A Midsummer's Day

by Montford, Heather

He looked behind him.

  Sammie’s eyes were closed. She breathed shallowly, but steadily. She was asleep.

  Peaceful.

  Let her stay that way until he got back.

  He wished he’d dared to let himself touch her face longer. He wished he had dared to lean forward, as she fell asleep, to kiss her forehead. To kiss her nose. To kiss…

  He shook the thoughts from his head. She was his best friend. He shouldn’t be thinking this way about her.

  He had to get to Sundries Corner. Whatever was there was something that Sammie needed. That was the only thing that should be on his mind. Get Sammie help. Figure out these strange feelings later.

  He wished there was a shortcut from the Dregs up to Sundries Corner, all the way up on Caravan Way. He wished he could cut through the archery game and nearby drynke stand and climb the hill to the Boleyn Stage. From there, Sundries Corner was just down the path.

  But he couldn’t. He couldn’t cut through back ways and climb hills, and keep his anonymity. It was a task to make himself walk calmly down the Dregs and up the Hill Road. Caravan Way was infinitely long, and he picked up his pace, power walking past nobles who still treated him with Courtly indifference.

  Sundries Corner was made up of three shops set inside one long building in the exact center of Caravan Way. The two outer shops pointed slightly inwards, creating a manmade corner in the center of the path.

  The aroma of hundreds of different flowers and herbs was overwhelming. They hit him before he got to the center shop. Lilac and rose and peppermint tickled his nose. More importantly, he could smell lavender. He remembered it now. He remembered going to this woman’s shop with Sammie. The very same smells had played with his senses them.

  Somehow, during the time change, the soap shop had turned into an apothecary. Where once the shop had been filled with differently flavored bars of soap, arranged by color and fragrance, now it was filled with barrels and barrels of dried petals, herbs, and powders that threatened to send him into a sneezing fit. A rainbow of slowly drying flowers hung from the ceiling.

  He was never one for much decoration, but Vaughn thought how much this looked like a faery wonderland. It was a shame that Sammie didn’t have the strength to come see this with him. She would be in heaven.

  More importantly, she would be able to breathe here.

  The shop owner and her husband ran around frantically, measuring petals and herbs for the crowd of peasants and nobles looking to make recipes or homemade remedies. Vaughn paused. There were so many people here. He recognized half a dozen, who, in future times, were there just to walk around the faire. Any one of them could have recognized him. Any one of them could have turned him in.

  The shop owner saw him and smiled kindly. “Ah, my good Lord Gibson. You art most welcome in my most humble shop. I have prepared me what you did request.”

  She used his real last name. She threw in a Lord in front of it, but she knew his real name. And she’d known that he was coming.

  The very idea erased all senses from his mind. He and the shop keeper stared at each other.

  Finally, a peasant next to Vaughn left. He had the space enough to take a risk. He leaned forward. The woman, whose name he desperately wished he could remember, leaned forward expectantly.

  “How dost thou know of me?” he asked quietly, throwing himself into the proper speech just to be safe.

  She smiled slyly and straightened. She reached beneath the counter between them and emerged with a silver ball decorated with a mass of intricate scrolls. She handed it to him.

  It was no bigger than an orange.

  “‘Tis but a small thing, my Lord, but ‘twill meet the needs of your delicate Lady.”

  He shook it. Dried herbs rattled inside, and a pleasantly soft scent flowed between the open scrolls. “Be this lavender?” He thought it was, but he had to be sure.

  “Verily,” she said. “There be no charge for our most important nobleman. Do infuse it in the mist of the fountain, my Lord, and all your problems shalt be at an end.” Her husband motioned to her for help, and she walked away.

  Things were getting more and more curious. The shop owner, who’d never even talked to him the one time he was in her shop, knew his real name. She knew he was coming and what he was after. And she mentioned the fountain.

  But should he be questioning it? Things were going his way. He got what he needed to help Sammie. Did it matter how that came to be?

  Did it matter that it seemed like more than coincidence that the fountain sat in a grassy knoll just across the path from Sundries Corner?

  Two noble ladies sat on the far side of the fountain, fanning themselves and spouting the horrible Elizabethan gossip of the day. He was going to dunk behind the fountain, but stopped himself. No one had noticed him so far. These two empty headed ladies weren’t going to notice him now.

  “Hast thou heard, Lady Catherine? Her majesty the Queen hath ordered the arrest and capture of Lady Anne.”

  The voice was so familiar. Where had Vaughn heard it before?

  The other Lady cackled evilly. “Verily, Lady Jayne. Well does Lady Anne deserve it. Thou dost not know the deep shame she hath cruelly laid in the handsome face of the Lord High Sheriff.”

  “I have heard me that the Lord High Sheriff doth dabble with gypsies. I have heard it said from the mouth of his own constable.” Catherine, at least, sounded more shocked at the Lord High Sheriff’s behavior than Anne’s.

  Vaughn seethed as he stood behind the fountain and listened. He remembered the scene this morning. He remembered Johnny kissing the gypsy in the empty Grotto Stage. It was true then, and it was true now. And, from the sounds of it, he was doing more than just kissing gypsies.

  “‘Tis a man’s right, is it not? Most assuredly the Lord High Sheriff wilt not be looked down for such a trifling matter, given the matter of Anne’s most horrid behavior. Little does the wench deserve the title of Lady." Jane fanned herself furiously. “If I were betrothed to the Lord High Sheriff, I would seek me ne’er to stray from his side.”

  “And she singest so proudly. ‘Twere not for the Queen’s command, ne’er would I have consented to join Anne’s musical group.” Catherine grew silent for a moment. “If Anne be not burned a traitor or a witch, I shalt be most mightily surprised.”

  “In whatever case, the Lord High Sheriff be in need of a new betrothed. I mean to make myself well known to him.”

  Now Vaughn knew how he knew them. There were the musicians in the Noble Ladies. There were Sammie’s friends. At least, they used to be. And now, to talk so horribly about her…

  Noble Ladies really had no souls.

  Something else they had said clicked in his head. If it was true… The Queen ordered Sammie’s arrest. The Lord High Sheriff’s wrath wasn’t the most dangerous thing to her anymore.

  The grass around the fountain rustled. Something fell against his foot. Vaughn looked down.

  A bundle tied with light twine had fallen from its hiding space next to the fountain. Vaughn guessed what it was. It would bring safety to the one who didn’t have it. And, at the moment, that person was definitely Sammie.

  He picked up the bundle and, remembering what the apothecary had told him, held the silver ball in the fountain’s mist. Then he hurried his way down Hill Street. The Dregs were empty again. Had the other beggars been taken into custody, questioned about where their cousin Puck was? He hurdled over the grass and into their sanctuary.

  Sammie was still lying down, though her eyes were open. She sat when he jumped the grass. “Did you have any trouble?” Her breathing was better, but she was still too short of breath.

  Vaughn sat next to her. “None at all. The soap seller, who’s an apothecary now,” he shook his head at the absurdness of it all, “knew I was coming. She knew what I was coming for, and had it prepared in advance. But the weirdest part…”

  “What? Vaughn, what?” She laid her hand on his on the ground. Her touch sent shivers through his spin
e.

  He had to save her. No matter what happened to him, he had to keep her safe from the danger that surrounded them both.

  He took a deep breath and steadied himself. “She knew my real name, Sam. I never talked to this woman in real life, but she called me Lord Gibson.”

  Sammie’s eyes grew wide. The lowering sun made them glint like diamonds. “She called you Lord Gibson?” Vaughn nodded. “Do you think the same thing that happened to us, happened to her, too? Do you think she knows that it should be 2012?”

  “I don’t think so. Her entire shop changed into an apothecary shop, and she’s not fazed at all by it.” He thought for a moment. “It must have something to do with these notes. Whoever’s helping us, be it the gypsy or someone else, must have told her I would need this.” He held up the ball. It spun from a light purple silk cord.

  “A pomander?” she asked, taking it from him. She held it to her nose and inhaled deeply.

  “Does that really help?”

  “You have no idea how quickly.” She smiled. Already her breathing seemed easier. “Did you find something at the fountain?”

  He’d almost forgotten. He put the bundle in his lap and untied it. Inside was a top that was no more than a white bikini top with sleeves, and a long green skirt that felt like silk. There was a slip of green mesh that he couldn’t identify yet.

  “Is that for me?” Sammie took the skirt and held it up. It looked light. Much lighter than her heavy dunking dress, or what was left of it.

  “To give safety to the one who doesn’t have it,” Vaughn said.

  “And that’s me.” It was more of a statement than a question.

  “I know it is.” Vaughn took a deep breath. She deserved to know the truth. “At the fountain, I heard the Ladies from your singing group talking.” He took Sammie’s hands. “Sam, today, the Court gossip is that the Queen has placed a price on your head. She’s ordered your immediate arrest.” He paused. Should he tell her the rest?

  Should he tell her what he’d learned about Johnny?

  No, he would wait for that. There was no need to throw everything on her at once.

  “There’s something else, isn’t there?” she asked. Somehow she always knew. He was as good at keeping things from her as she was at keeping all his gifts a secret.

  “There’s a rumor they might burn you as a witch or a traitor.”

  Sammie’s eyes filled with unbidden tears. She looked utterly horrified. Like she wanted to sink into the ground.

  If it meant keeping her safe, he would have helped her hide beneath the earth.

  It was a few minutes before Sammie found her voice again. “I should change,” she said with forced bravery. “Though it sounds like we’re going to be safe tonight.”

  It was a relief to the both of them. They wouldn’t have to worry tonight. Sammie would be safe, at least until tomorrow.

  Sammie stood with her new outfit in hand.

  <>

  “Do you need help?” Vaughn asked.

  The heat rose in her cheeks. She nodded and turned. Why did she suddenly feel so shy? So like a teenager talking to their crush for the first time? “Seen as how you half undressed me already, would you undo my stays?”

  They stood back to back. Sammie slipped off her rag of a dunking dress. She slipped on the skirt, which felt light as a feather, and soft as silk. She looked over her shoulder as the put on her top and slid the sleeves up her arms.

  Vaughn snapped his head back around. His cheeks were as red as her hair. He’d been sneaking peaks.

  Sammie smirked.

  “Vaughn? I can’t get this latched.”

  He turned.

  From the corner of her eye, she saw him look her up and down. His fingers trembled as he did up the back of her top. She didn’t know if it latched like a bra or tied, like most of the clothes in this time period did. But she didn’t care, as his fingers brushed her bare skin now and again.

  Somehow, somewhere along the way, something had changed between them. Something had flipped the switch from friendship to…

  She didn’t know what.

  Vaughn turned her around. “You should probably take your hair down.”

  It was a good idea. Most of her hair had fallen out from its simple bun anyways. She undid the rest of it and ran her fingers through her hair. “What’s that?” she asked, looking at the piece of fabric still in Vaughn’s hand.

  “I’m not sure.” He held it up to his face. “Why give you a piece you can see through…” Sammie actually saw the light bulb go off above his head. “It’s a mask.”

  “A mask?”

  He tied it around her eyes, taking his time as he moved her hair from over her shoulders. “There are a dozen women at festival who have your hair. But nobody has your eyes. This will disguise them.”

  “So how do I look?” she asked, taking a step back. But not far enough to break Vaughn’s hold on her.

  He smiled. “You look like a pirate. A pirate with a mask to instill fear, or to cover traces of the small pox.”

  She smiled, too. She could live with the idea of being a pirate. “So what do we do now?”

  “We relax and rest for the night. The faire should be closed soon. We’ll have the entire grounds to ourselves.”

  Chapter 16

  The world had changed.

  People turned sadistic.

  There was a price on her head, and a death sentence on Vaughn’s.

  And yet... She was peaceful. There was always peace by the water. She loved to sit by the water, any water, and lose herself in the ripples on the surface. The seashore from her childhood in the UK exuded the same comfort as American shores, which were just as calming as the beach near her home. This tiny pond, choked with leaves and reeds along every inch of every edge, held the same magical powers.

  Even more... The sun rippled red through the pond. A gentle breeze blew through the tall grass in front of her and behind her, bouncing off the back wall of the mud stage to hit her again. There was magic in the water.

  “Even in the dunking pond,” she whispered. The dunking pond had always brought her comfort. Comfort from her asthma, at the very least. The water was comforting, even though her entrance into the water was not.

  Especially during the last dunke.

  The breeze turned icy. The calming power of the pond evaporated. She fidgeted. Where in the blazes was Vaughn? He’d left to look for food ages ago. The sun, hovering just over the edge of the pond, had been higher when he left. It felt like he’d been gone an hour already. Since the town crier had travelled through the Dregs and the Grotto, announcing loudly that it was time for all to retire for the night.

  The grass rustled. Vaughn appeared, laden with cups and wooden dishes filled will tasty smelling things.

  “I went through the entire faire looking for food,” he said, explaining his long absence. Sammie stood and unloaded half his quarry. “I had to keep ducking the constables kicking the stragglers out.” He arranged the dishes on the ground and helped Sammie with her dishes. “There wasn’t much to get.”

  A veritable feast was spread between them. It was a banquet of a picnic. There were two giant turkey legs. Apple dumplings minus the ice cream. Breaded chicken strips and little cups of honey mustard dipping sauce. He’d grabbed two huge mugs of birch beer and two huge mugs of water to drink.

  “There wasn’t much to get?” She giggled and sat in front of their feast.

  “Maybe a few more stands were easier to get into than I thought they’d be.” He grabbed a turkey leg and took a massive, King Henry barbaric bite from it.

  Sammie giggled herself silly. Everything looked so good. What should she try first? Turkey? Chicken? Or should she go straight for desert?

  She picked up a chicken finger and nibbled the end of it. It was cold. But still crispy. After not eating since morning... It tasted like ambrosia. The food of the Gods.

  They ate in peace and happiness. The horrors of the last half a day were erased. Th
e fact that they were outlaws, hiding against arrest and death…

  It was just the two of them and their cold, pilfered meal. They were all that existed. They told jokes and stories, laughing loudly without fear of getting caught. They might have been picnicking in the dusk, by the gorgeous pond, by choice and not necessity.

  She relished every second of it. It was just like old times. Just like their picnics in England throughout their childhood. Their picnics near Stonehenge during university, or on the few grassy parks within the busy London metropolis.

  Even in America they’d continued the tradition. They picnicked on historic battlefields and sandy beaches along the lake.

  Darkness fell as they finished their meal. Vaughn rinsed their dished in the pond and stashed them in a hidden compartment beneath his mud stage. Silence fell over them. There were no more stories to tell. There were no more jokes.

  Reality seeped into the cracks of Sammie’s mind, slowly expanding through the happiness. “What do we do now?” she asked.

  Vaughn sat back and stared at the pond. The moon was starting to rise, creating a silver shimmer in the rippling water. It was a gorgeous natural light show. “The note said we would be safe here tonight.”

  The thought wasn’t calming. “But does that mean we have to stay here all night?” She swept her arm around to indicate the pond. “The constables have to sleep at some point. There has to be a dozen better places where we would be safer. Someplace inside.”

  “The constables have to sleep sometime, but who knows if there’ll be guards patrolling the paths at night. Who knows if the constables will check all the storage areas and buildings in the morning? We can’t take that chance. Here,” Vaughn swept his arm towards the pond, “we’ll be safe.”

  Kill joy. But a kill joy who just happened to be right. The stage storage areas, the buildings and the bedroom, were protected from the elements. But there was more than a good chance that they’d be searched as the sun rose.

  Neither brought up the tent city outside. There would be no safety there.

  “I guess we’re stuck sleeping outside tonight.”