Chapter 5 #2
“Obviously yes,” I answer, with more irritation in my voice than the question warrants. I’m not sure why I feel so sensitive about the topic of Beresford.
“A man?” She raises bristly gray eyebrows.
“Again, why should that matter?”
She nods. “You’ve got a rich man in your life. Good for you. Take my advice—marry him. He can provide for you and your family.”
“You’d benefit, too. We’d make sure you were taken care of.” I plop into one of the wooden chairs. “But that’s a fool’s dream. It won’t happen.”
“Why not?”
“Because I summon strange creatures. Because I have no dowry. Because I’m inexperienced, odd, and poorly educated in comparison to other women he knows. I can do a few things decently well, but I don’t excel at anything.”
“And you think this man wants you to excel at something?”
“I suppose not.” I frown. “He’s a devotee of parties and pleasure. Even if I were normal, I can’t imagine him wanting to settle down and be faithful to one woman. I couldn’t bear it if he married me and then touched someone else. I can hardly bear it now, and he’s still practically a stranger.”
She grunts and returns to the pot, stirring the stew before taking a spoonful and blowing on it. When it’s sufficiently cool, she tastes it. “Quit feeling sorry for yourself and come take this pot off the fire. It’s heavy.”
I obey, using towels to grasp the handles and setting the pot on a trivet she places on the table. My stomach growls audibly at the savory scent.
“Get a bowl and eat,” Grandmother says. “You’re like a starved waif.”
“I’m not as skinny as I was this spring,” I say. “Skin and bones we were, all three of us. Just skeletons creeping into the sunlight. I even tried eating some of the new grass from the yard.”
The instant I say it, I regret the confession. I never told Anne and Mama about that.
Grandmother’s keen eyes meet mine, and her lips twitch back for a moment, revealing those sharp teeth. But all she says is, “Eat.”
“Thank you.” I fill a bowl for each of us, giving her the larger portion.
“Did you come for a lesson?” she asks.
“No. Like I said, I’m just checking on you. I didn’t like how we left things.” I’m not sure if she remembers what occurred during my last visit. She might have been having some sort of episode. She’s certainly cleaner and better kept now, and she seems to have regained some of her mental faculties.
“I have periods of darkness,” she says.
“Darkness?”
“Darkness, sadness, mire and murk. You know. You’ve been there, too. I can smell it on you, the doleful dark.”
“I think I know what you mean,” I reply. “Anne had it worse than I did, during the winter. I never want to see her like that again. That’s why I wish I could marry the man from whom I took these.” I nod to the oranges.
“You need his money.” Her teeth click together, a snap that feels like a rebuke, even though she just told me I should marry him.
“Yes, I need his money. But I’d want him without it, too. He’s… magnificent. Magnificent and sweet and dangerous. I think I could love him. Maybe I could even make him happy.”
“Perhaps. But can he be trusted? More importantly, can you? Marriage is about trust, you know. Having faith in one another. Honoring your word, keeping your promises. Can you do that, Sybil?”
“I would try.”
Grandmother shakes her head. “Trying isn’t enough. You are either trustworthy, or you aren’t. You either have a true heart, or a deceitful one.”
After we eat, I help with the dishes, sweep the cottage, and then split some firewood for her.
The last task is a strenuous one, and the afternoon sun is warm.
When I start sweating, I strip down to the light petticoat I’m wearing beneath the dress.
It’s white, sleeveless, and so thin it’s basically translucent in the sunlight or the rain.
It’s my garment of choice on a hot day when there’s no one else around.
As I hoist the axe and slam it into the logs, I notice Grandmother standing at the corner of the cottage, watching me.
I’ve worn petticoats for chores or meditation at her cottage many times, so that can’t be why she’s staring.
Maybe she doesn’t like the way I’m splitting the logs.
It’s not my best work—a lot of them are split unevenly, but they’ll burn fine.
It doesn’t help my concentration that the demon-creatures have gathered in a big circle around the stump where I’m splitting the logs.
I’m afraid a splinter or a chunk of wood will hit one of them, so I have to keep warning them to stay back.
They retreat for a while each time, but then they start creeping closer again.
Whatever Grandmother’s problem might be, she doesn’t complain. She simply stares while I finish the work. By that point, I’m soaked in sweat. I should have worn a corset today; I could have used the extra support during the labor of chopping the wood.
Taking a faded ribbon from my pocket, I tie my hair up, off my sweaty neck.
Then I head for the pump and fill a bucket halfway.
Bending down, I cup handfuls of the water and splash it over the back of my neck, my forehead, and my chest. I end up using too much and drenching the front of the petticoat, but I’m not worried.
The weather should stay warm for another couple of hours, and the material will dry during my walk home.
Grandmother is still watching. I walk up to her and lean the axe against the wall of the cottage. “All done.”
“Good.” She clears her throat. “Off you go. No need to check on me again, I’m quite capable of managing here, as you can see.”
“Of course you can. But it’s alright to ask for help sometimes. I’ll try to return soon.”
She eyes the way my wet petticoat clings to my breasts, her face a mask of disapproval. “Don’t forget your clothes.”
“I won’t,” I reply, irritated. “Before I go, I wanted to ask—have you seen a very tall wolf in the forest?”
Grandmother’s gaze narrows. “A wolf?”
“Yes. A wolf with legs as tall and thin as trees, and with the hooves of a cow, and two heads. Well… not two heads exactly, but two snouts. Like its head split halfway. Anyway, if you see it, be careful. I think it’s hungry. It might try to eat you.”
She gives a gruff chuckle.
“I’m serious. Keep your crossbow nearby, just in case.”
“Hurry along,” is her only response.
Moments later, I’m leaving the clearing with my cloak, my dress, and my basket slung over my arm, waving to her with my free hand.
She didn’t say thank you for the oranges, the jam, or the tea, nor did she express gratitude for my help with the chores.
Yet I feel a grudging affection for her, no matter how grumpy she is or how much she changes.
She’s part of my life. She has a place in my heart.
The walk home is going to be long and dull.
I’m not looking forward to it, especially since the forest feels darker today—gloomier, somehow.
Maybe it’s the overcast sky. Something twitches in my mind, like misty fingers are plucking at a string in my brain, thrumming a repetitive note.
I hum, then sing aloud, trying to shake off the feeling, but it persists.
I’m nearing the Barrow when the distant trees to my right begin to thrash and the ground shudders with thunderous steps.
Something is coming. The demon-wolf? Whatever it is, it’s approaching at a pace that means either flight or fury.
The wolf hasn’t behaved threateningly toward me, but it would be foolish not to take precautions with such a creature. I duck behind the bare trunk of a large spruce. The rough scales of the bark are oddly comforting, solid and familiar beneath my palm.
With a low bellow, the creature gallops nearer and bursts into the open. Each of its heavy, panting breaths is tinged with a growling rasp from gigantic lungs. I tilt my head enough to see around the trunk with one eye.
As I suspected, it’s the monstrous wolf. It stands on the path, its legs bent and its head lowered, sniffing intently.
Its twin muzzles swing toward my hiding place.
I recoil and turn away, pressing my back against the tree and breathing as silently as possible.
Thump. Thump. Crunch. The monster’s footsteps advance slowly, each one louder, each one vibrating the earth. I stay put as it stalks past my tree, and then I scooch around the trunk, keeping it between the wolf and me.
A low sound ripples through the creature’s throat, and its steps recede farther away.
I should keep going. I should run along the path as fast as I can, to put distance between me and the creature.
Cautiously I move away from the tree and take a careful step toward the path.
The wolf-demon charges into my view, confronting me on bent legs, its neck and shoulders stooped to bring its split face closer to mine.
A scream crawls up my throat, but I don’t let it out.
The wolf sniffs me, first with one giant nose, then the other. Its eyes glow yellowish-white from corner to corner, not a sign of pupils or irises.
Faced with a wolf whose heads are the size of a house and whose legs are as big as trees, there’s not much use running. The hideous majesty of the monster strikes a chord deep in my heart, awes me on some primal level beyond the fear of being devoured.
For a moment, I feel almost worshipful.
A tongue slips from the wolf’s left muzzle, and it voices a guttural, choked whine, echoed as a whimpering snuffle from the second head.
“What are you?” I whisper.
The wolf gives another gargling whine, drool sliding from its massive jaws.
I swallow and back away, realization sharpening in my stunned mind.
This thing could snap me up in a half-second, swallow me down and barely realize what it ate.
I’m so tiny in comparison, I’d barely be a snack for the creature.
If this is the overgrown result of something I summoned, maybe I have some power over it. I can try, at least.
I clear my throat and speak, trying to sound firm and confident. “Go away.”