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“See?” Alma said, smiling nervously, “She doesn’t know what she wants, Breshka.”
The aging eyes stared into Lisl's. “She doesn’t know how to say what she wants.”
“Enough,” Kurt said. The rumble in his voice warned the two women to let the subject drop. He turned to his daughter, “Did you mend my sleeve?”
She shook her head.
“Mend it now. I’ll need it tomorrow.”
Alma spoke up, “She’s not finished eating, Kurt.”
He sighed, “She should have mended it earlier, then. Go on, Lisl.”
Lisl took one last spoonful--the last before the dregs--before moving to her seat by the hearth. She placed the large shirt on her lap, her heart heavy. She knew why he needed it tomorrow. He planned to speak to the village priest about officiating her marriage to Ernst Jorgensen.
She breathed in ragged gasps, trying to blink the tears away as she sewed. Breska's words had filled her with consternation. She did not know what her future might have been beyond Gernt.
Those strange inklings drew her back to her thoughts of the mountains beyond. For a brief fleeting moment, she let her mind drift to that unknown; to that world of such wonders, she doubted it could even exist.
A cold shaft from the cracks in the wall brought her back to herself. The possibilities didn’t matter, her future had been decided for her. She could not refuse her parents, nor the Jorgensens. In a few weeks, all would be settled.
A tear fell on her thimble. Why did her grandmother ask such strange questions? Why did she speak so rashly? Lisl threaded the needle through the rough cloth. Perhaps Breshka only meant to disrupt her marriage to Ernst. She probably only preferred Wilhelm because that she thought that Lisl would be able to travel.
Lisl smiled bitterly. At her ripened age, Breshka should know that Lisl would be required to mind their cottage here in Gernt, especially once she became pregnant.
A chair scraped the floor before her. Lisl looked up to see Breshka settling opposite her. The wrinkled hand patted her knee.
“I used to knit stockings for your father,” she mused, “and I swear by the eldest oak, every evening another hole found its way into the stitches.”
The girl attempted to smile, but the effort faded and she looked down at her sewing.
“No matter how hard I scolded him, he was always careless,” Breshka continued, as if Lisl was still interested, “just like the Urwin boy. He never listened to his mother, either.”
“And what happened to the Urwin boy, Grammama?” she said, deciding to humor the old woman.
Breshka shook her head. “What else? He wandered into the forest after supper. The bright light he followed was the lantern hitched to a lonely cart, drawn by a single goat...”
Lisl chuckled softly. Here came the tales. The stories of disobedient children lost forever to the gremlins in the woods, of pregnant mothers brought to term by a mysterious brew in the hollow of a mushroom, and of course, a final warning never to anger Uhyga.
“Strange you always warn me to please Uhyga, yet you tell me I should leave Gernt,” Lisl mumbled.
“Gernt is one spot, Lisl. One weed on a vast mountainside.” Her eyes darkened. “Uhyga is a cruel mistress. Displeasing the mountain brings a bad omen on us all.”
In the silence, Lisl glanced up to see Breshka’s icy stare fixed upon her. Suddenly, the old woman leaned closer. Her eyes grew wide and hollow, like a ghost’s. Lisl felt sucked into her gaze, unable to turn away.
“You'll know them soon, child. Better tales than I do. You'll know them firsthand.”
“Lisl!”
Lisl shook, turning hurriedly to Alma. “Y-yes, mother?”
“Finish mending quickly. You must wake early to churn the butter for the market cart.”
“I finished,” Lisl said, standing before Breshka forced another tale on her. She left her father’s shirt on the table and hurried to the ladder leading to her loft.
“Goodnight, Mama and Papa,” she called, “Goodnight, Granmamma.”
She mounted the rungs as their “good nights” called behind her. As she settled on her mat, she pulled off her over skirt and dress top. Stretching out her underdress, she breathed a sigh and settled beneath her quilt.
Hushed voices spoke rapidly below her. She guessed what they were saying, but she could soon hear them easily.
“She’s not a child anymore,” Kurt said.
“Then treat her that way, Kurt, and let her marry Pier’s boy.” Breshka said hotly, “Jorgensens are fools and don’t know their fronts from their backs!”
“She has no ambitions, Breshka,” Alma pleaded, “Ernst will be good for her. He’s a gentle soul.”
“He’s sharp as a stump. His mind isn’t like hers, Alma.”
“Her mind is a dreamer’s mind,” Kurt interrupted. “She’s a sullen thing, Mother, because of your tales.”
Breshka snorted and muttered something about history and past mistakes.
The argument continued, but Lisl burrowed under her pillow.
From the corner of her eye, she sensed a presence. Perhaps it was a thought, a fleeting notion trapped between wakefulness and sleep. Her dreaming eye saw a tangle of vines and roots, filled with the fog between branches, carrying the scent of sweet decay and rotting leaves.
Her eyes still closed, she raised her arm, reaching for the form. She could never touch it, but in the dark of her loft, why not pretend? Leaning closer in her dream, the lucid form kissed her--not her lips, nor her face--but she felt it, quieting the chaos in her soul.
"Thank you," she whispered, not understanding why.
She fell asleep before she could wonder.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
tags: @melpomenelamusa, @sorrowful-hyacinth, @catgirllivvy
