by Jacky Gray
“Oh, my darling. I’m so pleased you understand. I had made up my mind to leave it in the lap of the fates. If you had been set on continuing, I would have done my best, but I will confess to having no experience myself.” He glanced away. “The truth is I’m a little terrified of the whole thing, but mostly about not getting it right for you.”
Lareeta could not determine a suitable response; she never imagined he would be so shy – he seemed so capable and experienced in every situation.
“And more than anything, I do not want you to be in a position where you might have to dissemble about being a maid when you are wed in church. It seems to be something of great import to certain people.”
She nodded, seeing the sense in his arguments, but reluctant for him to leave her. “Could you not … lie beside me and we shall simply go to sleep?”
“That would be wonderful. Let us get used to each other slowly.” He jumped into the bed and his cold feet touched her leg.
“Heavens, but you are so cold. Lie closer and the heat from my body will warm you.”
True to his word, he did nothing more than cuddle her on the first night and it felt right, sharing a bed with the man she loved.
During the next couple of days, they spent every moment sharing every small task, and he talked to her about anything and everything. He wanted to know the smallest details about her childhood in a market town, swapping more stories about growing up in a village where the magical henge dominated every aspect of their lives.
On the few occasions she’d asked about his parents, he had said very little and she did not like to press him for details of something which still had the power to hurt. On their third eve together, he began the tale of what had happened to them, and she recognised the similarities with her own situation.
“I was too young to understand much about what was going on; the first sign of something wrong was when she collapsed at the table after lunch. Father ran to fetch Farfelie, the healer, but she was at a remote farm miles away, so he sent his brother with a cart.”
He went on to describe how his father had returned to find her lying in a pool of blood, screaming as she birthed the babe. “I tried to help, but at only four years, there’s not a lot you can do when your mother is crying and screaming.”
The memory tore at him, and Lareeta took his hand, not knowing what to say for the best. “She laboured for hours while father tried to make her comfortable, but it broke him to tears. Farfelie got there as the babe arrived; she cleaned her and dealt with the cord, but she could not save Mammie.” He swallowed, shaking his head as memories overwhelmed him.
Lareeta imagined the trauma of a small boy watching his mother die, unable to fathom the effect it would have on Taron and his father. She prayed that the woman had spent her last moments on the earth in comfort.
“Farfelie gave her something to ease the pain, and she smiled as she cuddled my little sister, and even fed her. She slept for several hours, and the last thing she did was to feed the babe, then she died with a smile on her face.”
Taron hugged her to him, weeping, and she held him as he described the horror of the next week, and the help of the neighbours and friends who took over the care of the babe until she died barely three moons later.
“Oh sweetheart, you know how hard it is to lose an infant brother, but it is even worse for a parent when a child dies. The loss of his daughter completely destroyed my father. He took to drinking too much and could often be found in a ditch where he’d collapsed on the way back from the tavern.”
“How dreadful. For both of you.”
“The grief killed him. They said it was pneumonia, but he wouldn’t have lain in a puddle all night, if not for the drink, and he wouldn’t have drunk if not for the grief.”
“I know what grief can do to a man.”
“Of course. We have both suffered.”
Swiping at the tears, he fetched goblets and poured measures from a bottle left over from the party, raising a toast to their dearly departed.
She sipped, screwing up her face at the strong liquor. “What in heaven is that? It’s so much more bitter than brandy-wine.”
“Baxter got it from an Irish cousin. It’s made from barley and potatoes – he called it ‘potcheen’ or something similar.”
“It’s disgusting. I cannot drink it.”
“I thought you might say that.” He took her glass and disappeared to the side table still full with the remains of food and drink from the party.
She sniffed the goblet which now contained a berry-coloured liquid, and sipped cautiously. “That’s much better. I quite like that.” She took a larger gulp, appreciating the way it warmed her insides.
When she put the goblet down, he took her hands and gazed deep into her eyes while he formulated his words. “I know you will not enjoy this, but I feel you would benefit from releasing the fear and anger from what happened in your childhood years.”
Lareeta shook her head. “I cannot. It is so terrible the mere thought of remembering makes me feel ill.”
Handing her the goblet, he bade her drink some more. “I do understand. It took me a long time before I could bear to think of the memories associated with my mother and sister. But Dagda, of all the most unlikely people, seemed to understand. She persuaded me to talk to Lyran.”
“I don’t think it unlikely. Underneath her tough exterior, she is very perceptive, and so kind.”
“I know. Anyway, Senna gave me a drink to make me relax and they listened while I brought all the terrifying memories to the fore. It was as though a huge weight lifted from my heart and I turned from the bad-tempered, angry youth I had become into the happy soul you see today.”
“I see. So you think me bad-tempered and angry.”
“Always.” Finally, he had become wise to her unexpected teasing. He smiled. “But there are many times when you seem sad beyond measure, or do not have the confidence someone with your skills ought to have. You are a very special woman, Lareeta, but too often you allow yourself to be bullied because it is what you have become accustomed to.”
Taking another gulp, she nodded her agreement. “I am always waiting to be told my efforts are not worthy, or that I do not deserve to be happy.”
“Will you at least try? I cannot guarantee to be as effective as Lyran at asking the right questions to dislodge the deeply buried hurts, but we could at least try.”
She emptied the beaker and he filled it, mixing the two liquids to her taste. Instinctively, she reached for the bolster cushion and hugged it to her as she began her tale. “Although we never knew exactly what disease caused the death of my brothers, my father discovered that the smallpox plague infecting the town had been introduced by dogs. So he ordered my dog to be burnt.” She shuddered.
“Unfortunately, the servant did not wring its neck properly, so it still lived.” Lareeta hugged the cushion. “I cannot tell you how desperate I felt. For many moons my dreams were haunted by the howls of the poor scrap being burnt alive.”
“My poor darling.” Again, he relieved her of the goblet and hugged her to him as she mourned her dog.
Lareeta had never told anyone that story before, but she felt a strange kind of release from admitting the pain and horror of her eight-year-old self. She sipped more of the berry mixture. A vision of her father berating her mother nudged at her mind, unleashing more memories. “For the next three years, mother caught with child many times, but failed to hold onto any babe for more than three moons into the pregnancy. Father became more and more angry. It seemed all he wanted was a son, and I felt he blamed me for being alive when all his sons died.”
Taron nodded, saying nothing, and she appreciated how he did not judge.
“The physician advised against further pregnancies, so she took a herbal potion to prevent conception. I overheard her telling a friend this is a sin in the eyes of the church, but it gave her body respite for many moons.” She shook her head. “I never knew how bad it got for her becau
se she hid most things. But he set a servant to spy on her.”
“The one we saw in church?”
“Yes. Mother never liked her, but he would not hear of getting rid of her. When he found out about the potion, Mama’s life was not worth living.” She drained her goblet again, needing strength to continue. As he refilled it, she continued to unburden the horror of her life.
“Every night he forced himself on her and, every moon when she bled, he raged as though she did it deliberately. Oh, Taron. I cannot describe how dreadful it was to see her silent tears. I could not bring comfort, and she became thin and slothful, not caring about anything or anyone, least of all herself.”
“It must have been horrible for both of you.”
“It was. When she finally got with child, he bade all the servants spy on her to ensure she did not try to endanger the child, but it was to no avail. Before the sixth moon was out, she lost the babe. They told him it was a girl and he looked at me and said, ‘Good riddance,’ before storming out.”
Taron snorted. “What a monster.”
“I overheard the midwife saying it was a boy, but so badly deformed it would never have lived long.”
Taron took her hand. “Your poor mother. Let me assure you that not every man treats his wife like that. In fact, I do not know of anyone in this village who would be so cruel. That’s not to say I know every man, but …”
She squeezed his hand with a sad smile. “Until I came to live here, the only man I knew whose heart was not tainted with self-importance and cruelty was Taysen. But now I know many men who treat their wives and daughters with respect and have hearts full of love and laughter.”
“Good. I’m glad. If you do not wish to continue, I would counsel leaving the rest of the story until another day. I can see how disturbing this has been for you.”
“It has, but you were right, I feel as though a weight has lifted from my shoulders. I’ve carried the burden of these woes for many years; I would love to be free of them.”
He hugged her. “You are such a wonderful person. It makes me very angry to think of the way he treated you and your mother.”
“With you by my side, I find it much easier to forgive him for the hurt he caused. When the physician told him mother could never again be with child, he left her alone and both of them withdrew into their own personal hell. Soon after that, I began working for Rielle, and I left home as soon as I could.”
Taron raised his goblet. “And thank your Christian God that you did.” He took a large swig. “I will have difficulty in curbing my temper the next time I meet your father. No matter what happened, he had no right to treat either of you as he did. It is no more than I’ve always suspected from these pious types. Grandfather often told tales of men who used the rules of religion to force their will on women. They use a story about Eve and a serpent to suggest all sin in the world is at the door of women.”
Lareeta had never heard such an impassioned speech from him and worried that she had unwittingly caused a rift where one never existed. “I’m sorry to have caused such feelings. It would seem that he has put these cruel behaviours behind him. I’ve never seen my mother so happy, and I had thought him incapable of smiling. Please say you will forgive him as I have done, and not let what has gone on in the past harm your relationship with him.”
He smiled and kissed her. “Alright, my love. For your sake I will heed the words of your Jesus Christ about ‘turning the other cheek,’ and forgive him. For the sake of you and your mother who do not need to be subjected to any more anger and violence. For your sakes, I will forget what I heard and pretend the man I met is the man he has always been.”
15 – Easter Fiasco
Lareeta never expected her father to make the journey to Avebury to suggest she spent the night before the wedding back in her own room as was traditional. And she certainly did not expect her mother to accompany him. They turned up shortly after the Nones bell on the Friday and seemed delighted by the hospitality from Dagda and the other girls who offered an infusion and a platter of cakes.
“My, these are delicious.” Her mother patted the side of her mouth with a napkin. “How generous of Rielle to provide her workers with such wonderful treats.”
“Oh, she doesn’t normally. These are left over from Sunday.” Freya’s thoughtless remark had every other girl in the room freezing. They had all been sworn to secrecy over the handfasting.
Lareeta’s father frowned. “But the Lenten fast doesn’t end until this Sunday.”
She made as if to take away his plate. “Oh, Father. Not everyone observes the fast as strictly as you. Some people allow small luxuries on Sundays. If you don’t want to break your …”
He snatched the plate back. “I’ll have you know that certain restrictions can be waived when the situation demands it. And celebrating my daughter’s coming nuptials with her workmates is just such an occasion.” His smile would have charmed the birds from the trees.
As soon as was decently possible she suggested they should prepare to leave if they were to get back before dark, but he wouldn’t have any of it.
“Nonsense. First, I’d like to see the workroom where young Taron practices his craft, and then I’d appreciate a peek at this house I’ve paid for.”
As they walked toward Sawyer’s house, her mother squeezed her arm in an uncharacteristic show of affection. “Are you feeling well, my dear? You look a little peaky.”
“I did not sleep well last night.” After dragging up all the horrors, dark images troubled her dreams, ending with a terrifying chase through trees which tore at her clothing.
“Poor thing. It will be nerves, I expect. Maybe the healer can give you some draught to help you sleep. You need to be rested to look your best on Sunday.”
At the workroom, Taron’s surprise echoed hers, but he was a much better mummer than she. He quickly turned his wide-eyed expression into a warm smile as he shook her father’s hand and introduced him to Sawyer.
Somehow, they managed to get through the visit to their new home, whose interior reeked of the barely-dry daub on the walls.
Her mother held a linen kerchief soaked in lavender water to her nose. “I really don’t see why they have to include animal dung. It smells so awful.”
“Because without it, the clay and soil mixture would crack and fall away leaving us exposed to the wind and rain.” As everyone stared at Taron, he shrugged. “I asked the masons when they were spreading it on the walls.”
Her father clapped him on the back. “Son – I hope you don’t mind me calling you that.”
In the brief pause, Lareeta saw Taron stiffen, but only very slightly.
“I would be proud to call you son, because you are exactly the kind of man I would want a son of mine to be. Smart, polite and curious about every aspect of the world you live in. My daughter has done very well to snare you.”
Two days later, he used the exact same words during his speech at the largest tavern in town.
The day had flown past and, all the way through the mass, Lareeta had one thought: tonight, she would lie with Taron as his wife. The details of the morning barely registered as she submitted to her mother’s ministrations, wearing the gown they’d chosen to please her father’s tastes. Apart from being blue for purity, it bore little resemblance to her simple handfasting kirtle.
Taron and Baxter had spent Friday in the nearby inn, and Cedany had slept in a guest room across from Lareeta’s so she could be up early to help dress her.
They met Lyrelie and Freya at the entrance to the church, wearing the same outfits they’d worn to the handfasting. Alfun and Cora waited with them, explaining Senna had a fever so she stayed behind for fear of passing any malady on to the party.
Very few people had turned up to see her off, but even fewer for Taron, so only the first few rows were taken. Neither of her parents came from large families, although a number of their friends joined Rielle’s girls from the Marlborough workroom, dressed in their Sunday
best.
Her mother sat in her normal place, most of her face obscured by a large white kerchief. On the opposite front row, Lareeta spotted more squares of lace-trimmed linen drying the damp eyes of Rielle, Cora, and even the stoic Dagda.
A jolt of energy sizzled between her and Taron as he lifted her veil and their eyes met. Both sparkled with suppressed excitement for what would happen at the end of the day. He had learnt his part well, knowing exactly when to sit and kneel, and he joined in all the responses in a clear, confident voice.
Because of the small gathering, the mass was considerably reduced, with shortened versions of all the sung responses. Before she knew it, the priest was saying the magical words, “You may kiss the bride.”
Closing her eyes, she gave herself up to the soft pressure of his lips, as a tingling spread throughout her body. A cheer went up from the pews, and he released her lips, gazing into her eyes as he whispered, “Tonight cannot come soon enough for me.”
She could not help the blush colouring her cheeks, and glanced away in a perfect semblance of modesty and chastity as she replied. “Nor for me.”
Rielle scrambled out of her pew to be the first to hug her before they walked down the aisle, man and wife. The woozy detachment overtook her once more, preventing her from engaging fully in her surroundings. Small incidents lodged in her mind: stumbling as she descended the first step outside the church; the dizzying warmth of Taron’s arms as he stopped her from falling; the beauty of the petals scattering in the breeze as they made their way to the carriage.
She could not have described any of the many courses of food put before her. Although they were a feast for the eyes, every mouthful she attempted had no more flavour than a damp rag – at least, how she imagined it would taste. Thankfully, no one appeared to notice or, if they did, made no comment on her lack of appetite.