but unfocused eyes danced with patterns of light and shadow as he tried to make sense of what was going on around him. He was Hedda’s first child, and while the first few weeks after his birth had been difficult—especially with her Ladyship’s rule about new mothers not flagging in their duties—Hedda had now passed beyond the phase when every new morning brought on a fresh wave of panic, and into a euphoric sense of connectedness. It would have seemed unnatural for her to go anywhere without her child now, or to sleep at night without him nestled securely against her side. He was a part of her, as firmly connected as if the blood-filled cord that had once bound them together had not been severed. When he cried, she could feel the sound resonating in her flesh, his distress channeled straight into her heart as if the two of them shared a single body.
She had never known such intense love in all her life.
Humming a child’s tune to herself, she finally reached her destination, a place along the riverbank where a flat expanse of rock jutted out over a pool of calm, clear water. Her Ladyship must have her best garments washed in the river, of course. It wasn’t good enough that they should be scrubbed in a washbasin along with all the other household linens. No, that water might contain a fragment of dirt from some other garment, that had touched the flesh of another person. Perhaps even (perish the thought!) dirt from a common person. One could not allow that to mingle with the sweat of her Ladyship, even in the washwater! Only the pure, running water of the river, cascading down from the distant mountains, was good enough for her linens.
It was rumored that even his Lordship found his wife’s excesses a bit odd, but she’d brought him a generous dowry and was attractive enough to make him the envy of other men of his station, so he wasn’t about to complain.
Putting down the basket, Hedda worked a few garments out from under the baby, kissed him once on the forehead, and headed toward the water with her washboard. If her Ladyship knew that her fine garments were serving as blankets for a peasant child, she’d no doubt have a fit. Another thing not to tell her.
Hedda had been at work a few minutes and was starting on her second garment when she suddenly became aware that there was someone else present.
Turning back, she scanned the surrounding landscape with a wary eye. This was a safe area, to be sure—his Lordship tolerated no lawlessness in his domain—but you never knew when some local fool might decide to test the boundaries of that governance. Her hand went instinctively to the small knife she wore hanging from her leather belt as she moved closer to the laundry basket, ready to protect her son with all the fierceness of a mother wolf.
And then a child stepped out of the wood. No. She was not a child, though her slight build had caused Hedda to mistake her for such at first. Rather a young girl, somewhere in her early teens, dirty and hollow-eyed. Whoever she was, it appeared to have been some time since she’d had a good meal, for her face was thin and the joints in her bony limbs jutted out like burls. Her long black hair was matted into twisted ropes, in which small bits of forest detritus had become lodged. A wild child, perhaps, lost in the woods at a young age and left to fend for herself. That would explain much about her. It would even account for the one piece of clothing she wore, a relatively clean shift that had clearly been cut for a larger frame. Stolen from someone’s laundry basket, no doubt. She’d torn off the bottom of it at knee-length, leaving her dirty feet and legs bare.
But while the rest of her appearance was somewhat odd, it was her eyes that Hedda found most arresting. Almond-shaped, exotic, they stared out at her from under hooded lids with an intensity that was unnerving. Not young eyes, Hedda observed. There was power in that gaze, and also terrible emptiness. The
She had never known such intense love in all her life.
Humming a child’s tune to herself, she finally reached her destination, a place along the riverbank where a flat expanse of rock jutted out over a pool of calm, clear water. Her Ladyship must have her best garments washed in the river, of course. It wasn’t good enough that they should be scrubbed in a washbasin along with all the other household linens. No, that water might contain a fragment of dirt from some other garment, that had touched the flesh of another person. Perhaps even (perish the thought!) dirt from a common person. One could not allow that to mingle with the sweat of her Ladyship, even in the washwater! Only the pure, running water of the river, cascading down from the distant mountains, was good enough for her linens.
It was rumored that even his Lordship found his wife’s excesses a bit odd, but she’d brought him a generous dowry and was attractive enough to make him the envy of other men of his station, so he wasn’t about to complain.
Putting down the basket, Hedda worked a few garments out from under the baby, kissed him once on the forehead, and headed toward the water with her washboard. If her Ladyship knew that her fine garments were serving as blankets for a peasant child, she’d no doubt have a fit. Another thing not to tell her.
Hedda had been at work a few minutes and was starting on her second garment when she suddenly became aware that there was someone else present.
Turning back, she scanned the surrounding landscape with a wary eye. This was a safe area, to be sure—his Lordship tolerated no lawlessness in his domain—but you never knew when some local fool might decide to test the boundaries of that governance. Her hand went instinctively to the small knife she wore hanging from her leather belt as she moved closer to the laundry basket, ready to protect her son with all the fierceness of a mother wolf.
And then a child stepped out of the wood. No. She was not a child, though her slight build had caused Hedda to mistake her for such at first. Rather a young girl, somewhere in her early teens, dirty and hollow-eyed. Whoever she was, it appeared to have been some time since she’d had a good meal, for her face was thin and the joints in her bony limbs jutted out like burls. Her long black hair was matted into twisted ropes, in which small bits of forest detritus had become lodged. A wild child, perhaps, lost in the woods at a young age and left to fend for herself. That would explain much about her. It would even account for the one piece of clothing she wore, a relatively clean shift that had clearly been cut for a larger frame. Stolen from someone’s laundry basket, no doubt. She’d torn off the bottom of it at knee-length, leaving her dirty feet and legs bare.
But while the rest of her appearance was somewhat odd, it was her eyes that Hedda found most arresting. Almond-shaped, exotic, they stared out at her from under hooded lids with an intensity that was unnerving. Not young eyes, Hedda observed. There was power in that gaze, and also terrible emptiness. The
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