The Executioner's Daughter

by Laura E. Williams

  Not far from the musicians, Lily had to skirt a large crowd. She couldn’t see what was going on, and she didn’t care to, she told herself. She would do her errands quickly as she and her mother always had, and then she’d hurry home to where she belonged.

  Lily came across the wool merchant first, where she bought a length of soft wool. Then she followed the stench of newly tanned leather to the leather seller, where she bought enough for three new pairs of boots. Nearby, she picked up some tallow candles and at the tinker’s she bought a small pan her father needed.

  Once she was loaded down with goods, she carried them in a sack under her cloak. Lily was intent on leaving, but along the way, the scent of baking pies distracted her. Her father had given her a spare coin from their meager allotment, as though he’d known she’d be tempted by some mulled cider or a piece of gingerbread. It all smelled delicious. Lily walked back and forth between the many stalls selling food and drinks, trying to decide what to buy.

  “Lily?” a hoarse whisper said.

  A lump of dread weighted her stomach. She had been recognized.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Lily stood as still as a tombstone. She didn’t know if it would be better to run or hide.

  “Lily,” the voice said again.

  Without moving her head, Lily looked around, her gaze finally falling on John standing near her. Relief loosened her clenched hands.

  The boy moved closer and looked up, giving Lily half a smile. “What are you doing here?”

  She glanced around to make sure no one was watching them, then she quickly showed him the sack that held her purchases. “Now go away before you draw attention to me,” she said.

  “Nay, I’m allowed to be here same as you.” He scowled at her. “Besides, I’m here to buy some gingerbread. Only I think the cakes over yonder look fine, too.”

  “Cakes?” Lily said. Then she bit her tongue for sounding interested.

  John grinned. “Aye, with sugar and cinnamon and whole nuts and—” He licked his lips. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

  Reluctantly, Lily found herself following the small boy. But before they got to the cake seller, their path was blocked by a large crowd. John jerked his head for Lily to stay close as they threaded their way through the people. She’d never felt such a press of bodies. It was both frightening and exhilarating. A bit guiltily, she thought of the people’s reaction if they realized who was pushing by them. They would not be pleased to find themselves so close to her.

  Before she knew it, she was in the center of the crowd, staring up at a large bear dancing on his hind legs. An iron cuff circled his neck and a long, thick chain was attached to it and held by a man dressed in crimson and green.

  Lily glanced around at the laughing people, wondering what humor they saw in a shackled bear. She longed to set it free.

  “Come on,” John said, tugging on her cloak. “The tumblers are this way. You’ll like them better.” He led her back out through the crowd and to another group of people who were clapping and cheering as boys dressed in tight leggings climbed on each other’s shoulders and tossed each other through the air.

  Lily marveled at their performance. When the misty rain blew in, she barely noticed. When the rain fell harder, the tumblers bowed and the crowd dispersed. With no more to distract them, Lily and John tramped from one stall to the next, trying to decide what treat to buy. She finally settled on a warm piece of cake, which she ate in the pelting rain, laughing when it got so soggy that she had to shove nearly half of it into her mouth before it fell apart. John laughed, too, huddling his nose and hands over a cup of hot cider, the steam blowing in his eyes. For a moment she forgot who she was.

  “John!” someone called.

  The boy jerked his head up. His face turned red, and without even a glance at Lily, he hurried toward his pack of friends. Lily recognized them as the boys with the pointy sticks. They talked to John and he shrugged uneasily. One of them gestured toward Lily, and she turned away, dread replacing happiness. Rain seeped through her cloak and muddy water oozed into her worn shoes.

  Sloshing through the puddles, she reached the edge of the fair before she remembered one last item she had yet to get. How could she have forgotten the ribbon for her mother’s hair? She should be home tending to her instead of out playing in the rain.

  Quickly she found a woman selling brightly dyed ribbons. Lily chose a deep blue color to match her mother’s eyes. She tucked the ribbon under her cloak as she hurried through town and out the gates, taking the shortest path home.

  Her hood fell back and the driving rain stung her cheeks as she ran. Lily burst into the cottage with so much on her mind, so much to tell her mother!

  Allyce was not on her bed.

  Lily hastily threw off her cloak and dropped her purchases on the floor. “Mother!” she cried. “Mother!”

  No one answered.

  She ran into the apothecary. Her mother lay next to the table, one arm stretched out as though she had been reaching for something. A quick glance told Lily that her mother had been preparing a concoction when exhaustion must have overtaken her and she’d fallen.

  Lily bent down and put her arms around Allyce, noticing that her mother’s clothes felt damp. She half lifted her mother, half dragged her back to the bed and laid her there, piling blankets on top of her. Lily stoked the dying fire and added logs until it raged fiercely, but not as fiercely as the guilt that burned inside her.

  * * *

  Many hours later, Lily lay on her own pallet behind her curtain. Her father had come home, only to find Allyce burning with fever once again.

  In silence, he had bled Allyce and fixed a dozen remedies for her, but her fever stayed high, and she moaned and twisted.

  Lily was unable to sleep. Afraid to sleep. Afraid of what she might wake to. Eventually her eyes closed against her will. When she opened them again, the storm was gone and the sunlight spread through the cottage like a widening puddle.

  Her father sat on a stool, staring down at his wife. Lily’s breath caught in her throat until she saw the faint up and down of her mother’s chest. She was still alive! Lily scrambled out of bed and hurried to her side, eager to apologize for taking so long at the fair. But her mother didn’t even stir when Lily took her hand and kissed it.

  “Lily,” her father began.

  She shook her head. She didn’t want her father to tell her what she knew deep in her soul.

  She and her father sat beside her mother for hours. They did not speak or eat. They simply waited.

  * * *

  The end came peacefully for Allyce, though it tore Lily apart. The tears she had buried for so long bubbled to the surface. They came soft at first, like a gentle rain. Then she cried as hard as she could, wishing her tears would wash the pain away, but they did nothing more than dampen the front of her dress.

  Lily looked at her father. He sat as still as stone, and his eyes were dry. “Don’t you care?” she asked through her tears.

  He turned to her, his gaze bleak and dark. “Far too much,” he said in a hoarse voice.

  Lily wondered if he had buried his tears the way she had. And perhaps by now he had forgotten how to cry.

  She went to him and put her arms about his broad shoulders and cradled his head against her neck.

  “Why did she leave us?” Lily asked. “Is it because we are cursed as everyone says?”

  He embraced her. “Everyone must die. ’Tis our fate, child.”

  Lily bowed her head in defeat. One could not argue with fate.

  * * *

  Because she was the executioner’s wife, Allyce was not allowed to be buried in the churchyard, or even have a service and funeral procession. Besides, Lily thought bitterly, who but herself and her father would be there to mourn her?

  Together, Lily and Will prepared Allyce for burial and carried her into the forest. Will dug a grave. They set the body in the hole, and before they covered it with dirt, Lily lay a dove’s feather on he
r mother’s breast.

  “You are free now,” she whispered, then she dropped the first clods of earth into the grave.

  In silence, her father packed the ground until there was only a slight mound to show where Allyce was buried. He left, and when he came back he struggled to carry a large stone, which he dropped at the head of the grave. He turned it carefully.

  Lily saw the words her father had carved under a crooked cross.

  Allyce

  Mother

  Wife

  But what of healer? And friend? And comforter? How could an entire life be reduced to a name and two words? She bowed her head, longing for her mother’s soft voice. For gentle arms to hold her.

  A heavy hand pressed down on her shoulder and she turned against her father’s chest. His arms were hard and unyielding, but they circled her like the walls around the town, offering protection. She gratefully accepted what she could get. Lily squeezed her eyes shut to stop the tears. The time for crying had passed.

  * * *

  During October, days blew in brisk, taking with them the leaves on the trees and any warmth left in the sun, and nights were cold. Lily barely noticed. She worked in the apothecary beside her father, determined to learn all the secrets of healing. She already knew much, but her father knew far more. And yet it hadn’t been enough.

  It wasn’t her father’s fault Allyce had died, as her fate had determined she should. But if she had died according to her destiny, then what had her mother meant when she’d said she’d cheated fate? How had her father saved Allyce from her fate? Had he healed her in some way?

  Lily longed to ask, but her father kept himself tightly shuttered. He worked endlessly, as though he, too, were obsessed with discovering what healing draught or poultice he could have used to save his wife. At night he did not drink heavily as he did after an execution or after a day working in Lord Dunsworth’s dungeon. Instead, he sat silent, staring into the fire, or he went outside and chopped far more wood than they would need in three winters.

  One morning, John appeared beside the cages while Lily was tending to the animals. Lily smiled widely. “John the miller’s apprentice!”

  The boy returned a shy smile as though they were strangers.

  Good as, Lily thought. He hadn’t come around in several weeks.

  As if hearing her thoughts, he said, “Master Miller has kept me busy from sunup till sundown.”

  “And now you can grind wheat into flour like a master?”

  He scowled. “Nay. All I do is sweep!”

  Lily threw back her head and laughed. After long weeks of solemn concentration in the apothecary, it felt wonderful. John’s scowl turned into a grin and he laughed, too. Only then did Lily realize he held a bundle of rags close to his stomach.

  He noticed her looking and handed it to her. “My brother caught it yesterday and broke its wing. He wanted to keep it so it couldn’t fly away. But it hasn’t eaten or had a drop to drink since then.”

  Lily unwrapped the rags to find a soft gray dove. Suddenly her eyes burned. She blinked to hold back the tears. Doves would always remind her of her mother.

  “I was going to wring its neck,” John continued.

  “Nay!”

  “To keep it from dying slowly,” he said hurriedly. “But then I thought to bring it to you.”

  Lily nodded. “’Tis well you did. Come.” She headed into the apothecary.

  John peered through the dark doorway. “Is your father home?” he whispered.

  “Nay, he’s at the castle and he won’t be home till dark.”

  John entered and she handed him the bird. Then she cleared a place on the trestle table and gathered what she thought she’d need to set the wing and wrap it so it would mend. Before she started, she felt a pang of fear. If only her mother were here to show her the proper way to hold the bird and calm it.

  Once again she took the bird from John. “Help me hold it,” she said softly, so as not to startle the dove.

  After only a second’s hesitation, he moved close to her and did as she asked. She worked quickly and carefully until the wing was folded against the bird’s body and bandaged firmly in place.

  “Will it be able to fly again?” John asked as they took the bird outside to a cage.

  Lily didn’t want to tell him how unsure she was. How she missed her mother’s advice in caring for her animals. She had never attempted to mend a broken wing, and she could only pray that she had done well. But to John she said, “Aye.”

  John smiled. “Then I’m glad I did not wring its pretty little neck.” Lily took a swipe at him, but he ducked away, laughing. He looked at the sky. “I’m late. The miller will take the broom to my backside if I don’t hurry.” He turned to go, but at the last moment stopped and faced Lily. “I heard about your mum, and I’m sorry.”

  Lily nodded, not daring to speak for fear her voice would crack.

  With a wave, John left.

  * * *

  Mid-afternoon, a sennight later, Blossom whined from the corner of the cottage farthest away from the hearth. The dog had pulled the blanket off Lily’s pallet and now lay on it, panting heavily.

  “At last!” Lily exclaimed. She sat down on the rush mat and leaned forward. Blossom whimpered up at her. “Good girl,” Lily crooned, scratching the dog behind the ears.

  She watched as Blossom gave birth to four spotted pups. Three of them were plump; one was small and looked more like a mouse. Blossom licked them all clean. The larger pups snuggled up to Blossom’s belly for their first meal, but the runt couldn’t even lift his head. Lily tried to prod him forward toward a teat, but once he got there, the puppy didn’t seem to know what to do. Besides, the others quickly pushed him out of the way.

  Lily dug through a chest in the apothecary and found the nipple made of sheep’s intestines she had used to nurse a fawn earlier in the year. It was too large for the pup, but with some string and careful cutting, she was able to make it a bit smaller. It would do for now, she decided. Later she could make smaller ones.

  She wiped off the fat they had used to keep the nipple supple, then she mixed a bit of goat’s milk with water. Filling a small leather pouch, she attached the nipple with some twine.

  Sitting next to Blossom so that the dog wouldn’t think she was stealing one of her pups, Lily picked up the runt and cradled the tiny creature in her left hand. She dribbled some milk against his lips. After a bit, the pup licked the milk away.

  An hour later, Lily’s back was stiff and her shoulders sore from sitting in one position for so long. Finally full, a dribble at a time, the pup was asleep. She kissed him on the nose, then lay him next to his family.

  When her father came home from town, Lily showed him the pups. He admired them solemnly. He seemed to be thinking on something else. Ever since her mother died, her father seemed more distant and preoccupied. She knew well that he loved her, but she also knew not to expect any hearty laughter or wide smiles.

  “There are four, just as you said there would be,” Will said.

  “I dreamed it.”

  The words startled them both. Lily’s heart thumped, though she didn’t know if it was out of fear or joy.

  Her father peered at her intently. “Do you dream as your mother did?”

  “Aye,” she said, suddenly realizing it was true. “I’ve dreamed a few dreams. But I had forgotten them until now.”

  Her father took her hand. “You are so much like your mother.” He stared deeply into her eyes, she felt he must be looking right through her, searching for the wife he had lost. “I thank God I still have you.”

  Surprised at the thick emotion in her father’s voice, she said, “And I, you.”

  He shook his head, as though to rid himself of a trance.

  Lily slipped her hand from his and set the table. As she worked, she couldn’t stop thinking about her mother’s dreams, and she wondered if she would start having more of them. Would hers be like the tales her mother often had? Or would they be pra
ctical like how many pups Blossom would bear? Or would they be the kind her mother didn’t like to talk about?

  * * *

  Through early November, Lily spent her evenings stitching the hem of the cloak her mother had promised her. It was made from the wool cloth she’d purchased at the fair. When the light coming in through the window became too dim, she put away her sewing and prepared dinner. She wasn’t a very good cook, but her father never complained about the soups or stews she put before him. And when the bread came out flat or burnt, he didn’t say a word of reproach.

  One night before supper, her father came in from the apothecary and sat on the bench. He leaned his elbows on the table and blew out a breath.

  “I think the runt will live,” Lily commented.

  “Aye.”

  “He takes the nipple well and has grown a bit, don’t you think?”

  Will nodded.

  Lily narrowed her eyes at her father. “Gained two or three stone, I should think,” she said, purposely exaggerating.

  He nodded again.

  Lily knocked the wooden spoon on the edge of the pot. “You’re not even listening to me.”

  He shrugged absently, his left shoulder rising higher as it always did. Saying nothing, he simply sat there, his head tilted, his eyes staring into the flame of a candle.

  Lily turned back to the fire. A moment later, she heard her father heave himself to his feet and return to his apothecary without a word. Curious, she moved aside the curtain just a hair and watched him bend over the worktable. His back looked hunched with age and his lips moved as though in silent prayer. It took a moment for her to make out what he was fingering on the scarred wood surface. It was her mother’s copper ring. It had always made Allyce’s finger green, but her husband couldn’t afford a silver one. Even so, Allyce had worn it every day simply because Will had given it to her. It was her only piece of jewelry.