The words echo in my ears, refusing to leave yet I couldn’t believe them. No, it wasn’t true-it couldn’t be. Mother would never do that.
Phoebe was silent at first too, but quickly recovered, rushing to hug mother. Phoebe, though had only been a newborn when father died and couldn’t really remember him; but I did-very well and mother even better me. How could she remarry and just forget him?
She looked up at me from Phoebe’s shoulder, her eyes hopeful and pleading for my approval. She wouldn’t get it and we both knew it. I looked away from her to the window.
“Are we going to move?” Phoebe asked in a hushed yet loud voice. It was usually amusing to me when she got that tone but now it just killed. She only got it when she was excited.
“Yes, to a better house! We won’t ever have to worry about food or clothes or warmth ever again!”
“I couldn’t see her (I refused to look) but I knew her eyes were sparkling. Then it struck me that maybe that was the reason- me and Phoebe. We were growing and she was worried that she couldn’t provide for us. If that was the case, I could forgive her.
“Mum?”
Our eyes met.
“Yes?” The hope in her eyes was so strong I wanted to break and rush to her like Phoebe had; but I refused to give her anything until I knew for sure.
“Do you love him-this man?”
There was a deadly silence. No one moved. I stared at mother and she stared back while Phoebe looked up at her now curious. A tear fell down mother’s cheek and I saw the light go out in her face. We all knew the answer.
“Yes.” She whispered and dropped her eyes.
I stared at for a moment more. I honestly can’t recollect what my exact thoughts, only the feeling of deep betrayal. Then I stood up and ran from the room.
“Edith!” Mother called out.
But I didn’t listen and kept running till I reached the attic where I curled up into a ball and rocked myself till Phoebe came to get me for bed. Little did we both know just how bad all this would end.
*************
One week later…
It was freezing cold as I waited for the carriage to be packed. It was the beginning of winter so it was also very dark outside though it was well into the morning. Over all I was very uncomfortable and actually couldn’t wait to leave for my godforsaken new home. It’d been a week since mum told us about the wedding and we were already leaving. The wedding was set for early spring and until then we would live in the apartment next to Lord Renshaw’s (The villain) house. I guessed this was due to the money problems mother was having. Well at least that was something I could look forward to- A warm place to sleep with decent clothes and good food; but I tried not to think about that.
I had been silent for the whole week except for my yeses and no’s and pleases and thank yous-as long as they weren’t directed at mother.
She was watching me now as I sat against the wall, huddled in my cloak. She was REALLY being punished now. Apparently we would also have another sister and I was looking less forward to that than the stepfather. He I’d easily be able to ignore, a stepsister- it’d be utterly impossible! Maybe I wasn’t so ready to leave the cold… Bea (it was short for Beatrice), our house keeper and adopted grandmother, walked over to her. They didn’t think I could hear them but I could.
“What should I do?” mother asked her. “I feel so bad.”
I couldn’t look at them or they’d know I was listening so I started drawing in the dirt, trying to ignore how cold it was. I traced my father’s name, William.
“Ignore her.” Bea answered her. “She’s thirteen, Jane, a teenager. They’re always like this for a while. She’ll grow out of it quickly enough.”
“I hope so.” was my mother’s quite reply.
Then Max, Lord Renshaw’s manservant, came up from the carriage and told us we were ready to go. I quickly got up and went to get in and in the corner of my eye I saw mother look at my drawing in the dirt. I hadn’t meant for her to see it but part of me was glad. Another part wasn’t. It felt sad for her. The former was more dominant. I allowed myself one last look at my home. I would miss it but not too much, I realized. I naturally didn’t attach myself to things. Home, to me, would always be my mother and Phoebe.
We rode all day stuffed in the small carriage. Thankfully none of us took up that much room; it was just us girls and Beatrice. Max was driving. He came about a week ago to help us move and I still wasn’t sure what I thought of him. My first impulse was to dislike him, but that was because he worked for Lord Renshaw who had butted his way into my mother’s heart and kicked out my father. However none of that was Max’s fault so I didn’t know if I should punish him for it. Oh, well, at the time he was the only thing through which I could show my dislike.
Phoebe talked the whole ride, asking question after question. So unfortunately for me, all the answers to my questions were forced on me (I didn’t want them!). Lord Renshaw’s name was James, and his daughter’s was Cynthia. She was twelve years old with blonde hair (of course she would be pretty) and was small for her age. She loved being outside and fireworks and rode horses at least half of her time (Good Lord, Phoebe you ask too many questions!). Also the house was really a manor, had over 30 horses, a lake and woods, and where we were older we would go to court and meet the prince. I groaned. I hadn’t wanted the answers because of this! I was getting a little excited. So I covered my ears and thought only of my father until we got the inn where would stay the night. Before Phoebe and I were allowed out of the carriage we were given a long list of do’s and don’ts. It went something like this: Don’t make eye contact with strangers, don’t talk to anyone, stay by Beatrice, know where mother is at all times, eat quietly, don’t stare, and a couple of others that I didn’t find worth remembering, such as don’t wander off. I found it very repetitive. Rather funny actually, that was the first one that I broke which led to them all being broken. Looking back, I think this really stunned and hurt mother; before I had followed her every word. This day was a serious turning point in my life; for more reasons than that.
The first floor of the Inn was divided into two parts; the dining room and the bar. It seemed like a pretty decent place to me, but Beatrice and Mother almost took us away because it was so disgraceful. They decided to stay but Beatrice told mother reassuringly that, “Just think. It will be the last time you and the girls ever have to stay in a place like this.”
This seemed to comfort mother, but it made my blood boil. I didn’t want to look at her, either of them. I looked at Phoebe instead who was practically asleep against Beatrice, Mother and Max left to arrange for food and board and Beatrice was trying to get Phoebe to a table without making her cry. I was about to follow when I heard the sound of glass breaking distantly behind me. It was coming from the bar. I turned to look but couldn’t make out anything in the dim light. I was so tempted to go see what it was like- it was so much more exciting than Phoebe who had started crying and Beatrice trying desperately to consol her. But then I realized that this was my chance. Beatrice was very preoccupied and wouldn’t even notice I had left her. I took a deep breath and walked silently over to the arch that separated the bar. I saw about five groups of men all loud and laughing with bar maids flittering to and fro. It was all so strange. I hadn’t seen many men in my life, and the ones I had were nothing like this. The girls seemed the equivalent to strange birds in the colorful dresses and high laughter. Mother never dressed like that. I wondered why. Then I saw one of the men grab a maid. It shocked me and I took a step back. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. I didn’t know much about things like that, but I knew enough to know that it was time for me to leave. I was just about to turn around, when I heard a voice coming from the shadows on my left.
“Aren’t you a little young to be in a bar?”
I jumped- that was my first reaction. My second was thinking of how much trouble I was going to be in and my first instinct was to run back to Beatrice and start crying like Phoebe. However I wouldn’t do that. I wasn’t a child anymore and I wouldn’t act like one. I choked down my fear and turned to see the speaker. I saw a man leaning against the wall looking at me intently, To my young mind I saw him as rather old, though in reality he couldn’t have been more than twenty. He had dark brown hair falling into his face and a bit of stubble on his jaw. His eyes looked black in the dim light which was kind of unsettling but his mouth held a crooked yet friendly smile. Altogether he was a confusing mixture of menacing and boyish friendliness.
“No,” I told him, my voice sounding stronger than I felt. “I mean I’m not really here. I’m just looking.”
“Ah.” He said knowingly, pushing himself off the wall and took a few steps toward me.
“Well, little girl, be careful with that. Curiosity killed the cat. Trust me I know.”
Our eyes met and I felt a shiver run through me. Something was…off about this man. His eyes. I could see now they were dark brown but at the same time weren’t- more of a grey, faded color. Something was wrong with him and it made me want to run in the opposite direction as far as I could. Ironically, however, it was curiosity that kept me rooted to ground in front of him.
“What did you do?” I asked then realized that I was talking to, looking and staring at a stranger and didn’t know where my mother or Beatrice was.
He looked at me, rather surprised for a moment. Maybe it was because I was sharp enough to catch his underhand meaning, or just the fact that a thirteen year old girl was actually having a conversation with him in a bar. My cheeks grew hot at the thought, but oh well. It was too late to turn back.
“Have you ever met a witch?” he asked me.
The first thing that ran through me was indignation. Was he making fun of me? Yes, I may have been asking for it running off by myself into a bar; but still it frustrated me.
“There’s no such thing as witches.” I told him coolly.
“Are you sure of that?” he held my gaze, no signs of amusement or jest in those strange eyes.
“Yes.”
“Well someday you might not be so sure.”
“I doubt it.”
he smiled then. It was a boyish smile, that didn’t match his aged eyes. If not for them it might even have been a comforting smile, but it frightened me. However I couldn’t show that, especially now.
“I like you, little girl. I like you spirit. What’s your name?”
I raised my head. “I don’t give my name out to strangers,” At least I could follow that rule.
The strange man boy’s smile broadened. “That’s very smart, but I’m not that smart and I do give my name. I’m Jonas.”
He put out his hand for me to shake. I just stared at him. He shrugged and continued talking, “And because I like you I’m going to help you.”
I raised my eyebrows. How could this man help me?
“If you every find yourself in a bad witch situation, I’m always here. I’m what you call a witch hunter… Don’t forget; you may regret it.”
I just stared at him. He couldn’t be serious. Could he?
“Are you mad?” I asked him.
Jonas laughed, a sound that could be could be comforting if you weren’t looking at his face and said, “Very Possibly.”
He looked past me quickly then repeated, “don’t forget”.
Those eyes stared into mine. I had never in mine life seen eyes so passionate and that looked like they had a story. I was frightened but also intrigued. Then he was gone, disappearing almost as quickly as he had come. His eyes, though, were burned into my memory as if I was still staring at them.
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