knew she wanted to get through a tall window like that. To get past the stonework and wood and brick. To remember. But all she could recall was a surprised face staring up at her, the mouth open in a silent scream filled with gray … a face with open glassy eyes, a lovely face marred by swirling white, floating, then sinking into the depths of memory …
In her dreams she saw her mother’s face, a mother she could not recall …
A face in the shadow of a hood floated into her vision. A scarred face. Under the pox marks, perhaps pretty. And yet young. She stared into that puckered visage, and it stared back at her. Was this girl a part of herself, her reflection in the glass? Did this other self know what must be remembered?
“Hello,” the girl, younger and shorter than herself, said. “I come from the country, but my mother lives here, and I needs find her.” She pulled her deep hood closer about her face, as if to hide. Perhaps they could hide together. The girl was speaking again.
“But they told me to get’way from this gate.”
Get away, get away. Yes, those words sounded like ones she had to remember. She reached out and took the younger girl’s hand. They were both trembling.
“Could you please tell them for me?” the scarred girl went on in her slow country drawl. “Tell them my mother’s the queen’s herbal woman? My name’s Sally Downs, really Sarah Milligrew. Her name’s Mother Meg, Meg Milligrew. My other mother said Mother Meg told them to tell me the truth’bout my poxed face, but they didn’t’til now. Ten whole years, so I ran’way. Why did they have to hide it all from me? They told me years ago I wasn’t their daughter but’dopted.”
That, too, struck a chord. Adopted. And something was hidden. They should have told her, told her, but she went to find out for herself …
This girl had said she ran away. Those words echoed. I ran away … get away, get away … No, no, don’t! screamed in her head. She wanted to hold Sally’s hand and run away, but again her feet wouldn’t move. Why hadn’t she called for help when someone screamed, Get away, get away?
She couldn’t swallow the jagged pieces of fear in her throat that choked her voice, even her breath. Her knees shook, and she crumpled against Sally and slid down her to the cobbled street, but she did not let go of her hand.
“Help!” she heard Sally scream. “Help, this lady’s ill! Stand’way! Give her some air, then!”
The small crowd near the palace entry shifted slightly, but not, she could see, to give her air. They backed away from a thunder of hoofbeats, the thud-thud as a skull struck the wooden tub. No, there was no wooden tub here. Men, at least six of them on horseback, and one of them gaping down at her and Sally.
He reined in and shouted, pointing right at her. “My lord, hold there! Look, that girl with the other!”
The party of riders reined in, strung out toward the guarded entrance of the palace. She felt Sally start to tug free of her, but then she felt the younger girl’s arm go around her shoulders to prop her up.
“Badger, I owe you my life, my life!” a man was shouting. He sounded as if he were crying—a man, crying. “Yes, it looks like her …”
Sights and sounds swirled around her as she held hard to Sally and stared straight up. The sky, the tall palace walls sinking into shadows … the wooden, slanted walls of a loft somewhere … a woman, sinking.
“Marie!” the second man cried. “Thank God, Marie!”
He managed to slide off his high horse, but he almost crumpled when he hit the ground. The man who had seen her first helped him, a short, quick man with eyebrows that came together like a dark stroke of a pen. The taller man who nearly fell took a long stick from the one he’d called Badger.
She went still as death as the stranger fell to his knees and grasped her to him, breathing hard, choking back sobs that shook him. She wanted to scream, Get away, no, please
In her dreams she saw her mother’s face, a mother she could not recall …
A face in the shadow of a hood floated into her vision. A scarred face. Under the pox marks, perhaps pretty. And yet young. She stared into that puckered visage, and it stared back at her. Was this girl a part of herself, her reflection in the glass? Did this other self know what must be remembered?
“Hello,” the girl, younger and shorter than herself, said. “I come from the country, but my mother lives here, and I needs find her.” She pulled her deep hood closer about her face, as if to hide. Perhaps they could hide together. The girl was speaking again.
“But they told me to get’way from this gate.”
Get away, get away. Yes, those words sounded like ones she had to remember. She reached out and took the younger girl’s hand. They were both trembling.
“Could you please tell them for me?” the scarred girl went on in her slow country drawl. “Tell them my mother’s the queen’s herbal woman? My name’s Sally Downs, really Sarah Milligrew. Her name’s Mother Meg, Meg Milligrew. My other mother said Mother Meg told them to tell me the truth’bout my poxed face, but they didn’t’til now. Ten whole years, so I ran’way. Why did they have to hide it all from me? They told me years ago I wasn’t their daughter but’dopted.”
That, too, struck a chord. Adopted. And something was hidden. They should have told her, told her, but she went to find out for herself …
This girl had said she ran away. Those words echoed. I ran away … get away, get away … No, no, don’t! screamed in her head. She wanted to hold Sally’s hand and run away, but again her feet wouldn’t move. Why hadn’t she called for help when someone screamed, Get away, get away?
She couldn’t swallow the jagged pieces of fear in her throat that choked her voice, even her breath. Her knees shook, and she crumpled against Sally and slid down her to the cobbled street, but she did not let go of her hand.
“Help!” she heard Sally scream. “Help, this lady’s ill! Stand’way! Give her some air, then!”
The small crowd near the palace entry shifted slightly, but not, she could see, to give her air. They backed away from a thunder of hoofbeats, the thud-thud as a skull struck the wooden tub. No, there was no wooden tub here. Men, at least six of them on horseback, and one of them gaping down at her and Sally.
He reined in and shouted, pointing right at her. “My lord, hold there! Look, that girl with the other!”
The party of riders reined in, strung out toward the guarded entrance of the palace. She felt Sally start to tug free of her, but then she felt the younger girl’s arm go around her shoulders to prop her up.
“Badger, I owe you my life, my life!” a man was shouting. He sounded as if he were crying—a man, crying. “Yes, it looks like her …”
Sights and sounds swirled around her as she held hard to Sally and stared straight up. The sky, the tall palace walls sinking into shadows … the wooden, slanted walls of a loft somewhere … a woman, sinking.
“Marie!” the second man cried. “Thank God, Marie!”
He managed to slide off his high horse, but he almost crumpled when he hit the ground. The man who had seen her first helped him, a short, quick man with eyebrows that came together like a dark stroke of a pen. The taller man who nearly fell took a long stick from the one he’d called Badger.
She went still as death as the stranger fell to his knees and grasped her to him, breathing hard, choking back sobs that shook him. She wanted to scream, Get away, no, please
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