The girl in Mrs

The girl in Mrs. Prune’s parlor was pale and trembling. Vomit covered the checkered rug at her feet, and Alice hurried to mop up the mess. “Please, Goodwife!” the girl said plaintively “I haven’t the means to raise a child, and my father will never forgive me.”

“And what of the child’s father?” Edna inquired, refilling the girl’s teacup.

“He is no more ready than I!” Her voice seemed to modulate with every word, a high-pitched whine against Alice’s ears. “Please! I beg of you!” Throwing herself at the midwife’s feet, the girl kissed the hem of her dress, clinging to the material as though it alone could save her from the responsibilities looming ahead.

“There now!” Edna peeled the small white hands from her garment. “No need carryin’ on like the devil’s taken you. Alice, go fetch my pouch of seeder and let’s have done with this.”

“Have done with what, ma’am?” Alice asked. She did not like the steely resolve in Edna’s tiny gray eyes.

“Why, the child, of course!” Edna replied, obviously frustrated with the stupidity of her apprentice. “Seeder, girl! Go!”

“You mean to do away with the child?” Alice asked, horrified.

“Never mind, silly girl,” Edna said with an apologetic look at the obviously distressed girl. “Wait a moment, deary. I’ll fetch it myself and be back with a shedding draft.”

The girl nodded gratefully, and Edna left the two alone in the parlor. “Does it make you feel rich?” Alice asked softly. “Are you intoxicated with the power only you possess?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” the girl said haughtily.

“You decide whether somebody lives or dies, somebody that could grow up to do great things!” Alice’s voice grew softer still, shaking with the rage she fought to contain.

“It could just as well grow up to be a murderer,” the girl replied complacently. “Who can say? It may be I’m doing the world a favor.”

Andrew gripped the arms of his chair to keep from throttling her. “Lady, with you for a mother, I’d become a murderer.”

“It’s easy for you, isn’t it?” The girl rounded on Andrew, standing over him with tiny clutched fists. “There you sit, preaching to me about the value of my unborn child’s life when you have none of your own. If you did…”

“If I did,” Andrew cut her off “I would protect the babe with my life. If I did, I would sing it from the rooftops, risk anything, go anywhere to insure its health and happiness. Don’t you dare tell me how easy is my lot in life!”

“I’d give it to you if I could,” the girl said petulantly “along with all the sickness and pain, but as it is, you poorly-made excuse for a woman, I cannot.”

“Would you sell it to me?” Andrew asked, scarcely daring to hope.

The girl shook her head. “I want a house by the sea. find me one in three months time or the child dies.”

Andrew nodded. “Lady, in three months time, I will have built you a house by the sea. Meet me at The Sailor’s Rest in three months’ time at high noon.”

The girl held out her small white hand, and Andrew shook it. “Then it is a bargain. I can hide my condition until then, so if you fail, I’ve nothing to lose.”

“You have everything to lose with the giving away of this child you carry,” Andrew told her pityingly. “It is to my gain that you do not know it.”

Edna returned then, carrying in her gnarled old hand a glass vile sealed with wax. “Here you are then, deary,” she fussed. “Take it before you close your eyes. You’ll lose the baby neatly and discretely.”

The girl thanked her demurely, paying her for the vile and hiding it away in her handbag. With one last meaningful look at Andrew, she left the small cottage. “I hate her,” he said flatly.

“No sense in that, my duck,” Edna scolded. “I’m not particularly fond of such proceedings myself, but you know what they say. Reluctant mothers make troublesome children. You know, criminals, whores and the like.”

Andrew sighed, wracking his racing mind for a plan. How does a man build a house in three months? “Edna,” he said at last “I’m going out.”

“But where?” the old woman protested. “There’s work to be done.”

“Yes,” Andrew agreed. “There is much work to be done in very little time.”

Kandra ran lightly up the stairs that lead to Eve’s bedroom. Loud sobbing could be heard just outside the thick wooden door, and Kandra’s heart clenched within her. The breakfast tray in her arms was growing heavy, and Kandra knew if she did not set it down very soon, she risked dropping it. Slowly, cautiously, she eased the door open and, sliding through the small opening, she set the well-ladened tray on Eve’s night table. The older girl lifted her head at the sound, looking through swollen eyes at her visitor.

“What are you doing here?” Eve asked sulkily.

Kandra was surprised to see no tears streaming down from the puckered face of her sister. “I came to bring your breakfast,” she replied “and to see what ails you this morning.”

“Why do you think something must ail me?” Eve asked, clearly not convinced.

“I had a bad feeling about you when Alice and I were at the market place,” she answered “and when I came to you, you were weeping with no tears. I don’t have to tell you that is unusual, sister.”

“What is so unusual about it?” Eve asked. “There are not nearly enough tears in the world for what I have suffered this morning.”

“Won’t you tell me of your sorrows?” Kandra asked, seating herself on a low stool beside the bed.

“Very well,” Eve said between bites of sausage. “This morning while I was saying my prayers, a demon came to me.” Eve shuddered, clutching a locket she wore about her neck that Kandra had never seen before. “He had the hooves of a goat and the horns of a stag. His eyes glowed like newly-lit coals and when he spoke my name, I saw that he had the tongue of a snake.” Kandra listened intently, watching the corner of Eve’s left eye twitch convulsively. Her long fingers around the locket were beginning to turn a shade paler with the intensity of her grip.

“He ravaged me, sister!” Eve went on. “He plundered my innocence with wreckless abandon, and when I looked down to see my maiden blood on the sheet, I saw that his manhood was spiraled like that of a boar. Oh the horror!”

Eve threw up her hands, shielding her eyes from some unseen terror, and Kandra looked bemusedly at the linen on which she sat. “But sister,” she said uncomprehendingly “I see no blood. Where has it gone?”

“The demon!” Eve exclaimed. “He lapped it up with his snake-like tongue, making the sheet as white as ever it was before. Then, leaving nothing but dark mist behind him, he vanishd.”

“But sister,” Kandra said incredulous “I see no mist.”

“But of course you see no mist!” Eve said in a whisper. “I prayed to the Blessed Virgin Mary along with our dearly departed mother, and they came with their angel light to dissipate the mist.”

“And the light?” Kandra asked. “Where has it gone to that I might see it and be blessed?”

“Ah my silly little star-gazer,” Eve said with an ere of benevolent superiority that had always maddened her younger sisters. “Light is not made from the same stuff as mist. When it had done vanquishing the demon’s misty after-presence, it seeped into my very skin.”

“And where did you get the locket?” Kandra questioned.

“Why, where else but from the hands of our mother? She gave it to me as a talisman, a token of protection against the dark forces that would devour me as I say my morning devotions.”

Kandra did not believe her sister’s ramblings, but what other explanation was there? Eve had been weeping without tears, a thing all to unnatural and inhuman. Coupled with her strange intuition at the market place, that seemed evidence enough to believe such a wild tale. How could Eve concoct such a thing on a moment’s notice? Had she been awake all night hatching the strange story? Perhaps she had been dreaming, but, if that were so, where oh where had she come by the beautiful silver locket?

“Kandra,” Eve said earnestly “you must never tell a soul what I have told you this day. I would not even have told you, dear sister, but you came on me so suddenly, and I was in such a state that I simply had to confess the whole ghastly episode. You understand, don’t you dear one?”

Kandra nodded. She would tell no one: no one, that is, save dear love-struck Brianna. Her younger sister had a wisdom born of innocence and objectivity, and Kandra was certain she would know what to make of Eve’s strange tale. Gathering the tray of empty breakfast dishes, Kandra rose. “I must go now, sister,” Kandra said placing a hand on the door knob.

“Go then,” Eve said dismissively “and remember, tell no one.”

Kandra nodded and was gone, moving on light feet down the stairs to the world of light and noise that was her father’s inn.

Eve listened to the girl’s footfalls until she was out of earshot. It felt good to have told someone what Finius had done to her this day. Even if the majority of her recitation was made up of falsehoods, and even if the listener was only the empty-headed Kandra, Eve was well satisfied. That done, she could forget the whole nasty incident and move on with her charmed existence.

She was certain in the knowledge that Kandra would say nothing. After all, who would the girl tell even if she had a mind to? She had no friends, no confidants or amorous suitors crowding the door for her attentions. Running the ivory brush through her hair once more, Eve wondered idly why fate had cursed her father with two plane and ugly daughters. Perhaps Eve had been sent to make up for Kandra’s idiocy and Brianna’s lack-luster appearance.

Pulling the ribbon from where Finius had thrown it, Eve adorned her hair before dawning corset and dress once more. Opening the locket, she smiled at the face she saw. If anything, she looked more beautiful than she had before. Her normally placid blue gaze seemed infused with some inner flame, and her cheeks held twin roses of color from her elaborate oration. Regretably, the newest passion mark matched perfectly the old one from last night’s antics, doing little to flatter her swan-like neck. Sighing, Eve pulled a silk scarf from its place on a wrack and tied it loosely about her throat. The result was exquisite. Eve was as perfect as any of the twelve angel statues standing guard over the island’s small cemitary.

Reaching beneath the skirt of her bed, Eve pulled out her finely-made leather shoes before lazily sliding her feet in to them. She loved the way these shoes made her feel. Showing off her feet to the best advantage with their well-shaped heals and supple leather, they matched nearly all of the beautiful dresses in her tightly crammed closet. Eve was a princess, to be sure, and though her castle was shabby at best, it was enough, at least for now.

Someday, there would be more, eve knew. Someday there would be moonlit carriage rides and lavish balls. Someday there would be eloquent poets singing to the heavens of her unparalleled loveliness, gallant nights casting their hearts at her delicately slippered feet, and ships named in her honor. Someday, when the right ship came in with the right man aboard it, all these things would be hers for the asking, and how lucky was she? Ships came to and fro quite often to this small and unimpressive island.

Eve loved to watch them, these ships full of men, full of chances at glory. That was, whenever she could allow herself the luxury, how Eve loved to spend her days. Let the others work and strain. Let pitiful little Brianna die of consumption as surely she would. Let silly Kandra with the heathen eyes and wayward feet grow old before her time with years of stooping in her precious garden. Eve was meant for the high life. Perhaps this was why Father loved her best. Perhaps, when Eve’s ship came in, she would take Father along with her to glory, and he would never have to work another day in his life.

Della she would fling to the streets. The medalsome old hag had been nothing but trouble since Eve first drew breath. With the exception of Father, Eve hated old people. They, like children, were no use to anyone. But no matter. Why should she center her thoughts on the mundane when there were ships to watch, as beautiful and majestic as the dreams she kept on the blown glass shelf of her mind.

Brianna scrubbed at the dishes angrily with a brillow pad. There was nothing she hated worse than people sleeping through breakfast, and this morning, Eve had done that very thing. It was one thing if the sleeper in question was not particularly fond of breakfast. This being the case, missing it due to excessive sleep would be no great bother, but when a person with as much enthusiasm for the morning meal as Eve possessed somehow missed it, they whined and wheedled so that Brianna’s nerves threatened to shatter. As it was, Eve overslept, and dutiful Kandra brought her a heavily ladened tray of all her favorite things, holding it out before her as she went like a sacrificial offering to an angry and vengeful god. Perhaps it was wrong to thing such unkind things toward Kandra and even more unkind things toward lazy, self-absorbed Eve, but Brianna was truly and completely vexed. Such brief sentiments rarely troubled the peaceful waters of her soul, so when they came to her, they were much paused over and thought upon.

She closed her eyes, drying the dishes with a practiced hand. “May my soul be washed as clean as these,” she said softly. “May it be void of worry, of strife, and all things you would find disagreeable. Replace my fear with courage, my foolishness with wisdom, my doubts with as much certainty as is honest and as much disbelief as is prudent. Shelter me, love me, and most of all keep my sisters this day and ever after.”

This said, Brianna opened her eyes, meeting the soft brown gaze of the painting to whom she had been speaking. Her mother’s face was soft and kind, smiling gently at the daughter she had never met in life. Perhaps it was Brianna’s lack of memories that convinced Father to put this portrait of Mother here in her sanctuary. Whatever the reason, the girl loved him for it. Over the years, Brianna had come to rely on that simple picture in its cracked wooden frame. It grounded her, serving as a sort of confidant to get her through the trials of everyday living.

Mother looked like a woman who seldom worried, who always laughed, and who shared her youngest daughters’ love for kitchen and garden. She wished Father would speak of her, but he never did. Della said it was too hard for him, too painful to bring all the old memories to light. Sometimes, Brianna wondered if Father ever regretted her, ever wished he and Mother had stopped having children after Kandra was born. If they had, Mother would still be alive, Father would be happy, and Della might now be raising a family of her own rather than tending that of her dead sister.

The kitchen door closed softly, bringing Brianna’s mind gently back to the present. Before her lay an empty sink, surrounding her were the shining wooden surfaces of counters, and behind her, walking slow and deliberate, was Kandra. Her face was a shade paler than usual, but her eyes flashed in that way indicative of grave displeasure. “Good morning, little sister,” Kandra said in greeting.

“It is a glorious one, is it not?” Brianna replied. “I saw Ryan today.”

“Did you?” Kandra smiled knowingly. “And how is he?”

“He is beautiful,” Brianna said in a hushed tone. “And did you know? Ryan wrote another of his beautiful poems, all love and sunlight as usual. Oh I wish I knew the name written on his heart!”

“Perhaps,” Kandra said, running an affectionate hand through Brianna’s hair “you will find it is your own name written there.”

“Oh Kandra!” Brianna’s heart jumped convulsively. “Is that one of your premonitions?”

“No little one,” the older girl responded “it is one cup of common sense mixed with a teaspoon or two of sisterly biass. Why else, you dear thing, would he show you what he writes so freely?”

“I thought perhaps it was because I am his only confidant,” Brianna said, fussing with the hem of her apron.

“Very unlikely,” Kandra said with a chuckle. “Men, even the kind of heart and quick of intellect, seldom confide in women. If Ryan McNair confides in you it is either because A, he loves you, B, he loves one of your sisters, or C, he is one of those rare men who chooses women as confidants.”

“If he loves me then,” Brianna said with a sigh “why can he not say so outright? Why must he rap it up with ribbons and pretty rhymes?”

“Who can say?” Kandra replied. “Men are most peculiar creatures, as hard to understand as the rising and falling of the sea.”

“But the sea is constant,” Brianna protested. “The sea can be relied upon to go in every morning and out at noon.”

“Ah,” Kandra nodded “but the sea can grow wrathful. The sea can stay too long or go too soon. We two halves of one race are as different as sea and sky. No piece of sky can fully contain a piece of the sea, just as no woman’s mind is big enough to contain the mind of man.”

Brianna nodded in what she hoped passed for understanding. There was so much she did not know of life, so much that Kandra, being no more experienced than she, knew without needing to ask. She loved her sister fiercely, and though she did not entirely understand her ramblings of seas and skies, she hoped they meant that Ryan McNair was only a wish away.

Oh how she loved that boy with his simple ways and the stars that glowed deep in the pools of his eyes. He could send her to other worlds with the rhythm of his poetry, worlds of hope: worlds of despair. He was perfect, an icon, a living breathing piece of the hear-after crafted from the stone of Heaven’s kingdom. With a look, he could set her heart to plummeting or up, up, soaring to the heights of sheer bliss. Only an angel could possess such awesome power over a human heart, exacting pain or pleasure at whim. Such a man never was before and never would be again. Brianna was sure of it.

“Now then,” Kandra said briskly “my visit with Eve was very strange, and I have much to tell you. Ponder it well, little wise one, for I greatly need your opinion on the tale I am about to impart.”

Brianna listened incredulous, and when Kandra had done, two sisters sat looking at one another, each as blank of face as the other. “I must talk to Ryan about this,” Brianna said seriously. “Ryan knows much of spiritual matters. Only he could truly tell for sure whether Eve’s plight was genuine or farcical.”

Ryan told it to his da just as Miss Brianna Avery had told it only minutes before. The silence was thick, and Ryan shifted uneasily from foot to foot while he waited. Surely Da would know how to best protect Miss Eve from the horror that had visited her in the midst of her maidenly recitations.

“Twas a demon, didja say?” Da questioned, taking a long drink from the bottle beside him. “A right bloody demon? Horns of a stag? Tongue of a snake?”

“Aye, that’s jus’ it, Da!” Ryan nodded earnestly. “And don’t forget, it had the manhood of a wild boar as well!”

“Manhood of a boar,” Da said thoughtfully. “Well don’t that jus’ take the cake? I suppose you’d best go tell her you told me. There’s a good lad. Tell the, Maidenly Miss Avery, that ole Finius McNair’ll take real good care of ‘er.”

“Yes Da!” Ryan said gratefully. “Thank you Da! I’ll go at once!”

Ryan went, letting the old door slam shut on its rickety hinges. Winged feet carried him to The Sailor’s Rest. Mr. Avery stood before the inn, and Ryan stopped before him.

“Ryan McNair,” Mr. Avery said blandly by way of greeting. “I trust you’ve already brought the items needed in the kitchen.”

“Yes sir,” Ryan panted “much earlier this mornin’ I did, sir, but I need to speak with Miss Eve. Is she here?”

“Nay, you silly oaf,” replied he with a shrug. “She’s gone to watch the ships this day, and I’m sure she hasn’t time to speak with you.”

“But she must!” Ryan said vehemently. “Thank you Sir.”

Ryan turned, walking quickly as ever was polite away from the grumpy old inn keeper and toward the vision of loveliness at the docks. How Ryan wished he could be one of those ships that Eves blue gaze might rest upon him with something more than the bored politeness to which he was accustomed.

She was there, sitting cross-legged on a cushion, and Ryan’s heart threatened to choke him. The familiar tightness in the front of his trousers came again, and Ryan shifted uncomfortably, taking care lest the bords beneath his shoes creak and give him away. Just for a moment, Ryan drank in the sight of her. Unobserved, the boy could memorize every curve of her face, every angle of her neck, and the supple joining of neck to shoulder.

She had the shapeliest of arms, wide at the shoulders and tapering drastically down to delicate hands. The hands of an angel, Ryan thought, or perhaps those of a child. The fingers were long, almost too long, and the palms were free from wrinkle of callous. She never worked as the other girls of the island. She never fussed or fidgeted, fluttering her hands like graceless butterflies. Every move the girl made seemed to Ryan graceful, purposeful, and at the same time, as effortless to that fairest and purest of creatures as breathing.

Hurriedly, Ryan looked away. He knew he must or, like Orphious of old, he would touch her, losing forever a chance at this silent observation. The brief eternity for dreaming, for tarrying was at an end, and he knew it was time to do what he had come for. “Miss Eve?” he asked softly, not wanting to jar the girl from whatever thoughts were making her smile so. “Might I have a word?”

She jerked slightly, looking up at the man above her without turning. “You’re that butcher boy, aren’t you?” she asked. “McNeel? McDonald? Oh I don’t know. What do you want?”

“McNair,” Ryan corrected gently. “Ryan McNair. Listen. I’ve come about that demon in your bed chamber.”

“What do you know of such things?” Eve shot to her feet, whirling to face him and nearly kicking the cushion into the sea.

“I was told by your littlest sister Miss Brianna who was told by your not so little sister Miss Kandra, and I jus’ want you to know that I told my Da. You know, Finius McNair? He’s the butcher in case you’re wondering. He wanted me to tell you that he’ll take real good care of you.”

“HOW DARE YOU?!” Eve’s face turned crimson, dark rage sending sparks from the slits of her normally placid blue eyes.

“Forgive me!” Ryan beseeched her. “I did not mean to offend, only to assist in your time of great trial. My da has a hard fist and a mean temper, Miss Avery. If he’s got a mind to take care of you, well then I’d wager your worries are over.”

“YOU IDIOT!” Eve spat at him. “Thanks to you, my worries are only just beginning!”

The pain caught Elius by surprise. It was as though a small hand had slapped him across the face with all the strength its wielder could muster. He staggered back, watching the blood run from the long jagged cut on his cheek and through his fingers. Elius hated the sight of blood. There was something wrong about it, something dark to which he could not put words. He felt the earth begin to rise as his legs dissolved beneath him. Strong arms caught him before he could hit the wooden planks below. He relaxed, gratefully accepting the support offered. There was no strength left in him, nothing, in fact, but surprise at the sudden hurt and a deep inner agony. The giant of a man turned Elius to face him, dabbing at the blood with a large yellow handkerchief.

“Are you all right?” the man asked, his round face a mixture of worry and perplexity. “Goodness sakes alive, boy! What happened?”

“I’m fine, Ruben,” Elius told his life-long shipmate and friend “but for the life of me, I couldn’t tell you what happened or why. Made me feel a bit strange, though.”

“Should you have a lie down?” “A bit of rest might do you worlds of good.”

“I never slept during the day,” Elius said with a shrug. “Why start now? Besides, I know there is land just beyond the next wave. I can feel it. It is an island, Ruben. It is an island of darkness and great evil, but in it there is light and warmth beyond expression. In it lies my destiny.”

“You may be lookin’ for destiny,” Ruben said good-naturedly “but I’d be content with a hot meal, a warm bed, and maybe a kindly and comely woman to share it with. Now, come along you stubborn boy. It’s time for your lie down. If I see land, I shall wake you personally.”

“I tell you, I am not tired,” Elius told his friend firmly.

“Well then, if you’ve strength enough to resist me, do so. Otherwise,” he lay a reluctant Elius on his berth “it’s off to dreamland with you.”

Elius knew better than to resist when Ruben had it in his head to do something. Besides, he hadn’t the strength to stand if he willed it so. Too strong was the fist of agony clenching his heart. Confusion flooded his mind, followed closely by a strong sense of betrayal and deep loss. It was as though an elusion of religious proportions had been held up to the light and then shattered.

“Sleep well,” Ruben said turning to leave.

“Should you rest as well?” Elius asked. “You were up most of the night after all.” Elius knew Ruben was well used to his sleep schedule, but he hoped the older man would not leave him alone with this feeling of abject misery.

“Perhaps.” Ruben returned, stretching himself on the berth across from his young friend. “Well, good night, then. And Elius?”

“Hmmm?”

“Don’t let it trouble you too much. I’m sure the blood will explain its self soon enough.”

“It has something to do with my island,” Elius said thoughtfully. “My island of destiny.”

It wasn’t long before Elius drifted off to sleep. He thought he heard Ruben rise from his berth, but sleep had him now, and the misery was fast being replaced by merciful dreamlessness.