The Executioner's Daughter (7 page)

Lily saw the words her father had carved under a crooked cross.

Allyce

Mother

Wife

But what of healer? And friend? And comforter? How could an entire life be reduced to a name and two words? She bowed her head, longing for her mother's soft voice. For gentle arms to hold her.

A heavy hand pressed down on her shoulder and she turned against her father's chest. His arms were hard and unyielding, but they circled her like the walls around the town, offering protection. She gratefully accepted what she could get. Lily squeezed her eyes shut to stop the tears. The time for crying had passed.

*   *   *

During October, days blew in brisk, taking with them the leaves on the trees and any warmth left in the sun, and nights were cold. Lily barely noticed. She worked in the apothecary beside her father, determined to learn all the secrets of healing. She already knew much, but her father knew far more. And yet it hadn't been enough.

It wasn't her father's fault Allyce had died, as her fate had determined she should. But if she had died according to her destiny, then what had her mother meant when she'd said she'd cheated fate? How had her father saved Allyce from her fate? Had he healed her in some way?

Lily longed to ask, but her father kept himself tightly shuttered. He worked endlessly, as though he, too, were obsessed with discovering what healing draught or poultice he could have used to save his wife. At night he did not drink heavily as he did after an execution or after a day working in Lord Dunsworth's dungeon. Instead, he sat silent, staring into the fire, or he went outside and chopped far more wood than they would need in three winters.

One morning, John appeared beside the cages while Lily was tending to the animals. Lily smiled widely. “John the miller's apprentice!”

The boy returned a shy smile as though they were strangers.

Good as, Lily thought. He hadn't come around in several weeks.

As if hearing her thoughts, he said, “Master Miller has kept me busy from sunup till sundown.”

“And now you can grind wheat into flour like a master?”

He scowled. “Nay. All I do is sweep!”

Lily threw back her head and laughed. After long weeks of solemn concentration in the apothecary, it felt wonderful. John's scowl turned into a grin and he laughed, too. Only then did Lily realize he held a bundle of rags close to his stomach.

He noticed her looking and handed it to her. “My brother caught it yesterday and broke its wing. He wanted to keep it so it couldn't fly away. But it hasn't eaten or had a drop to drink since then.”

Lily unwrapped the rags to find a soft gray dove. Suddenly her eyes burned. She blinked to hold back the tears. Doves would always remind her of her mother.

“I was going to wring its neck,” John continued.

“Nay!”

“To keep it from dying slowly,” he said hurriedly. “But then I thought to bring it to you.”

Lily nodded. “'Tis well you did. Come.” She headed into the apothecary.

John peered through the dark doorway. “Is your father home?” he whispered.

“Nay, he's at the castle and he won't be home till dark.”

John entered and she handed him the bird. Then she cleared a place on the trestle table and gathered what she thought she'd need to set the wing and wrap it so it would mend. Before she started, she felt a pang of fear. If only her mother were here to show her the proper way to hold the bird and calm it.

Once again she took the bird from John. “Help me hold it,” she said softly, so as not to startle the dove.

After only a second's hesitation, he moved close to her and did as she asked. She worked quickly and carefully until the wing was folded against the bird's body and bandaged firmly in place.

“Will it be able to fly again?” John asked as they took the bird outside to a cage.

Lily didn't want to tell him how unsure she was. How she missed her mother's advice in caring for her animals. She had never attempted to mend a broken wing, and she could only pray that she had done well. But to John she said, “Aye.”

John smiled. “Then I'm glad I did not wring its pretty little neck.” Lily took a swipe at him, but he ducked away, laughing. He looked at the sky. “I'm late. The miller will take the broom to my backside if I don't hurry.” He turned to go, but at the last moment stopped and faced Lily. “I heard about your mum, and I'm sorry.”

Lily nodded, not daring to speak for fear her voice would crack.

With a wave, John left.

*   *   *

Mid-afternoon, a sennight later, Blossom whined from the corner of the cottage farthest away from the hearth. The dog had pulled the blanket off Lily's pallet and now lay on it, panting heavily.

“At last!” Lily exclaimed. She sat down on the rush mat and leaned forward. Blossom whimpered up at her. “Good girl,” Lily crooned, scratching the dog behind the ears.

She watched as Blossom gave birth to four spotted pups. Three of them were plump; one was small and looked more like a mouse. Blossom licked them all clean. The larger pups snuggled up to Blossom's belly for their first meal, but the runt couldn't even lift his head. Lily tried to prod him forward toward a teat, but once he got there, the puppy didn't seem to know what to do. Besides, the others quickly pushed him out of the way.

Lily dug through a chest in the apothecary and found the nipple made of sheep's intestines she had used to nurse a fawn earlier in the year. It was too large for the pup, but with some string and careful cutting, she was able to make it a bit smaller. It would do for now, she decided. Later she could make smaller ones.

She wiped off the fat they had used to keep the nipple supple, then she mixed a bit of goat's milk with water. Filling a small leather pouch, she attached the nipple with some twine.

Sitting next to Blossom so that the dog wouldn't think she was stealing one of her pups, Lily picked up the runt and cradled the tiny creature in her left hand. She dribbled some milk against his lips. After a bit, the pup licked the milk away.

An hour later, Lily's back was stiff and her shoulders sore from sitting in one position for so long. Finally full, a dribble at a time, the pup was asleep. She kissed him on the nose, then lay him next to his family.

When her father came home from town, Lily showed him the pups. He admired them solemnly. He seemed to be thinking on something else. Ever since her mother died, her father seemed more distant and preoccupied. She knew well that he loved her, but she also knew not to expect any hearty laughter or wide smiles.

“There are four, just as you said there would be,” Will said.

“I dreamed it.”

The words startled them both. Lily's heart thumped, though she didn't know if it was out of fear or joy.

Her father peered at her intently. “Do you dream as your mother did?”

“Aye,” she said, suddenly realizing it was true. “I've dreamed a few dreams. But I had forgotten them until now.”

Her father took her hand. “You are so much like your mother.” He stared deeply into her eyes, she felt he must be looking right through her, searching for the wife he had lost. “I thank God I still have you.”

Surprised at the thick emotion in her father's voice, she said, “And I, you.”

He shook his head, as though to rid himself of a trance.

Lily slipped her hand from his and set the table. As she worked, she couldn't stop thinking about her mother's dreams, and she wondered if she would start having more of them. Would hers be like the tales her mother often had? Or would they be practical like how many pups Blossom would bear? Or would they be the kind her mother didn't like to talk about?

*   *   *

Through early November, Lily spent her evenings stitching the hem of the cloak her mother had promised her. It was made from the wool cloth she'd purchased at the fair. When the light coming in through the window became too dim, she put away her sewing and prepared dinner. She wasn't a very good cook, but her father never complained about the soups or stews she put before him. And when the bread came out flat or burnt, he didn't say a word of reproach.

One night before supper, her father came in from the apothecary and sat on the bench. He leaned his elbows on the table and blew out a breath.

“I think the runt will live,” Lily commented.

“Aye.”

“He takes the nipple well and has grown a bit, don't you think?”

Will nodded.

Lily narrowed her eyes at her father. “Gained two or three stone, I should think,” she said, purposely exaggerating.

He nodded again.

Lily knocked the wooden spoon on the edge of the pot. “You're not even listening to me.”

He shrugged absently, his left shoulder rising higher as it always did. Saying nothing, he simply sat there, his head tilted, his eyes staring into the flame of a candle.

Lily turned back to the fire. A moment later, she heard her father heave himself to his feet and return to his apothecary without a word. Curious, she moved aside the curtain just a hair and watched him bend over the worktable. His back looked hunched with age and his lips moved as though in silent prayer. It took a moment for her to make out what he was fingering on the scarred wood surface. It was her mother's copper ring. It had always made Allyce's finger green, but her husband couldn't afford a silver one. Even so, Allyce had worn it every day simply because Will had given it to her. It was her only piece of jewelry.

Without a sound, Lily withdrew. Then she called through the curtain as if she had not been spying on him, “Come to supper, Father.” She had to call three more times before he did as beckoned.

After supper, when her father usually returned to his apothecary to work, he watched Lily wipe clean the cup and spoons they had used, feed the trencher to Blossom, and pet the pups, taking extra care to kiss the runt. As she did these things, Lily shifted uneasily under his watchful eye.

Finally she turned to him. “What is it, Father? Why are you staring at me so?”

Will drew in a deep breath before he spoke. “The time has come,” he began slowly, “for you to assist me in my duties.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Lily paused as her father reached beneath the bench and handed her his cloak, which he'd gathered into a bundle. She took the cloak, realizing immediately that something was hidden within its folds. A tremor of fear struck between her shoulder blades until she assured herself that it couldn't be an ax. “What's in here?”

“Open it and see.”

She pulled away the heavy material, finally revealing the hidden object. “My own mortar and pestle!”

“Aye, you've learned much, these last months. 'Tis time you became my assistant … in all I do.”

Lily barely noticed the hesitation in her father's voice. She hugged him. She would help him heal people. She would speak softly and kindly as her mother used to, and she'd touch with gentle hands instead of the clumsy ones she still faltered with.

Between her laughs, a scratch at the back door caught her attention. A night visitor could only mean one thing. Holding a candle high and hurrying to the apothecary door, Lily looked out. A young man stood there, supporting an older man with sallow cheeks. Both men had gaunt faces and their clothes were little more than rags. The older man held up his hand. Or rather, the bloody stump where his hand used to be.

Lily gasped and fell back a step, but her father's firm hand on her shoulder quickly steadied her.

“'Tis my father,” the younger man said. “He's lost much blood, and his arm is hot.” He kept his gaze lowered. “We tried to care for it ourselves and even saw the barber, but we have nothing for payment and he sent us away. I didn't want to come here! But Father says 'tis his only hope.”

Lily stiffened at the venom in his voice.

“Come in,” Will ordered, walking back and pulling Lily with him.

The two men entered. Lily's father sat the wounded man on a bench and began to unwind the bandage that was black with blood and grime. “Heat some water, daughter,” he said curtly.

She moved quickly to do his bidding, ashamed that he'd had to ask. As his assistant, she should know what to do without being told.

Once she'd placed a kettle of rainwater over the small fire, Lily helped her father lay out herbs. She tried not to look at the mutilated arm that rested on the table. But one quick glance made her stomach roil. The flesh looked painfully red with infection and the edges of the skin were pulling back from the wound. She just hoped she wouldn't faint and do her father dishonor. If she were to become a healer, she would have to tend to injuries as bad as this. Maybe even worse.

“What a terrible accident,” she said, trying to fill the heavy silence.

“Aye,” the injured man grunted.

“A scythe did this?” Lily asked, unable to think of any other instrument that could possibly do so much damage.

Her father's hands stilled. The old man said nothing.

Lily glanced at him. He was looking at her from under heavyset lids. His eyes appeared sunken and near death. She noticed the stiff frown on her father's face as he mixed various herbs.

Lily shifted uneasily, suddenly aware of the tension stretching thin in the room. Looking at the bloody stump as her father examined it, she wondered what kind of an accident could possibly cleave off a hand so precisely. Scything accidents did happen, but the wounds were rarely clear through nor cut so smoothly as this one. An ax perhaps?

A humming noise started in her ears. She shook her head, trying to concentrate on her duties as her father's assistant. She remembered her mother often gave kind words of advice to visitors, so she said, “You should be more careful.”

The young man made a choking sound and she looked up at him, shocked to see such hatred in his eyes. He glared at her until she blinked and looked away, the heat of humiliation rising from her neck and covering her face.