The Girl Who Was Born to Be Broken; Chapter 3

With the exception of the usual bumps, bruises and sniffles of childhood, the girl’s first few years were uneventful. Her mother, on the other hand, did not fare as well. She grew tired, and no amount of sleep, or quantity of tonics could seem to refresh her fully. This was chalked up to being the mother of two small children. Even so, her fatigue seemed to touch her in a way that was different from the other mother’s in the village. The healer surmised that despite the wife’s easy birth of the girl, it had taken a toll on her nevertheless and she simply hadn’t fully recovered. To make matters worse, the girl herself, added to the mother’s fatigue.

The tinker and his wife’s elder daughter was content to play quietly by herself. The girl however, was forever on the move. She was happiest when exploring the yard, or watching the leaves on the trees, or exploring the textures of the garden. This of course meant that the mother was forever having to chase after her and corral her back to where the mother was trying to work. The combination of the mother’s fatigue and the girl’s precociousness, started to shift the mother’s attitude toward the girl. She referred to the girl as her blessed child, less and less, until the moniker disappeared altogether.

As if the fatigue were not enough, the mother noticed a shakiness creep into her hands. Her basic chores around the house caused her no problems, but the sewing she took in to earn extra income for the family became tedious. Normally she would do this work at night by the fire after the children had been put to sleep, but at the end of a long tiring day her hands were simply too shaky to produce the quality work that her clients expected. So she began to do her stitching in the morning when she was rested. This switch allowed her to carry on as if nothing was wrong for some time. When she found that she could still do her stitches, albeit somewhat more slowly, but was unable to thread her needles any longer, she taught her eldest daughter to thread the needles for her. The girl was too young to help, and too restless to stay indoors while her mother sewed.

One day the mother announced to her husband that whenever he was home or on short trips, the girl was to be with him. As she still had not revealed to her husband the trouble she was having with her hands, she brushed aside his protestations that he was a tinker and tinkering could be dangerous for a small child and told him that her mind was made up. As always, the tinker found himself unable to go against her word, so the girl began to join him in his work.

To the tinker’s delight, the girl was actually quite useful. On their first day he dropped a box pins, and the girl squealed with delight and immediately started to collect the shiny objects to put back into the box. He found that she was also excellent at sorting small parts and after remarkably little instruction could fetch him the correct tool from his cart. The tinker rejoiced in this new arrangement, and more and more treated the young girl as his apprentice. Which caused tongues to wag, but seeing how useful she was, not even the most critical of busybodies could condemn the situation wholly. Even so, they cast disapproving glances whenever the tinker’s cart would pass by with the girl sitting next to her father.

One rainy day, the cart, heavily loaded with new pots to be delivered, became stuck in the mud. Used to this occurrence, the tinker got off the cart, and pulled out some wood that he used to wedge under the wheels to help free them. The girl jumped down to help as well, and despite her tiny stature, the tinker didn’t think twice about this as he had grown so accustomed to having her by his side. After placing the wood down, the tinker called to his horse to pull and leant his own shoulder and weight to push on one of the front wheels in hopes of freeing the back. Inch by inch the cart crept forward out of the muck and onto the wood, until it was free and able to roll unaided.

The tinker set about scraping off as much mud from the back wheels as possible, when he rounded the back of the cart, and to his horror found the girl face down in the mud, the track of a wheel clearly showing up her back and over her shoulder. He fell to his knees and rolled the girl over to free her face from the mud. He knew immediately that she must have seen how the tinker was pushing and copied his actions on the other side of the cart. But not having his height and strength, lost her footing and fell under the wheel. He wiped her face, and to his amazement she coughed and sputtered and started to cry.

Forgetting about the mud on the wheels, the tinker carried the crying girl to the front of the cart and laid her out next to him, then drove as fast as he dared back into the village to find a healer. A healer was found, the girl was cleaned and examined, and despite having received a good fright, seemed in perfect health. The healer was dumbfounded. That the girl wasn’t dead was a miracle. That she was unharmed was unfathomable. News of the girl’s fortune spread throughout the town, and was met equally by joyous exultations of thanks to the gods, and unkind speculations that the girl must have the protection of much darker forces.

As is usually the case with gossip, the more sinister version took a stronger hold. So by the time the tinker finally returned home with the girl, his wife had already heard of the event several times over, and been cautioned to keep the girl out of sight until the storm of speculation had died down. She had also been thoroughly chastised by one particularly nasty old biddy for allowing the girl to be out with her father in the first place. Not appreciating being told what to do and having her business bandied about town, she gave her husband a tongue lashing like none she had ever given before. Which tired her out so thoroughly she went straight to bed, taking their eldest daughter with her.

The tinker sat by the fire and held his face in his hands for some time. He was both riddled with guilt, and frightened by the day’s events. How had things gone so wrong, so quickly? And how had the girl not been broken beyond repair? At the thought of the girl the tinker broke out of his reverie, and looked frantically to the chair by the front door. His wife’s ire had been so great when he entered the house, he had set the girl down in the chair to rest, and there she remained, curled up to stay warm, yet fast asleep. The girl, and her part in the day’s events, had been forgotten. Carefully he picked her up and brought her to her bed. Tucking her in, the tinker stared intently at her face, and thought of the wise old woman. Perhaps she could make sense of what had happened.