The pain was abrupt and intense. Like a needle thrust into the back of her hand.
The young woman flinched and gave a tiny, yelping cry, jerking her hand towards her body to inspect it. A fat, black horsefly was perched just below her knuckles. She frowned and quickly swatted it with the damp stocking in her other hand. The pain vanished.
"What's the matter, Brynleigh?" A woman's head popped around the corner of the cottage. She was a decade older, with honey-colored hair that was pulled into a loose knot on the back of her head.
“Oh, just a fly, Elfswith!” The younger woman smiled, making her sapphire-like eyes glitter in the dappled sunlight filtering through the broad boughs of the ancient maple standing over them. She was shorter and fuller than the other woman, the fabric of her simple dress pulled tight around her breasts and hips. With a casual, tuneless humming, she returned her attention to draping the stocking over the thin rope tied between the maple tree and the cottage eave.
“You hollered as if it were a warg coming down the street,” Elfswith laughed lightly.
“I did not!” chuckled Brynleigh, pausing to blow a stray wisp of hair from her eyes. The early summer afternoon held a heavy, damp feeling, and her ashen locks felt free to cling to her brow and cheeks, which annoyed her endlessly. The plait she had braided that morning had begun to lose its tidiness through the hours of her chores.
“All right.” Elfswith conceded with a small, knowing smile. She was a quiet and even-keeled woman, managing the stable at the south-gate of Snowbourn with a steady, business-like manner. She came into full view then, striding over the grass to stand beside Brynleigh, before stooping down to help hang the rest of the freshly washed clothes.
“Oh, you don’t have to do that! I hardly have enough garments to worry about,” Brynleigh objected.
“I don’t mind,” replied Elfswith with another smile.
The two women worked side by side in silence for a few minutes, enjoying the idyllic peace of the village around them. A constant, gentle symphony of rattling carts, barking dogs, chattering chickens, and twittering song birds filled the air. The world’s larger troubles seemed distant and far away.
“I heard someone ask about you again,” Elfswith offered at length.
Brynleigh looked over at her companion, and her pale brows rose. “Oh?”
Elfswith nodded, her eyes still focused on the clothesline. “Mmhmm. A man heading west to the capital. He mentioned he was looking for your father, and the guard told him that his daughter was right here in Snowbourn.”
The younger woman looked over her shoulder, scanning the houses behind them as if expecting this man to pop out from behind a bush and present himself. “Is he still here?”
Elfswith chuckled gently. “I don’t think so. He seemed in a bit of a hurry, and this was several days ago. But it made me wonder.” She gave Brynleigh a little side-glance.
Brynleigh’s head came back round, her eyes stopping upon Elfswith’s face. “Oh? Wonder what?”
The older woman hesitated, lowering her eyes briefly, before looking back to the soggy chemise in her hands. She straightened up and flipped it over the line before replying. “Whether you’ve written to them again. Or been to see them.”
Brynleigh went rather still at these words. Her hands wilted slowly downward. “I haven’t, no,” she answered in a muted tone.
“And why haven’t you?” Elfswith’s own voice was direct, but not lacking in kindness.
“I haven’t seen a reason to,” said Brynleigh, turning her eyes away. She, too, busied herself with hanging another piece of clothing. She noticed the way the fabric felt in her hands; cold and heavy with moisture. It felt pleasant against the growing heat of the afternoon. She had a childish urge to press it against her flushed cheek.
“They’re your family. You’re their daughter. Is that not reason enough to at least keep in touch?”
A heavy sigh worked its way in through Brynleigh’s throat, filling her lungs until they could hold no more air. She huffed it out all at once, making her shoulders sag. “I don’t think they care much whether I remain in contact with them or not, Elfswith.”
The older woman took a few minutes to soak in this comment. She nodded quietly, pursing her lips together. She hung another garment over the clothesline, and then lifted her chin, thoughtfully gazing towards the distant, puffy clouds on the horizon. “That is their part of it, perhaps,” she finally said. “You have your own part to do.”
Brynleigh felt another sigh pushing up from her chest. “I don’t wish to go where I’m not welcome!” She bent down to snatch another item from the basket at her feet, but it was empty. She straightened again, agitated now that her hands had nothing to do. She set them on her hips instead.
“I’m sure you don’t,” Elfswith replied calmly, turning to regard her young company. “No one would, my dear. But they are your father and mother, however uncomfortable things have been. And though they may not be as warm and loving as you’d wish, they have not abused or harmed you outright. Have they?” She angled her head slightly, pinning her stare on Brynleigh.
Brynleigh’s eyes were turned away again. She continued to sigh softly, as if she were trying to expel whatever tension the conversation was stirring in her breast. “I suppose not,” she finally conceded in a quiet, resigned voice. Her lips continued to move slightly as if she had more to say, but she lowered her gaze to the dark soil beneath their feet and began scuffing a shoe back and forth. At length, she found her voice again. “I’ll go.”
A gentle hand came down to rest upon the young woman’s arm. “I know it isn’t what you want to do. But it is the right thing. You must honor them while they live. Else you’ll regret it when they’re gone. I promise you that.”
Brynleigh continued to examine the soil as the toe of her shoe drew lines through it. “You believe so, Elfswith?” From the corner of her vision, she could just make out the movement of the woman’s head as it nodded.
“I do,” said Elfswith. “My father was a harsh man. My mother died giving birth to my little sister, and he was hardly a man with any natural gift for raising two little girls alone. I resented him for the way he was towards us. I left home as soon as I was able. I didn’t miss him at all, and I felt content with what I’d done.” She paused for a moment.
Brynleigh raised her eyes finally, studying the woman’s profile. Elfswith was frowning, drawing lines between her eyes and at the corners of her mouth. She looked beautiful, in a stern and fierce sort of way.
Elfswith suddenly bent over and picked up the basket and began to walk towards the cottage. Her companion blinked at the abrupt movement and hastily followed, falling in step beside her.
“I didn’t see him again for ten years,” the older woman continued as they walked beneath the shading trees. “When I finally put down my pride and decided to see how my father fared, I found him in a dreadful way.” She stopped in front of the little house and turned to Brynleigh again. “He was ill. He had been ill for years, but I’d never known of it. He was a skeleton, Brynleigh. A shadow of himself.” She tossed the empty basket lightly to the ground. “When I asked him why he’d never written or sent word to me about his condition, he said the same thing you did. That he didn’t want to go poking where he wasn’t welcome.”
Her young companion stood quietly, listening, her hands clasped together over her stomach. Pity and sympathy were etched onto her smooth, pale face.
Elfswith exhaled slowly, looking down at her own, time-worn hands. “What was I punishing him for, exactly? Being away from him all those years? Was it because he had lost his beloved in childbirth, and he hadn’t known how to carry on with two children and a broken heart?” She lifted her eyes, and they were filled with vivid hurt. “No. You see, when we’re young, we only think of ourselves. How we feel. How others make us feel. We don’t see from the eyes of the old. Our parents, our grandparents. I never thought about how my mother’s death crippled him. I only knew how it had broken my heart. How his grief turned him into a cold and hard man, and how that felt to myself and my sister. But how did it feel to him?”
Brynleigh reached down carefully, picking up the laundry basket with slow movements so as not to interrupt Elfswith’s reverie. The older woman had never spoken so much nor so freely. She held the basket against her hip, saying nothing, waiting for her friend to continue.
Elfswith was shaking her head, gazing away along the picturesque street. In the distance, a child darted out from behind a house, chasing after a fleeing chicken, laughing hysterically.
“I could have used that time to know these things,” she said softly. “To understand. To know my own father. And to let him know me.” Her eyes shifted back to Brynleigh. “He died a few weeks later. That was all the time I had with him, Brynleigh. That was it. A few weeks. He couldn’t even walk anymore…” Her voice faded away, and she lowered her head, sniffling sharply.
Brynleigh was at a loss of what she might say in the shadow of this unexpected revelation. It felt out of place and uncomfortable in the midst of their otherwise pleasant day. She took a step closer and took her turn to offer what comfort she could, placing her free hand on Elfswith’s shoulder, rubbing it lightly.
Elfswith’s response was to sharply jerk her head up. She shook it firmly, looking down at Brynleigh with a stern gaze while blinking back tears that she refused to let fall. “You do it for you. Whether they want to see you or not. Do it so you don’t risk the regret that you can never take back.” She sucked in a tremulous breath and then seemed to calm all at once. Her posture softened, the fire cooled in her eyes, and her voice lowered to its normal timbre. “Do it because you’re a good daughter. Not because they were or weren’t good parents.” Her hand rose to settle over Brynleigh’s fingers, giving them a gentle press.
“I will,” came the soft-spoken reply. Brynleigh nodded with a quick, shallow twitch of her head, still rather dumbfounded by the passionate display she’d just witnessed from her stoic employer.
Elfswith sniffed again, blinking and clearing her throat. She released Brynleigh’s hand and stepped away. “Take your time, then. I’ll take care of the horses tomorrow.” Her hands brushed over the front of her dress as she strode away, turning onto the street and passing away towards the center of the village.
Brynleigh sagged back against the front door of her cottage with a gentle thump, still clutching the empty basket. Minutes ticked past while she stared at the spot where Elfswith had vanished. Thinking.
Her thoughts were only interrupted by the heavy, slow clop of hooves coming around from behind the house. She turned to see a large, black-and-white head peering nosily at her. Two pointed ears flicked, and velvety lips chewed at themselves as if chuckling.
“Well, Jack,” she sighed, offering a defeated little grin to the horse. “Ready for a trip home, then?”
