Mother Pays a Call

Cherry stones, clattered into the bucket beside the fire as they had over twenty years hence in the smokey kitchen of the palace. The dough, lay, delicate sheet upon delicate sheet spread across the work table, the paper thin layers sandwiched between the brush of melted butter fresh from the dairy.

Twenty and a hand full, of years since Osanna, had sat at this fire, pitting these cherries in the lingering cold of spring.

The spices still sat in the same places, cinnamon, sugar, clove and anise. A little older, a little dustier.

But that was the way of things.

Things changed.

Things wilted, things shrunk and festered.

The water in the bucket blushed a purple shade of red, the same color as the primroses which still grew around the edges of the garden.

Some things stayed the same.

Osanna, was one of those things.

Oh, a little older looking perhaps, a few lines around her eyes already disappearing with a good night's sleep. A few extra pounds around hip and thigh from the nine children she'd birthed under the name 'Van Gatt'. The youngest, with his thumb in his mouth, the eldest, William Alexton's mistress, with a dagger in her hand and a tub full of blood in the back of the laundry. As always, Osanna was here to clean up the mess.

The princess was a queen now, her famed russet hair graying at the temples. Old as she herself had been when she'd first arrived at the castle on the back of a donkey in a sack cloth dress. She'd had many children, she'd goatherd more experiences like pretty stones in a pouch, but she did still hope she had a taste for those dainty little pastries which appeared on her bed side table every morning like mushrooms in the night.

"Ma, what are you doing here?"

The curly haired child, stood in the door way, oddly monochromatic in the gray light before dawn. She'd become a woman, black hair wild about her pale face, green eyes snapping, the color of new fiddle heads. Her limbs had lengthened, her face had taken on features which liked to smirk in her sire's devilish manner. She'd discovered the pleasures which life had to offer, hand in hand with the little boy Mereavus had birthed that terrifying night on the coast. She'd come into her own, a name known by all whiten these walls.

"Yeh know why I'm 'ere,"

It was something she'd said, over and over since she'd arrived the evening before. She'd said it to William and she'd said it to Mereavus in a crudely penned note on a shred of discarded parchment. They knew why she was here, and none of them dared to admit it.

"Look, you conniving, old, snake, I'm not leaving Will, I don't care what magnificent farmer you've promised me to this time!"


"Yeh know tha's not why I'm 'ere,"

The pit, hit the bottom of the bucket, settling amongst it's sisters and Merripen, pushed her way into the room.

"You've been spying on me again, haven't you? Go on! Admit it!"

She had her father's rage, a persistent little coal tucked behind her heart just waiting to be fanned to life by the barest touch of a breeze.

"Yeh know I don' 'ave tha' choice Penny,"

Her hands were at her sides, white knuckled fists. Ten years ago, twenty, years ago. Osanna would have done the same thing.

But things changed, they truly did.

"Get out,"

She'd heard it before, from her daughter, but never like this. Never with that intent in her eyes. She perced her lips, arms crossing, staining the white canvas apron.

"I'm no' leavin' till yeh see reason,"

What was reason at this point? Leaving William? She felt for the boy, she truly did, but he didn't understand that it wasn't an 'if' she got a hold of his wife, it was a 'when'.

"I'm sick of hearing about 'reason' Ma! I'm sick of hearing about all of this! Go home, make Da a pie and call it a damned day! This's my life 'an I'll do wi' it what I wan'!"

"You're actin' like a child Penny, this whole thing, it's gotten back t'me that t'two o'yeh even think yer married no',"

Two, points of red appeared on the young woman's cheeks, as they very seldom did.

"People talk Ma, people talk 'an some people, spread lies,"

"Tisn't a lie iffen tis on yer finger,"

"It's a promice Ma, my promice t'love him 'an honor him untill th' day we're bolth in th' ground,"

"An what happens when yer there 'afore him Penny? Yeh've tried once allready, what about when 'is wife, tha' pretty Ysdale woman bears 'im a child?"

"We'll cross tha' bridge when it comes t'pass Ma!"

"What about when she's draped all o'er him, wi' 'er tongue scrapein' 'is ear 'an yer stuck standin' inna corner waitin' fer 'er t'call yeh t'bring a bath fer 'er jizzed neithers so's she's sweetly smellin' fer tea wi' th' queen? What 'appens when 'ee's teachin' 'is fat, nobel son 'ow t'ride 'an yer powderin' yer face t'look younger than 'er because she's 'ad a lifetime bein' pamperd? Tell me Merripen, where are yeh goin't be when 'ee tells yew t'get out o'is bed because she's comin'?"

Osanna, had fanned that spark to life. She watched as her daughter crossed the floor on long, graceful footsteps. Watched as she smacked the bowl of gutted, bruised, fruit from her lap.

"And what 'appens when she's fat 'an woren out from birthin' 'is babes? What 'appens when 'ee's sick o'hearin' abou' furniture 'an ball gowns?! What 'appens Ma, when 'ee's wounded on th' battelfeild 'an she's no' there t'old 'is hand when th' surgon takes th' broken bits out o'im? Who's goin' t'old 'im when 'ee canna touch 'is own child because o'somethin' which 'append which made 'im unable t'so much as reach out aroun' tha' cradle? Yew tell me Ma, where I'll be,"

She stood, catching her daughter's heaving shoulders.

"Look out, ye'll cut 'cherself,"

The slap rang in the cold air of the deserted kitchen, joined by the hiss of the stray berries which rolled onto the hearth. She didn't feel it at first, but it was the pain which told her something she'd never forget:

Merripen, had changed.