Chapter 2
HANNA
Hanna thanked Mrs Morgan gratefully for the coins and the loaf of bread as the sun rose high in the sky, growing anxious now, wiping the damp hair from her face and tucking it into her cap as she slipped the loaf into the bag at her waist.
All day Hanna had scrubbed and cleaned, even setting the bread in the brick oven while Mrs Morgan saw to some customers.
It was getting late, and Hanna had little time to do what she needed, but if she was quick, her father would not notice her absence.
Hurrying back to the house, she took care to go around the far side of the building where she would be shielded by the low-hanging thatch roof, not wanting her father to see her.
Opening the earth cellar, she carefully leaned in and pulled out the small basket packed with straw.
Hanna placed the bread on top, arranging a handkerchief over the whole affair and then hurried back to the road, taking a different direction this time, away from the village and down the path that ran alongside the woods.
The morning warmth had burnt away, and the chill of autumn brought a flush to her cheeks as she lifted the hood of her red wool cloak against the rising wind. Tucking the precious basket close to her body, Hanna walked briskly down the lane as the shadows grew long and the trees loomed over her.
The cloak was a comforting reminder of her dear late mother, and Hanna wore it with pride even though it was fraying at the edges.
Her breasts ached, a reminder of all she had longed for and lost, but soon she would reach her destination and all would be well. Even if only for a little while.
It seemed an age as she trudged down the road, the day's exertion slowly catching up with her until each step felt heavy, almost clumsy.
Then she felt it. That feeling always crept up on her at this point in her daily walk. As if someone was watching her, some presence that waited for her beyond the path, deep in the shadows of the forest.
Hanna shuddered and pulled her cloak tighter, eyes darting now and then to scan the undergrowth for the source of the uneasy feeling. There were tales told of these woods, as ancient as they were. The fear of the dark depths ran deep among the villagers.
Hanna did not believe the stories, of course.
She knew that there were far worse things to fear than forest spirits and jealous sprites. Man was by far the most fearsome thing to walk the land, in her opinion.
Even now, Hanna shuddered to think of that day.
She had tried to struggle, but it was all in vain, and the young lord's laughter still haunted her thoughts at the most inopportune moments.
Even worse was the knowledge that she had brought it all on herself, as she had believed his lies and placed herself at his mercy.
Hanna had tried to cast the memories from her mind, but at times like this, they flooded back. The old fears mingling with the anxiety she felt during her walk, causing her palms to sweat and that hollow, cold feeling in her belly to gnaw at her thoughts.
As she neared the thatch-roofed cottage at the edge of the forest, Hanna heard the sound of a babe’s cry, and her heart leapt.
She rushed inside with a smile, placing the basket on the kitchen table and going immediately to the baby who sat on a blanket near the hearth screen, shrieking with glee as he hit some old pans with a wooden spoon.
She scooped the boy up, cradling him to her breast as she flashed the old lady who sat calmly at the table a grateful smile.
“There is bread, from the baker,” said Hanna, nuzzling her nose into the cap of the child and breathing deeply of his sweet scent.
“You are late, is everything well?” asked the woman, leaning over and pulling out the loaf, arranging it on the table and then moving to the pantry, returning with a wedge of cheese.
“Yes, Maria. You worry too much. I was just kept late, it was a hard day.”
“Every day is a hard day for you, Hanna, but you are strong. You will survive this.” Maria flashed her a grin and shuffled over to place the kettle on the stovetop.
“Come, sit. Have some tea. Enjoy your boy.”
Hanna smiled, sitting herself at the table and bouncing James on her knee, but he snuggled forward, rubbing his little face against her chest.
“Feed the child,” chided Maria, as she sliced the bread and cheese. “And then I will feed you.”
Hanna pulled at the cord of her neckline, loosening her gown and pulling down her stays without shame.
Sometimes this small, modest little home seemed like the only safe place in the whole world.
James latched hungrily to her breast, her milk flowing fast and dampening the folds of her gown.
Hanna gestured to the basket. “There are two bottles of milk there. That should help until I can come again tomorrow.”
Maria sniffed and poured the tea carefully through the strainer. “It’s a pity the Peterson woman fell with child again. Wet nurses are not easy to find, if you can’t pay them.”
Hanna frowned, cradling the boy tighter. “James is bigger now. He can eat more and drink less. I will work harder, bring more money…”
Maria leaned over, placing her hand over Hanna’s and squeezing gently. “Hush, child. It will work itself out. You will see.”
Hanna rolled her eyes, but gave the woman a small smile. “What would we do without you?”
Maria chuckled, looking to the boy as Hanna switched sides, letting him drink his fill. “What a greedy thing he is. For milk, for life. He keeps me young.”