Page 18 of Lion and the Lamb: Easter

Chapter 7

“Haven’t you ever had your hair plaited before?” Rachael asked Winifred. Rachael sat in the chair while Agnes fixed her hair. Winifred reclined on her bed while Drew played with the wildflowers on the floor. Rachael had introduced the two of them, but they basically ignored each other.

“I know how to braid hair. I’m not stupid,” said Winifred, not sounding at all interested. She lay on her back in her boy’s clothes, throwing a ball in the air, and catching it over and over again.

“Plaiting is a little different than braiding,” Rachael explained. “The lines are straighter, and it’s much neater. Watch how Agnes flips over the strands from the back.”

“I don’t care,” said Winifred, continuing to catch the ball. “If my father wants my hair braided, then I’m going to wear it long.”

“Have it your way,” said Rachael. “However, he is right. Noblewomen should wear their hair tied up or at least have a metal circlet over their heads.”

“You didn’t. Besides, I don’t want to be a lady. I want to be a dockworker instead.”

“A dockworker? That’s a job for boys,” said Drew, sniffing a flower from the bunch that he and Agnes had picked. “Mother, can I plait your hair now?”

“Sure, Drew. Go right ahead,” Rachael told him.

The little boy jumped up and ran over to take Agnes’ place. Rachael had taught him how to do it, and he was quite good at it, too. He was very interested in anything creative.

“You’re doing a girl’s job,” said Winifred, laughing from the bed.

“I don’t care. I like it,” said Drew. “Mother, can I put flowers in your hair, too?”

“Of course,” answered Rachael.

Drew picked out a few yellow and purple flowers, securing them into her hair.

“You look beautiful, Mother,” said Drew.

“Thank you, sweetheart.” Rachael turned around and hugged and kissed her son.

“Milksop,” mumbled Winifred from the bed.

Agnes’ eyes met Rachael’s in concern. Rachael hoped when they moved here, that all the bullying of her son would stop. Now his own stepsister was doing it to him.

“I am not a milksop,” said Drew, looking like he was about to cry.

“Well, what would you call yourself? You’re certainly not a boy,” said Winifred. “Boys don’t plait hair and weave flowers into it. Boys –”

“Drink and arm wrestle in taverns and play ball?” asked Rachael, putting the girl in her place.

Winifred looked over to her, missing the ball. It hit her on the stomach with a thump and she winced. It made Drew laugh.

“Stop laughing or I’ll belt you one,” warned Winifred. Her mouth turned down and her eyes narrowed. Her hands clenched into fists.

Rachael supposed she shouldn’t have spoken that way to Winifred, but she was only trying to defend her son.

“Winifred, why don’t you let me plait your hair now?” asked Rachael. “You can pick out some flowers to wear, too.”

“I’d rather sleep with the rats and drink bilge water,” she replied.

“I think your father would like it if you fixed your hair.”

“I don’t care what my father wants.”

There was a quick knock at the door and Lionel stuck his head inside. “We’ll be late for church if we don’t leave right now.”

“I’m not going to church,” said Winifred stubbornly, getting off the bed.