The first time they ever met was actually in a dream. For as long as she could remember, Hannah spent every night of her life in the same place. She did not dream, as you and I dream. Instead, her conscious mind took her to the only place in the world she felt safe. The only place she felt was home. It was her father's clover field in the north-east corner of his large farm. The lush, green meadow was surrounded on all sides by a thick tree line. To the west, the woods continued on and on. Her father didn't own any of the land beyond the tree line, except to the south west, where the rest of the farm was located. Their humble hut, animal shelter, chicken coop and food cellar all located at the southern end of her father's property. When Hannah was very young, her mother would bring her to the clover field to while away many a sunny afternoon. They laughed and played together, made daisy-chains, and had tea parties. When Hannah was old enough, five or six years old, her mother taught her to read, and taught her some simple arithmetic, much to her father's chagrin.
"Women-folk have no business learnin'…" he was frequently heard to grumble.
"Oh, Folly," Hannah's mother, Divina soothed, "these are things she'll need to know so she won't get cheated at market." Divina knew that explanation would at least prevent her husband from interfering with their lessons. Divina had hoped Hannah would escape the farm life, and not sped her days in the market, trying to pay taxes by selling the eggs, milk, pork and vegetables grown on their farm. Folly, Hannah's father, who already felt cheated by life in general, saw Hannah only as a burden and another mouth to feed when he could barely pay his taxes as it was. In this, however, he conceded to his wife. He most definitely did NOT want to get cheated at market, and agreed the lessons could continue. He knew he wouldn't have to pay anyone to be at market if Hannah were there working for him.
"Someday, Hannah," her mother said to her once in their field, with a faraway look and tears in her eyes, "Someday I hope you will escape this oppressing village… and farm….and live a life of…." She seemed to search for the right description of the life she hoped for her daughter would have. "…a life of… adventure. A life filled with laughter, and…love. A happy life, Hannah." Finally, her mother looked down at her, just as her tears spilled over and raced down her cheeks. "A happy life. Please Hannah, do whatever you have to do to be happy in your life. Don't settle for a life of work you hate, or you will hate your life. Find what makes you happy, and do that… Can you promise me?"
Hannah could only nod in agreement with her mother's request. She didn't understand why her mamma was so sad. That was the last time they spent any time together in the clover field. The next day her mother was unable to get out of bed, she was so overcome with sickness and fever. On the fourth day, when her mother not only could not get out of bed, but could not even open her eyes, Hannah's father sent her to fetch the apothecary from the market. After returning with the small-framed man and leaving him to his work, she toiled around small hut they called home, confident that the apothecary would make her mamma better.
She was just getting ready to wreak havoc on the chickens scattered throughout the yard when she heard her mother screaming in pain. Hannah rushed into the dimly lit structure to find her father holding down her mother, pinning her to the bed, while the apothecary pulled a long, black rod from the fire, its tip red-hot.
"Folly, you really have to hold her down this time! I can't get it done if she's going to fight me!" the thin little man barked at her father. Her father responded by laying his body over Divina's just as the doctor brought the rod down on her leg. Hannah could hear the sizzle of the infected flesh for an instant before the sound was drowned out by her mother's screams. The smell of burning infection, then of flesh made Hannah's stomach turn, and as much as she wanted to throw herself at the men and make them leave her mamma alone Hannah had to leave the small hut. She ran all the way to the meadow, and once there finally collapsed in a heap of helplessness, tears, fear and confusion.
Nightfall was beginning to set in, when Hannah decided she must return home. For better or worse, she had to know what happened to her mother. She hurried back to her family's hut, and slipped in unnoticed, in time to hear the apothecary speaking quietly with her father.
"I've done all I can, Folly. How I wish you would have sent for me sooner." He sighed. "The infection was deep, and I've burned out all I can, but if it's spread past the wound… If the infection has gotten into her blood…. Well…. I'm afraid there's nothing more I can do." He began to carefully re-pack the bag he had brought with him. "Keep a close eye on her. Keep the wound clean, and change her bandages. Maybe… just maybe…" he trailed off, watching Hannah's mother lay on the bed, deathly still.
"Take a chicken with you. For payment." Was the only acknowledgement from Folly that he heard the apothecary. "Hannah will catch you one." His eyes searched the room for the first time since the doctor had arrived. He found her, sitting on her blanket in her corner of the room.
"Hannah," he rasped, "get th' a-pot-a-carry a chicken to pay for mommy." He rubbed a roughened hand over his face, and hefted his bulky frame onto the small stool next the hearth. He stared into the fire in a way that seemed to dismiss them both.
Hannah scrambled to her feet as the doctor made his way to the door. She scurried out after him, ready to catch the nearest chicken for his reward. She searched the yard in the purple light hoping to give a chicken not yet roosted a run for its money. Guessing what she was looking for, the kind apothecary stooped down to speak with her.
"I'm sorry, Hannah. I hope your mommy gets better, but I'm not sure she will. Don't worry about paying me this time. I've a feeling this may be the last kindness you know." He gave her a wistful half smile before trudging away. She stood there for a long time puzzling over what he could have meant.
The next several days were both the fastest and slowest of her short life. Her mother lay on the bed, still as death, pale as the full moon on a clear night. She never stirred. Folly kept watch over her, never coming off of the stool by the hearth that Hannah ever saw. During those days of vigil, it was like she didn't even exist. Folly never acknowledged she was there, never answered her questions, never responded to her requests for food or drink so that she began to fret the apothecary was really a witch that had captured her parents with a spell that prevented them from seeing her.
Two days after the apothecary had left, word had begun to spread that Divina was gravely ill and not likely to survive. The townsfolk began to speculate on what Folly would do with the loss of his wife. The gamblers wagered it would take him less than a week to become the drunkard Divina kept him from being, and his little girl would be lost in the shuffle. Horrified at the thought, their closest neighbor brought food for Hannah and Folly – as much as she could spare. Since Folly was not answering the call of his stomach, it was more than enough for Hannah.
That night, as Hannah slept, she once again found herself in the clover field. Immediately she could tell something was different. She looked around the entire field trying to spot what had changed. Suddenly, her mother emerged from the west tree line.
"Mamma!" Hannah screamed, and ran to meet her, jumping into Divina's open arms.
"Oh, Mamma!" she cried, "I miss you! Please wake up soon! Will you get better?" She innocently pleaded.
Divina began sobbing, and held little Hannah closer.
"No, baby." She sniffled, pulling back to look into Hannah's eyes. "I won't get better. I'm sorry." She took a deep, shaking breath. "And now, I have to leave you. But I know you will be a good girl, right? You have to help your papa now – I can't help him anymore. You'll help papa with the animals and the farm, won't you?"
Hannah could only nod. She realized in her heart this would be the last time she saw her mamma.
"Remember too, Hannah, you promised me you would make a happy life. You didn't forget, did you?"
Hannah shook her head. "I didn't fergit, Mamma. But, how d' you make a happy life?"
Divina smiled and caressed Hannah's cheek.
"Hannah, I have found that when you give to others, and put others above yourself only then can you truly find happiness. Be honest. Be a good friend – especially to those less fortunate than you. Help them, in any way you are able. Please, please don't let this farm grind you down. And always remember I love you more than anything."
Hannah awoke with a start to find Folly weeping over the body of Divina.
The next several weeks were a blur to Hannah. She didn't understand why her father had suddenly become so angry. The only time he spoke to her now was to shout an order or reprimand. The only other acknowledgement of her existence was in the form of violence.
"It's up to you, Hannah, to pick up the slack left by your lazy mamma. You are to have all my meals hot and ready for me. You will look after th' chick'ns, hogs and milk-cow. You are t' keep th' house clean, and clothes warshed and mended. You will take our wares to market to sell. You will keep th' pests out th' garden and cella'. You'll help at plant and ha'vest time. That clear?" His tone was so stern Hannah began to fear her father, but nodded in agreement.
"I will, Papa." She solemnly replied.
"Well, then," he straightened up to his full height. "Get to it. See tha' supper's ready when I get back." And with that, he lumbered out of the hut.
Hannah did her best, but it was a lot of responsibility for a little girl of eight years old. Frequently she burned their meals, dropped the chickens eggs, and spilled the milk. The laundry boiled over and put out the fire – which she didn't know how to re-build. That evening her father's sore temper took it out on her when his meal was cold. His anger doubled at the prospect of building another fire, so as additional punishment he refused to help her build a new one and promised additional beatings for each cold meal delivered.
Hannah began to despair that she would never find the happy life she promised her mother she would.
That night, while her body slept, she was in her clover field, trying desperately to mimic the movements she had seen others make when building a fire. She felt she had been at it for hours without making any progress. Finally, she collapsed, sobbing out her frustration at her inability to light a fire, and the unfairness of receiving a beating for it.
When she had no tears left she sat up, and decided she would spend the rest of this time trying to enjoy the meadow.
Immediately she knew something was different. Someone was here with her.
"Mamma?" She cried, looking around the empty field. "Mamma, is that you? Are you here? Mamma!" She ran to the tree line – to the same spot her mother had emerged from shortly before her death. Hannah stopped and peered into the dark forest.
"Mamma!" She shouted. "Mamma! Please! I need your help! Come back and help me!" she jumped as the shrubs just within the tree line rustled. Suddenly she was frightened. She knew it was not her mother who was here with her.
Gathering up her courage, she stared right at the bush that caught her attention. "Who's there? Who are you? Show yourself. I know you're there." She waited.
After a moment, she saw a dark haired little boy peek around the bush at her. Hannah smiled.
A friend! She thought. Mamma must have sent him here to play with me.
"Are you here to play with me?" she asked eagerly, relieved to find the young boy did not immediately run – away, or towards her with malicious intent.
He hesitated. "Ummm. I don't know. What is this place?" His bright blue eyes began to look around the forest. He looked past Hannah and could see the brightness of day in the clearing behind her. "I thought it was night…" he mused as he moved closer to Hannah.
Hannah continued to smile. "It is, silly. I'm Hannah." She waited.
He shifted his piercing eyes back to her. "I'm Killian." He was standing next to her now. She could tell he was older than she was, but he was still quite young. She could see a yellowing around his eye that reminded her of old bruises.
"What happened to your eye?" she blurted in that innocent way that children do, cutting right to quick. He looked away from her and into the trees. She waited a few moments before she realized he wasn't going to answer.
She reached up to gather all of her honey-colored hair and pushed it all forward, over her shoulder. With her other hand, she tugged on the collar of her dress, exposing the crook of her neck, and some of her shoulder. She turned so her exposed shoulder and back were towards him.
"It's OK. I understand." She said simply. He looked, and peeking just above where she pulled her collar down, he could see her purplish skin, a day or two old, but still fresh enough to be tender.
"A garden snake startled me and I dropped the eggs. Papa gave me one hit for each egg. Only six broke." Killian fought back his fury at her matter-of-fact-tone. He checked his anger, reminding himself he was only dreaming as she began to study him.
His clothes were old, worn, and getting to be a little small. His trousers had patches on both knees, and a torn pocket. His tunic had greyed with age and was spotted with various mendings and patches. Already she could see he had the hands of a worker – rough, cracked skin, torn and dirty fingernails. An idea occurred to her.
"Do you know how to make fire?"
"What?" he stared at her, confused by her sudden change of subject.
"Fire." She repeated. He nodded. "Can you make one?" she asked again.
"Of course I can make a fire. Who can't?" He shrugged and started to follow her as she began to make her way back to the clearing.
"I can't," she answered his rhetorical question and stopped to shuffle her feet, kicking a small pebble. She looked back up at him, imploring him with her eyes to teach her. "Will you show me?" she began to tug on his sleeve as if to lead him back to the center of the field where she had been toiling.
"Why do you need to make a fire?" He questioned. "Can't someone make it for you?"
She shuffled her feet again, clearly uncomfortable by his question.
"Ummm…" she hesitated and looked him over again. His bright eyes held hers and seemed to bore into her soul. In that moment she knew she could trust her new friend. "Papa says I was foolish to let the fire go out and as punishment he won't make a new one. He says I will have to do it myself, and if his breakfast is cold he'll hurt me again." She continued to look into his eyes as she made the confession. This, Killian could understand. It sickened him to know this small girl's own father would raise his hand against her for not being able to make a fire. She seemed so small and powerless he knew he had to help her. He nodded and smiled at her before answering her pleas.
"I'll help you."
She lead them to the center of the field where he could see a small "pit" formed of various sized rocks arranged in small circle. He estimated none of the rocks could be larger than her small fist. The middle of the rock circle contained two small piles of leaves – he guessed one fist-full for each hand and a neat little pile of twigs on top of the leaves. He approved of her efforts – at least she had some idea of what needed to be done. He noted also strewn about the outside of the little rock circle were dozens more rocks, but with no semblance of order. All of the stones were of varying sizes and colors. Some even appeared to have small nicks in them, and here or there he could tell some had gouges in them while others had been broken into pieces.
"Well, it looks like you've got a good start here, but you're going to need more wood to feed the flame when you get it to go." He squatted down and began to pick the leaves out of the circle. "These will only create smoke." He smiled up at her as she watched him, wide-eyed. He could tell she was paying very close attention so she wouldn't miss any part of the lesson. Taking her cue from him, she helped to remove the rest of the leaves. When they finished, he looked around the meadow again.
"I won't need more wood here," she told him. "I only need to learn how to start a fire so I can do it at home." She was beginning to worry he would send her into the tree line for more wood and she would miss the essential part of the lesson – the spark.
"No, no. I'm looking for something to use as tinder." He glanced at her and noted the confusion and worry in her expression. "We'll need something to use in place of the leaves. Something that won't cause so much smoke, lass." He continued gently. "Perhaps some dried grass?" He looked again at the tree line, noting some long, yellow, dry looking grasses growing along the border. "Come." He stood up, and offered her his hand, nodding in the direction of the grasses. "I think that will work just fine." As he started in the direction of the grasses, she wiggled her fingers from his grasp.
"Race ya'!" she yelled as she took off at her top running speed.
He laughed out loud for the first time that he could remember in a very long time, and chased after her. Being older than the small girl, and taller he easily caught and passed her, but he was wholly unprepared for the shove she gave him as he was passing, causing him to trip on his own feet. He laughed again as he hit the ground. He forgot what it was like to not worry, and to just….have fun. He and his brother spent every waking hour in servitude and were never allowed to act as children like to. Liam, Killian's brother seemed to take it all in stride, explaining that as being the oldest he was practically a man and had no time to play. But Killian missed it. He missed laughing and playing and being care free. He knew that at twelve years old he would be considered too old for such things soon enough anyway, even if he was allowed to indulge in childish things, but that didn't make him miss it any less.
"I win!" she squealed as she reached the grasses, and slapped at the waving reeds. She turned to gloat, but her smile disappeared when she saw her new friend still on the ground a few feet away.
"Killian, are you alright?" She ran back to him, and knelt down at his side.
"Aye, lass. I don't remember the last time I've been this well." He looked at her again, but still, the worry remained in her expression. "Let's see about that grass, then." He got up and together they gathered some of the long grasses.
He showed her how to gather and twist the grasses together so they would stay in place once ignited. Upon returning to her make-shift fire pit he asked her to show him what she had been doing. She demonstrated by searching through the discarded stones until she found the darkest one of them all. She then grabbed another rock from close by, knelt down and began to strike the second rock with the first. Over and over she smashed the two rocks together.
"See?" she grunted in between strikes. "I can't." strike. "Get it" strike. "To light!" she accentuated her frustration by tossing the two rocks onto the ground in front of her.
Killian knelt down next to her and picked up both of the rocks, examining them.
"You need a flint, lass. And a piece of steel" He regarded her over the stones. "D' you have them, then?"
She only shook her head, tears welling up again in her eyes. How could she make a fire when she didn't have the right pieces? She began to tremble at the thought of failing to light the fire.
"Shhh, lass. It's alright." Killian soothed her. "I have some, right here" he searched his un-torn trouser pocket, and produced a small piece of steel and a stone unlike any of those found in the meadow. He held them up to her, "See?" he picked up the stone and thrust it in her direction. "This is a flint. This is what you need, lass. Look, I'll show you…" He searched her discarded rocks and picked the flattest in the bunch. He then placed some of the twisted grass on the rock, and the steel at the edge of the grass. "Now, watch." He instructed then struck the flint to the steel. Immediately she saw the small spark skip into the grass and form a small ember. Very carefully, he picked up the grass, and nodded his head indicating she should come closer. When she was kneeling next to him, he pointed to the small ember burning through the grass.
"See, lass? Now, we blow gently." He demonstrated. She began to smile as she watched the thin tendril of smoke rise from the grass. He blew again on the ember and it sparked into a small flame. He smiled at her, and placed the twisted grass gently in the pit, and began to pile some of her twigs on top. He smiled at her again as the twigs caught fire.
"Now you try." He pushed the flint and steel into her small hand. Very carefully she mimicked the actions she had seen him execute. It took her several tries to create the spark needed for the ember. It took her even longer to find the level of gentle breath needed to stoke the ember and she blew out her spark many times before finally succeeding. When she finally was able to create enough ember to form the tendril of smoke she got so excited she jumped up, dropped her grasses and had to start over again. Killian stifled his laughter, sensing his mirth would only serve to hurt her feelings and possibly cause her to give up. He did not ever want to be the cause of a punishment – for Liam, her or anyone.
Finally after many failed attempts, he watched proudly as she carefully placed her ember filled grasses in the pit, and blew it into a flame, quickly adding twigs to build the small flame up.
She was so excited she was unable to contain herself, and danced a silly jig right there next to the fire pit. Killian laughed out loud again, and couldn't resist joining in. Together they shared a victory dance and reveled in the feeling of accomplishment. Killian was surprised at the happy turn this strange dream had taken. He never expected to feel happy, or care free again.
Their jubilation was interrupted by the crowing of an unseen rooster.
"What's that?" Killian froze, suddenly nervous. He knew it was a mistake to let his guard down, even if this was only a dream. The most intense, realistic dream he'd ever had, but a dream nonetheless.
Hannah looked in the direction the crowing came from and frowned. "That means my papa will be up soon. I better go. Thank you, Killian, for showing me how to make a fire. I'll see if I can find some flint and steel at market today. Then for sup-"
"You don't have a flint and steel at home?" he interrupted her incredulous her papa wouldn't keep such necessities on hand.
"No." she answered. "We just never let the fire go out. But the laundry boiled over, and the water put it out." She began to tremble again at the memory of the beating she received for the error.
"You can keep mine, then." Killian picked up the flint and steel with one hand, then grabbed her hand with his free hand. Turning her hand up, he gently placed the steel and flint in her palm.
"Thank you." She whispered, closing her fingers around the prize. She shuddered as the rooster crowed again and looked to the south. "I better go. If papa gets up before me…" she trailed off.
"Go, lass."
She turned and began to run, but then stopped and turned.
"Come back tomorrow, Killian, and we'll play!" she called before turning to run again toward the tree line, disappearing before she reached it.
Folly was surprised to see a small fire stoked in the fireplace when he finally woke up to the smell of breakfast cooking.
Killian was equally surprised to find his steel and flint missing. He searched everywhere he could think of, but could not find them. He shrugged off Liam's reprimand at being so careless, and began to wonder if he could go back to that beautiful clover field to play with Hannah in his dreams.