The Silver Cup by Constance Leeds

smell in the house was so bad, two men fainted, and one vomited all over the dead blue man.”
    â€œThat’s a horrible tale, Martin!”
    â€œWhy? I wish I had seen the dog and the men this morning. You have to laugh. And it serves the drunk right. One less, now. Though they say they’ll have to burn the house down. Why are you so sour?”
    â€œI’m not sour. That’s an awful story,” said Anna picking up her basket and weaving.
    â€œYou would think that.”
    â€œI’m glad I don’t see things your way. No one is ever good enough for you. Don’t you ever feel sorry for anyone ? ”
    â€œSorry for a drunk?”
    â€œYes. Sorry for someone whose life is harder than yours.”
    â€œI blame him for his own misfortune.”
    â€œI don’t think it’s always about blame.”
    â€œWell it is,” said Martin grimly. Then he asked, “Do you think it’s a sin to be grateful for someone’s else’s sin?”
    â€œWhat do you mean?” asked Anna, looking up at Martin, who turned and began prodding the fire with an iron poker.
    â€œIf you knew someone else had done something very wrong, but you were really glad that they had done it? Would that be a sin?” he asked, keeping his back to Anna.
    â€œMaybe. I don’t know,” she said, trying to figure out her cousin’s real question.
    â€œWhat do you know?” snarled Martin.
    â€œOnly that you’re mean,” said Anna.
    â€œSpare me, cousin. I’ve seen more of this world than you.”
    â€œYes, and it hasn’t made you kinder.”
    â€œWhat use is kindness? Good-bye, boggy Anna. I am off to my father’s. We’re fitting iron strakes on your father’s cart wheels. That is, if we can get the forge hot enough.”
    â€œI don’t think I’ll ever be warm again.”
    â€œI’ve had enough of your whining. I’ve had enough of this boring, empty house. I want to join that holy war.”
    â€œNot today, Martin,” called Anna, glad to be rid of him.
    The next morning, on the twenty first day of January, the family went to church to celebrate St. Agnes’s holy day. Father Rupert told the story of her life.
    â€œWhen this pure Christian child refused the proposal of the son of a powerful pagan lord, the furious pagan lord stripped her and marched her, naked, to a brothel. As Agnes walked through the door, she was suddenly, miraculously, clothed in a robe of pure white silk. All the men who had come to this sinful house ran away. All except one, who scoffed at the miracle and insulted Agnes. As he lunged for her, he was struck blind by a bolt of white lightening. Agnes forgave him, and when she put her holy hand across his charred flesh, the burns disappeared and so did his blindness. But the people claimed she was a witch, and she was sentenced to die.”
    Margarete nudged Anna who stood next to her in church, “Mother would have left him blind, burned, and suffering,” she whispered.
    Anna giggled and asked her cousin why St. Agnes was the patron saint of unmarried girls. Margarete shrugged and said, “Who knows? But Mother loves her feast day. And so do I.”
    Every girl loved the traditions of this day. Unmarried girls would fast the day before St. Agnes’s holy day, eating nothing but one salted egg. That night, on the Eve of St. Agnes, each girl was supposed see the face of her future husband in her dreams. Anna had fasted for the past two years but never had a vision. This year was no different. After the service, the family gathered to celebrate.
    â€œAnna, who did you dream of ? ” asked Elisabeth, who was helping her mother while Karl and his sons were setting the table boards in place for the feast.
    â€œI had no dream,” answered Anna.
    â€œPoor Cousin! Again this year? ” remarked Margarete, a bit too gleefully Anna thought.
    â€œHave you considered that