“Fine.”
She sat down next to the goats and began weaving the broken pieces of straw back into the lattice of the bowl. She finished long before Philemon reemerged, wearing a deeply irritating grin. As soon as he’d left the yard, she sprang to her feet and ran indoors.
Alea was sitting next to the hearth, her cheeks flushed, their mother busy pinning something to her tunic. As Danae moved closer, she saw it glint. It was a brooch. An owl molded in bronze with feathers carved into the metal and two little green gems for eyes.
Her sister gazed down at it, her face radiant.
“Danae, isn’t it beautiful? Have you ever seen such a lovely thing?”
“No,” she said honestly.
“Ma, don’t you agree?”
Danae glanced at her mother, expecting her to share Alea’s joy, but she looked distant.
“Ma?”
Eleni returned to the room and beamed at her eldest. “It’s stunning my love, a mark of the strength of his affection.”
As much as Danae disliked Philemon, she couldn’t help smiling.
Suddenly, Alea lurched off her chair and staggered toward the door. Danae ran after her to find her retching in the yard behind the goat pen.
She held Alea’s curls and rubbed her back.
“Should we send for the healer?” She glanced up at her mother, who had followed them out.
Eleni looked around, as though worried someone might see them.
“No,” she said through tight lips. “I know what’s wrong. Come back inside, quickly.”
Alea sat on the pallet, gazing at her lap, her eyes unfocused. Danae reached for her sister’s hand, but Alea twitched her fingers away.
Danae looked at her mother. “Are you sure?” she asked solemnly.
“I think so. I had the same sickness with all four of you children.” Eleni knelt beside her sister. “And, Alea, your monthly blood still hasn’t come.”
Whoever had done this to her sister deserved to have their genitals mutilated, and their limbs ripped from their body while they still breathed. Danae’s rage boiled over into tears. She turned away and quickly wiped her eyes. Alea wasn’t crying. If her sister could be strong, so could she.
“Alea, listen to me.” Her mother tucked a curl behind her sister’s ear. “This changes nothing. You will still marry Philemon.”
“How?” Alea’s voice was barely audible.
“We’ll go to Thaddeus and ask him to bring the wedding forward. I’ll think of something to convince him. Babies arrive early all the time, no one will know it isn’t Philemon’s.” Her mother straightened up and crossed the room to the wicker chest at the foot of the girls’ pallet. She began pulling out dresses. “Which one is his favorite again?”
“Will Thaddeus agree to it?” asked Danae.
“He’ll have to,” said her mother, inspecting a sky blue tunic.
“I don’t want to lie to him.”
Her mother lowered the dress.
Alea lifted her head, crystal clarity in her hazel eyes. “I don’t want to deceive Philemon. I want to tell him the truth and if he won’t have me any more—” her voice wavered “—then I’ll stay here.”
Danae felt a surge of love for her sister. Beautiful, noble Alea. She moved to stand next to her and placed a hand on her shoulder.
“I’ll help Alea look after the baby. We could do it together.” She imagined the two of them running across the beach, a chubby infant swinging between their arms. They could be their own little family, and neither of them would have to get married. They could get by on selling cheese, and she could fish like her father.
