Chapter 46
Maylie
Eight winters old
MAYLIE’S PAP ALWAYS said that she had killed her mam with her relentless crying.
Esmelie told her it was a lie and not to listen to Pap when he was in one of his rages, sodden with ale and hating everything and everyone.
But Maylie thought there must be something in it.
After all, her mam had died just three days after she was born.
It was a fear that lingered, a sense that her existence signified a horrific betrayal.
Perhaps that was why Pap could barely stand to look at her.
Perhaps that was why he made her feel worthless.
One summer morning, at eight winters old, Maylie finally plucked up the courage to ask her aunt for the truth.
She stammered out the question, simmering with the mixture of guilt and grief that always accompanied thoughts of her mam.
But in response, Tadrie vehemently shook her head.
‘It were just one of those things, May,’ she said, bustling about her cottage.
‘I tried every herb and tincture I had, but the Great Creator took my little sister. It were just her time.’
Maylie wanted to believe it, but doubts lingered. ‘If Mam hadn’t birthed me, she would’ve lived?’
Tadrie paused by the sink, damp herbs dripping through her fingers. ‘It weren’t your fault, May.’
‘But Pap says—’
‘Never mind him.’ Tadrie’s dark eyes narrowed. She dried her hands on her apron and folded her arms over her large chest.
Esmelie said that Tadrie was as stubby and round as a bread roll and though Maylie denied it, she could not help but see the resemblance.
‘Make yourself useful and tie up those herbs.’ Tadrie nodded towards the greenery drying on the side. ‘I don’t want to hear any more of this nonsense.’
Maylie slumped into a seat at the table and began picking through the brittle, bitter-smelling plants. She worked diligently, muttering the name of each plant as she went and losing herself to the rhythm of the task. Gradually, the knot of anxiety in her stomach ebbed away.
Then something flickered.
Maylie raised her head to look out of the open window. A shadow wavered at the edge of the trees, long and lithe.
‘Maylie?’ her aunt called. ‘Can you see something?’
Maylie nodded. They did not often talk about her Sight. Tadrie had always maintained that it was normal and fairly harmless, but now she looked concerned.
‘The Sight should be fading,’ she muttered. Plodding closer, she reached out and put a reassuring hand on her niece’s shoulder. ‘Don’t worry, May. It’ll be gone soon.’
The rushed thump of running feet approaching outside startled them both.
The cottage door swung open and Esmelie tumbled over the threshold. She stopped inside, her brown curls bouncing, and her pink lips curved into a smile.
‘May!’ she cried. ‘The ladies from Morccia are here to trade.’
Before Maylie could reply, Tadrie lunged and grabbed Esmelie’s arm. ‘Where’re your shoes and where’s your cloche?’ she snapped. ‘I made you a new one.’
Esmelie scowled and shook her aunt off. ‘That cloche makes my hair frizzy.’
‘’Tis proper for you to wear it. You’re eleven winters old, not a baby. May wears hers.’
Maylie flashed her sister an apologetic look. She did not mind stuffing her thick, dark hair into a cloche, but she could understand why Esmelie would want to show off her smooth brown curls.
‘I’ll put one on you now,’ added Tadrie, taking a cloche from the drying rack under the open window. ‘I’ll not have you running around like a beggar child.’
While her aunt’s back was turned, Esmelie stuck out her tongue and winked at Maylie, who could not help but giggle.
‘I said sit, child!’
With a sigh, Esmelie flopped into a seat at the table and allowed her aunt to place the white cloche over her head.
‘What’ve the Morccia ladies brought?’ Maylie had been desperate to ask since Esmelie burst inside with the news. Trading between the Mountain villages happened once every few seasons and it was always an exciting event.
‘New tools, spiced apple cakes – they’ve got the best orchards – blackberry wine …’ Esmelie listed the goods on her fingers. ‘A sheepdog pup, two wagons, quilts and … ribbons from Tormale!’
Maylie gasped and Tadrie made a disapproving tsk noise as she pinned the edges of Esmelie’s cloche behind her ears.
‘One family visited the capital last summer and brought them back,’ continued Esmelie. ‘They’re the softest ribbons I’ve ever seen.’
‘Really?’ breathed Maylie. ‘Do you think I could look at one?’
Esmelie beamed. ‘You surely can because … I got them for us! Tah-dah!’ She reached into the pocket of her pinafore and pulled out two lengths of pale-pink velvet ribbon.
Maylie’s mouth dropped open.
‘Where did you get flecks for such things?’ snapped Tadrie. ‘You’ve not been stealing again, have you?’
Once Esmelie had been caught pinching fresh biscuits cooling on a neighbour’s windowsill. Maylie had tried to explain to her furious aunt that it was only because their own cupboards were empty. But Tadrie claimed to have never lived down the shame of it.
‘I didn’t steal anything!’ replied Esmelie. ‘Pap gave me a silver fleck.’
‘A silver fleck? I doubt he got such riches by any good means.’
Maylie knew her aunt was right, but she could not stop looking at the beautiful ribbons. A few of the girls in the village had ribbons for Sanctuary ceremonies, where cloches were not worn and all Mountain folk kept their heads unadorned. She had always longed for a ribbon of her own.
‘’Tis foolish to waste a silver fleck on ribbons,’ added Tadrie. ‘’Tis enough to buy you both new coats for winter.’
‘We don’t want coats, we want ribbons.’ Esmelie sniggered and she leapt out of the chair as her aunt darted forward to try and snatch them from her hands.
‘Run, May!’ Esmelie laughed. ‘She’s trying to get our ribbons!’
Maylie sprang up from her seat just as her aunt cried, ‘Stay where you are, May!’
Maylie froze, hovering by her seat.
‘And I don’t want this cloche either,’ said Esmelie, pulling it from her head and tossing it on the floor, scattering pins. ‘’Tis too hot for it.’ She spun around and scampered out into the sunshine, disappearing in peals of laughter.
Tadrie pursed her lips.
‘She were just joking, Auntie.’
‘That sister of yours is going for trouble, May.’
Tadrie bent and snatched the cloche from the floor, then stomped across the room and slammed the front door shut.
‘I’ll bring you my ribbon when I get it,’ said Maylie, her chest squeezing painfully at the thought. ‘You can sell it on to someone in the village.’
Tadrie shook her head. ‘Don’t worry yourself, May. Keep your ribbon. ’Tis the principle of the thing that upsets me.’
Maylie tried not to show her relief. At the end of the day, her aunt would send her off home with half a pie for supper, as she always did, knowing there would be no food for either of her nieces otherwise, and Maylie would wait in her pap’s house until Esmelie eventually returned from frolicking about the village with her friends and then – finally – she could hold the precious ribbon. The prospect was thrilling.
‘It were kind of Esmelie to get me a gift,’ said Maylie. ‘She’s such a nice big sister.’
But Tadrie was not listening. ‘Esmelie’s a headstrong, foolish girl,’ she muttered, shaking her head. ‘Too stubborn. Too pretty.’ Then after a pause she added quietly, almost to herself, ‘Too much like her mam.’