Papa’s piercing gaze finally fell away from clearer blue one when I whispered, “I don’t.”
“What do you mean, you don’t? You don’t what?” Papa’s lips pulled down at the corners, pinched and white.
Mamma’s eyes welled up as she grabbed her napkin and started wringing it to death in her hands, Papa’s words setting her off. She knew exactly what I’d meant, tears slowly sliding down her cheeks.
They both knew what I’d meant—how could you not?—even if Papa wasn’t ready to accept it yet.
My mouth felt dry as I bit my lip and murmured, “I have to stay there forever.
“Bull shit!”
Jerking simultaneously, Mamma and I both jumped, startled at the uncharacteristic outburst from Papa as he slammed his fist down onto the table, the dishes rattling, shifting in the cupboards in his wake.
There was a sudden, rapid knock on the door, and Mamma hopped up to get it.
“I’ll get it,” she muttered hastily, “must be Betty Rickins with the milk she promised me. Gave her a dozen eggs just yesterday…”
We both ignored her quiet babbling as I watched Papa, clenching his frail looking long hands into balled fists on the worn table top.
“Mamma,” I heard a familiar, whiny voice, “what do you mean it’s not a good time?”
Mamma said something in a hushed whisper and then I heard a responding gasp.
“Oh, she’s here? Really?” Never one to turn down an opportunity to snoop, Otvla pushed her way past Mamma and waltzed right into the room.
Her eyes scanned the sparse space until they rested on me. “Daphie! Oh, I thought you’d be dead.”
“Otvalena!” Papa snapped, and my eyes widened. “That is your sister,” he went on, “she made a great sacrifice for you and this is how you repay her?” The harsh clip in my father’s voice, and on my behalf, no less, both shocked and surprised me.
Otvla’s eyes widened and she bowed her head. “I’m sorry, Papa. That was thoughtless of me.” Clearing her throat, she peeked up to watch when he looked away, lifting her head when she felt it was safe enough to do so. From the soon bored expression on her face, I knew she hadn’t changed a bit.
She was still the same vain, selfish little creature who’d helped a troll trick me into servitude.
I should hate her, I should, and no one would blame me if I’d chosen to, but love for someone, no matter the horrible things they say and do, can have a way of sneaking up on you and taking over, presiding over everything else.
Family is everything, I’d always thought. Aren’t I supposed to love them anyways, despite their shortcomings? I had to ask myself that a few more times, still feeling conflicted.
I’m supposed to, though, right?
****
I sat there quietly, quickly feeling like a stranger in my own home, as Otvla started rambling on about herself—her hair, her clothes, the need of more clothes, always feeling so ill lately.
With a long, drawn out huff, she got up to refill her plate, eating a heaping second helping, and I noticed the slight protrusion in her stomach, the telling bump of an unborn child growing within her womb.
A wave of dizziness washed over me, and I couldn’t blame it on my new nocturnal life style.
No.
My mind filled with what ifs. All those what ifs I’d tortured myself with for months.
What if Otvla had never crossed a troll? And it was more than trespassing, I’d later learned as Troll went on one of his raving fits, grumbling and rumbling the whole sordid thing out, and in great detail.
What did she expect would happen if she paid his toll—her locket—and then snuck back later, attempting to steal it back?
He lives in a magic cave! He has magic! Hello? He’s, uh, gee, I dunno, magical!
As my thoughts went back to the land of what ifs, I thought of Trystan. My Trystan.
What if he hadn’t come to try and rescue me?
Does he still think of me?
Did his wound heal properly?
What if we’d gotten married?
Would we have a little one on the way by now?
What would our life be like?
Would he be happy with me? Content?
Would I?
The last thought startled me, as it always did, but my mind always went there. I blamed Troll for it, he’d help plant that doubt.
“Is the sickness all the time?” Mamma asked worriedly, fluttering and fretting over her youngest born.
My eyes, which had been glued to her growing baby belly, couldn’t stand the sight of her anymore. I didn’t even know she’d been wed, or if she even was, or if maybe the child she carried was the product of some sordid affair. Pushing to my feet, I stood up and started walking towards my room. I didn’t care.
“Where are you going, Daphedaenya?” Papa asked, the only one to take note of my quick departure.
Making sure to be loud enough, I let the yawn I’d been holding in escape me, rubbing my forehead tiredly.
“I’m just tired, is all. It was a long walk.” Turning my head to glance over at him, I smiled wanly and turned.
“Just need a bit of a rest, then?” The look on his face said he didn’t believe me for a second, but I was thoroughly relieved when he didn’t question it any further.
Swallowing past the lump in my throat, I nodded. “Yes, just tired.” I could feel everyone’s eyes on my back as I resumed the trip across the small space, grasped the door knob and turned it, quickly hurrying inside. It shut quietly behind me, and I unlaced my boots, letting them fall with a ‘clomp’ on the floor. Removing my dress and under things until I was left with only my shift and loose stockings, I slowly settled down on my back on the top of the bed.
I didn’t bother with the blankets, the room unusually warm. Maybe I’d grown used to the crisp, coolness of the cave, though it doesn’t feel cold anymore to me. At times, I found the large space cozy, even.
Peering around the room, it was like being in a bubble of time, not a thing touched or changed.
A bubble from back when there were no trolls, no deals, no bridges, no time limits, just me, my family, our farm, and my old life.
My old life—that’s exactly what it felt like. My old life. What does it say about me if I don’t embrace my new one? I asked myself this as I stared, as I have many times before while in thought, up at the thatched roof.
Nothing, I answered for myself. It means absolutely nothing. I didn’t choose it.
“Hmmm,” I hummed aloud, murmuring thoughtfully, “but do we ever?” That put a damper on my nap idea and I felt oddly awake at the moment.
The bed creaked as I shifted uncomfortably, and it felt like my mattress was lumpier than ever, the blankets scratchy and stiff against my exposed skin, my pillow not as comfortable as I’d remembered.
It all felt foreign, like I was trying to put on someone else clothes but they didn’t feel right—they just didn’t fit.
I tried not to ponder that as I eventually drifted fitfully off to sleep.
Family Reunion
Squinting my eyes open, I woke up when I heard the sound of clanking pots rattling in the kitchen.
“I was wondering when you were going to wake up.”
With a small shriek, I yelped and gasped, whirling around to find Papa sitting on the trunk at the foot of my bed as I popped up. There was a quilt spread out on top of me, covering my modesty, and I assumed he must have put it on me at some point.
“We didn’t change a thing.” With a quick lift of his chin, he nodded his head at my things, having himself a quick look around. “I wanted it to be just the way you left it when you came back.”
“Uhm, thank you.” Clearing my throat a little, I rubbed at my eyes, squinting through slits until they finally adjusted to the dim light.
“It’s dark,” he told me, as if to answer my question, or maybe just thinking aloud. “You slept most of the day.”
“I’m used to being up at night.”
Clearing my throat once more in an attempt to rid it of the morning scratchiness I was prone to, I studied my father. “Is something wrong, Papa?”
“What?” his head lifted from his musings, as if he was in a daze. “Oh, uh, no, not exactly.”
Huh. Well, that was rather evasive.
“I was thinking I’d go and see Trystan,” I told him, deciding to slough off his odd mood. “We have a lot to talk about.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that... I mean, what’s the rush? You just…”
“Pa?” I heard a familiar voice call out. “Pa? I was wondering if I could talk to you for a minute, if you have it.”
“Papa?” Face scrunching in confusion, I looked at him curiously.
Strangely, he kept silent.
Was Trystan’s father visiting?
I didn’t wait for him to answer, tossing off my blanket and tugging my dress on over my head, ignoring Papa’s face as it turned three shades of red and he slapped a hand over his eyes.
“Jaysus, child! Daphedaenya, what in… what are you doing, girl?! You’re a lady!”
Strange that he could call me child and girl, as if I only possessed the sense of one, yet insist I’m a lady.
With a roll of my eyes, I grinned and snorted, ignoring the fact that it reminded me of a certain grey skinned trader of gems and bridge tolls.
“I’m a lady in a hurry,” I muttered unapologetically and rushed out the door, my hair, down and free, trailing behind me.
Papa was still blustering and blundering about from my bedroom, urgently entreating me to come back.
Trystan was standing in the doorway as I rushed in, looking healed and hearty as ever, his hat in his hands as he peered around the door facing.
“Oh, Papa, I…” Stilling, as if frozen in place, he stopped cold at the sight of me.
“Trystan,” I murmured, equally stuck in place.
“Daphie-girl?”
My heart fluttered in excitement as he whispered my name like a prayer.
Lips tipping up, I smiled softly and went to run up to him, but Mamma and Otvla came out of the back, from off to the side where Mamma’s room was.
“Trys,” Otvla snapped, “shouldn’t you be out in the field, playing with goats or something?”
As if in some kind of shocked daze, he didn’t answer, his eyes still trained on me.
Otvla’s gaze slid from him to where his eyes were glued to me, her dark hazel eyes narrowing as her lips pursed.
“What has you all tongue tied, husband?” she purred, walking right up to him and running her hands all over his broad chest. “Surely she doesn’t look that bad?”
Lips parting in surprise, I looked to Otvla questioningly, praying I hadn’t heard that right.
“Husband...” I whispered as she giggled like someone had just said the funniest thing ever, then tugged Trystan’s shocked face towards her to plant a long, lingering kiss directly on his lips.
Stumbling back, my eyes went directly to her belly again as dawning horror slid over me.
“No.” My hand went to my mouth and I shook my head. No. No. No. She’d married Trystan, my Trystan, and now she’s carrying his child, the child that I was supposed to carry.
This was supposed to be us. This can’t be happening!
“Oh, god,” I moaned piteously, muffling it into my palm.
I felt faint. I felt sick.
I hated her. I hated him.
I hated myself. I hated everything.
Suddenly, in the blink of an eye, I felt my world crashing down around my ears as emotions attacked me, strangling me, my little fantasy world—because that’s obviously all it had ever been—a fantasy—began collapsing right before me, and all I could do was stare, still as a statue, tongue thick and heavy, stuck to the roof of my mouth, hand cupping over it protectively, and just stare.
Papa’s hand came down heavily on my shoulder and he gave it a hard squeeze as he guided me quickly out of the room.
“Oh, Trystan, how are you, son? You almost missed me. You wait right there, now, you hear? I have to go check on something, but I’ll be back.”
Tensing up, I shrugged him off once we’d made it out the door.
“Daphie, sweet, I was working up to telling you, child, I…” he whispered, his voice pleading me for understanding, into my ear.
I wasn’t listening and I took off, ignoring his startled shout as to where I was headed, and just ran off. I couldn’t have told him where I was going, even if I’d wanted to. I didn’t even know.
My feet led the way, barefoot except for my stockings, as I tore off through the fields.
Rose-tinted
It was early, just after dawn as I quietly made my way back into the house, closing the door with that ridiculously annoying yet quiet creak.
There was no light, but I found I’d gotten used to the lack of it, finding my way easily across the house and straight into my room.
On silent feet, I slid inside my room without notice, shutting my eyes and leaning heavily against the door.
“They aren’t happy.”
Gasping out a squeak, I nearly jumped out of my skin at the sound of Mamma’s low voice. My eyes popped open and I stared at her.
She was sitting on the edge of my bed, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her nightgown covered by her old, ratty house coat.
“They’re both miserable,” she said unnecessarily.
“I heard you the first time,” I answered, lifting the hem of my gown to slip out of my wet stockings.
“I’m sure it’s his, though,” she went on.
“Mamma…”
“Do you really have to go back at the end of a week?”
Groaning inwardly, because I wasn’t particularly in the mood, I sighed heavily and walked to my drawer, pulling out one of my old nightgowns. “Yes.”
“Do you really have to stay there, with that creature,” her face twisted up in disgust, though I knew she had no idea what he looked like, “forever?”
“Yes.”
Eventually she nodded and peeked at me from the corner of her eye, fingering a hole in her robe pocket.
“It’s probably for the best, then… you know.”
“Mamma?” I was shocked, my voice low and hushed. What a horrible thing to say to someone. Lips parting slowly, I almost told her that out loud, but she’d already cottoned on and started to explain herself.
Several times she started and stopped, licked her lips, then forged ahead. “Well, it would be hard enough to find someone else to wed you, seeing as how Trystan and Otvla have matched, but you won’t be seen as…” She stopped and looked off towards the corner of the ceiling, as if searching for a word, and I couldn’t help but want to strangle her.
“Clean?” I guessed, wondering why she’d even deigned to grace me with her holier than thou, cleanly presence.
“Yes,” she agreed easily, her frilly white cap bobbing with her nod, “unclean. Mmm hmm,” like she was happy I understood, missing my not so subtle sarcasm. “After all,” she mused, as I gritted my teeth, and she dug her own hole, “he was interested in a trade of the flesh. A body for a body.”
“And double the time,” I tacked on.
“What?” she asked, glancing up at me from her messed up musings, confused.
“Nothing,” I muttered, shaking my head.
She let it go for once, and I thought she might keep on, shredding whatever sense of love I’d thought I still held for her.
“The troll surely wouldn’t want you for that, I mean… and if he did...” she gave a little mock shudder.
“Mamma,” I snapped, “is there a point to this conversation? Because, quite frankly, I don’t want to hear it, and I just don’t care.”
Eyes widening, mouth slightly slack, Mamma stared at me as if she was just seeing me for the first time.
“You’ve changed,” she murmured
quietly, after the silence had lengthened, as if it might eat up the room and swallow us all whole, getting up so I could sit down and finish dressing for bed. “I mean, it’s like you’re…”
“Yeah, well, you haven’t changed a bit.” Opening my door enough to scoot her out, I nudged her into the hall, closing the door on her the second she’d cleared it, enjoying her shocked face.
Once settled, I climbed into bed and thought of my day, ignoring the little taps at my door, all that time I’d spent crying out in the field, alone, sobbing into the tall, green and brown weeds and grass, similar to the ones I’d let Trystan hold me in—once upon a time—as we’d talked and laughed, planning out our lives together.
The sight of them, kissing, Otvla’s perfectly pink lips tainting his with hers, tainting the memory of our love.
“What love?” I choked out, rolling to my side, burying my face in my pillow.
****
I cried myself to sleep that night and stayed in bed all day the next day. No one came to bother me. No one was sitting on the end of my bed when I woke up. I didn’t get out of bed at all until my growling stomach protested, my other bodily needs readily making themselves known.
Dressing quickly, I made it to the outhouse without a second to spare.
Once done, I made my way back to the house, pausing for a moment to take in the crickets chirping and the owls hooting.
Titling my head back, I turned my face up to the moon and basked in its soft, comforting glow.
“Hello, Daphie-girl.”
Stiffening visibly, I kept my eyes shut tight, praying he was just an illusion. Please just be my imagination. Please don’t be real.
“Please say something.”
Balling my hands into fists, I turned, careful not to acknowledge him, and started stomping back towards the house.
The Toll Page 10