The walk home seemed to take longer, but at least we didn’t walk in silence. Father asked Blye what she thought of Renald.
“He seems nice enough, but I’d still like to try to apprentice at a seamstress in Water-On-The-Bridge. The one we visited yesterday wanted to see an example of my work and said she would consider me if it was well done.”
Father nodded without comment and then asked Bryn what she thought of Henick.
“If I marry him, I will die before my time,” Bryn ominously predicted.
I wanted to ask her how she could possibly know when her time was but kept silent.
Father made no comment either.
Seven
The sun set as we followed the main road to the village. In the distance, the baying cry of a lonely dog broke the evening’s quiet. The scuff of our footfalls on the packed earth kept us company.
When we returned home, a large chest rested on the ground in front of our door. Attached to the clasp, a single piece of crisp parchment fluttered in the slight breeze. Father plucked up the paper before any of us could move close enough to read it and brought it inside, heading for his study. Bryn and Blye stared at the chest for a moment, neither moving to touch it. Skirting around it as Father had, I followed him to the study. After a brief delay, I heard Bryn and Blye follow.
“It would appear news of your need to marry has spread,” he mumbled looking troubled. “This note worries me.”
He handed the sheet over for us to read.
Sir,
This trunk is but an example of what I can offer for your daughter should you willingly part with her this very night.
Be warned, once you part, you will never meet again. If you consent, have her await me alone outside your front door in place of the trunk. If I find the trunk as I left it, I will know you have declined.
I couldn’t make sense of the scrawled signature that decorated the bottom of the page.
Neither Bryn nor Blye spoke as they both left to see what the trunk held. Father followed them while I narrowed my eyes on the writing. Who would mysteriously want to take one of them after the sun fell? And the request hinted that he had no desire to meet Father in person.
Setting the letter on Father’s cluttered desk, I slowly followed the sound of an excited squeal.
“Look at this!” Blye cried, pulling out a long length of smooth material that rippled in a cascade when she draped it over her arm.
Leaning close, I eyed the contents of the trunk. Obviously, the mysterious suitor meant for Blye to join him. Neither Bryn nor I had much care for material, though watching Bryn’s appraising gaze, I guessed she might be gaining an appreciation for it.
“I’ve never felt anything so fine,” Blye whispered, gently stroking the fabric. “To wear this...I would feel like a princess.”
“So you’d accept some unknown man?” Bryn asked.
“Wouldn’t you for this kind of wealth?” Blye said with a laugh.
Neither looked at Father, but I watched them all as they spoke. Father studied the contents warily. Blye saw nothing more than the wealth, not even the jealousy in Bryn’s gaze.
“I cannot allow it,” Father said finally.
Blye’s head whipped toward him; her disbelief plain. He held up a hand before she could protest.
“The wealth is alluring, but what if the man or your place in his life is not. I recall Bryn’s words about the Kinlyn’s hard life. They are a happy family with wealth enough of their own, but Bryn knew it wasn’t enough. You know nothing about him, and I fear sending you off into an unknown life without the assurance that I might check on you occasionally.”
Blye said nothing as tears spilled over from her eyes and slowly rolled down her cheeks.
“We will not reject the offer outright, however,” he said. “I will write a reply to leave with the trunk explaining a father’s need for assurances of wellbeing and happiness.”
Blye nodded and began folding the material with Bryn’s help as Father turned to retreat into his study once more. Blye could cry her pretty tears, but she was foolish to think wealth enough of a basis to marry a man. Look at the baker. He had plenty of wealth, but would that be enough to lie still each night as he lay beside me? I shivered at the thought. No amount of wealth would make that image pleasant enough to endure.
Leaving them to their cloth, I crept to our room to change from my dress. Having worn it as it finished drying, my skin felt itchy; and I couldn’t wait to put on my loose nightgown and scratch my stomach.
In the dim light of the room, something white stood out on my coverlet. Lighting the single candle stub we reserved for emergencies, I found the shirt I’d worn the night before laid out neatly on my bed. My stomach dipped. The beast had heard me at the gate. But why hadn’t he answered then? Why bring it to the cottage?