Ana
My father stopped the cart and tied the horses to a wooden pole. Without even sparing us a glance, he went straight to his fellows. His droopy eyes, upturned lips and flushed cheeks were a sign that my father was already drunk.
I heard my mum sigh and shuffle to the place she rented for the Girls’ Fair.
The sound of instrumental music played over the fields.
The creaks from the cart were muted by the bagpipes, flute and violin.
Looking around, many people would come from all over the county to see their sons and daughters find their betrothed.
“Come, girls,” said my mum, grabbing one of the heavy soup jugs.
Angelica and I descended from the cart and unloaded all the baskets, sweat already falling on my spine.
As our mum arranged the str?chini and the large jugs with soup, I took two pitchers with cold river water for the horses. My fingers brushed their mane and turned around. Eyes widening, I took a step next to my sister, who mirrored my expression.
Before us, at our mum's stand, were so many men and women asking and paying for her food. My heart grew because she deserved everything that was happening to her in that moment.
My mum had a wish to earn her own money, which, by the sight of it, had been granted.
Even if we knew how to turn the raw wool into socks, cojoace and even blankets, the process behind it was tedious.
The wool needed to be stretched and cleaned, but my mum saw that it got done.
After dyeing them with alder bark, my parents would sell them at the market alongside smoked or fresh cheese.
She would put something aside for us, together with the money we would earn through selling the fresh milk in the village.
For our dowry, if it would ever get used.
Our mum started shouting her listings, as we all did when we had fairs or had to sell our produce in the market.
As my sister and I joined in my mum’s cries, people crowded in front of the food stall, some of them pushing with their elbows.
“We’ve made enough food for everyone,” I shouted politely. “Please, either form a line or wait your turn.” I smiled at them, grateful that they would buy my mum’s cooking. “And thank you!”
She dismissed us from there with her hands. “Go, girls! I can handle it,” she urged, waving her hands to us. “I will grab your father when the time comes.” Her hands were already busy collecting the str?chini.
“Are you sure?” I asked, concerned she couldn’t serve the wave of people demanding food.
I knew my mum’s dishes would attract more customers than my father had supposed. She was the light of our life; of course, she cooked as such.
My eyes searched for him, but he was nowhere to be seen. With my heart in trenches, I looked again at my mum, whose eyebrows were knitted.
“I raised you two, kept a home going and still managed to cook. Now, go!”
Angelica and I laughed, then ran away to the top of the hill where the music, young girls and boys were. Our feet were exhausted from the effort, the sunset warming our faces.
“A black cat!” my sister shouted, already taking three steps back.
I started to do the same, but someone bumped into me, pushing me to the side. “Sorry,” I mumbled, forgetting everything about the bad luck a black cat can bring. Wincing, I touched my shoulder.
Looking around, my eyes fell on the aflame candles inside glass jars. They were strung by a thick wire, forming a circle in the middle of the hill. On the grass were placed wool rugs, so we wouldn’t hurt our feet while dancing. Or when the time came to be picked by our fated one. If we had any.
A dance of hora was taking place right on the rugs. The men were jumping up and down, hitting their boots on the ground, while whistling. The girls were swirled from side to side, their skirts rustled around their ankles, creating white circles.
I grabbed Angelica’s hand, pulling her towards the only refreshments table, where our friend and neighbour, Gavril, was setting up his homemade socat?.
He was in love with my sister ever since they were running around in puddles, trying to make each other fall in them and get all muddy and wet. Usually, the valley was filled with their giggles anytime it rained.
Not many people were waiting in Gavril’s line, the majority of the men preferring ?uica or p?linca, from the opposite side of the meadow.
Gavril finished with the children who had requested socat?, giving them large mugs filled with the delicious beverage. The elderberry juice sloshed over the containers' rims, the youngster starting to laugh.
When he noticed us, a bright smile spread over his lips. His usual rosy cheeks became crimson as we approached his stand.
“H-i,” he babbled, dropping the small decanter on the ground.
This earned him a frown from his father. We greeted both and, with shaking hands, we were served by Gavril with two glasses of socat?.
“Have you set your eyes on someone, Gavril?” my sister asked, feigning ignorance at the young man’s behaviour.
My sister never told me if she fancied him or not, but from the long blinks and fugitive smiles, I guessed she did.
“Y-y-yes, I t-t-think so,” his lips trembled, but his dark eyes stayed fixed on my sister. Gavril’s cheeks turned red as ripe tomatoes, getting a smile out of me.
I pretended not to notice Angelica’s blush. I turned my head around and smiled, because if Gavril did stick with his plans, then Angelica and he would make the best couple.
“I’ll take a look around,” I said to my sister, whose attention was snagged by Gavril. I kept my laughter in my throat, and I kissed her cheek.
The orchestra played beneath the burning candles, its dulcimer’s tune filling the meadow with inviting tunes.
Men stretched their hands to their wives, inviting them to a dance of brau.
The hum of chatter reached my ears, my heart swelling in my chest. It filled with joy when people laughed, cherishing the simple things in life.
I relished in these rare events, a drop of passion in my quiet life.
One young man invited a girl to dance, placing his palms over her waist. She then put hers on his shoulders and started spinning on the rhythm of the music.
From where I was standing, the song was hard to hear due to the chattering of people. I walked among them, mesmerised by everyone’s joy, in search of the hypnotising musical notes.
The smell of the wild summer flowers floated to my nostrils, and I inhaled. Summer was my favourite season, even if there was much more work to do around the house than in the winter. The air was warmer, the clothing was thinner, and the people enjoyed life more.
“Ana!” someone hollered, and I turned towards the voice.
Mara, my childhood friend, had her free hand in the air.
She was already married with two children around her hip.
When we were eighteen, she found her husband, a man who sold vegetables at the market and ground flour at his mill.
He was the person my father had been competing with for a very long time.
Every time my father returned home from the market, he would grab my mum by the hair and pull, yelling that this young man had stolen his clients.
As if it were either of our faults for every misfortune of his.
I admired Mara's fine clothes. The red and gold vest and apron, her hand-sewn, ie with floral motifs. Her hair was braided in a bun at the nape of her neck, some of the strands pulled by one of her twins.
“Yes! Do you mind holding one of the boys?” she asked, already passing one of her toddlers to me.
I didn’t mind. I liked children, and each time I got to see her twins was a gift for me. Life until then didn’t give me a man with whom I might have my own, so I indulged in every interaction with any child.
Sourness filled my heart for a brief second.
“Hello, young man! You’ve grown so big since I last saw you!” My voice went on a higher note, turning into a baby voice. He laughed, the bell-like sound sending my heart into a rampage.
The boy smiled with a full mouth of small teeth, his green eyes sparkling with happiness.
“Yes, they are little terrors. But they are my sun and my moon, so I cannot do anything about that,” she joked, kissing the other twin on his face.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, trying to tickle the little boy, but he kept wiggling.
“My husband wanted to come to check your mother’s food. He wants to help the priest from our village to open a house for the needy men and women, widows, orphans, and he was wondering if your mother would want to deliver her food every day.”
My father was in the wrong. Mara’s husband did not steal anything from him. He was gaining his customers with kindness. And to involve my mum in a thing she would never say no to…
“I think she would be delighted!” I shrilled, scaring the boy I was holding. “Sorry,” I whispered, then tickled him some more, his laughter filling my ears.
“Thank God, because you know, your father was not the easiest person to deal with,” she said, avoiding my eyes.
I knew that well.
I just smiled and resumed my games with the boy.
Around us, the people were starting to gather in the middle of the hill. The girls stood in one line, and the boys stood on the opposite side.
“You'd better get going, if you are still…” She stopped herself, her eyes flickering with pity.
I nodded, passing her the boy I was holding. “I’m here more for Angelica. She is of age this year.”
“But you?” she asked with her eyebrows raised.
“If God permits, I will find a husband too,” I shrug. But I knew my heart and mind all too well.
I bid her goodbye and ran to find my sister, trying to ignore the voice in my head. That this is all in vain for me.
Angelica and Gavril were still talking when I returned to the beverage stall. They were blushing at each other; starry looks were thrown between them. Gavril was ignoring a group of women wearing dark batiks on their heads, demanding elderberry juice, but the boy only had eyes for my sister.