Page 76 of The Washwoman at the River’s End

I reach out on instinct, my hunger overtaking my common sense and the plan forming in my mind. Her eyes flick to my hands.

I freeze.

“Are you injured?” she asks, brow furrowing. She takes a step closer, peering at my fingers.

My heart pounds. “I’m not. I—” My mind races, searching for some sort of explanation. “I was dying thread a few days ago. A bright red, with rowan berries. Seems it stained my hands.”

She smiles knowingly, and the edges of her eyes crinkle.

“Happens to the best of us. Though,” she furrows her brow, leaning closer, “I’ve never seen it stain quite like that before.”

I laugh uncomfortably, taking a bite. The second the bread hits my tongue, buttery and fresh, I moan.

I try to take my time, to be polite, but my hunger doesn't allow it. I rip off a huge chunk with my teeth, then another.

“Are you in trouble?” she asks, eyes narrowed as she hands me a second piece.

I can't speak through the food in my mouth, so I shake my head.

“Just hungry then? Well, I can help you with that. More, maybe. If you’d like,” she says. “I know times are hard for people, especially with the Epoch coming. Maybe the Fates sent you here for a reason,” she says.

She has no idea.

I swallow. “I’m um… I'm just passing through. I won't be here long,” I say, my eyes flitting through her kitchen. Nothing seems abnormal, except— There’s a large knife on the table, the tip hanging over the edge. “Um… Thank you for this kindness, but is it alright if I move that knife into the wash basin? I’m rather clumsy. Wouldn’t want to fall on it.”

She tilts her head, assessing me, and I wait for her to ask me to leave. To realize it is not thread dye at all that stains my hands, and that I am oddly focused on the large knife in the room. “The knife?” she asks, turning toward it. Her face relaxes. “You’re right. It’s a bit precarious, isnae it?” She moves it just as I ask, and I force my shoulders to lower. “And, at least consider staying a while,” she continues. “My sister just got married. My parents are gone, and if I’m being honest, I'm rather lonely. I wouldn't mind having some company for a bit.”

I give her a soft smile, nodding. I know I won’t be able to stay, but if I could, I think this would be a nice place to hide away.

“Well.” She claps her hands together. “Let’s get you out of those wet clothes,” she says, walking to a wardrobe. “Can't have you freezing in a wet dress, can we?”

Shame burns my cheeks. “I don't have anything else,” I say, though I follow her, eyes still scanning the small cottage for danger.

She waves a hand. “I've just come into a bit of coin,” she says, raising her eyebrows as if sharing a secret. “One of our own has been promoted, and his family is sharing his good fortune with everyone in the village. I used it to buy some new dresses.” She pulls out the skirt of her soft blue gown. “Do you like it?”

“It's beautiful,” I say, taking in the richness of the fabric. It’s my favorite color, almost purple, the hue bright and cheery.

“I had three made last week.” She goes to a hutch and grabs a thick green wool dress with gold embroidery stitched along the neckline and sleeves. “You can take this one, if you like. It never quite suited me.”

She hands it to me, and I take it. I’m not sure why I’m shocked when the cloth lands heavily in my hands. I’d knocked into the table in the vision with the dog. Had touched the man at the pub, but still, I’m once again surprised when I’m not pulled back to the river immediately.

“Washroom’s in the back,” she says, nodding toward a hallway. I head toward it, stopping to push back a heavy paperweight too close to the edge of the mantle. A picture sits next to it, a man and woman with pure joy on their faces. It makes my heart ache. I lay the dress over the back of the couch, picking up the photograph to look at it closer.

“You said your parents are gone. Is this them?” I ask, picking up the small oval picture. The couple looks so in love, their smiles bright and fingers interlaced. A lump forms in my throat. I sort through the clothes I washed in my mind, searching my memory for their faces.

“Aye. Better parents you couldn’t find,” she says sadly. “They died a few years ago. A bad fever.”

“I’m sorr—” the world tilts, my head swimming as I’m suddenly pulled back to the river.

I jump back as my glen comes into view. Brennen's face is startlingly close, his eyes burning into mine. With only a breath between us, his stubble is more prominent, and I can see that the faint scar above his eyebrow goes taut when his brow is furrowed. His jaw is even stronger, his forest green eyes brighter, and his lips firm and unyielding.

I forget how to breathe for a moment.

He’s shaking my shoulders, my skin burning where his fingers touch above the fabric covering my arms.

Dirty, white fabric.

Reality settles in my chest, my heart falling. I’d known I would be pulled back here, but it had been so nice talking to someone who didn’t hate me. Sharing a meal.