A desperate mother living near Winstermill considers the unthinkable to save her children. Takes place as a prologue, immediately before the events of Lamplighter.
Lullaby
By Wink Tabby
For the fourth night in a row, there was not a scrap of meat to serve at supper. The weary mother carried her whining youngest child in a sling tied against her hip as she scratched about in the crudely carved cupboards for a few odds and ends to scrape together into a stew. A few moldy, withered field potatoes and a half slimy wild onion. This was hardly enough to sustain even one of the six hungry children who sat quietly in the next room, their tired fingers endlessly weaving swamp reeds into rustic baskets. She smoothed the crying baby's hair as she ambled toward the children's room.
The youngest looked up at her hopefully. "Mum, we've exceeded the master's quota this week but he ain't paid us naught. Our bellies is on empty." The eldest shot his kid brother an angry glare. The little fellow lowered his head silently as his big brother piped up, "It's okay, Mum. I'll have another talk with the master tomorrow. He can't treat us like this. It's not fair! But we'll make do this winter somehow, you'll see. Please don't worry for us, Mum."
She sighed and fought back tears. There had already been endless talks with the boss masters, yet nothing had changed to improve their lot. The older children spent hours hunting every morning to supplement the family's dwindling income, but neither deer nor rabbits ventured out in such vile weather. The time had come to resign herself to the doing of what she despised, and she had little choice but to take up the trade she had not allowed herself to seriously consider since becoming widowed yesteryear. There had been numerous difficult days of late, but never had her children gone unfed for so long. Her guilt over failing to provide for the young ones had at last grown unbearable. Honest, noble labor had brought her family no security as the boss masters grew ever greedier. She hoped her long deceased ancestors would understand and forgive her. This was a matter of the children's very survival now, and so she must lay aside her conscience for a time. She leaned heavily against the wall of their room. "Dear children, I must go out tonight. Now set aside your weaving and get to bed."
Minutes later, the children huddled together beneath a ragged blanket, struggling to stay warm in the chilly room. Their mother kissed each precious head and set the drowsy baby into its cradle for the night. She knelt next to them and spoke quietly. "My darling ones, if ever Mama does not return home, you must look out for each other and the baby. You understand, children?" Six sweet faces nodded meekly. Before leaving the room, she settled herself on the cold, damp earthen floor next to them and sang a melancholy, ancient lullaby that spoke of different times. Peaceful times.
The mother rose from her children's side and hurried through the door of their home. As dusk gathered, she stepped out into the frigid air. When the eldest child was sure that his mother was gone, he whispered to his siblings, "I'm terribly worried about Mum. You all stay here and I'll go follow after her for a while to make sure she's alright." The youngest threw off the blanket and stood up. "If Mum's in danger, we'll all help!" His statement was met by a round of enthusiastic assent from the others. The six little ones stealthily crept out the door. The baby slept in its cradle.
As the frost-tipped grass crunched beneath the mother's calloused bare feet, her sensitive nose caught a faint odor on the breeze. Horses. With a mighty shake of her horn-ed head, she swiveled her fierce orange eyes to gaze out upon the silent Harrowmath.