Copyright © 2016 Michele Paige Holmes
E-book edition
All rights reserved
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form whatsoever without prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief passages embodied in critical reviews and articles. This novel is a work of fiction. The characters, names, incidents, places, and dialog are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.
Interior Design by Heather Justesen
Edited by Cassidy Wadsworth and Lisa Shepherd
Cover design by Rachael Anderson
Cover Photo Credit: Ilina Simeonova/Trevillion Images
Cover Photo Copyright: Ilina Simeonova
Published by Mirror Press, LLC
eISBN-10: 1-941145-68-X
eISBN-13: 978-1-941145-68-5
Counting Stars
All the Stars in Heaven
My Lucky Stars
Captive Heart
A Timeless Romance Anthology: European Collection
Timeless Regency Collection: A Midwinter Ball
Between Heaven and Earth (Power of the Matchmaker series)
Hearthfire Romance Series:
Saving Grace
Loving Helen
Marrying Christopher
Twelve Days in December (novella)
… that she may always be warm
And have light to guide her home.
The day my life changed forever began as any other. Mother and I argued. But this time it was different. Our disagreement wasn’t about my slouching or lack of refined speech; it wasn’t even about my penchant for running across our fields with wild abandon.
We fought over a box of silver that had appeared— seemingly out of nowhere— on our kitchen table. We were nearly starving, and Mother was hoarding silver.
“Each course has its own utensil,” Mother was saying as my eyes bulged at the rows of glistening forks, spoons, and knives nestled between layers of black velvet. “The outer fork is used for—”
“Everything— anything,” I said, giddy as possibilities flooded my mind. Oh, the things a single fork might buy. Before us was more wealth than I’d ever imagined seeing in my lifetime. Likely it was more wealth than our entire province could ever expect to see.
“How many times must I tell you not to interrupt?” Mother scolded.
“A few more, possibly.” I knew I was being impertinent, but this mysterious treasure had me feeling bold and forgetting my usual, downtrodden place. I stepped forward and picked up a spoon. It had fancy script and was heavier than our tin. A slight tarnish tainted the handle. It had to be real. It seemed the answer to our problems, the miracle we needed.
“The first thing we should buy is flour,” I said practically. “Lots of flour and some sugar, too.” Well, maybe not the sugar. I still knew where to get honey, and that worked well enough for sweetening things. But we could have flour for bread, the kind that was moist and light, instead of the heavy, coarse loaves churned out from our pathetic rye crop.
Mother snatched the spoon from my hand and placed it back in the box. “This isn’t to be used for flour.” She turned away, covering her mouth as she coughed. I dipped a cup in the half-full water pail and handed it to her.
“And surely there’s enough to buy a milk cow, too,” I persisted. Ours was so old it hardly gave any milk at all. “And we should hire some help.” The workers could dig another well, one nearer the garden, so something might actually grow. My mouth watered as I imagined fresh bread, cream, and a fine crop of vegetables.
“I suppose we will have to sell some of it.” Mother sounded sad, of all things. I felt ready to do a jig around the kitchen. “A few soup spoons should be enough to get you a decent gown and some shoes—”
“Shoes? And a gown?" What did I want with those? I faced her, hands on my hips. “How about a cow? I’d much rather have a full belly than a full skirt.”
“This isn’t about what you want, Adrielle. This silver has been in my family for generations. If I’m to part with it I’ve the right to choose how it’s spent. And you need a new gown.”
“But—” My mouth hung open. Generations? She’s had it all along, while we’ve nearly starved? “This has been sitting around here for years while we’ve wanted for so many things?”
“Do not judge me.” Mother’s tone was severe. “There are things you don’t understand. I have not dared use this before. Even now, it must be done with great care.”
Care is wasting it on frivolities? “Don’t spend it on me.” I folded my arms across my chest. “Where did it come from anyway?” The more I stared at the silver, the more exquisite it looked. I’d never seen anything so fine or fancy, nor, I doubted, had anyone else for miles around.
Mother pulled herself up to her full height and smoothed her worn apron over her too-thin frame. When she spoke it was with a haughty sort of air about her. “It was my mother’s, and my grandmother’s before that. When it was given to me, it was fully expected that I, too, would live in circumstances where it would be used frequently.”
“I don’t understand,” I admitted.
“I realize that.” Mother closed the box and fixed the clasp again. “You know only life here and are not able to see— or even imagine— beyond the fence lines of this miserable farm.”
That wasn’t true or fair. I left our property often to wander the surrounding forest, searching out the plants and herbs we needed, and while searching I sometimes allowed myself to imagine— mostly that I had plenty to eat. And our farm wasn’t miserable— at least, it hadn’t always been.
“There is so much beyond this, Adrielle. Life in the capital, where both your father’s people and mine are from, is quite different. Our life before was uncommon— better. Your father even knew the king. They were great friends.”
I did not have a ready answer to throw back at her. This was a side of my mother I rarely saw. My parents hardly ever spoke of their past, and because I was their youngest and born many years after their marriage, both sets of my grandparents had died before my arrival. That I never thought on this much— on where my parents came from or who they had been prior to our existence here— suddenly seemed neglectful and selfish. But reality was, I thought on little beyond our daily needs save for my time spent on lessons with Father each day.
“Why did you leave the capital?” Now that I was thinking of the past, I wanted to know everything.
“It is of no import.” Mother’s lips pressed into a thin line— a look I’d seen before. She
would not be speaking more on this subject. “Don’t you want a nice gown, Adrielle?” her voice was softer, almost pleading, as if she feared my answer.
Of course I wanted a gown. What seventeen-year-old girl who had to dress in rags didn’t? But I couldn’t think of luxuries like that when life was consumed with survival. How could she? What had gotten into her? What has happened to make her think of her old life? I couldn’t think of it. “A gown won’t feed me.”
“It will do more than that,” Mother said. “Being dressed properly will allow you to meet the right people, to move in their circles.”
I held in a bitter laugh. I’d met everyone for miles around, and they all dressed as we did. Should my wearing a fine dress happen to turn a young man’s head that would not change anything. Whether on my family’s farm or his— either way I’d be poor.
Mother continued her fantasy. “And that will lead to opportunities beyond your wildest dreams.” A smile that was half-wistful, half-secretive curved her lips. “Someday you may even meet a prince or princess.”
“I don’t believe they exist.” I picked u
p a basket of soiled clothes, shoved the kitchen door open with my shoulder, and lugged the laundry outside.
Mother followed me into the yard. “Come back here, Adrielle. We are not finished.”
We nearly were, though. How were we to survive the next few months without money from that silver? There was only so much I could forage from the forest, and what was left of our meager harvest wasn’t likely to last through the coming winter. Why couldn’t she see that?
I dropped the basket of laundry with an unceremonious thud, sending a cloud of dust into the air— a reminder of the decade-long drought. I stared hard at Mother. Frustration and hurt were visible in the lines of her face, and she wrung her hands in her apron, unshed tears hovering in her eyes.
I lifted my hands to the kerchief covering my hair and turned a slow circle, taking in the withered garden, neglected farmhouse, and barren fields. “I’ll never leave here. I’ll spend my life caring for you and Father. I’ve accepted that. Why can’t you?”
Her hurt expression remained. I turned away, sighing and sorry that I’d upset her, but still angry at her inability to face our situation, baffled that she had the means to improve it and would not. When I looked back, she shook her head and pressed her lips together once more, as if fighting to hold in— what? I held my tongue, willing her to use hers, to tell me something more, to explain why she felt so strongly about my manners and appearance and discipline. She’d never been so demanding with any of my other siblings, and I wanted her to tell me why, to justify her absurd expectations and hope.
But a full minute passed, and she did not speak. And, as I had at times like this before, I gave up all hope of ever understanding her or making her dreams for me come true.
“I don’t want a new gown,” I reiterated. “And there are no princesses. At least not in my life.” Certainly no prince would arrive to sweep me off my bare, dusty feet. Taking the mending from the top of the pile of laundry, I began walking away.
There is no happily ever after.
Much later than I would have liked that afternoon, I finally made my way to the barn and Father. My stomach grumbled and I felt weak, having not eaten anything since my breakfast porridge. My limbs moved from sheer will.
There wouldn’t be much time for lessons today, but that couldn’t be helped. We’d been out of both wormwood and comfrey, and it had taken quite a lot of searching the woods to find all that I needed of both. If it were just our needs that I was worrying over, it would have been one thing, but more and more folk from other farms sought out my healing abilities. As the drought lingered and sickness came with it, I’d found myself sharing what remedies I could.
Today Father was seated at a stool, caring for one of our horses. I paused to bestow a kiss on his temple as I passed, then carefully climbed the ladder to the rafters above. I’d always had a fear of heights, and Father knew it. He was a firm believer in conquering one’s fears, and so it was at his insistence that I spent time far above the ground each day until— he assured me— I should be as comfortable there as I was with my feet planted on solid earth.
With caution I made my way across one of the large beams spanning the room. My eyes strained to read the passage Father had sprawled on the dirt floor below.
“The first shall be last, and the last shall be first. Is that today’s lesson?” I called.
He gave a nearly imperceptible nod as he resumed his work— scraping out the shoe of one of our haggard-looking mares.
I straddled the beam, leaning over to study the words once more. I didn’t have a slate, much less the opportunity to attend school, so Papa’s scratchings in the dirt had to suffice for my instruction in reading, writing, and arithmetic. Lately he’d abandoned our more traditional lessons in favor of lectures, followed by animated discussion between the two of us. I much preferred this to conjugating verbs or working the same boring sums, and I took this improvement to mean that Father thought me ready to move on to more advanced learning.
Though he oft said he favored country living over life in a township, he had done his best to pass on the education he’d received to his children— not all of whom were appreciative of his efforts.
“The first last, and the last first,” I repeated, wondering what Father was getting at. I glanced at the mending in my hand and felt discouraged, realizing how long it might be before such a statement applied to me.
Before I was first.
I’d been last my whole life. It seemed to be what I was best at, the thing I was made for. Growing up as the youngest of eleven, I always got the last of everything, the end piece of bread— the hardened heel, oft burned in our temperamental oven. The milk jug reached me last, frequently empty by the time it made its way to the far end of the table. And the bath water was chilled and murky by the time my brothers and sisters had all taken their turns. There were times I swore I was dirtier when I stepped out of the old washtub than when I’d stepped in.
Papa interrupted my thoughts. “The least among us shall be the greatest.”
I snorted, wondering what sort of miracle would have to occur for that to happen. Now Father was having delusions. Was all of Mother’s talk of meeting royalty rubbing off on him?
“I’ll need a fairy godmother then.” I fingered the thin fabric of my skirt. Only magic could transform my patched, faded hand-me-downs into something great.
“And a sorcerer’s brew will turn out some fine stallions from these old nags.” Papa looked up, a glint of mischief in his weary eyes.
I felt grateful to see it there. His usual mirth had been absent of late.
“We shouldn’t discount magic,” he continued, his serious manner returned. “'Tis real and more powerful than many would believe.”
“If it’s so real,” I scoffed, “then why does someone not use it to end the sickness sweeping the land? Why do you not call upon it to send rain for our crops?” I bit my lip, regretful the second the words fled my mouth. The state of our farm was a sore subject for Papa, his inability to provide for our family both worrisome and shameful.
“I am not possessed of magic,” Papa said. “The good Lord saw fit to bless me with other abilities— like extra patience with my youngest child.”
The rebuke, though gentle, set me in my place. “I’m sorry, Papa.”
He nodded his forgiveness. “Remember, though you have seen little to make you believe, magic is all around us, much closer than you think. But it is only part of what will turn the least to greatness. Reflect on that.”
His tone told me the discussion was closed for now, so I took up the mending, attempting to render yet another garment— a cast off from one of my eight older sisters— serviceable. Father continued his work, and I pondered more on the least of circumstances we found ourselves in. We were fortunate to own land— a good twelve acres of it. But Father could no longer work the fields, and three years of continuous drought had yielded increasingly poor crops, so he couldn’t afford to hire out help. My lazy brothers offered little assistance.
A shadow fell across the floor below, and I looked down to see Mother standing in the open doorway. As quietly as possible I pulled my legs up on the rafter and tucked in my skirts.
“Do you know where Adrielle is?” she asked. We had words earlier…” Her hands rose as if in helpless surrender.
A shaft of sunlight slanted behind her, lighting her hair so that it looked more golden than gray. My father, ever observant, took notice. He left his stool and walked toward her, then wrapped his arms around her, kissing her gently.
“Stephen, you shouldn’t—” She turned away from him.
“And why not?" He gave her a curious look.
“It’s— It’s not proper.” Mother stepped from his embrace and waved her hand toward the open doorway. “It’s broad daylight. Anyone could see us.” She brought a hand to her mouth, stifling a cough but not her stern expression.
Father chuckled. “And I’d think, that seeing how we’re the parents of eleven, anyone might supp
ose we kiss each other once in a while.”
“Why don’t you help me instead?” A frown creased her face, diminishing some of her loveliness. “I need Adrielle inside.”
“Whatever it is, let it wait awhile. She stayed in all morning.”
“I don’t know why you encourage her.” Mother followed him into the barn. “It was one thing to neglect her education when she was younger, but she’s nearly eighteen. She ought to be with me, developing the skills she’ll need.”
“Adrielle’s had a fine education. Her wit is quick, her mind sharp.”
I couldn’t hold back a smile at Papa’s praise. I did so love to please him. And though Mother would never have guessed, it bothered me greatly that no matter what I did, she never seemed satisfied.
Papa continued. “Adrielle has plenty of skills— and talents. Her gift with herbs has saved more than one life, and you know as well as I, she has a fine hand with the garden.” He picked up a curry brush and began stroking the mare. “As of late, I fear where we would be without her abilities.”
“Do you want her traipsing through the forest and digging in the dirt when she’s grown?” Mother threw her hands up in exasperation. “You know that’s not what she’s meant for. But if she doesn’t develop grace and learn to be a lady, I fear that’s where she’ll end up. And where will that leave us?”
“With a fine daughter.” Father’s voice was quiet.
Mother’s breath caught. “You know that’s not possible. You must get such a foolish notion from your head. We agreed to let her go. We promised.”
Promised what? What had my parents agreed to without my consent?
Father held his hand out to Mother. “Would you have me lose another daughter?” His voice was lower yet and had an odd strain to it. In contrast, Mother’s rose.
“The other you speak of is not lost— if you honor our vow. She can return to us once Adrielle is gone. I am the one who suffered in all this. The child we have well and truly lost, the babe I carried inside me, lies buried in a far field.” Mother looked out the west-facing window. “One I’ve never been to visit. I will never get her back.”
First Light (Forever After Series) Page 1