Pubescent green lengths of grass covered the meadow next to our masters Keep. He was a kind keeper, the Master. He allowed my children and I to gather berries from the bushes surrounding his meadow. This is the way I remember, my family and the meadow. My little Amy would sit for hours looking up into the bright sky as we picked. As a child she was always easy, like the day's when we would go picking berries, to care for. She didn't help much and my husband Joel didn't appreciate her special nature. We fought about her often, but all I could tell him was of the angels fingers. I had felt the angels reach for me in her birth, or so I thought. I could find no other way to explain her, than to belive she was watched closely by Our greatest master.
It was in the dark month of October that I had thoughts to belive my first assessment of this angel might be incorrect. The first day for rest that month we came back from a day of mass to spend the day in prayer and contemplation. I spoke to my three girls and we decided to go to the meadow. Crisp leaves rustled in the strong wind as we walked but it was not a particularly drowsy day. Soft clouds layered over the sun, yet they seemed more like down than a blizzard. I gave silent thanks to them while Mary and Sarah spread a woolen blanket out. We sat together and I began prayer.
"Let us pray, in thanks and repent to our master." I tilted my head down and began to give thanks.
My grateful musings only lasted a second. Amy moved with such force beside me that I did not need my eye's to see it. I raised these same eye's to chastise my troublesome daughter when the sky burst into a fit of tears. Amy cried out. She jumped onto her ganglly leg's and proceeded to run from our spot of faith giving into the woods.
The only thing that gave worry, though, were the word's that spilled from the forest as she disappeared into them. "I will not!! No! S-she is my mother! The lord- No! DON'T SAY THAT! NOOOOOOOOO!.........shush, You CAN'T say that........"
This was only months from her tenth birthday. Neither I, nor my other daughter's, mentioned it to the men on our return. She had wandered back minutes later, subdued. This was the first doubt I had to feel, but it would leave as time passed.
It was early six springs later, the hunting trip when papa was killed. All my children were older, and the only one remaining was my lovely Amy. She had grown into a tall young woman with wheat colored skin and a gift for children. I worried that no man would take her for wife for who would want to take on that burden. As she and I wore black in the streets of Bradurie these thoughts came to me. With Erie accuracy, a local tutor stopped us on our way.
"Good morrow Mistress Thomas, Miss Amy. I am sorrowed over your husbands death, he was a good man. Cartright will not have an easy time replacing him."
I nodded silently and glanced at my daughter, dismissing him. It was Amy that kept us from continuing on our way. Her sparkling eyes looked up at him in the way only love could.
She spoke in her foggy voice, that so often is lost to the wind, "Are you going to the celebration? This evening, at our masters keep is where it will be."
"I had not given it thought. To see your lovely face again I would surely put more thought into it."
She blushed and moved her eyes to me. My nod of accent brightened her face into a golden glory. "I will be there, and so will you?"
"We will meet then. Good day Mistress Thomas, Miss Amy." He then swantered away.
She and I continued on our way hand in hand. Much later the exesively crowded street provided a brief solitude for my thoughts and I glanced at my swooning daughter in a haze. Light strands of plum hair floated around her shoulders. The medieval crowd pushed in onto us as romantic light danced flirted with these strands. I looked to her lips and saw them move in an unpleasant rhythm as she mumbles to herself. Often as I tried to remove this ugly habit she persisted it, with none of the vanity I would wish for her. Sometimes I chose to ignore it, to save myself, but in a public place I could not allow it.
"Think silently, child."
Her eyes darted out of mussing to look at mine. They seemed lost, far away from all this bustle.....yet no nearer to my own thoughts. I wonder if she is called off this earth, at times. Her secret musings are not even of the kind I can comprehend. I can only hope that she is not like Eve within these thoughts, tempted by the fallen angel.
We reach the house of my second eldest, Sarah. She had offered to take us on while the Master decided whether he felt charitable. I was too old to take on any duties and Amy.....it was well known that my prize had little talent. My granddaughter sat in the lounge with her giggling friends as we entered. The smell of sweet pies floated around the room and I silently thanked god for my daughters blessing.
"Ma'am, Amy, did you have a good time in the market? Whenever Mother takes us we come back loaded down with parcels...that's how we know it was fun."
I frowned sternly at her avid greed. "It is not required that one spend money to have an enjoyable outing. You should refrain from thinking in such a spoilt manner, child. The lord is not forgiving to gluttons."
She looked down, but without the slightest forgiving. I could see the seeds of goodness there to be tended, but my daughter had obviously been neglecting this task. Amy sat on the ornate chair beside the girls and picked up her sewing. She could ignore their twittering much easier than I. Minutes later Sara warmly welcomed me into her kitchen and thoughts of my granddaughter floated away.
That evening what remained of my family wandered into the Masters great hall. This was to be the last time we would all be in one place, for any length of time. Out of my four daughters and two son's only Brady, Sara, Amy, Heather, and additional children of theirs attended this function. My husbands recent death seemed like the roosters late call, it's purpose to tell of sorrow to coming.
As always my youngest held close while the rest left me alone. Only this night a handsome courter came and took my daughter away. He swung her in a Gypsy dance and charmed her gentle features aglow. I felt the tug of devilish jelosy, at this man taking my child away, but did not succumb. He was a respected gentleman, none the less one with a handsome salary to supplement his lovely features. If asked I could wish no more for my angel.
She was so fairly in love, after all.
This thought of my angel came back frequently that evening, until a frightened screech erupted from an empty corridor. I glanced around the room, and found all my children excluding the one in question. The other missing person conviently happened to be the handsome tutor. A woman scream once again came from the corridor. I could not see what had occurred, but an unhappy feeling pervaded my stomach. As the crowd parted in utter shock two large guards dragged the limp form of the tutor and my yollering daughter to where Master Cartright stood.
The tutor stirred, awoke, and then hissed in contempt, "Master Cartright this wentch is the working of some devil." A frightened stir ran through the crowd. I could barely move through their conglomerate mass. "As I was courting her she began to spew absentaties at me, and then bust into a fit of rage. She talked to imagined beings, as if they stood beside us. She called ME! the offspring of a tainted beast. S-she practically tore my eyes out when I tried to contain her. The blood and scratches on my face are proof."
The Master looked at my quieting daughter and addressed her hautily, "What do you have to say, child?"
She looked over to where I now stood. The lost glimmer fiercely questioning me. When I did not speak as her defence she moved back to our once kind keeper. "Master Carthright I did not hurt him......they told me to do it. H-he is a bad man. A bad man."
Excitement coarse through the crowd in an audible ripple. I felt the discuss myself. A taste of salt entered my mouth as tears ran down my cheeks. The Angel had fallen, and we god fearing folk were required to punish the sin. She had never been special, I could see it clearly then. What I thought was Our masters hand had instead been the dark Masters. She didn't even struggle, and as the crowed carried her the only movement of her body were her lips. They quivered in that uncomfortable rhythm I had tried to remove. Who she spoke to was now clear. The imaginary voices she had told me of were devils tongues rasping.
I watched as my daughter burned and prayed what was left of her soul could lie in heaven. Not one of her siblings stopped the procession, for we had all seen her dementia. A red glow spread into the night washing us clean. My hand's felt soiled, though no dirt could be seen on them. I felt as if I had allowed this spawn to grow. My hands had bathed, fed, even held her close. As a culprit in such dark sin as this, to raise a child and allow it's burden. What had I done by allowing her to survive, this lesser being, this evil seed, this disabled creature. Only in her ashes could another take over the burden, and these ashes I sowed for Our Greatest Master. In them I elevated the sin; ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
The End.
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