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Authors: Valerie Sherwood
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gale.
"But then, Wend?” Ivy demanded. "What happened then?”
"When I could see again, the arm was gone,” Wend said sulkily with a dark look at Livesay, who had spoiled her story. "And I come on into the house. That makes twice I’ve seen it,” she added defiantly.
"Wend, you’ll be the death of me,” sighed Cook, clawing with a long fork at the burnt venison. "You with your tales!”
" Tweren’t a tale,” said Wend with spirit. " I saw it!”
Charlotte s slender arms were wrapped around her knees as she listened raptly. Wend's superstitious tales were always a delight. Last week Wend claimed she had seen a headless beast galloping off toward Cat Bells, and the week before that she had seen fierce blue devil's lights burning off Friars Crag. It was worth eating a burnt dinner just to hear her.
Charlotte s worn old-fashioned clothes had vanished, for on long evenings in the kitchen while Cook dozed by a fire that sputtered on the stone hearth, Charlotte, bending intently over her needle, had taught herself to sew. Not well enough to make her living at it as Wend's mother once had, but well enough to stitch up the simple home-spun gown she was now wearing. The cloth she had dyed herself with oak-galls—Cook had shown her how. And although the sunlight had faded it to a rather indeterminate buff, she hoped next year to get enough saffron crocus blooms to dye a dress saffron yellow to complement her red-gold hair.
But there was another difference between the girl who sat at table that December night and the girl who had run heedless along the watery tarns and becks in early summer. Now Charlotte’s violet eyes dreamed and a smile curved the corners of her soft mouth. For she carried in her heart the memory of a lover’s kiss—at least to her mind it had been a lover’s kiss, and that memory warmed her on bitter nights when the fire burned out on the hearth and icicles hung from the eaves and you could see your breath not just outside the house but inside as well.
“Christmas will soon be here,” Ivy said abruptly. “Isn’t it time we drew lots to see who stays with Mistress Charlotte?’’
A miserable look spread over Charlotte’s young face, for she knew that Cook and all the other servants lived to the southwest in the vicinity of Cat Bells or Buttermere. In order not to leave her alone in this big house, somebody would have to miss the Yuletide season with family and friends.
She was overjoyed when Wend spoke up.
“Why don’t you come home with me for the holidays?” she asked Charlotte. “We’d be more than glad to have you.”
Wend's home was on the south shore of the Greta and they were to arrive on Christmas Eve.
It began to snow shortly before they started out, but that did not deter them. They were wearing stocking caps and warm mittens and Cook had prepared for them a bountiful lunch of cold meat and thick slabs of bread and scones, which they would eat along the way. She stood in the kitchen door and waved good-bye as Livesay, who in this household did far more than “buttle,” took them on the first lap of their journey in the cart.
He let them out hastily when the way worsened, muttering that he’d best get back before the snow got deep or he’d never make it to Cat Bells this night.
Undaunted and in high spirits, the two girls slogged on with determination through the snow and made a breath less stop for lunch at Castlerigg Stone Circle, which Wend declared was haunted, even though she promptly brushed the snow from one of the stones and sat down upon it to eat her lunch.
Charlotte did the same, and looked around her with interest at the outer circle of thirty-eight snow-capped stones surrounding the inner circle of ten. Around her the mountains brooded. She had been here in summer, of course, when there were soft grasses growing round the lichened stones, but now in winter they looked different. Bleak, unforgiving . . . like
"But then, Wend?” Ivy demanded. "What happened then?”
"When I could see again, the arm was gone,” Wend said sulkily with a dark look at Livesay, who had spoiled her story. "And I come on into the house. That makes twice I’ve seen it,” she added defiantly.
"Wend, you’ll be the death of me,” sighed Cook, clawing with a long fork at the burnt venison. "You with your tales!”
" Tweren’t a tale,” said Wend with spirit. " I saw it!”
Charlotte s slender arms were wrapped around her knees as she listened raptly. Wend's superstitious tales were always a delight. Last week Wend claimed she had seen a headless beast galloping off toward Cat Bells, and the week before that she had seen fierce blue devil's lights burning off Friars Crag. It was worth eating a burnt dinner just to hear her.
Charlotte s worn old-fashioned clothes had vanished, for on long evenings in the kitchen while Cook dozed by a fire that sputtered on the stone hearth, Charlotte, bending intently over her needle, had taught herself to sew. Not well enough to make her living at it as Wend's mother once had, but well enough to stitch up the simple home-spun gown she was now wearing. The cloth she had dyed herself with oak-galls—Cook had shown her how. And although the sunlight had faded it to a rather indeterminate buff, she hoped next year to get enough saffron crocus blooms to dye a dress saffron yellow to complement her red-gold hair.
But there was another difference between the girl who sat at table that December night and the girl who had run heedless along the watery tarns and becks in early summer. Now Charlotte’s violet eyes dreamed and a smile curved the corners of her soft mouth. For she carried in her heart the memory of a lover’s kiss—at least to her mind it had been a lover’s kiss, and that memory warmed her on bitter nights when the fire burned out on the hearth and icicles hung from the eaves and you could see your breath not just outside the house but inside as well.
“Christmas will soon be here,” Ivy said abruptly. “Isn’t it time we drew lots to see who stays with Mistress Charlotte?’’
A miserable look spread over Charlotte’s young face, for she knew that Cook and all the other servants lived to the southwest in the vicinity of Cat Bells or Buttermere. In order not to leave her alone in this big house, somebody would have to miss the Yuletide season with family and friends.
She was overjoyed when Wend spoke up.
“Why don’t you come home with me for the holidays?” she asked Charlotte. “We’d be more than glad to have you.”
Wend's home was on the south shore of the Greta and they were to arrive on Christmas Eve.
It began to snow shortly before they started out, but that did not deter them. They were wearing stocking caps and warm mittens and Cook had prepared for them a bountiful lunch of cold meat and thick slabs of bread and scones, which they would eat along the way. She stood in the kitchen door and waved good-bye as Livesay, who in this household did far more than “buttle,” took them on the first lap of their journey in the cart.
He let them out hastily when the way worsened, muttering that he’d best get back before the snow got deep or he’d never make it to Cat Bells this night.
Undaunted and in high spirits, the two girls slogged on with determination through the snow and made a breath less stop for lunch at Castlerigg Stone Circle, which Wend declared was haunted, even though she promptly brushed the snow from one of the stones and sat down upon it to eat her lunch.
Charlotte did the same, and looked around her with interest at the outer circle of thirty-eight snow-capped stones surrounding the inner circle of ten. Around her the mountains brooded. She had been here in summer, of course, when there were soft grasses growing round the lichened stones, but now in winter they looked different. Bleak, unforgiving . . . like
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