And it was the friend's child who would see Annabell Roe in school after two missed Mondays and say, consolingly, "How sad you must be, Annabell Roe, Child of Woe."
And everyone who heard agreed—moon cursed child; how woeful she must be.
The humble town of Righteous Way remembered the curse and the words. Noticing that Annabell suffered more than a normal amount of woe, they saw grief always somewhere in her train. It was best not to talk too long to such a person. Best not to linger in her company. They remembered every stumble, every wound, every suggestion of sorrow.
Annabell Roe, the Woman of Woe, lived on a farm a day and a half walk from town. Her life was filled, the town's folk all said, with woe since that day the sow killed her father. When Annabell's mother died in the girl's thirteenth year, the whispers grew louder.
The wild, cursed motherless seventh daughter, who carried stories in her head about a history that didn't matter, would make no man a safe and decent wife. When she stood in the sun on market day, everyone could see the red stain of her curse in her hair and cheeks.
It only followed suit that when the native Orki Originals came to town on market day that the girl would receive an offer of marriage. The town of Righteous Way didn't know if they should be scandalized or thankful that it wasn't their daughters who were courted. While her brothers sent the Orki away, the damage was done. Now not only was Annabell Roe a Child of Woe, but she carried the blemish of having talked to the brutish, dangerous Orki Warriors.
No man would want her.
A fine dowry and generous property eventually improved her tattered reputation. Years after the incident, she took a husband, the friend of one of her brothers. Mark Walcott the Wool Taker's son was doing the esteemed family a favor, the women townsfolk said. Yes, he was thin, quiet, and losing his hair early, but everyone knew he could do better.
Six years her elder, Mark Walcott fell ill and never recovered. The sisters and mothers of Righteous Proper all expected it to happen. They had done their duty, warned the man, but men never listened properly to the way of things.
Everyone knew who and what she was. Everyone knew the Child of Woe had become a woman, and to entertain her in any way was to dare her cloud of woe to come visiting. Having come from a big bossy family and having known many 'judgmental' woman, Annabell didn't mind the town's abandonment. Two years and some months ago, after her husband died, even his family members refused to set foot in her house.
"Mother would want you married," Benjere said as a greeting the night he came to help Annabelle with the young heifer, Daisydoo. The cow had been in labor too long with her calf. Annabell feared she'd lose them both.
Stubborn chin covered with a beard gone gray, her second oldest brother wore his age well: skin smooth without a single mark of laughter around his eyes or mouth. Hair and an austere diet his sagging jowls.
Benjere, the brother who lived closest, was the only one to help. Unable to say, "How do you do," without bossing her, the man irritated her nerves to no end. Annabell tried to be grateful for his instruction and his availability to help hold Daisydoo's big brown head.
Benjere often exploited her widowhood to his advantage. Offers of helpful charity also opened many an opportunity to lecture. With their oldest sibling living two days journey, Benjere held the esteemed and coveted role of ‘Bossiest in the Family.’
He corrected her with, 'head of the family.'
But even Mama called him bossy when they were children.
If he couldn't help her with his great wisdom, he'd offer generosity by purchasing bits and pieces of her life to make things easier. Having cattle of his own, he knew what to do with Annabell's heifer, talking them both through the process in between trying to buy the west pasture off Annabell and accusations against her isolated ways.
He told her she should wash her hands and arms up to her shoulders, that she would have to help the cow deliver. "Just put your whole hand in."
"I don't want to hurt them," Annabell moaned, her cheek against Daisydoo's flank as she sank her arms into the cow's vagina up to the elbows.
"Don't be afraid to get a good hold now. The young will be slippery. Better hurt than dead. Better fed than starved. So, when do you think I can have that north field? You haven't put up any crops and saw for yourself when the cows broke your fence how hard it was to keep a full herd."
"There was a dog chasing them, Benjere," Annabell said.
"But you couldn't fix the fence alone."
"I didn't have the right shovel to make the post holes."
"You should come live with Bess and me."
He said it at least once every visit. As a man of legacy and means, he sat on the town council and bartered for a pretty wife. Lovely little Bo Bess, one of the baker's daughters who turned out to be good at baking bread and not much else.
He'd taken on a teen orphan girl from the village of Pearl as Bess's companion in the meantime. Annabell pitied the child, Bess wouldn't be mean to a poor orphan.
She didn't believe it. That Bo Bess had a viper’s temperament to go with her pretty face and figure.
"You should be the one to help. Family is family,"the voice of Annabell's mother whispered in her head.
Daisydoo, the heifer, mooed low in pain as Annabell got her hand on the calf nestled tight in the womb. She said out loud to the Bossiest, "Head first, I think that's a leg. What if it's something else? What if I'm wrong?"
"Head first is why the young is stuck. You sure you felt the head?"
