‘The Sight should be fading,’ she muttered. Plodding closer, she reached out and put a reassuring hand on her niece’s shoulder. ‘Don’t worry, May. It’ll be gone soon.’
The rushed thump of running feet approaching outside startled them both.
The cottage door swung open and Esmelie tumbled over the threshold. She stopped inside, her brown curls bouncing, and her pink lips curved into a smile.
‘May!’ she cried. ‘The ladies from Morccia are here to trade.’
Before Maylie could reply, Tadrie lunged and grabbed Esmelie’s arm. ‘Where’re your shoes and where’s your cloche?’ she snapped. ‘I made you a new one.’
Esmelie scowled and shook her aunt off. ‘That cloche makes my hair frizzy.’
‘’Tis proper for you to wear it. You’re eleven winters old, not a baby. May wears hers.’
Maylie flashed her sister an apologetic look. She did not mind stuffing her thick, dark hair into a cloche, but she could understand why Esmelie would want to show off her smooth brown curls.
‘I’ll put one on you now,’ added Tadrie, taking a cloche from the drying rack under the open window. ‘I’ll not have you running around like a beggar child.’
While her aunt’s back was turned, Esmelie stuck out her tongue and winked at Maylie, who could not help but giggle.
‘I said sit, child!’
With a sigh, Esmelie flopped into a seat at the table and allowed her aunt to place the white cloche over her head.
‘What’ve the Morccia ladies brought?’ Maylie had been desperate to ask since Esmelie burst inside with the news. Trading between the Mountain villages happened once every few seasons and it was always an exciting event.
‘New tools, spiced apple cakes – they’ve got the best orchards– blackberry wine …’ Esmelie listed the goods on her fingers. ‘A sheepdog pup, two wagons, quilts and … ribbons from Tormale!’
Maylie gasped and Tadrie made a disapprovingtsknoise as she pinned the edges of Esmelie’s cloche behind her ears.
‘One family visited the capital last summer and brought them back,’ continued Esmelie. ‘They’re the softest ribbons I’ve ever seen.’
‘Really?’ breathed Maylie. ‘Do you think I could look at one?’
Esmelie beamed. ‘You surely can because … I got them for us! Tah-dah!’ She reached into the pocket of her pinafore and pulled out two lengths of pale-pink velvet ribbon.
Maylie’s mouth dropped open.
‘Where did you get flecks for such things?’ snapped Tadrie. ‘You’ve not been stealing again, have you?’
Once Esmelie had been caught pinching fresh biscuits cooling on a neighbour’s windowsill. Maylie had tried to explain to her furious aunt that it was only because their own cupboards were empty. But Tadrie claimed to have never lived down the shame of it.
‘I didn’t steal anything!’ replied Esmelie. ‘Pap gave me a silver fleck.’
‘A silver fleck? I doubt he got such riches by any good means.’
Maylie knew her aunt was right, but she could not stop looking at the beautiful ribbons. A few of the girls in the village had ribbons for Sanctuary ceremonies, where cloches were not worn and all Mountain folk kept their heads unadorned. She had always longed for a ribbon of her own.
‘’Tis foolish to waste a silver fleck on ribbons,’ added Tadrie. ‘’Tis enough to buy you both new coats for winter.’
‘We don’t want coats, we want ribbons.’ Esmelie sniggered and she leapt out of the chair as her aunt darted forward to try and snatch them from her hands.
‘Run, May!’ Esmelie laughed. ‘She’s trying to get our ribbons!’
Maylie sprang up from her seat just as her aunt cried, ‘Stay where you are, May!’
Maylie froze, hovering by her seat.
‘And I don’t want this cloche either,’ said Esmelie, pulling it from her head and tossing it on the floor, scattering pins. ‘’Tis too hot for it.’ She spun around and scampered out into the sunshine, disappearing in peals of laughter.
