The Toll (2 page)

He had deeply bronzed skin from
working out in the fields and the pasture all day, and his eyes
were a deep set brown. I loved the color, like dark pools of
molasses, and hoped more than anything that when he finally worked
up the courage to ask Papa for my hand, our children would someday
inherit their father’s deep, dark, crisp brown eyes.

Trystan also had scars along the left
side of his body, and he limped—a hunting accident with his uncle
gone wrong when he was young. The flesh didn’t quite heal right,
leaving tightened, misshapen, pulled and sewn together, puckered
flesh along his arm and upper neck. Some would say these things
rendered him unattractive. They didn’t to me. Trystan fought and he
lived. He fought through the pain and subsequent fever, and he
healed. If anything, it made him strong and sympathetic. It made
him more human, more real—compassionate. He was a fighter, in my
book, a true survivor, and I told him so often.

Truly, I had no doubts that Papa and
Mamma would approve the match. It didn’t hurt that Trystan’s father
owned quite a bit of land, conveniently adjoining ours. A point in
favor towards father’s liking that I couldn’t care less about, but
still, it didn’t hurt.

“
Well,” Trystan demanded,
“explain yourself, Daphedaenya.”

“
Uhm...” Eyes darting
about, I chewed my lip, worrying it between my teeth as I cleared
my throat, cocking a slender brow. “That you’re lazy? Or that we’re
fools?”

“
Daphie!!” The outrage in
his voice wasn’t feigned as I burst out laughing and took off. I
turned and ran, clutching my basket and my skirt together in one
hand as I shot off towards home.

“
Oh, Trystan,” I chortled,
“you should have seen your face! That look would peel
paint!”

My feet made wet, squishing sounds as
I reached the muddy hill—which would reveal my house once I’d made
it just beyond—soaking my slippers, but Trystan’s thick booted,
heavy foot falls soon met up with mine and he scooped me up,
swinging me around as I squealed and squawked in
protest.

He hugged me to his thick, meaty chest
tight and chuckled into my hair. I laughed and squealed happily as
he glanced around quickly before he dove in and started raining
kisses down the tip of my ear and along the column of my exposed
throat.

“
Now I’ve caught you, my
Daphie-girl,” he whispered huskily, smiling against my skin when my
hands wrapped around his thick, strong arms in return. “What’ll you
give me to let go? Hmm?”

“
A basket of berries? My
berries?” I offered, still giggling hysterically, plucking one up
and feeding it to him, my fingers lingering a tiny bit at his lips
as he licked the berry juice from them.

He chewed and swallowed, groaning into
my neck as he gently set me on my feet. “You’re such a tease,” he
groaned, much more pitifully than it warranted, his large,
calloused hands giving my thick waist a little squeeze. “Sometimes
I wonder if you know more than you let on.”

I knew things, not that I’d
ever done those things, but I had married friends and they talked.
Most women my age had already wed by now or were engaged to be. Not
that I knew a lot about sexual things, just the basics, but I felt
it my personal duty and mission in life to taunt him, my beau. So,
I’d say little things, never confirming or denying his
wonderings.
It’s more fun that way.
I’ll let him figure that out on our wedding
night.

A slight moment of apprehension filled
me when I could feel the thickness of his member protruding,
pressing into my back through his thick trousers impatiently, but
it was brief and fleeting feeling as he slowly stepped
back.

Deep down, I knew Trystan
would never do anything to hurt me, not on purpose. I had to
wonder, though
, how will it
fit?

“
Daphedaenya!
Daphedaenya!!”

We both sighed heavily and groaned at
the sound of Mamma’s voice calling my name.

“
I best be going now,”
Trystan finally muttered as we stood there helplessly, only several
feet separating us as we faced each other now, wanting to hug
good-bye once more before we had to go, yet both of us unwilling to
risk getting caught in the act.

“
Daphedaenya!”

We both jumped at the shrill
intonation that is Mamma.

Exchanging a quick, sympathetic
grimace, I waved as he started off, slowly walking backwards as he
watched me from over his shoulder.

Waving once more once I’d reached the
top of the hill, he winked, grinning, and blew me a kiss. Giggling
happily and smiling like a nincompoop, I caught it and returned the
gesture.

He chuckled, and with one last hearty
wave and a tip of his hat, he was gone.

Mamma continued to shout out my name.
Her voice, something off about it, pricked me as the urgency lacing
it made itself more and more apparent, along with the ever
increasing volume of her incessant yelling, and the sharpening in
her tone.

I picked up my pace once I’d reached
the bottom of the steep hill, breaking out into a run when I heard
Mamma’s voice catch and choke, breaking on a sob.

My heart felt like it was going to
jump out of my chest as she started crying openly, wailing out my
sister’s name.

“
Otvla! Otvla!” she sobbed
out desperately.

“
Mamma!
Mamma!”
I shouted, following the
sound of her sharp cries as they got louder and louder.

Skidding along the loose, dark gravel
covered ground, I came to a sudden halt, almost running my mother
right over in my haste. As I’d turned the crumbling brick corner on
the side of the house that led to the cobbled walk way and heavy
wooden front door, I almost smacked right into her. Or over her, I
should say.

Mamma was crumpled on the bottom front
steps, huddled in a little ball, her thick brown skirt billowing
around her as she rocked back and forth, hysterical, her favorite
dark blue knit shawl clutched tightly to chest in her long, bony
hands.

“
Mamma! Mamma? What’s
happened? Mamma?” I knelt down in front of her and clutched her
cold, clammy fingers in mine, trying to put a bit of warmth into
her. They felt like ice, they were so cold, and as I glanced down,
I noticed they were clutching something, gripping it—whatever it
was—tight.

“
It’s… it’s… oh,” she burst
out, revealing a flash of silver as she slowly clenched and
unclenched her white knuckled fists.

I knew that bit of silver—the little
oval with the tiny rose in the corner—it matched the one I was
wearing perfectly, an exact copy.

Fingering mine as worry and panic
engulfed me, I felt my own skin growing chilled.
“Mamma…”

“
My little Otvla!” she
wailed, pressing the little locket up to her forehead as she said a
quick prayer, tears streaming down her gaunt face.

It was her locket she had
clutched in her hand,
Otvalena’s
, my younger
sister.

“
What happened to her,
Mamma?” I tried, but she couldn’t hear me, her sharp, pain filled
cries overpowering my own strong voice. “Mamma,” I soothed, trying
another approach, rubbing her fingertips reassuringly.

Letting out a few, inarticulate cries,
she shook her head and pulled her hands back. “My baby… my baby…
She’s gone. She’s… she’s…” Overcome, she couldn’t
finish.

My heart broke for hers as my own
chipped and cracked, torn by her repeated rebuffs, yet worried for
my sibling. Still, given her precarious state, I tried to comfort
her, but she shoved me off whenever I went to put my arms around
her, in favor of rocking herself back and forth
violently.

“
No… no… no…” she mumbled,
“they’ve taken her, they have. My little baby. My little angel! My
little Otvla!!”

It was starting to weigh on me as I
squatted down over her, just watching, feeling impotent, helpless,
not knowing exactly what had taken place.

Taking a chance, I gripped
her shoulders, hoping to bring her around enough to get some
answers.
Otvla is in trouble and she needs
help. We can’t help her if I don’t know what from or what happened.
I don’t even know where she is.

“
Mamma! What has happened?
Who’s taken her, and where? When?” I tried once more, with much the
same result.

Dark hazel eyes, much the same color
as Otvla’s, set in a too thin, wrinkle-lined face, came up to meet
mine.

“
I told her,” she
hiccupped, her puffy red eyes full of soon to be shed tears, “and
your papa told her, but she did, she did it anyways, and then they
took her. They took her!!”

“
Who took her?!” I
demanded. My voice was bordering on an angry shout, but I couldn’t
help it.
This is so
frustrating!

“
They did! They did! They
took her! And now she’s gone! Forever!”

I gave up right then as she went into
another sobbing trance, muttering to herself through unseeing eyes.
Whatever had happened to Otvla, it wasn’t good. I needed to think
quick and act. We needed help and Mamma wasn’t going to be much
good where that was concerned.

Decided, I picked Mamma up,
ignoring her initial protests, and carried her into the house. My
sturdier, much thicker frame wasn’t just made of fat, you know—I
have muscles hidden in there too. Papa needed help on the farm
sometimes, and help was hard to find. I’d always fancied myself the
dress wearing son he never had. I don’t think he’d quite seen it
that way, only grudgingly accepting my help when he truly could
find no one else, but I chose to see it that way because it made me
feel good about it.
No matter how much he
grumbled at me about a woman’s place as I did so.

Mamma settled, if only temporarily,
and thinking of Papa, I went to run outside, kicking off my muddied
slippers and reaching for the hook on the wall by the door on my
way. Tossing on my dark brown cape and thick winter boots, I headed
straight for the field he’d been working in this
morning.

It was even darker out now, having had
a terrible time getting Mamma into the house. I hadn’t really
realized how much time had passed. Then, I wasted even more time,
having to go back and retrieve a lantern, worried about finding my
way in the waning light. Careful of the glowing flame encased in
glass, I held it out in front of me, keeping it still as best as I
could as I ran headlong where I still hoped Papa would
be.

“
Oh, please still be there.
Please still be there.” Scared out of my mind, I jumped and shook,
shivering, chewing my lip nervously at every little thing—every
crick of a branch, croak or caw of some unknown creature. It was
maddening and I was frightened, but I was on a mission.

Papa may not find the
darkness cumbersome or to his dislike, but I sure did. I never did
quite shake my childhood fear of things that go bump in the
night.
Not that I’d told anyone that, mind
you, I’m a grown woman of almost twenty eight
winters—e
veryone would think me silly, as
they should.
Or, like my much loathed
nickname, truly
‘Daphie’.

My thick winter footwear
slushed along, slopping and splattering mud all over me as I
trampled, trudging through the muck of the lower, marshier
grassland butting our property, closest to the Blood Mud swamps. I
was thankful I’d remembered to slap the warm boots on after
settling Mamma. This terrain was
not
made for flouncing around in
slippers, which had been in bad enough shape as it was from my
earlier romp in the fields with Trystan. It was, however, the
fastest way I knew of to get there, through all that squishy muck,
so I’d take a little mud splashing if it got help faster. And I
was, indeed, in a hurry.
Otvla needs help,
now.

My legs worked harder, determined,
hands gripping my lantern a little tighter as I squinted into the
darkness.

Lips pressed together so tight they
ached, I gritted my teeth and took a deep breath. “I’ll get you
help, Otvla,” I promised. “If it’s the last thing I do.” And I’d
meant every word.

Plight Of The
Wallflower

Huffing and puffing from
the longer than I’d anticipated walk/run—
turned out he was not where I’d hoped he’d
be—
I finally spotted Papa as I ran into
the taller growing dark green grass, slopping about brown and
reddish tinted water and muck everywhere—a true sign the marsh was
just beyond—panting as I caught up to him on his horse.

Running out of steam, and beyond
relieved to see him, I lunged at his pant leg, startling him as I
gripped it tight.

“
Papa! Oh, Papa! I’ve been
looking for you!”

My father cursed and
jumped, waving his lantern about wildly, back and forth, over my
head, lowering the pistol he’d suddenly aimed at
me—
the one he always carried that I’d
momentarily forgotten about—whoops!—
when
he realized it was just me and not some nameless, thieving
marauder.