It only took a second for her twin to slip away. She swallowed her rising panic. A few months ago, Elunid had disappeared for an entire day, and had it not been for Henry and George, she didn’t know what would have happened.
Henry had carried Elunid home, and at the memory of those strong arms holding her sister with such care, she could not help but imagine what it would feel like to feel protected. Foolish. She did not need protection. She was the strong one.
She scanned Market Street, asking passersby if they’d seen her. Someone pointed toward the docks, where a crowd had gathered, and in the midst of it she saw Elunid with someone wearing a familiar looking slouch hat. Was Freddy still about town? Isadora stood at his side. Oh.
Elunid stood nose to nose with the boy and poked him in the chest. “Because of you, devil, there will be no sunrise tomorrow.” She grabbed his jaw and turned it toward the setting sun. “See? You’ve caused its death with your evil.”
Bethan hastened her pace.
“Now, see here, lovey.” He laid his hands upon Elunid’s upper arms, slid them slowly downward and up again, fingers splayed to graze the sides of her breasts. “I know what you need to calm you down.”
Bethan broke through the crowd, and her vision clouding over, slammed her fist into his face. Unprepared for the assault, he lost his balance and fell, head hitting the dock. The crowd scattered out of the way, laughing.
Isadora screamed and ran over to him. “How could you? He meant no harm.”
The crowd snickered.
Bethan turned on them. “You saw he was up to no good. Could you not have intervened?”
They backed away. She struggled to slow her breathing.
The chandler said, “It’s afraid of her, we are.”
“Nonsense. She’s never hurt anyone.”
Two of the men loomed over Freddy as he got to his feet. “Best ye go, lad.”
Bethan put her arm around Elunid’s shaking shoulders and wiped the spittle from her mouth with her handkerchief. “Come, sweeting. Let’s go home.”
As Freddy passed by, the vitriol in his eyes made her draw a breath.
Chapter Five
Bethan hurried Elunid home. She’d begun to tremble, never a good sign.
Lena rushed toward them. “Mein Gott! What happened?”
As she sat her sister down by the fire and wrapped a shawl around her, Bethan quickly explained.
“I’ll get something to warm her.”
Lena soon returned with the soup, and Bethan tried to spoon the broth into Elunid’s mouth, to no avail.
Bethan took the packet of medicine Ian had given her from her pocket. “Have you any chocolate?”
Lena nodded and headed for the kitchen.
Elunid rarely refused a cup of chocolate. “Ellie, Ian’s herbs might help you in your work. Lena made you a cup. Will you not have some?”
She had mixed the herbs into a quarter cup of chocolate. She covered Elunid’s hands around the cup with her own, and Elunid took a sip. The warm drink soon put some color on her face.
As soon as she was finished, Bethan led her into her room. “Let’s get you into bed.” Mayhap Ian’s concoction would be the key to calming Elunid’s troubled mind. There was so little she could do for her, but at least she could tend to her physical needs.
“You’ve gotten so thin, Chwaer.”
Elunid stood stock still as she put her night rail on. She tucked her into bed and breathed a sigh of relief. At least she’d stopped shivering.
Lena arrived with a pot of chocolate and two cups. “I knew you’d want to sit with her for a while.”
Bethan smoothed Elunid’s hair away from her face and tucked the covers neatly at her chest. “Thank you, Lena. Here, my sweeting. It’s delicious.”
She sat back with her own chocolate, keeping one eye on the cup in her sister’s hand, and searched for a passage from Shakespeare. The words filled her mind with calm:
“Doubt thou the stars are fire;
Doubt that the sun doth move;
Doubt truth to be a liar;
But never doubt I love.”
Not even the beautiful words from Hamlet erased her unease of the consequences of Elunid’s encounter with Freddy. If only she could see into her sister’s mind as they used to do with each other, then perhaps she would know how to fight her affliction.
Caring for Elunid was like watching a carriage without a driver, helpless to stop its wayward course. She would only tend to her physical needs as best she could.
She snatched the cup slipping from Elunid’s hand. “What can I do for you, Chwaer?”
“Brush my hair, Mother. Sing your songs.”
No use in reminding Elunid Mother had only combed their hair a handful of times, after they came in from the beach with salt water, wind, and adventure in their hair. She’d stiffen and sigh with defeat when they wriggled. Older sister Polly had been the one to mother them and sing to them, too. Mother didn’t believe in singing to children.
“It’s Bethan.”
She settled herself on the bed behind her, took out the pins from Elunid’s heavy hair, and let the silken strands fall down her back. She reached for the silver brush on the bedside stand. They had stolen it from Mother’s room; perhaps the absence of it made her think of them from time to time.
The steady rhythm of her brushing was like the caress of calm waters on sand. She let her breathing match the rhythm.
“Sing, Chwaer.”
She hardly recognized the voice rising from her throat; so long had it been since she’d sung. As the songs of their childhood echoed in the room, the tension in her sister’s shoulders began to ease, and hers as well, as she recalled their youth, when they’d spent their days wrapped around each other’s mind, sharing each other’s heart.
“I wonder how you got those tangles. Have you been spinning upside down on your head?”
“Mayhap I should. Might help.”
“There. Let me braid it. Are you tired?”
She grunted her assent. “Um.”
She rested her palms on the top of her twin’s head in blessing, enjoyed the peace in the moment.
“I’ll tuck you in now.”
When Polly had left them to get married, they’d tucked each other in, until Elunid began to slip away. At least she’d had a moment of peace with her. She would tuck it away in her mind, to smooth away the wrinkles of future pain.
She patted the linen and kissed her on the forehead. She would fortify herself with a cup of tea and enjoy a moment of solitude before the busy night began.
Chapter Six
If it gave her twin pleasure to see her safely abed, so be it, for there was little else Elunid could give her. The lamentations began after Bethan left, resonating from her belly like a trumpet announcing the coming of war. She’d been idle today, seeking comfort in her sister.
They reveled in reminding her every day she wasted added another day of torment to the souls she sent to hell. She could redeem them if she but created the perfect needlework, the Beauty Stitch. But she had failed them again and again, and another demon joined the chorus, bidding she sink inside herself.
The first tormentor had come in her thirteenth year with the onset of her first courses. Bethan did not suffer from the same gripping pains, the twisting of her womb. The first voice crawled out of her depths then, weaving in and out of her mind like a needle through a cloth, piercing her skin. She could hide the one, even from Bethan. Not now. Not with so many of them, demanding, reprimanding.
The first one, he blew hot and cold, harsh and in turns soft. She couldn’t help but listen to him, his seductive voice resonating deep inside her like echoes in a well, never leaving her alone. He was the teacher who schooled her in her guilt, poked her with the needle, whispering praise in one ear when she learned a stitch just so, splattering blood upon the cloth when she failed the Beauty Stitch.
She was so ignorant then, doubted he was truly there. Still she reached out as if blin
d and traced his cruel lips with her fingers, yearning for his smile. He was the one always within her, while the others might come and go, guiding her in the ways of her penance, making her drift away from Bethan like a boat from the shore.
Chapter Seven
The customers at the inn spoke of nothing else but the tussle at the docks with Bethan and the ne’er-do-well. Henry recognized the little bastard from the description. If only he’d seen it.
The inn was packed with people, the door propped open to let in fresh air. He spotted Bethan bustling around, serving and washing dishes with young Sabine assisting her. George sat at a table by the fireplace with old Captain Jacobs, who tried to teach him the rudiments of chess. He could scarcely believe tomorrow was the boy’s eleventh birthday. What a good lad he was: strong, good-natured, kind.
Ed the butcher motioned him over. “I was out there by the docks today, when yon Bethan came barreling down the street and knocked the little bastard off his feet like he was naught but a rag doll.”
Old Widow Jenkins cackled. “Not what ye’d call ladylike, but a woman needs to know how to throw a good punch, living in a harbor town.”
Ed nodded, clinking mugs with the old woman.
As Henry returned from the kitchen with plates of fried fish, bits of conversation drifted his way.
“Heard the daft one asking the lad who sent him? He laughed and told her no one sent him, but she kept arguing with him.”
“Kept calling him lust, or greed, or some such nonsense. He didn’t care for it. Everyone piled up to see what she was going to say next. Ye never know with her.”
“It’s like a game of chance, it is.”
“Young Isadora, what can the chit be thinking, chumming up with the likes of him? If you ask me,” Widow Jenkins added, “her father better rein her in, or she’ll be in trouble.”
“Saw her on the street this evening, father in tow. She had the mark of a hand on her poor ugly face,” Ed added.
“Spare the rod and spoil the child,” Widow Jenkins said with conviction. “Mayhap she wouldn’t be so cranky if they’d taught her to respect her elders.”
Henry shook his head. So easy for others to criticize a parent’s actions when their children were long grown. You’d think they’d remember what it was like. He set the food in front of the widow with a flourish.
He searched the crowded room again for Bethan. She’d been working steadily since he’d arrived, and probably long before, never stopping to rest, always a smile for everyone. So tall, graceful. Made this old inn bloom with life.
He squinted. As soon as she’d set the platter down, she held her right hand close to her body. Had she tended to it? Probably not. Tended to everyone but herself. She straightened and approached Mrs. Stowe’s table.
He joined them and watched Bethan’s eyes grow wide at the sight of him. For the love of God, would there be a day she didn’t sniff the air when he came near, as if he would walk among civilized people smelling like his labor?
“You’ve been working hard, Bethan.”
She nodded.
He’d gotten a good look at her hand. It was bruised and abraded, and a bit swollen. “Might I have a word with you in private, Mistress Bethan?”
“Must you?” She furrowed her brows.
He folded his arms and gazed at her, then motioned her down the hallway leading to the private rooms.
“Is this necessary?” Bethan scowled.
“Yes, it is. Your hand, the one that collided with the lad’s face.”
She grinned. “Yes.”
He took her arm, felt her stiffen. “You’ve hurt yourself.”
She shrugged, an elegant roll of the shoulders, more like a queen than an ale maiden.
“Bethan, you need ointment and a bandage. It will swell more.”
“No time. Let me go, I’ve things to do.” Her mutinous glare would have amused him if she wasn’t injured.
He met her gaze. “You need to take it to the apothecary.”
“Would you take it for me?” She smirked. “The rest of my body is busy.”
“Your entire body?” He couldn’t help the path his eyes followed, from her neck to the top of her feet. Amidst the smells of food, sailors, and pipe smoke, her sweet scent filled his senses.
Come now, Henry! “Forgive my impertinence, Mistress Bethan.” He would at least allow himself the indulgence of gazing into those darkened eyes. At least she didn’t look away.
“I only want you to take a care for yourself. Is your sister well?”
She brightened. “It seems the medicine Ian concocted for her is working. She’s abed already.”
“Oh, that’s grand.”
Her smile lit her eyes. His heart thumped and rose from his body, weightless and bright as a hummingbird.
“I’ll fetch a bandage and some ointment from Ian.”
She pulled her hand away. “Thank you.”
****
She lay in bed, willing the lethargy to leave her body. She’d been away from her work too long. The man today where ships go in and out…what was the word? She’d seen the Seven before: Gluttony, Lust, Envy, Greed, Pride, Wrath, and Sloth. Oh, he was Lust. She’d seen them all before, but this time others saw Lust. Was he real? If so, why had he come if not for her?
She could see the completed, perfect work if she closed her eyes: Waves lapping on the bottom of the cloth. The boat holy, blessed by Christ, powerful enough to steer itself. Cedar of Lebanon, shining with sacred light. The sharp tang of saltwater on Peter’s face, the apostles, heads ringed with light, the splash of the wave at the bow.
She tried to rise while the vision still burned the back of her eyes. But they had made her arms like the cross, rigid and unyielding, the means for His death. But she couldn’t move them, for they had sewn her body down to the cross, stiff as nails, heels stitched to the bed.
How was she to sew the Beauty Stitch when she could not rise from bed? Because of her, the souls would suffer, the sun would not rise.
Chapter Eight
Lena and Bethan sat at an empty table long after midnight. Lena pushed a plate of fried fish over to Bethan.
“Eat, Liebchen. You have earned your keep tonight.”
Bethan took off her cap and pulled the pins from her hair, rubbed her aching scalp, one hand bandaged. “Must we clean up tonight?” She eyed the floor with disgust. Tobacco, ale, bits of fish and potatoes were scattered over the wooden planks. “This is the worst mess yet. How have you done this night after night, Lena?”
Lena leaned back and closed her eyes. “It was different when dear Josef was here. Together, it was part of our routine. We gossiped over the news of the night, who’d too much to drink, who we’d caught cavorting. It didn’t seem like work.”
Bethan chased a bit of fish around on her plate. How wonderful it must have been to have someone with whom to share life’s labor, and how bereft Lena must feel without it. She rose and embraced her. “I’m sorry, my friend.”
Lena patted her arm. “For Josef’s sake and his son’s, I must keep the inn going. I like to imagine him—where he is I know not—smiling and yelling at me betimes because I’ve not done things the way he would.” She smiled. “Yet I always knew he loved me, despite his gruff, quiet way.”
She sniffed and picked up her ale, wiped the foam from her mouth with the back of her hand. “Um. This might be my best summer ale yet.”
Bethan sat again and emptied her mug. “Oh, I agree.” She glanced toward the private quarters. “I should go check on my sister.”
“You need meat on your bones. Have another mug and eat. The care of your sister wears on you, doesn’t it?”
“She’s my twin.”
“But you must care for yourself.”
“Are you and Henry in league?” He whose gentle hands and low voice made her belly quiver.
“Henry? No.”
“He said the same thing tonight.”
“Ah.” Lena brightened, eyes alive with interest. �
��And…”
“And nothing.” She rose. “I must check on Ellie.”
She pressed her hand upon the door, and a sense of dread crawled like a spider down her back. She opened the door. In the darkened room, the acrid scent of fear barreled into her.
“Elunid!”
Chanting. A muffled voice chanting, ancient and knowing.
She tripped over something, sent it skittering across the floor. She rushed to light a candle, which illuminated Elunid lying stretched in the bed, arms spread to the sides, fingers splayed, body stiff. The whites of her eyes shone like bone in her ashen face.
“Forgive me. I could not defeat it on my own. Because I am weak, the darkness is my shame.”
“Elunid.” Bethan grasped her arm. It was cold as frost. “Pull your arms in, sweeting.”
When she didn’t respond, Bethan tried with all her might to move them to her sides, but they wouldn’t yield. What did this new and frightening development mean?
Panic rose in her throat. “Elunid, we must warm you.”
“They’ve stitched me to the cloth. I cannot move,” she rasped. “Two on the shoulders. One on each foot. One on each hand. They will unravel me when I’ve paid my penance. Be gone, Sister.”
Bethan pushed the hair away from her sister’s face, fighting a wave of dizzy panic. What must she do? She put the sheets over her as best she could and reached in her pocket for the medicine Ian had given her. He said she could double it.
“I have lost the sun. I’m sorry,” Elunid rasped.
“It’s okay, Chwaer.”
Since Elunid wouldn’t move, she could not resist the medicine much. Bethan poured most of her tea out of the cup and mixed the herbs in.
“Those stitches must hurt. This will help.”
Before Elunid could resist, she poured the liquid into her mouth. Pray God she wouldn’t choke. A bit of it slipped out the side of her mouth, but she swallowed most of it.
Bethan sat on the edge of the bed. “Close your eyes and rest.”
Elunid moaned.
She could do nothing but helplessly watch, anger filling her body like black smoke in a chimney. Hours later, as dawn lightened the room, Elunid’s limbs began to relax, but her eyelids remained half open.
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