“I’m back from the market,” Ashlin announced as she stepped further into the room towards the inviting warmth.
“Good, we’ve been waiting for you.” Her stepmother’s eyes remained fixated on the page in front of her as she spoke. “Could you be a dear and make supper tonight? Stasiya has been feeling poorly today.”
“Of course,” Ashlin replied, turning towards her stepsister. “I’m so sorry you are not feeling well.”
Stasiya offered an apologetic smile and continued placing game pieces on her board.
“I sold all the vegetables today,” Ashlin said, attempting to lighten the mood, “even though the rain hit early. I know we need the coin.”
Lady Cabril looked up. Her oval face and glossy hair still held an intimidating beauty, but her once-smooth skin was lined with the weight of worry, and her dark eyes had lost their light. Those eyes, now peering at Ashlin, were an empty, colorless gray. “Yes, we surely do. What did I make this week?”
Ashlin stepped forward. Slipping a small bag from under her apron, she poured the coins into her stepmother’s waiting hand. There were so few that the woman could count them without moving a finger. She sighed.
“Mistress Cedrice traded a length of wool,” Ashlin added.
This piece of news caught the attention of Stasiya, who was wearing a floor-length, linen kirtle with a forest-green overdress that was made of wool and lined with fur for warmth.
Ashlin hurried from the room to retrieve the length of wool. Stasiya’s hopeful face fell when she saw the rough fabric generally worn by those who did not have noble blood.
“I can’t wear that!” She leaned away, as though afraid the wool might contaminate her.
Lady Cabril took the cloth from Ashlin and unfolded it, running her fingers over the various holes. “It was a good trade. Even wool this damaged is worth far more than a handful of vegetables.”
Ashlin smiled at the praise.
“You worked wonders on those scraps of fur we got from the merchant. Can you work around these holes?”
“Of course.”
“Good. Stasiya does need a new cloak. She is exceptionally delicate.”
Stasiya pursed her lips in disdain and went back to arranging the game pieces.
Ashlin shivered, her damp linen kirtle still clinging to her skin.
Tossing the wool towards Ashlin, her stepmother dropped the small handful of coins into a box on the mantle and locked it shut. “Of course, you are in desperate need of a cloak as well.” She sighed again.
Ashlin nodded as she folded the fabric, not sure how she should respond.
“Though I cannot see any way to make that happen.” Her stepmother reopened the book and added a new line of numbers to the column she’d been working on. Ashlin had seen that column often enough to have it memorized. Her father had died last silverreign, and each season their remaining savings dwindled smaller and smaller. They had sold all the animals and discharged their servants. On the outside, they lived in a nobleman’s house. But the truth was they could no longer afford to keep a fire burning in more than a single room.
“If only...” Her stepmother paused, glancing up towards Ashlin with eyes empty and sad.
Ashlin’s heart went out to the suffering woman. Though her father had only been married to her stepmother for a short while, they had truly seemed to hold each other dear. Lady Cabril had been in deep mourning since he had disappeared in a freak storm.
Ashlin hoped that time would heal her own heart, but each day it seemed that the pain and sorrow of missing her father got only heavier to bear.
In moments like this, she tried to hold her tongue, even if she would handle their affairs differently than her stepmother. Purchasing the scraps of fur, for example, that Ashlin had used to construct the green dress for Stasiya was an expense that had thrown off the delicate balance of the ledger’s columns. But it was obvious that the only thing bringing joy to the grieving woman was overindulging her daughter from her previous marriage. Ashlin could not fault that.
After a moment, though, Lady Cabril’s misty eyes blinked back to the present. For a brief second, Ashlin caught a flare of something else in that gray gaze that caused her to shrink back. Her stepmother had every right to be angry. Ashlin knew the words she wanted to say, the words that would complete her half-spoken sentence. The words her stepmother had spewed at her when news of Lord Cabril’s death had reached them.
If only... if only you had not begged him to remain another week. If only you had not been so selfish. If only you had not interfered. He would never have been caught in that storm at sea. He would still be with us.
Her stepmother had never repeated those words, spoken in her shock and grief on that devastating day. But Ashlin heard them in her heart every time she noticed how different their life had become.
Lady Cabril had once again turned her gaze back to the column of numbers in the book on her lap. Her slender fingers were pressing small circles into her temples.
“I’ve been drying all the extra seeds,” Ashlin offered. “We can plant twice as much as soon as the frost thaws.”
