The Toll (3 page)

Pepper, the old black mare he rode,
chuffed as he pulled to a stop beside me, stomping her foot readily
in protest. She was probably hungry and thirsty, ready to head back
home and be put up for the night, the poor thing.

“
Papa! Papa! You have to
come quick!” I managed to gasp out as I rested my lantern on a
drier patch of grass, panting heavily, and held onto my knees for
support.

Papa frowned down at me, lowering his
light, my chest heaving unbecomingly as I tried to catch my breath,
his gnarled old hands holding onto the leather reins of his work
horse tight, huffing disapprovingly at my current disheveled
appearance. Dark, fuzzy caterpillar brows, a deeper, rustier orange
to my brighter, lighter orangey red, scowled down at me in
consternation as I started to babble.

Grunting, he held a hand up. “Whoa
there, Daphedaenya. What’s going on? What’s all this runnin’ and
gibberin’ about? You scared me half to death, child!” Grunting, he
adjusted himself in the saddle and glanced at where the house would
be, somewhere off in the distance, meaningfully, then back at me.
Muttering under his breath, he grumbled about silly females as he
tugged off his hat and rubbed at his balding pate, only a thick
ring of frizzy orange left to fringe around his head.

“
Something’s happened!”
Stuttering and spluttering as I tried to spit it all out, I
motioned towards the house and tugged at him once more before I
released him and started hurrying towards the direction I hoped
home was
—it was kind of hard to tell at
this time of night—
by myself, urging him
on.

“
What’s happened,
Daphedaenya? You’re not making any-”

“
I don’t know!” I shouted,
picking up my lantern, not waiting for him as I started to run off.
“I couldn’t get Mamma to explain! She was beside herself! Someone
took Otvla! That’s all I know!”

“
Otvla!” Papa’s eyes
widened and he sat up straighter, the sun-kissed wrinkles around
his eyelids stretching, right along with the faded pools of blue
swimming around his pupils, in disbelief.

“
Yes!”

“
Otvla… no.” Papa gasped
and let out a pained, choked noise. I almost stopped in my tracks
to hurry back towards him, tempted to run up and offer him
comfort.

It would have been for nothing,
though, as he passed me, having kicked his horse into gear,
speeding past as he headed right for home.

“
Wait!” I called weakly as
he sped off into the distance, leaving me to fend for myself, all
alone, in the dark, the amber glow of his lantern fading as he got
farther and farther away from me. “You forgot... me,” I finished
lamely, coming to a stop suddenly and staring off after him in the
distance. A little hurt, but nonetheless undeterred, I picked up my
pace, my drive to help my sister trumping everything else. “I can
do this.” Shoulders back, lantern held high, I ran like my ass was
on fire, mumbling to myself the entire way, “This has nothing to do
with scary bogies, this has absolutely nothing to do with scary
bogies. Nothing. Nothing at all. This is for Otvla. This is for
Otvla. There’s no such things as boogey men. There’s no such thing.
Nope.” And I kept my little mantra up the entire way.

‘
Cause, you know, nothing
scares all the baddies away like a ranting plump woman mumbling to
herself, mushy and wet, covered in mud, shrieking like a banshee at
every and any little given thing, a lantern held up high in her
pudgy, shaking fist as she runs like the fires of Hell are lapping
at her heels.

Nice Girls Finish
Last

When I finally reached the
house, the hour was late, very late. All the lamps were lit and
there were men standing around everywhere.
A search party,
I thought.
Good.

Glancing down at myself, I grimaced
and tip-toed inside quietly, hoping not to disturb them. I did,
unfortunately, the mere sight of me enough to distract anyone, and
they all stopped and gawked at me.

“
Daphie!” Trystan
exclaimed, taking in my mud soaked, water drenched state.
Did I mention it had started raining half way
home, making it that much harder?
Oh, and
my clothes are very unbecomingly sticking to me like a second
skin.
A very rain drenched second
skin.

Face reddening, I blushed
hard, my pale cheeks flushing a deep crimson. The fact that not
only had all the other men seen me like this, but mainly
him—
my Trystan, my love
—just added to my further embarrassment.

Trystan crossed the room in a few
short strides with his long, thick legs, and went to touch me, hold
me, but caught himself; not before others, namely his father,
noticed, though.

Smiling slightly, his father nodded at
his choice approvingly. Trystan, taking note, grinned, turning back
to me eagerly to help me out of my soggy cape.

“
You can’t be traipsing
around like this in the rain, love,” he whispered, just for my ears
only, making me shiver—a very different kind of shiver—from
somewhere deep inside. “You could get sick.”

My hands briefly touched his over the
little silver clasp on my cape and my skin prickled. “I know, and
thank you, but it’s not like I’d meant for it to happen,” I
hurriedly whispered back.

Deep brown eyes never leaving mine, he
stared at me questioningly, and I felt obliged to
answer.

Licking my lips to wet
them, I shrugged helplessly. “Papa kind of, erm, forgot about me.”
It didn’t really bother me so much. It wasn’t like this was the
first time my parents had temporarily forgotten my existence. I was
never half the trouble Otvla was proving, and more often than not,
sometimes I just, more or less, blended into the background.
Maybe I do it a little too
well
, I pondered.

Everything had always ended up turning
out okay, though, so I couldn’t complain. I considered it the curse
of being the quieter, more subdued, overweight older sibling. This
was just my lot in life, and I’d accepted it years ago. Along with
the realization that Otvla always had been, and always would be, my
parent’s favorite.

Despite her shortcomings, I
loved her too, but I didn’t run around with blinders on as to how
she truly was. I know my sibling, as much as she thinks she knows
me.
Uhm, whenever it is she takes the time
to notice me.

Trystan’s jaw tightened and he glanced
at my father. Jargling his arm to catch his attention, he finally
looked away. Shoulders stiff, he hung my cape and paused before he
turned back to me.

I was about to call his name quietly,
but he spoke before I could. “I see.”

At the deep, irritated note, my eyes
widened at the anger seething just below his usually jocular
surface.

“
He forgot ‘bout ye, luv?
Out in the rain an’ all, an’ after yer sister bein’ snatched up an’
all that? Och, tis a shame.” Seamus O’Donnelle shook his head
sadly, having overheard us, and gave my father a reproachful
look.

Papa took off his hat and blushed
right along with me, bald pate as cherry red as his weathered skin,
catching on quick. “I’m, uh, sorry, Daphie, love, you know your old
Pa didn’t mean it.”

Very aware of our audience and the
strained silence, I smiled sympathetically, offering the olive
branch, as I always do. “I know, Papa. You were just…”

“
Worried,” Mamma sobbed
into a fat hanky, cutting right in. “He was just worried. He never
meant to forget you. He was just… he was just… Oh! Oh! My little
Otvla!!”

Everyone winced as her sharp cries
started up again, her hysterics bordering on ear shattering. Small,
thin frame shuddering, she worked herself up into a right
fit.

“
Getting yourself all
bawled out, carrying on the way you are, until you’re fit to be
tied isn’t going to solve anything, Prun,” Gus Penderton, the local
baker, grumbled.

Prun, or Prundele Kinter, Mamma to me,
wasn’t listening. If anything, she just got louder. Gus looked like
he’d like nothing more than to shut her up himself. I was tempted
to search out something to offer everyone to plug their ears with,
mine too. Small tufts of cotton, perhaps, to hand out to the men to
stuff in their ears, in hopes of saving what little hearing they
might have left in their poor canals.

Gus still had his apron on over his
thick, wide barreled chest, a streak of flour still smudging his
thick but rounded face as he glowered in Mamma’s direction. He
clearly wasn’t impressed with her hysterics at the moment and let
it be known. I was a bit worried the other men might all agree and
mutiny, leaving Papa to search out Otvla all on his own.

Papa patted Mamma’s hand awkwardly,
quietly entreating her to calm herself, and looked to me
helplessly. “Ah, Daphie, if you please, sweet,” he practically
begged, eyes darting between Mamma and me desperately, then the
rest of the occupants packed into the room.

Bobbing my head, I nodded and excused
myself from Trystan and his father, Berthold, taking Mamma’s arm as
I gently led her into her room.

Dressing her for bed in between
sobbing fits, I quickly tucked her in. Holding her tight as she
cried, even in sleep, I prayed as I heard the men all leaving,
hoping they found Otvla and brought her back home, safe and
sound.

It was going to be a long night and I
knew it, but I never lost hope.

****

Mamma woke up a short while later and
moaned out loud. Holding her tight and hoping she’d just go back to
sleep, I held my breath.

“
Nathem? Is that you? Did
you get her back?”

“
It’s just me, Mamma,” I
assured her, running a hand softly over her mussed, mousy brown
hair.

“
Otvla?” she asked
excitedly, her eyes still closed as she sighed in
relief.

“
No, Mamma, it’s me,
Daphedaenya,” I whispered softly.

Lower lip trembling, she let out a
sharp cry and squeezed her eyes shut. Thin frame shaking, her eyes
welled up and she let her tears spill over.

Reaching over, I wiped them away
gently with my thumb. “Don’t cry, Mamma. Papa will figure it all
out. I’m sure he will. You’ll see.”

“
Oh, why! Why? Why her? Oh…
why couldn’t it have been... been... you?” she cried softly, her
hand swatting weakly, uselessly at my chest, “Why couldn’t the
troll have taken you instead?”

Shock shot through me and I just
stared down at her unblinkingly. “Mamma?” I choked out, my own lips
trembling, heart splitting in two.

“
Oh, why… why…” she
continued to mutter, burying her face in my chest.

Numb by her
admission—
whether she’s said it out of
desperation and grief or not
—I was struck.
And worse, to top that all off—
Otvla was
taken by a troll?
A troll?
Filling with dread, my stomach turned over. You
never hear good things about trolls.
Ever.

Quiet Conundrum

Papa came back alone, late, or really
early—however you chose to see it—pale and more frail looking than
I’d ever seen him.

I couldn’t sleep after the little
scene with Mamma in her bedroom, and I was waiting for him at the
old, seen-better-days kitchen table when he shuffled in.

She only said it out of
grief
, I kept telling myself, but even I
couldn’t stomach the lie.

“
I don’t know what else to
do,” Papa mumbled as he glanced at me, his watered down blue eyes
peering right through me. “I... I just don’t know…” Ashen and
shaking, he looked like he’d just seen a ghost.

Popping up, I ran to him, my cream
colored shawl clutched tight around my shoulders over my night gown
as I made my way across the room.

“
Papa? Papa? Did you find
her? Is she alright? Mamma said something about a
troll.”

Papa started mumbling again, “What am
I to do? She’s my little girl. My angel. How am I to…” His head
shook. “How could…? My baby…”

Otvla was far from angelic,
but I understood the sentiment. Maybe a little
too
well. Their little Otvla could
do no wrong in their eyes, and I’d resigned myself to second fiddle
at the onset.

“
Is she coming home, Papa?”
I peeked behind him and then walked to the door.
No Otvla.
My shoulders
slumped.
Oh, I hope she’s okay.
Turning around, I walked back up to him, keeping
pace, right behind.

“
Papa?” I asked
tentatively. “Papa? She is okay, right?”

Papa didn’t answer, staring off at
nothing, straight ahead.

Oh, god.
My breath caught in my throat and I ran around
him to face him.

“
Oh, Papa. Did they… is
she?” I couldn’t finish, my eyes tearing up as he stopped, bumping
right into me. Stumbling back, he finally looked down at me. It was
as if he’d finally just noticed me in the same room with him for
the first time.