The Stone of Virtue Part 2

The afternoon sun beamed down from a cloudless sky. Rose seethed as a trickle of sweat met the fresh stripe on her back. Leon’s whip had flown the moment they’d left Fowler’s sight. When Leon’s arm grew tired, she was sent to tend the field as he fetched new eggs himself. Though the heat of the day inclined Rose to pull back her long red hair, she left it loose. Her eyes burned and nose ran from crying, she’d rather boil than let them know they’d affected her so.

“Rose,” called a voice in the distance.

She looked up from her basket of vegetables as Nilah sauntered toward her, and quickly wiped her face.

“Fantastic news,” the woman said. “The best news I’ve heard in ages.”

Nilah never smiled so deviously before. Rose stood straight up, realizing not for the first time she was a good deal taller than the woman. She studied her face, sickened by the pleasure emanating from it.

“A man has asked for your hand,” Nilah said. “And your father has accepted.”

That was it. That was why she was so happy. They’d found a way to get rid of her. Her cheeks burned at the thought. Years of abuse and neglect—now they’re going to shove her off on someone else. Her stomach churned wondering whom it would be—maybe a retched farmer who needed someone to tend his fields and warm his bed, or perhaps, one of the passing soldiers wanting someone to carry on his bloodline. Many men made comments over the years. Maybe they thought she was addled and couldn’t understand. Maybe they just didn’t care. She’d heard grown men say despicable things even before she was of courting age. Her gut burned and twisted anxiously. Nilah continued smiling. Rose couldn’t stand it anymore. She couldn’t let Nilah cast her away and smile about it. She had to crush that pleasure.

The knot in her stomach grew larger and hotter. It crept slowly into her chest and then her throat. Without fully intending too, Rose opened her mouth.

“No,” she whispered.

Nilah blanched with shock, taking a backward step as she pressed a hand to her breast. “What,” she said. “What did you just say?”

“I said no!” Her voice was stronger the second time.

“You…you spoke.”

It sounded like a question, but Rose gave no answer.

Nilah struggled but spoke again. “How long have you…we thought…”

“Nilah, my dear,” came a second voice from across the field. “Have you given her the good news?”

“Yes,” she called. She looked at Rose. “Don’t cross me, girl. You’ll do as your father says.”

Rose started to point out that Leon wasn’t her father, nor Nilah her mother, but as Leon approached she eyed the whip fastened to its usual place on his belt.

“She was so full of joy,” Nilah said, “that she was moved to speak.”

Leon gave his wife a look that said she surely must be joking. “Did she now? Come on then, tell us what you told your mother.”

Rose looked to Nilah, then to Leon with his whip. Her mouth opened, ready to unleash ten years of anger and hatred and accept the punishment that was sure to follow, when someone appeared at his side. It was Fowler.

Everything she’d planned to say disappeared as she saw the look of anticipation on his face. Nilah and Leon deserved everything she had to say them and more, but not Fowler.

“I…I’m honored that Fowler would have me,” she said.

Fowler’s expression changed from hopeful to joyous, while Leon’s face went blank.

“Well,” Leon said. “Splendid. Fowler, my boy, you run home and tell your father. Tonight we feast in celebration. Tomorrow we’ll go to the Magistrate.”

Fowler gave a smile in Rose’s direction then bowed to his prospective father-in-law and left.

Nilah grabbed Rose’s arm the instant Fowler left. Rose’s basket fell to the ground as she was pulled away before she could think of saying anything unpleasant to Leon. Nilah marched her across the field and through the cottage door. Without a word Rose was shoved into the washroom. Nilah filled the tub part of the way with water from the pump and quickly left the room. She returned a few minutes later with a pot of warm water.

“Don’t just stand there. Take off those filthy clothes and get in the tub.”

Out of habit, Rose did as she was told.

Nilah poured a few more pots of warm water and added a splash of rose oil to the bath. Rose surprised herself by smiling as Nilah washed her hair in silence.

“Why did you say yes?” Nilah asked finally. “You told me no.”

“Fowler is sweet. He’s always been kind to me, even when the others weren’t. I couldn’t cause him such embarrassment.” She stood and wrapped herself in a dressing gown.

“Then you truly agree? You won’t fight us?”

Rose shook her head. “I won’t fight you.”

Nilah studied her own reflection in the mirror. Her dark hair, secured under a cream colored handkerchief, matched her intense brown eyes. She ran her fingers across her cheek, where a jagged scar marred the tan skin. “A wise decision.” She turned to run a comb through Rose’s mess of red tangles. “You’re pretty enough to be so different, but it’ll not last. I had many suitors as a girl. I was ever so particular. I wanted to choose just the right one.”

She’d never spoken to Rose so openly. Rose was so enthralled she urged her on.

“Leon was the right one?”

Nilah threw her head back and laughed. “Heavens no! I was working in my father’s stables one day and was kicked by a mule. My cheek was torn open and the bones smashed. It was repaired, but…” She seemed to be in a distant place as she thought of it. “In any case, my beauty was gone. Leon was the first to ask after the accident and I feared I’d do no better.”

She braided the girl’s hair into a tight bun. “I’m surprised Fowler’s father approved the match,” Nilah said. “With his wealth, any girl in this village would accept such an offer. Why Fowler chose you is beyond me, but we’re lucky he did. They didn’t even ask for a dowry, which is good because you haven’t one. On the contrary, they’ve offered your father a pair of oxen for the loss of your work.”

Rose could tell whatever tenderness had just passed between them was now gone. To Nilah and Leon her marriage was a business mater and nothing else.

“Anything’s better than this,” Rose said with a deliberate tone of defiance.

The comb snagged a tangle as Nilah pulled it quickly down. “Has it been so bad? We fed you, clothed you, cared for you…”

“Beat me.”

“Only when you misbehaved or tried to run away. You had to be taught.”

“Taught,” she asked, “or broken?” Nilah stopped brushing. “Would you’ve taught your own child the same way?”

“Who can say,” Nilah said. “Leon and I never planned for children. We certainly weren’t prepared to raise one we didn’t birth. We did the best we could.”

Rose scoffed.

Nilah slammed down the comb and stomped toward the door. “I suppose if that’s the thanks I get after ten years, then you can marry Fowler tomorrow and be gone. Get dressed,” she said throwing a simple brown dress at Rose. “Then help me with the cooking.”

Nilah slammed the door as Rose struggled to reply.

***

There was a knock at the door just as the food was placed on the table.

Nilah looked at Rose. “Go on,” she said, “go and greet your new family.”

Fowler was dressed in his usual tan shirt and brown pants, but was wearing a bright green vest with gold embellishments. Fletcher looked as Rose always saw him, his portly frame draped with bright red and gold to remind everyone he was the wealthiest man in Tenneghel. Fletcher strolled in without being invited with Felix whirling in behind him.

“Please,” Rose said, “have a seat. May I pour you some wine?”

“My word!” Fletcher clapped Leon on the back. “She does speak. I thought Fowler was putting me on when he told me. Yes, a little wine with supper would be nice.”

A little wine, Rose learned, had been quite an understatement. Half way through the meal Fletcher finished more than a jug of wine on his own, while Felix had broken two plates and a cup. Fletcher’s manner became more large and boisterous as he drank.

“I was flabbergasted when Fowler said she was his choice,” he slurred. “Never in town much, never talks, or not that I’d heard. I told him, no one even knows where her people come from.” He belched and hiccupped between his words. “With fair features like that,” he gestured toward Rose with his nearly empty cup, “she was not built for hard labor. Could she bear a child? Would you want a child she bore?”

Fowler’s head hung low as his father spoke. It was clear to Rose he didn’t share any of his father’s concerns.

“But, he insisted only she would do. So I asked around and word in the village is your Rose is a hard little worker.”

“That she is,” Leon said. “Been tending our fields since she came to us; suppose she was about six at the time.”

“What do we know about her people?” Fletcher fumbled to refill his drink.

“Not much.” Leon took the jug and emptied it into cup. “They had a cottage on the edge of the village, lived off their own land and what they could gather from the forest. They said the father was dark, though you’d never know by looking at her. Likely he came from across the sea when the famine struck. The mother was like her, fair skin and red hair. Where she came from is anyone’s guess. They sent her with a letter.” Leon lifted his glass to his lip, but it was empty. “I suppose they knew they may not make it.”

Rose never heard Leon speak of her parents.

“I remember now.” Fletcher took a gulp. “Came in the dead of winter. Scrawny thing when she showed up. You drew lots to get her, if memory serves.”

Leon nodded. “All of the childless couples did. We got her in the end.”

“She’s been a blessing.” Nilah opened another jug and topped off Leon and Fletcher’s drinks. “She can keep a fine house too. Why, she cooked most of this meal herself.”

Rose nearly laughed out loud. The people who despised her most in the world were now singing her praises to ensure she was no longer their problem. The wine alone was an expense sure to sting Leon’s pockets.

“Can you sew?” Fletcher asked. “Felix’ll be growing out of his clothes before you can make new ones if you’re not quick enough. Then there will be Fowler’s little ones. Our boys spring up like weeds.”

Rose let the question hang in the air. It wasn’t until she noticed Nilah glaring at her that she realized she was supposed to answer. “I…I’m a steady seamstress, Sir. My mother taught me well.” Rose stood and quickly began to clear the table. She’d not thought things out this far. Suddenly frightened by the idea of raising Fletcher’s son and eventually her own children, Rose’s heart raced.

The conversation drifted to other things as she washed the dishes and, by the time she finished, a fifth jug of wine was drained.

“It seems almost unfair,” Fletcher said. “I get a servant I won’t have to pay and all you get in return is a pair of oxen. Surely, there must be something else you will take in the trade?”

A dish shattered against the cold stone floor. The whole room turned to look at Rose.

Fowler rushed to face her. “He doesn’t mean that. You…you wouldn’t be a servant.”

“Of course not,” Fletcher said. “She wouldn’t be paid. I suppose they call those slaves.” His body shook with rolls of laughter.

“He doesn’t know what he’s saying.” Fowler placed his hands on her shoulders. “The wine has muddled his brain.”

“It seems more like it’s loosened his tongue.”

Across the room Nilah marveled loudly at Fletcher’s waistcoat and poured another glass of wine. She glared at Rose as Fowler whispered.

“You won’t be my servant.” His hand grazed her cheek. Rose flinched at the unexpected closeness. “Nor will you be my slave. You’ll be my wife and my companion. I chose you because I wanted your company.”

“And your father agreed when he learned I could tend his fields, clean his home, and birth his grandchildren.”

“Quietly,” Fletcher laughed. “You could do all that without speaking, though I suppose that perk is gone. Not to mention, there’ll be no more need to find a nanny for Felix. We’ll finally have someone who can’t quit.”

As if on cue, Felix knocked an empty wine jug to the ground.

Rose turned to front door, but Nilah’s hand clamped on her wrist as she reached for the latch.

“Excuse us a moment.” She pulled Rose toward her tiny storeroom and slammed the door behind them. “Don’t ruin this! We’re lucky Fletcher agreed to have you. You’ll be thankful and accept your place.”

“My place?” Rose said. “To return to my silence and do as I’m told, be field hand, keeper, nanny, wife, and mother all in one? ”

“It’ll be some woman’s place, why not yours? I’d rather my place be at Fletcher’s hearth than at Leon’s.”

“You marry Fletcher then, and leave me out of it.”

“Don’t be a fool girl. This is the best you can hope for.”

“Will my place be under Fletcher’s whip, as it was under Leon’s?”

“The boy seems to have a tenderness for you, but that is for Fletcher and Fowler to decide.”

“No,” Rose said. “It’s for me to decide. I’ll not marry Fowler.”

“You will, or I swear I’ll not stay Leon’s hand. You’ll beg for death long before it comes.”

Rose was silent. Many times Leon had gotten carried away with his beatings. It’d been Nilah that restrained him and dressed Rose’s wounds.

“Go to bed. I’ll see Fletcher and his sons out. Tomorrow you’ll marry him, or you’ll die before sunset; there’s no other path.”

Nilah returned to the group of men. “Rose isn’t feeling well,” she said, “a little nervous about tomorrow, so I sent her to bed.”

“I suppose,” Fowler said, “that’s where I should be taking father. Tell Rose I’m sorry, and I’ll be waiting for her at the Magistrate tomorrow morning.”

Rose listened at the effort it took Fowler as he carried his inebriated father outside and laid him across the back of his horse, Felix laughing behind him as he went. Their horses clopped down the road and Nilah cleaned up the broken dish from the kitchen. Then the house was silent.

Rose sat on her bed in dim candlelight. Her chest tightened as the evening’s events replayed in her mind. She’d never thought of marriage or children. Rose foolishly assumed she’d spend the rest of her life serving Leon and Nilah, only to be free once they died. Leaving that cottage, no matter how horrible it was, never entered her mind. Fowler was kind, but he lived under his father’s roof and, therein, his father’s rule. She tried to remember the servants they’d had through the years, wondering if Fletcher would favor the whip as Leon had? Other than the wet-nurse and the countless nannies that followed, Rose couldn’t recall meeting anyone else. There’d be no more nannies now; she’d have to care for Felix. What’s more, Fletcher expected grandchildren and soon. She’d be expected to serve Fletcher each day and Fowler each night.

Her heart raced as her mind swirled in confusion. Her breath came fast and heavy as she paced, her hands shaking. She needed to clear her head. She exhaled slowly, shaking her arms and shoulder loose. The glow of moonlight crept into the window, a stark contrast to the dark and dread that filled her heart. She looked at the door, then back to the moonlight. With a single strong puff she blew out the room’s only candle and rushed to the window.

It creaked as she swung it open. Her heart pounded as she listened for signs of movement in the house, but no one stirred. With a sigh of relief, she opened it the rest of the way and climbed out. Rose looked toward the village. It was too risky; someone would surely see her. To the West lay overgrown fields on the edge of a sparse forest. Her feet moved, finding a small path through the undergrowth. She felt oddly at ease through the labyrinth of trees. There were no signs of the dark forces rumored to dwell in these woods. No wolves waiting to gobble up wayward children, no spirits to inhabit unsuspected bodies, no fairies to steal babies from their cradles—the forest was surprisingly normal.

As the path straightened, her mind caught up with her feet and Rose smiled. She knew exactly where she was going. She approached a small cabin. Though it was dark and deserted, Rose hardly resisted running to the door. Her hand trembled as she reached for the latch on the front door. Ten years of rust gave way under her push. She closed her eyes, holding her breath as the door swung open. She couldn’t stop herself from going inside.

The cabin was one large room. A bed sat off to one side with a trundle next to it. To the other side sat a table, a simple fireplace, and a wooden washtub tucked in the corner. Rose breathed in as she crossed the room. She could almost smell the fire burning and hear her mother singing softly as she cooked.

Cara, her mother, had fair freckle-kissed skin and bright red hair that stood in stark contrast to her dark green eyes. Rose glimpsed her mother when she looked in the mirror, but the last few years she’d hardly been able to endure the sight. From line of her jaw to the slight slope of her nose, she was her mother’s double. It was her voice Rose remembered the most fondly, constantly singing or humming.

Their simple home was always filled with music. Rose danced around as Cara sang and her father looked on smiling. Gregor was her father. She remembered his voice, too. Low and rumbling, like thunder before a summer storm, which lulled her to sleep with stories of far off places and magical creatures.

“I saw a fairy once,” he’d said. “Not far from here.”

“Did not,” she said.

“I certainly did. It was before you were born, while I was building this house. I’d been chopping logs all day, dragging them back here. I felt eyes on me, but no one was there. Finally, I heard something behind me. I turned, ready to swing my axe, and there she was. Her skin was pale and glowing in the dim forest light, and a pair of shimmering wings flittered behind her quick as a hummingbird’s.”

“Did you to catch her?” she asked.

“Of course not, she was far too beautiful to harm! Only magic could’ve made something that perfect. I never saw that much beauty in one person, until your mother. Who was I to try and possess her? Besides, she could’ve turned me into a slug, and then where would I be?” He let out a booming laugh and kissed her goodnight.

Rose wiped her eyes. She hadn’t allowed herself to think about this place or her parents in many years. Now she stood engulfed by their memory and what was left of their belongings.

In that moment, all she wanted was to be close to them, to feel them with her again. On a rusty nail near the fireplace hung a tattered green cloak—her mother’s cloak. She reached out, gripping its lush velvet. As she lifted it from the nail something fell to the floor. The leather cord was soft to the touch, despite years of age. It was threaded through a small hole in the top of a silver pendant.

No… not a pendant, a coin.

It was a Liba, and it was her father’s. Like all young men in the capital city of Besignet, Gregor was required to serve in Erdavol’s military. Ten years, the law dictated, must be served. That term could only be cut short if the soldier possessed a Liba, awarded in the event the soldier preformed a deed beyond his duty. The coin would stay with him until his term was up, when he would trade it for his soldier’s mark and the balance of his salary.

Rose didn’t know how old her father was when he died, so she had no way of knowing how many years his Liba was worth. She didn’t even know what great feat he’d done to get it. In fact, she hardly knew anything about them at all.

A pain built in Rose’s throat as she tried to hold back her tears. Who were they before they’d become her parents? How did they meet? Where did Cara come from with her fair skin and flaming locks of red hair? Did she have family elsewhere?

Entertaining one memory of her parents brought forth a flood of emotion Rose hadn’t prepared for. She slipped the leather cord over her head, wrapped her mother’s cloak around her and crawled into bed. Unable to stop herself, she started to cry. She didn’t know who they were. How could an old wound still hurt like new? Rose felt like that scared little girl again, crying as her parents sent her out into the snow. Her mother cried so hard she could hardly breath. She coughed into a handkerchief and it turned red. Rose knew now it was blood. Her father was already too sick to stand and lay in the bed.

“I love you,” her mother said. “More than anything.” Then she kissed her forehead and pointed her toward the village.

Rose’s body shook with sobs as she remembered and, somewhere between sorrow and exhaustion, she gave in to sleep.