. Whatever else she had done, Sabina had not deserved to die. None of the girls had deserved that fate.