Scavenger Girl: Season of Atchem

By Jennifer Arntson

Stripped of their birthright and shunned by the people of Ashlund, Una and her family are forced to live on the fringe of society as Scavengers. There is no question that her family's bond is strong, but the law of the Authority is stronger...and soon it will come to collect her. After all, the family is

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sleepy Adam
• Release date: Oct 20, 2017
• ISBN: 9780999413319

Jennifer Arntson

Inspired by great authors that tend to blur the lines of mainstream genres, Jennifer Arntson weaves together elements of fantasy fiction, romance and speculative fiction with undertones of mythology, dystopian culture, and the coming of age struggles of strong characters in unimaginable situations. As the curious observer of world cultures and social issues, Arntson creates a world everyone can relate to without conforming to "previously formulaic and sometimes predictable genres."Arntson lives in south Texas with her husband and two children, who support her compulsion to write.

Book preview

Prologue

She’s here? Father gasped, seeing me curled up in the chair next to the stone fireplace. He rushed in, leaving the door open, and fell to his knees in front of me. My gods, Una, are you all right?"

I pulled the blanket around my shoulders and under my chin. It hurt to open my eyes and the light from the fire didn’t help.

Father carefully brushed my hair from my face, unsure of what else to do. What happened? he whispered.

I got lost.

Lost? You were with your mother in the middle of the market. How could you possibly get lost? His voice varied somewhere between anger and worry; I couldn’t tell.

I got lost, I repeated.

She hasn’t said anything but that. Mother crossed her arms uncomfortably across her chest.

He confirmed with her that I was without injury before turning his attention back to me. Were you running from someone? Did someone threaten you?

I shook my head.

He tried to stay calm. Then why would you run off like that? Where did you go?

I was in the valley. At the market, I replied softly.

Where at the market? he insisted.

I was looking for something worth claiming. It sounded like the most appropriate answer.

My father’s concern turned to anger. You were standing with your mother and Pantis and, according to them, you darted away, running through a crowd of people, shoving Citizens out of your way. That’s not claiming; that’s how to get yourself plucked by the Authority.

I didn’t push my way through anyone, I argued weakly, closing my eyes.

Una, we were together when you took off, Mother corrected me. What startled you?

I didn’t remember running. I remembered claiming at the market as usual. Our kind stayed in the shadows and out of crowds. Drawing attention to ourselves only made our task more difficult. My parents spent every day of my life training me to be invisible, although I heard the snickers and vicious whispers of those around us. Confused, I insisted that I’d done nothing wrong. I was claiming and got lost.

My father grabbed me by the shoulders and vigorously shook me until my eyes opened. What is the matter with you? Your mother wouldn’t lie about this. She was worried sick, Una. She came all the way home to send your brothers and me to search for you! What were you doing out there?

Tawl. Mother intervened, seeing his growing desperation.

He released me but kept his eyes narrowed on mine. Redena, you of all people know what they do to Scavenger girls. There are a thousand people out there who would jump at the chance to take advantage of her status! They could kill her or worse, and nobody would think twice about it.

I know, Tawl. She does too, she reminded him.

Apparently, she doesn’t! She put herself at risk; you, too! If anyone says anything about her tearing through the market, they’ll send up the Authority to set fire to this house with us inside of it! he yelled. You know what they do to Scavengers, Una. It only takes one wrong look, one accusation, and that’s it. There is no trial, no excuse. We are not Citizens. We don’t have a birthright like they do. We’re lucky to be alive at all! Screaming through the valley will end that luck for you and everyone in this family!

He didn’t have to threaten me. I had already lived a lifetime of fear and regret. I was well aware of our position in life. We are Reclaimers. My brothers and I never knew anything different, since my parents lost their status before we were born. They were stripped of their birthright and, as a result, they and their offspring endure a punishment worse than death. We aren’t only rejected by men, but also cast aside by the gods who despise us.

For whatever remains of our lives, we are separated from the Citizens of Ashlund, forced to live outside of greater society. Privilege is something you’re born with if you have the fortune of a birthright. It’s a name and a hope for the future. Should one lose theirs, like us, they stay damned in this world and the next. Death waits for us, not that it wants us. Like the Citizens, it simply wants to be rid of us. It haunts every corner, no matter how hard you tried to forget.

My mother took my father’s pause as an opportunity to let me escape a second lecture. After all, she’d already said it all before he returned. He couldn’t threaten me or plead for a reason any more than she had. Why don’t you go up to the loft, Una. I think we’re done here, at least for now.

I didn’t hesitate to do as she asked. I’m not sure I’ve ever climbed the ladder up to the loft so quickly. In times like this, I wished our house were a bit larger. Most homes had rooms, and those rooms had doors that allowed privacy. Doors also blocked out conversations I’d rather not hear. They were both so furious with me for running off that their argument continued below me.

Why don’t they believe me? I hadn’t run off. I was claiming and got lost. It’s hard to win an argument when trying to be respectful. It’s even more difficult when you’ve been wrongly accused, and your only witness is against you.

How long has she been back?

Not long. Mother sighed.

He pulled back the curtain and peered out the front window. Was she followed?

No, she was escorted.

My father spun around. What? By who? Pantis?

No, it was a couple of young men who said they found her behind a woodpile. There was a moment of silence before she continued, They stated that they wanted to see her home safely.

Did you recognize them?

No… She hesitated. I, um, I don’t think so.

What do you mean you don’t think so? They weren’t Authority, were they?

They weren’t in uniform.

What were they wearing?

Mother stammered, I don’t remember.

Were they Scavengers or Citizens? He waited, but she didn’t answer. How many were there?

Um, two, I think, she said nervously. Trying to appear more confident, she added, I’m sure they were Citizens. Father was getting frustrated again. Mother pressed on. They were helping our daughter! I was grateful! I didn’t respond to their generosity by insulting them with questions of their position or right to be on our land.

Citizens are not allowed to be generous to Reclaimers! What they did is illegal, Redena. They’re not supposed to talk to us, let alone do favors for us. We’re barely able to collect their trash from rubbish piles. Tell me, what would compel two Citizens to risk their birthrights by helping a Scab find her way home?

I don’t know, Tawl.

They must have had a reason, he thought out loud. Did you invite them in?

I, um, I can’t remember. She sighed. I knew that would only frustrate my father more, and I was right.

What do you mean you can’t remember? The berm that surrounds our land is five men high, and the gulch is impassable without the bridge. How’d they get here if you didn’t put it across to give them access to our property? he demanded, his voice getting sharper with every word he spoke. What are you two hiding? he yelled, bringing me back into a conversation I thought I had escaped. My mother stammered, not knowing how to answer correctly. He pounded on the loft floor nearest my head. Who were they?

I don’t know. I inched back.

Mother tried to be positive. Can’t we be happy with our luck, that she’s back safe?

Scavengers don’t have luck, he said suspiciously. So let me see if I have this right—Father narrowed his eyes—My daughter, a young, unprotected Scavenger, ran off by herself in the middle of the market, and happened to be found by a couple of unidentifiable men who walked her safely home. That’s it?

It’s not impossible, Mother mumbled.

It’s nothing but impossible, he corrected her. What did they want?

Nothing, she moaned.

Did they touch you? he asked me.

No, I assured him.

He looked to my mother as if to confirm my answer. As the man of this house, I’m entitled to answers to protect this family. May I remind you that you two are not the only people I’m responsible for? You both better think about that and get your story straight before I return. The sun will be down soon, and I’m sure Calish and Marsh will be hungry. I would expect you to be ready for them, considering all that has happened.

You’re sure the boys will be back tonight? Mother asked hopefully.

My father grabbed his hat from the broken nail sticking out of the log wall. I told the boys to leave the village at nightfall. It’s not wise for two Scavengers to be poking around the neighborhoods of the civilized after dark. He opened the door. There are rules, Una. People don’t need a reason to take advantage of our situation. They don’t even need an excuse. It would be wise to remember who you are, and who you’re not. That goes for you too, Redena.

Chapter 1

With the hood of my cloak pulled over my brow, I made sure to stay close to the edge of the road and out of the path of traveling Citizens. I followed closely behind my mother down the busy hill toward the valley. Although this behavior ensured the safest travel, I couldn’t help but risk glancing up every now and again and wonder what it would be like to blend in with the masses, unashamed. From beneath my cloak, I gazed on the great city below. There was so much to see, so much activity everywhere, particularly in the market.

Once we arrived, I searched through a pile of withered leaves and fruit stems, nonchalantly looking for Pantis, the only Citizen I knew by name. I knew if he saw me here, he might put a few decent things in the rubbish pile for me to find. He usually did. He wouldn’t be hard to spot even in this crowded place. His hair was strikingly white in contrast to his incredibly tanned arms and face. After so many years of tending the fields of his farm, the lines had deepened and blotches of pigment permanently stained his aging face. It was the toll of the seasons that had their way with his flesh, the debt for the gift of a birthright so noble.

His tent stood nearby, yet still out of sight. If I hadn’t seen him, he probably hadn’t seen me either. I continued to sort through the garbage, finding only a chipped ceramic cup and a stained rag to claim before I made my way to another area. The suppressed smile of my mother a few paces away warned me of the farmer’s approach. I glanced behind me to see him casually strolling toward us with an apple in his hand. He took one bite and scowled at it before spitting it in the dirt. I waited, watching the fruit like a hawk. As I had hoped, he tossed it next to the pile I intended to sort next.

Leaping forward, I snatched it for my own. The farmer’s missing bite was the fruit’s only imperfection. I spat on it to rid it of dirt and dried it on my cloak. Fruit like this wouldn’t last an entire day, not with a bite taken out of it. From a distance, Mother gave her permission for me to have it now. It tasted sweeter than I expected, and the juice ran down my chin on my first bite. Crouching down, I pulled my hood over my head to hide my delight. I wanted to enjoy my treat without the disapproving stares of the Citizens around me.

In all of Ashlund, Pantis was the only man willing to risk his status to show my family mercy. He kept our friendship a secret from everyone, everyone except his wife of fifty years. Pantis and his lands proved year after year to be the best-producing crops in all of Ashlund. I guess that anointing gave him the courage to quietly rebel against the Authority, not that he flaunted it or acted overly casual about our relationship in public.

The gods favored Pantis, and they held nothing back when they gave him the gift to produce sustenance for survival. Not only did they give him the most fertile soils in all the lands, but they also gave him the most prolific growing crops. I suspect that our sympathizer’s position in society gave him many rewards, including great leniency from the Authority. As long as he continued to fill the Temple’s pantry, I doubted he’d ever face an accusation from anyone of influence. Still, associating with Scavengers was a risk, to say the least.

I was so curious about the Citizens. I’d watch them from the shadows and less traveled pathways of the market, waiting for one of them to discard or drop something useful, while the merchants readied themselves for the building crowds. Like Pantis and his wife, they prepared for the Citizens with all their needs and their coin. I didn’t watch our farmer friend much, although I knew his routine well. Not a particularly strong man anymore, Pantis moved his produce with the help of a few of his farmhands, while his wife busied herself with what appeared to be nonsensical tasks. She made it clear she was above the labor of farming, eager to supervise when she wasn’t wasting the daylight by chatting with those with status. His portly bride was not known for her kindness to anyone other than those she wished to impress, or so it seemed from where I observed.

With a bag half full of findings, I found my mother. My father permitted us to claim alone but only if we were home by nightfall. Since we didn’t find much today, our loads were light, so the walk home was fairly enjoyable. Our house would never be a structure to be envied, but it was ours. After a day of reclaiming under the scathing eyes of the Citizens, I considered it the most magnificent place the gods had created.

It could have been because our home was overgrown with unwanted materials, or folks decided we had it bad enough, but in all the years we’d lived here, we were never robbed. I truly believe it was my father’s intention to make this land something no one would ever want, and he seemed to be successful in his quest. It was an eyesore even by Scavenger standards.

There was only one entrance to our little mess of land. All other accesses were made impassable by a combined effort of nature and nurture. The berry vines were a thick tangled mess that had migrated over broken glass, barbed razor wire, and random pieces of metals we’d collected over the seasons. If a person were foolish enough to think he might cut his way in with a hatchet, the underbrush of random menacing trash would be his find.

To the south, a great stone cliffside stood higher than the smoke from our stone chimney could reach. Its slight arc over our little home provided a natural shelter that protected us from many rainstorms during Ashlund’s wettest season, Hytalia. The only access to our home and property was the entry to the North, but that was also made uninviting. My father dug a deep gulch so sloped that one wrong step would send you into a fall. It was impassable without a bridge.

During the rains, the gulch would fill to the brim with water and ducks would take rest there. Ever hopeful to hold one, I saved a bit of bread each night to bribe them to come to me in the morning. After years of trying, I had yet to get near one. That didn’t stop me from attempting it again today.

They’re never going to be your friend, Marsh scoffed.

Every living thing desires to be loved. I tossed the bread gently to them, but they flew away.

Don’t be stupid, woman, he said under his breath.

How does feeding a duck make me stupid?

Asking that question is the reason you’re stupid, sister, he said, eyebrows raised.

Shut it, Marsh; you’re not even making sense!

And tossing day-old bread in the gulch does?

Marsh and I wrote the book on the art of unproductive arguing. One would think that we’d matured enough to avoid such squabbles, but he had a short fuse, and I had nothing else to entertain myself. Despite our ridiculous arguments, I loved Marsh. He was a cynical brute who was fun to wind up. Honestly, bickering was the only hobby we shared.

He was the eldest son, and I was the only daughter. We each held power over the other at times. It wasn’t until one of our parents stepped in that a victor was determined. If we both landed in trouble, it was a draw, but in those rare instances when one of us was free from consequence, it was a clear declaration of winning the game. We tended to ignore my mother’s warnings, although if our father stepped in, we made sure to respond immediately. It wasn’t fair to her, but it was the way of the world. When a woman spoke, you listened, but when a man spoke, you obeyed. As we grew, we got smarter about where we argued. Consequently, neither of our parents were outside at the moment.

Soon, our quarrel graduated from insults to threats. After giving him a good shove and daring him to be a man, he came at me. He scooped me up and threw me over his shoulder. I may be fully grown, but I am petite, and he is huge and freakishly strong. He hung me upside down over the pig’s gate, calling them over to root at my face. With a novelty for theatrics, but a healthy fear of our father, Marsh set me back on my feet when I started screaming for help.

Just you wait! I threatened, adjusting my shirt and glad to be back on my feet.

Like you have for your Womanhood? he teased. He must have known the moment the words left his mouth that he’d gone too far. Una, wait, he tried to apologize, but it was too late. I shrugged him off and headed back inside.

There was nothing I feared more than seeing the blood that would emerge between my legs announcing the arrival of Womanhood. Citizen girls celebrated this rite of passage, but Reclaimers mourned it. It may as well be blood flowing from the wrists of our daughters because, when that day comes, life as it had been ended swiftly. Once I reached Womanhood, the Authority would take me away and sell me like livestock to a Citizen I’d never met. I’d become a slave, wife, or surrogate, depending on what the winning bidder would decide. The price I’d fetch at the market during the final days of Atchem would be collected by the Court of the Authority as retribution for my family’s so-called crimes against society.

If my parents were able to buy me back, they would, but Reclaimers lost the right to purchase or trade. If they were allowed to earn wages to offset the penalties, my father would find work, but the law prohibited us from earning. Without a birthright, we were cut off, expected to starve or worse. Currency didn’t provide us with any useful service at all. I’d only ever seen it from afar. I never touched it, let alone knew the value of each piece.

The Citizen girls were lucky. None of them were forced to stand alone on the Seller’s Stage. I imagined they welcomed their Womanhood. For them, it meant they were ready to be married, and courtship of eligible suitors would begin. It was a celebration, but for Scavenger girls like me, it was a dreaded rite of passage with an unknown outcome.

As I entered the house, the rest of the family was sitting down for breakfast.

Good, you two are back. After you eat, grab your packs. We’re going rock hunting as soon as you’re done, Father declared as he cut into the day-old bread.

I hid my disappointment, but not well enough. I loathed the days we collected rocks more than any of our other chores. We started at the river early so by midday we’d be ready to head back up the hill. Pushing our rickety cart back home was treacherous. Even though the load was small, it was heavy, and the breaks we’d take on the way up the hill were never frequent nor long enough. Oh, how I loved to see the crooked tree that marked our turn. From that point on, the road was straight, but more importantly, it was flat.

If you don’t mind, Tawl, I could use another set of hands around here today, Mother said, pulling the teapot from the fire. I tried not to act too hopeful. I’d had enough of Marsh for one day.

My father yawned as I handed him his cup. The boys and I can manage alone, I guess.

Marsh reached over me to take a handful of bread slices. It’s not like she’s overly helpful with the cart, he said as he plopped down in the seat next to me.

Don’t you ever shut up? I scowled at him, no longer hungry for breakfast. I excused myself and went out into the garden to tend to my chores.

Our crops were always so puny compared to what I saw at the market. Still, Mother insisted that certain herbs were better from our yard than what would be had by currency. The hillside made it all but impossible for the little things to thrive, and it seemed cruel to make them struggle so.

Pulling weeds from the plantings, I found myself pondering my inevitable future, thanks to Marsh. I should consider myself lucky. Most girls bleed at a much younger age than I am now. There were times my own family thought I lied about it, but I hadn’t. I expected everything about me was properly developed, despite that one minor detail.

A pebble for your thoughts? Mother entered the garden, tying her apron strings behind her.

It’s nothing. I wasn’t trying to hide anything; I didn’t see the point in discussing something we couldn’t change.

Knowing I was lying, she gave me that mother’s stare she had perfected. Even with her most serious expression, she was lovely. Her long black hair was thick and heavy, but she piled it on top of her head like an artist. There were always a few soft wisps of hair that would make their way down, just enough to frame her face. I understood without question how my father fell in love with her. She was beautiful. She was also persistent. I can tell you’re deep in thought. What is it?

Not wanting to revisit the same conversation for the hundredth time, I dodged her question with one of my own. What are we going to do with all the stones we hauled from the river?

They are for you. She picked up her basket, now full of thistle, and headed back to the house.

For me? What am I supposed to do with rocks? I chased after her.

As we entered the house, my mother took one last look outside before closing the door. The rocks are for your protection. I waited for her to elaborate, but she didn’t. When I questioned her further, she only said, You’ll know soon enough. Now, go get the press.

We spent all morning and most of the afternoon making thistle soup starts. When we ran out of stalks, I gathered more in the field across the road to prepare. With its bitter taste, this concoction was one I’d be happy to avoid. Nevertheless, it was plentiful and free for us to harvest since it was undesirable to everyone else. I’m not sure where my mother learned to prepare the thistle, although she was quite competent at it.

The plant was the most stubborn of its species; it was a chore to harvest and even worse to process. The blood of the plant was where the nutrients resided, so after cutting the stalks into more manageable pieces, we’d bleed the sap from the stem with a press. Inevitably, pieces of pulp, thorns, and leaves would pass through, and because the actual nettles were poisonous, it had to be strained through a fine cloth once more before it was safe to consume. Any of the pulp separated would be saved and laid out to dry. Finely ground, we used the natural poisons to lace weapons and other artillery to defend ourselves against trespassers, both human and animal.

My mother found that by adding a few herbs and an ordinary stone to add minerals, the concoction became an incredibly filling meal for the family. It was the gods’ perfect food, providing everything the body needs for nourishment. It was not particularly delectable, but it kept our bellies full. If nothing else, the taste of the dinner, no matter how pungent, proved you were among the living.

It won’t be long before the Authority brings your Atchem Gown. Since this is your seventeenth year, you will have a lavender sash this time.

Fantastic, I scoffed. Nothing like starting the bidding early. Each year, girls wore a dyed sash to announce their age until they reached Womanhood. Then, no matter their age, they’d wear the crimson sash to signify they were ready to wed. At eighteen, if a girl had yet to reach Womanhood, she’d be shamed and made to wear a black sash announcing the disgust of the gods and denouncing of her soul. Girls rarely aged to wear lavender. I considered myself lucky to have made it this far. If I made it through the end of the season with a light purple sash, I’d be pleased to suffer the god’s rejection as both a Reclaimer and an incompetent woman. I would have been perfectly content wearing black for the rest of my life if the gods allowed it.

Mother mindfully added another thistle to the press. It’s not our intention to present you.

It’s not like it’s an option. So what do you think I’ll aspire to? I have no useful skills for a master family as a slave. I mean, I doubt Citizens want to eat weeds. I added the sap to the mixture, ignoring my mother’s disapproval. Oh, if I’m lucky, I’ll become a barren woman’s vessel before I wind up face down in the river! Wouldn’t that be fantastic, Mother? I bet that would make all those Citizen women jealous.

Don’t be rude! Mother’s tone was unmistakable.

I couldn’t help myself for blaming her. What? You know I’m right. You know what happens to Scab girls. If you were smart, you would have drowned me at birth. To end my life then would have been more merciful than what’s in store for me now.

Mother dropped her press and slapped me across the face. Hold your tongue! she warned. More startled than hurt, I stepped back. She’d never punished me so quickly and never like that. I know you’re scared, but The Great One sees all. He has a plan. Have faith. Someday you’ll understand. I promise you will.

Thankfully, the land bells rang, signaling the arrival of someone over the entry bridge. If I had to listen to another lecture about The Great One and his plans, I might have to swallow that wad of thistle pulp and end it all now myself.

Hearing voices in the yard, my mother ran to the window and peeked around the curtain. Your father and brothers are home! Quick, tidy yourself and clean up that mess before someone gets a thistle thorn in their foot. She brushed her loosened hairs from her face and straightened her skirt. With a meditative sigh, she opened the door. My loves, she offered, holding her arms out wide to greet the men of our house.

Chapter 2

…and then Calish grabbed the river cat by his tail and fought that stinking animal for the fish in its mouth! Marsh howled in laughter, holding his side as if it were about to burst.

The damn cat was going to run into the reeds with my best hook in that fish’s mouth, Calish defended.

Let me see your arms, Mother said. She had a right to be concerned. River cats had terrible oil in their nails that caused festering wounds if gone untreated.

Mother, I’m fine.

Then prove it by rolling up those sleeves and letting me see the damage, she insisted, already touching his sleeve.

Ahh! Calish jerked back, and his face flashed a twinge of pain.

Come on, warrior, take off that shirt and lean forward. Mother went to her little cupboard in the kitchen and retrieved her miracle mud. I didn’t know what was in it, yet it seemed to be a cure-all for every ailment from fevers to lacerations. Mother rubbed it on the afflicted area and blew on it. A few minutes later, after a quick rinse in the washbasin, most symptoms disappeared. And what about you, Tawl? She raised her eyebrows at my father.

What about me? He yawned.

How did you fare today?

There’s a new tree fallen on our side of the river. I think it would make a strong beam for a new outbuilding. We’d already loaded the wagon when we spotted it, not that we had the muscle to move the thing. We’ll go back tomorrow and drag it out. I guess I have a genuine reason to see Tarrell now, eh? He stood up, and I got the impression from the look my mother gave him that he let the wrong words slip. He sighed and offered a lame apology.

Finished with his supper, he pushed his chair back and checked that the laces on his boots were tied tight. Boys, let’s get to it. Una, you help your mother in here. He kissed my forehead and took a bite of my dinner roll. We won’t be out too late. When he left, he left the door open for my brothers to follow after him.

The boys and my father spent most nights digging, moving soil from one side of our land to the other. They dug at every opportunity; only I wasn’t sure where they were working, or why. The only evidence was the growing pile of dirt in the yard. When I tried to find out, Marsh teased, We’re digging a dungeon for you, troll.

Good dinner, Mother. Calish excused himself from the table.

Yeah, nothing beats rocks and weeds. Marsh gave me a wink, tossing his napkin in the middle of his plate while unleashing a belch that made the table shudder.

Marsh! Mother gasped.

Not my fault. I would talk to your assistant about proper seasoning. He chuckled at his joke and rushed out before our mother had a chance to scold him for being crass.

While the men were out in the field, we cleared the plates and prepared the home for the night. When we finished, I climbed the old, wooden ladder up to the loft where I slept. Sitting on the edge of the floor with my feet dangling over, I unlaced the ribbon from my hair and let my auburn curls drape my shoulders and back. Will my master let me keep my hair long? I separated one section of my hair that formed a perfect spiral and turned it up to study the ends. I’ll cut it before my Presentation.

I pushed myself back from the edge and slipped out of my clothes, piling them neatly aside my bed. My bed. I was the only one in the house who didn’t share a bed with someone else. Marsh and Calish shared one bed next to mine in the loft, and my mother and father shared another beyond the kitchen table on the main floor.

I imagined myself lying on the sandbar of the river watching the stars and the moons creep across the sky. Moments later, I found myself letting go of the world as the front door opened and the boys began changing for the evening. They were too late; my mind had given up for the day, and I devoured the darkness behind my own eyes. They would not steal my slumber; not tonight.

* * *

In the right season, the fields beyond our property’s edge were quite beautiful. This particular morning, I had decided to pick one of each meadow flower I saw. Before I knew it, I had an armful of flowers arranged and trimmed. I felt someone watching me from the tree line to the east. The birds fell silent. I felt the pain of a blade thrust into my skin between my shoulder blades. A seed sack was thrown over my head, and I could not breathe. I cried for my father, but no sound came from my mouth. If only I had seen them coming. If only I had hidden!

I sat straight up in my bed; my bedclothes were soaked through with sweat. It was a nightmare. Only a nightmare, I tried to reason with myself, but I’m not sure I was successful. It seemed as if my father hadn’t slept much either. He was awake, sitting next to the fireplace, sharpening his saw with a flint stone, tooth by tooth. That must have been what stirred me. I slicked my hair from my forehead and held my nightgown out away from my body. Ugh, I guess I’ll be washing these at the river today. Checking to make sure my brothers were still fast asleep, I squirmed out of the gown and into the clothes I’d worn the day before. Trying to be as quiet as possible, I balled up the wet nightshirt and climbed backward down the ladder to the kitchen.

Good morning, Una. It’s not even sunrise yet. Why are you up so early? Father studied my face.

I had a nightmare. It seemed so real, and even though it wasn’t, it was hard to shake. My mother startled me from behind. Oh, good morning, Mother. I leaned in, expecting her to kiss my cheek. Instead, she cupped my face in her hands and kissed my forehead. I love it when she does that.

She smiled at me. A delicate little tingle ran down my spine. So, tell me all about this nightmare of yours. She handed me a cup of tea.

It was nothing really, I was picking flowers and…

Look out! Marsh yelled from the edge of the loft. I didn’t even have a chance to move before he ambushed me with various pieces of dirty laundry.

I didn’t even know he was awake!

What was that for? I barked as I removed a dirty, damp sock from my head.

"Oh, I saw you were carrying your laundry and figured since you were going to be in the river doing yours, you could do mine. I’d do it, but our dear, aging father will need my youthful, god-like strength to retrieve that timber today. Unless you want to drag the log and I can wash your unders?" He jumped from the loft to the floor and pretended to prance around like a drunk lady in high shoes.

Calish, not amused by all the noise this early in the morning, made his way down the ladder with a yawn. He sat down next to Mother and groggily took the cup of tea I offered him. I knew how he liked it, not too hot, with a spoonful of honey sap stirred in smooth. He mustered a bit of a smile, the most he’d given me in days, and took a slow sip. Morn’, he said, just above a whisper.

I must admit, his smile made me feel a little better after being ignored by him for the last couple of days. Hopefully, he had been preoccupied with something else and not upset with me. If he was, I assumed he had gotten over it because his one word this morning was more than I’d heard from him in