Chapter 9

Sorry for the long hiatus, folks. I have been working overtime and that leaves little time for writing. Hopefully it's worth the wait.

I awoke slowly in unfamiliar surroundings. I could hear the furious storm pounding against sturdy walls and whistling over a chimney and the sound of low voices nearby. I could smell cooking meat and vegetables but the rich odor made my stomach lurch unpleasantly because my head was pounding mercilessly. I slowly cracked one heavy-lidded eye and immediately shut it tight against the room's dim illumination. The glimpse of light from the dully glowing embers resonated redly against my tortured brain. I could feel my pulse against the inside of my skull, pressing tighter with every beat. My hair, gathered into a tail, was pressing into my head and making everything worse. I tried to free an arm to ease my hair out from under my head but it was trapped by an immense warm weight. Behind my comfortingly dark eyelids I could feel the room tipping alarmingly. I couldn't tell what orientation the bed was in because I could feel weight pressing me to earth from every side. I stopped trying to free my arm and concentrated on not sicking up on myself. A low groan escaped from my tight-pressed lips. Vaguely, through the pain, I noticed the low voices had ceased in the other room. I didn't care if they heard me, I hoped someone would come in and put me out of my misery. I felt a slight breeze on my face as the door opened. At the sound of the door creaking the weight on my right arm shifted slightly and I became aware that I wasn't alone in the bed. My breath caught as I began to panic and I struggled to free my arm from under the weight. My eyes flew open and I tried to lift my head to see who was next to me. This was a terrible idea and as I lifted my head, the whole world swam drunkenly around me. I managed to turn away from the weight on my arm and promptly threw up and passed out in my own vomit.

An unknown amount of time later, I awoke again. The air was both fresher and colder and the smell of cooked meat had been overwhelmed by the scents of snow and fresh cut wood. Though the embers had died, I could tell day had come by the light straining through the chink under the door and sifting through the material of the curtains.

I slowly began to categorise what my senses were telling me. My right arm was still pinned down by something heavy and from the feeling, it had lost circulation. I was warm but mostly on that side. My other side was chilly. I could see out of both eyes but the light was somewhat painful. I could hear a rhythmic whacking that eventually resolved itself into what I guessed was wood chopping. I moved my tongue around my mouth, it tasted like vomit. I grimaced and the movement of my face gave me a clue that my head was thickly wrapped. Knowing my recent streak of bad luck, I had probably broken my skull in the fall.

At the old house, one of our maids had come late one afternoon and asked Mandy to come help with her granny who had been kicked in the head by a goat. Mandy had told me later that the old woman had been sick all over herself and had trouble with her balance and keeping food down for some time. The old lady had lived, but she had to move in with her son after that so someone could look after her. I fervently hoped I was a better case.

Cautiously I tried lifting my left arm. It was under the covers too but seemed to move more freely than the other. I managed to slip it out from under the blankets and touched my head gingerly. It was swaddled thickly in some kind of coarse fabric. The weight that pinned my right arm shifted slightly and I froze, waiting to see what happened. I shifted my head slightly to see if I could make out who I was in bed with but straining my eyes that way just made my headache worse. Suddenly, the weight lifted off my arm and the bed gave a lurch. I heard the sounds of a stretch and one like a wet rug being shaken then a huge hairy face prodded into my field of view and slobbered on me. I might have screamed if I wasn't in danger of drowning in drool. On my cold left side a small warm body pressed against me and a tiny hand pushed the huge hairy head away from my face, allowing me to sputter and choke out great gobs of sticky slime.

"Bad bear! No kisses!"

A small, intense face swam into view and looked at me curiously.

"Are you waked up?"

"Where am I?" I croaked. I could feel my vomit scented breath rise from my lips like a miasma and grimaced. "Do you have any water?" The face nodded and the bed jounced as the child stepped over my prone form and left the room.

A blast of frigid air announced her return in a few minutes and I heard her footsteps as well as the clicking claws of the huge dog come back to the side of the bed. Her face came back into view. From this angle it looked as if she had a luxurious, curly, brown beard, but it was just her hair confined in her nightcap forcing its way free. She showed me a wooden cup and I worked my right hand free and clasped it. Cautiously, I turned my head to the side and waited for the nausea to abate then managed to take a sip with only a little spilling onto my pillow. It tasted wonderful and very cold. I was guessing it was melt water. I swilled it around my dank mouth and swallowed gratefully. I handed the empty cup back to the child when I finished and subsided, ignoring the wet spot on my blanket, pillow and shoulder. She set the cup aside and watched me thoughtfully. She looked serious as children do sometimes.

"Are you hurt?"

"It feels like it."

"My father says you walked in the woods by yourself. The aunty says you shouldn't walk in the woods by yourself because a monster could eat you all up and wouldn't even choke on the bones, but I don't think that's true because bear is the size of a monster and you have to take the bones out of his food 'cause he might choke." she seemed to be waiting for an answer but I just lay there, waiting for my wits to catch up with the flood of words.

"My father says you took a crack to your head and might get sick again but don't do that 'cause I had to clean it up last time." Again she paused like she was waiting to see what I would say.

"I'll try not to." I ventured, but I could feel the curse taking hold. I wondered what would happen if I had to vomit now and envisioned choking because I couldn't let it out. "How about a compromise, how about I'm allowed to be sick if I sick in a bucket?" she tilted her head to the side and considered me gravely.

"What's a compromise?"

"It means we both get something that we want."

"You want to be sick?" She asked in horror, wrinkling her tiny delicate nose.

"No, but my nurse always used to say 'if it wants out you gotta let it out' and she was right, I could choke on my sick if I'm not allowed to let it out." I tried to sound certain and reasonable with this strange child, but her seriousness unnerved me a little. After some thought she nodded.

"Okay, you are allowed to be sick, but only in a bucket or outside. I don't want to clean up the bed again." I let out my breath slowly, trying not to show my relief.

The sound of chopping that had become a background to our morning ceased unexpectedly and I groggily focused on the door. I heard the door in the other room open and the sounds of a wood box being stocked. The tiny girl began putting clothes on over her nightdress. I didn't blame her. The fire in this room was burning merrily but it was not warm enough in here to warrant a cavalier attitude towards clothing. When she was dressed she looked at me then said, "it's time to get up, Charlie." A moan behind me startled me and I was tempted to look around, but thought better of any action that might bring on my nausea. Before long, my small companion was helping a sturdy toddler step over my prone body. He was wearing only a shirt and diaper and she quickly dressed him as well. She was barely older than him, but managed him with the practice of long familiarity.

The noise in the other room had changed from the thumps of wood stacking to the familiar noises of food preparation and the smell of cooking meat soon wafted into the room. My stomach growled hungrily and the baby gave a surprisingly adult chortle, revealing a collection of gleaming milk teeth and a happy nature. He reminded me of the gnome baby I had saved from the ogres in the zoo. He waddled to the door and pushed it open, revealing a hearth and a stool. A wood box stood full next to the fireplace and the ceiling was festooned with the fruits of the harvest. Ropes of braided onions and garlic, sacs of apples and potatoes, sausages, cheeses and herbs hung from the beams and made the room feel closer and darker. I couldn't see the whole room, but it looked well provisioned to survive the winter. A young man walked through the slice of room seen through the door and glanced in.

"Breakfast is near done. Go see if father is done with the cow." The girl nodded and pulled a heavy coat off the peg, leaving my field of view. The baby promptly sat on the floor and took up a toy horse. The young man came near the bed and looked down on me, "do you feel up to a bit of food, you have been in and out for a while but we haven't been able to get food down you, you must be starving." He had a sweet, earnest face and his brow wrinkled in concern over dark eyes and a wide mouth. A glossy brown curl had flopped onto his brow and he pushed it back with a huge, work roughened hand.

"I am very hungry, and I don't feel too sick if I don't move my head." He grinned like I had said a joke and his cheeks creased, showing deep dimples.

"I'm glad your speaking again, you had us all worried for a few days."

"How long have I been here?" I heard myself say, but I felt divorced from myself, how long had I been gone? Was anyone looking for me? Was Mum Olga back and wondering where I was?

"Two days, my father brought you in with a load of supplies three nights ago. You've been awake before now but you weren't coherent, we were worried the fall had knocked your wits out." The frown was back and looked concerned, he came closer and perched on the edge of the bed. "The aunt said to have you sit up and to check the bandage when you came out of it." Gently, he slid a broad hand behind my head, cradling it, and eased me upright, a strong arm around my waist. I tensed at the familiarity, waiting for him to grab or touch what he shouldn't but he just set me upright and left only a steadying hand on the back of my neck. He piled pillows and rugs about me to hold me up. When he was certain I wouldn't fall over he got up and came back with a tray. Thick pease porridge with bacon and hot tea were set on my lap. I was very hungry but also felt the nausea threatening. I hesitated and he smiled encouragingly and picked up the spoon.

"I can feed…" was all I managed to say before the first spoonful sailed into my open mouth.

"I'm sure you can," he smiled again so sweetly as he slid another spoonful into my mouth when I tried to protest again. There was no malice in that generous face so I subsided and let him feed me. Before long, the delicious warmth of the simple food was permeating my limbs, flowing out from my stomach.

He set aside the tray, allowing me to hold the mug of tea on my own while he unwound the bandage from my head. He was gentle and competent but would sometimes gaze at my face instead of attending to what his hands were doing. When the bandage was off, he gave a little wince.

"That looks painful, but the aunt did a great job." Tentatively, I touched my scalp, where a line of painful raised flesh cut a furrow about the length of my first finger joint through my hair. I winced but the skin felt as if it had already knit itself together. I could feel the pull of crusted blood in my hair as I withdrew my hand, though, and grimaced. "I'll clean it for you, don't move."

My curse took hold and I sat there dumbly with my hand halfway from my head to my lap, not even my eyes moving. He didn't notice as he was turned away from me, fumbling with a jar and cloth on the side table. He looked back to me and carefully parted my matted hair, cleaning the cut with gentle daubing of the cloth. A strong smell arose from the cloth, both herbal and astringent. It reminded me of Mandy but it also made me want to sneeze. My breathing was already shallow, trying not to move and my complaints were making themselves known just from that small disobedience. I could feel my ribs creaking with the effort not to sneeze, not to move. Just as I was about to burst open from obedience, "turn to the left?" I turned and sneezed hugely. He laughed, "It takes me like that sometimes too." He finished cleaning the wound and I could feel the medicines working, cold and hot at once. As he brought out a fresh bandage and began to wind it over the wound, he asked, "what is your name?"

"Ella. What's yours?"

"Benjamin." He knotted the bandage securely and sat gazing into my face. It was unnerving to sit in a bedroom with this strange man while I was almost completely helpless.

At that moment, the little boy tottered in from the other room, his face covered in pease porridge, his toy horse in one pudgy fist. Like a miniature drunk, his steps weaved across the room towards the young man, who caught him up deftly and bounced him until he was laughing upside down, his fat fists waving.

A swirl of cold air flew into the room as two figures entered from outside, one small and one large passed in front of the bedroom door, deftly removing winter clothes. The taller figure unwound a scarf from a narrow face. Weathered but kind, with a broad mouth and sun darkened skin. He was likely in his thirties but had aged with hard work and weather. There was a clear kinship with all three children. His dark curly hair matching that on all three of the others.

"Our mysterious snow maiden lives!" He boomed and ducked into the bedroom. He was very tall but lean like his older son. The toddler crowed and struggled out of his brother's grip, running to his father and gripping him around the knees. A large smear of pease porridge appeared on the knee of his canvas pants before he caught the boy up and cuddled him in his arms, tickling and snuggling him into torrents of giggles.

"She said that we have a com-pro-mise so that she won't be sick in the bed again." The voice of the girl came from behind the man and she snuck around him bearing a bowl of porridge which she promptly began to eat.

"That's well enough, but she looks past being sick in bed to me," opined her father.

"Aunty said she would likely be abed a few days more," cut in Benjamin. "I wouldn't push her too far beyond what aunty suggests."

"Of course we won't, lad," his father soothed. Suppressed merriment in his eye.

"Her name is Ella."

"Ella is it?" He set the baby on his feet and leaned out of the bedroom, grabbing a stool and bowl of porridge. Seating himself he applied himself to the food, occasionally feeding a spoonful to the baby when he came near enough in his orbiting of the room, horse toy galloping from bed to floor to window sill. "Well Ella, I'm Joshua, and you met Ben. My girl is Liza and this is Georgie." He pointed with a full spoon at the toddler who gobbled the porridge on his way by.

Liza, who had been industriously cleaning her bowl looked up. "So, you gonna tell us who ye' are? 'Cause papa said you were out on the road in a snowstorm all alone and didn't have any food or water or extra oil for your lamp or money…" she trailed off and gave me the same expectant look from before.

My swimming brain decided on a version of the truth. "I was on my way to the village, I live nearby at the manor house."

"All alone at night in a snowstorm? Were you fetching a doctor?" Joshua's face creased along deep furrows of concern that his smile had masked. Clearly, he had known some hardship to carve such deep grooves.

"No…" I hesitated, I realised that going to the village pub to meet a man that I worked with at the manor was both a poor reason to brave the snow and darkness, but also suspicious when considered from a virtue standpoint.

"Were you running away, lass?" Joshua said gently, "only, the aunty said you had marks of a fresh beating on you."

I grimaced but decided a truth was better than an outright lie. "I had a letter and wanted someone to read it to me, I thought it might be important. I went to a friend's house, but his daughter said he was down at the pub, I thought it would be an easy walk."

He laughed aloud, "who is it from, your letter? Do you have a young man writing to you that you would hare off into the teeth of a gale to have a letter read to you?" I felt both father and son subtly tense, waiting for my answer.

"No, I think it is from my father." They relaxed visibly, Ben even smiled. "Who is the aunty?"

"Oh, the aunty is…" Joshua trailed off, searching for something. "A healer, I suppose. And midwife." He scratched his chin meditatively. "When she saw you, she thought for certain-sure you were from Ayortha. I couldn't say why."

"She heals animals, too," put in Ben.

"She did a mighty fine job on your skull," Joshua added judiciously, "you might have been invalid or imbecile very easy with a crack like the one you took, but she patched you up as well as that."

"But, you would have died in the snow without Papa," Liza added around a mouthful of food, "he saved you from freezing and brought you all the way here in the snow and called the aunty and everything." Another very full spoon filled her mouth and she left off.

"Anyone would have done the same for a pretty, helpless young maiden." Joshua said with good will and bravado as well as a twinkle in his eye and he winked at me as he deftly fed Georgie another spoonful. With this outrageous statement, I noticed that Ben's ears turned pink and he abruptly caught up Georgie and went into the other room with him. I watched him go with slight apprehension. What was that about, I wondered.

Liza immediately crossed the room and took up her brother's former seat at the foot of the bed and continued to devour her food. I watched Joshua, his grin had faded a bit when his son left, but he had given me an unrepentant shrug and took a handkerchief out of his pocket and cleaned a spot of porridge off the floor where Georgie had missed the spoon, or vice versa.

"I would suggest you stay abed, as Benjamin said. The aunty was very firm about your recovery." He gave me another twinkling, lopsided grin and ducked back out of the room, taking his stool with him.

Liza gave a contented sigh as she ran her finger around the rim of her bowl and stuck it in her mouth. I was ready for another barrage of words, but none came. She simply picked herself up and collected dishes and food debris then disappeared into the other room after her family.

Gratefully, I snuggled further into my blankets and dozed, completely exhausted by the busy little family in what felt like a very short time. My thoughts were muzzy and my head throbbed in time with my heartbeat. I listened as a short squabble broke out in the kitchen between the men and was startled awake by the sound of the door slamming but could not make out the topic of the argument or who had left. I couldn't muster any energy to care in either case and dozed again.