Chapter Five
She’s filthy, the stench of her as violent as the people in streets.
For a moment, he is certain he has damned her to an eternity of bitterness—believes that whatever light he saw in her was too fragile to survive the realities of the world.
Then she asks him about a floating city, and he decides there’s still hope for her yet.
NORWICH
She doesn’t dare offer treatment the way Eira did—it draws too much suspicion from all the wrong people.
Herbalists are treated with more suspicion than not, and Anna knows being a woman is only going to make her more likely to receive accusations of witchcraft than customers. She travels as a midwife, instead.
It’s a good fit.
The work is never ending, and it’s one of the few things that grants her pay and a moderate amount of respect in a world otherwise dominated by men.
It allows her to heal, to help. And when her mothers go into labor, she keeps the rooms dim and the candles lit low, and no one sees the patches decorating the skin of her arms when she rolls up her sleeves.
She enjoys the work, despite the bad days.
Stillbirths are hard; losing the mothers is harder.
Even when she knows she’s followed Eira and Elizabeth’s teachings, when she’s utilized every bit of reading Khiran has provided her and employed knowledge that went beyond even the most seasoned midwives, she still feels the sting of guilt for every life lost. She knows Eira would scold her for it, and sometimes Anna whispers her words to herself when the world is dark and quiet.
“Not everyone can be saved.”
A reminder, a mantra, to get her through to her next healthy birth. Soothe her until she hears that screaming wail of success. Right now, a reminder doesn’t feel like enough. She could shout the words from the highest of rooftops, and it still wouldn’t soothe the ache over her heart.
It’s been a week full of loss. Mrs. Pritcher went into labor far too early, the child unable to live outside the comforts of her womb.
Mrs. Kelly around the corner, belly large with what Anna suspected to be twins, fell to dysentery before the children could be brought into the world.
It’s almost enough to distract her from the tension that’s been settling over the streets of Norwich.
It’s been there since she arrived, a subtle prick along her senses. Annoyingly persistent and impossible to ignore, but so far more irritating than harmful. Like a pebble in her shoe, it’s slowly worn her down enough that she’s learned to look past it.
Still, it feels sharper lately. Less like a pebble and more like a spear point—edged and ready to draw blood.
Anna’s gaze flits over the market stalls but finds nothing amiss.
The street is as busy as any other day; the merchants peddling their wares as usual.
She can find no reason to warrant the sudden, inexplicable feeling that something is about to break.
“Are you well?”
She starts, turning toward the accented voice and relaxing when she sees the concern on the merchant’s sun-worn face. His dark hair and beard is peppered with gray. “I am. Apologies, I didn’t mean to block your stall.”
He stands, gesturing for her to come inside. “Please Signora, take a seat. You look troubled. Rest your feet and ease your mind.”
She shouldn’t, but there’s something friendly in the creases around his eyes—a rare kindness she finds soothing. Still, she hesitates. “I don’t want to cause you trouble,” she says.
He scoffs, waving a hand as if he could physically shoo away the thought. “Bah, what trouble can there be entertaining such a pretty woman like yourself?”
Anna flushes, her free hand clutching at her collar to reassure herself that it remains fastened. He wouldn’t say so if he knew what she was hiding, she knows, but for just a moment she allows herself to pretend his words are true. She smiles, ducking her head. “You’re certain?”
“I would be delighted.” The smile in his brown eyes convinces her that he means it. “I am Marco.”
“Anna.”
“Ah, a lovely name for a lovely woman. It is a pleasure.”
She sits on the stool and lets her eyes wander over his wares.
It’s clear that she is not his ideal customer.
There’s linens and silks dyed in colors she hasn’t seen—blues so deep they rival the evening sky.
She knows better than to waste his time asking for a price, no matter how beautiful she finds the fine fabrics.
Instead, she asks, “Where do you hail from?” His accent is unfamiliar to her.
He sits across from her on an overturned bucket, the curve of his mouth turning wistful.
“From the most beautiful city in the world.” It’s a bold claim, but he doesn’t seem ashamed.
“These eyes have seen many a town and city, but none of them can compare to The Floating City.” He shrugs, a teasing light in his eyes.
“Of course, it helps that these old eyes have gone so long since seeing home.”
Home. A word she knows but hasn’t felt in so long. “The Floating City?”
“Venice,” he says, as if the name itself holds part of his heart. “Where there are more canals than streets, and the homes seem to float on the water.” He sighs, leaning back with his hands on his knees. “It is truly a sight to behold.”
Anna’s smile is soft, but honest. “It sounds beautiful. I can see how you would miss it.”
“It is my favorite place,” he says. “I am blessed to call it home.”
There’s a hint of melancholy in his voice. “How long has it been?”
“Three years now.” Marco pats one of the bolts of silk fondly. “Business is busy and my son is still learning.” He looks at her appraisingly. “Tell me, are you married, Ms. Anna?”
She knows what he’s really asking. “I’m afraid I’m not the marrying sort.”
A true enough statement. Even if she found someone who could love her regardless of her flawed skin, who looked past the initial fear long enough to give her a chance, any happiness they found would be short lived.
“A shame, my son would do well to find a good woman like yourself.” He gestures to the busy street. “I’ve seen you, rushing house to house. You are a midwife, yes?”
Anna’s surprised he cared enough to notice. “Yes.”
He nods, and in that moment, his eyes seem to show his age. “An honorable thing, welcoming new life into this world. Something to be proud of.”
“Thank you,” she murmurs, an odd mix of pride and regret stirring in her gut. She thinks of the lives she lost and wishes she could feel his praise without its weight.
Marco seems to sense her troubles, his thick brows furrowing, but his gaze drifts over her shoulder—mouth turning up into a wide grin behind his full beard. He stands, arms outstretched. “Ah, Giovanni! Welcome back, my son. Tell me, how fares our competition?”
Anna turns, finding a young man no older than thirty summers standing behind her. He regards her curiously, pushing his dark hair back from his face nervously. His eyes are the spitting image of Marco’s.
“Ah, they—well.” His accent is even thicker than his fathers, the vowels tripping from his lips as if he’s uncertain that the ones he speaks are the correct ones. “That is—”
Marco shakes his head, his hands waving away the young man’s fumbling words. “Never mind, that. This lovely lady is Anna. Isn’t she beautiful?”
Anna flushes, the heat of it spreading down her neck and blooming across her chest. Giovanni seems equally flustered, his hand disappearing to rub the back of his neck. “Ah, hello,” he offers. He sounds as awkward as Anna feels.
He’s promptly cuffed on the back of his head for his trouble, Marco speaking in their native tongue. Anna doesn’t know the language, but the way the older man’s hands move with his speech—making a wide gesture in her direction—is easy to interpret.
Giovanni tries again. “I mean, it is pleasure to meet you.” Another quick exchange of words passes between them, before Marco claps him on the shoulder and turns to Anna with a smile that leaves her little room for arguments.
“Giovanni has been working on his English. It has come a long way since he joined me, but he would be much obliged if you did him the courtesy of allowing him to practice with you? Perhaps he can walk with you to your next stop?”
Anna knows full well it’s more than that, but she doesn’t see a polite way of refusing. She offers a timid smile and hopes they don’t see her discomfort behind it. “I would be happy for you to join me.”
Giovanni’s answering smile is as strained as her own, but Marco is beaming. “Wonderful! Go and enjoy, while the day is still beautiful.”
All but shooed away, Anna wrings her hands as Giovanni falls in step beside her. They pass five more stalls, the droning chatter of the marketplace filling the space between them, before he speaks. “I am sorry. Papà is not good with no.”
“He seems to care for you very much.”
His sigh is heavy—equal parts exasperation and fondness. “Too much. He tries to find me a wife at every town.”
It’s a relief, having that truth out in the open instead of quietly hanging between them. Anna breathes a laugh. “I tried to tell him I’m not the marrying sort.”
“Are you a friendly sort?” he asks, smiling shyly. “Papà insists we stay for summer while business is good. I think he just likes the bridges.”
Confused, she frowns before remembering the home Marco had described to her.
The Floating City. Surely, such a place has at least as many bridges as Norwich.
Then she catches Giovanni’s timidly hopeful expression and realizes he’s waiting for an answer.
She’s not entirely sure what friendship implies, but she’s lonely enough to risk whatever repercussions may come of it. “I like to think so.”