Fateful Decision

This story is by A. Marieve Monnen and was part of our 2024 Spring Writing Contest. You can find all the writing contest stories here.

The mourners had left, and the house grew silent except for the crackling of the fire. Hot drink mugs occupied the hearth and every table in the sitting room.

 

The Liege Midwife of HYLA spoke calmly as she held Leda in her lap while the child slept. Hannah remained in her room upstairs and had not come down.  Gregoria, despite her sleepless night and in her efforts to be a proper hostess, did her best to listen respectfully.

 

“This is more responsibility than most daughters could bear. Your mother’s loss so unexpected, and now your father so close behind. We support ye in honor of your mother’s many kindnesses and the dignity she’s given us in Aintree and beyond these walls. If you’ve no objections, we’ll continue to meet near Gardener’s Cottage each middlemonth.”

 

“Aye, “ Gregoria agreed, “and you may keep your key to the roofless room and harvest in my mother’s garden of remedy in accordance with the Healer’s Oath. I’ll expect you at middlemonth and on the Longest Day, but I’d appreciate some notice at other times or a note when an emergency is past. “

 

The Liege nodded and continued.

 

“If you were the grieving husband of a lastborn, as your father was, the Council would appoint you a Champion and a Motherer. There’s none such in the law for grieving daughters. Paths are open to you, surely ye know that. Unmarrieds are welcome at the Cliffs, and ye know that, too. You’re a skilled Healer, a Master Observer in your own right, a blessing to all of us.”

 

She stroked Leda’s hair. “These are serious decisions and shouldn’t be hastily made. Take your time; we support whatever ye decide.”

 

Outside, Gregoria walked the Liege to the roadway, lifted Leda’s hand, and they waved their goodbyes in the light but insistent rain.

 

Back inside, Gregoria checked the pitcher and basin she’d set on the hearth to warm then slipped Leda out of her damp dress and underthings. She washed the tot’s face, bathed her gently, and helped her into her lambswool sark and slippers. The child fell asleep on her shoulder.

 

Grief lay heavy and numbing in her heart as she climbed the stairs. The room Hannah and Leda shared was next to her own, but just for tonight she would take her into her own bed.

 

She reached in for Leda’s bedtime toy, a white lambswool swan. They each had one, lovingly fashioned by their father Gregor in observance of family tradition.

 

Hannah’s bed was empty.

 

At the other end of the hall, the door to her parents’ room was open, and when Gregoria looked in, Hannah was sitting on the bed with a box in her lap. Papers and letters lay strewn on the coverlet, and tears stained Hannah’s face. She jumped up, and the box tumbled to the floor, spilling out the rest of its contents.

 

“What are you doing in here?

“Come away at once. These things don’t belong to you!”

 

Hannah, eyes downcast, silently left the room.

 

Gregoria tucked the swan in with Leda, drawing the curl-by-the fire blanket around her. She’d gathered up everything that had fallen, turning sheets of paper to fit them properly in the box, when she came across a letter in her mother’s handwriting.

 

It was a letter meant for her alone.

 

No envelope? She made a quick search around the sleeping platform. There might be something in her father’s things, but she couldn’t bring herself to open any of the drawers.

 

There would be time. The rain would stop, and the light would return, and there would be time.

 

She unfolded the letter.

 

My longed-for Gregoria,

You are old enough to read this for yourself, I see.

I know this because I have forbidden your father to show you this letter until he deems the time is suitable for our conversation.

He will probably wait until your twelfth birthday (that was my recommendation}, but I left the decision entirely in his hands, so you may be reading this on your wedding day.

How I wish I could be there to comfort you now. You must have all the questions I did and more.

There is no doubt in my mind that you are lively and confident in your father’s care. We made promises to each other, and I trust him completely to have kept them. Still, grief is a terrible thing, where a child is concerned.

If, in his grief, he has become distant, you must not think it is your fault or be sorry for anything that happened after you were born. I have made my choice that HYLA should continue so that the full story, beyond my shorter one, can be recorded and told.

While I wait for your arrival, I have the honor of working on a founding Record for our Leader.  I am working from a hasty copy, but when my fair copy has been checked a final time against the damaged original, it will join all the other Records as a witness to the founding at the Cliffs. It tells the story of thirteen unwanted, unpaired daughters who banded together one Winter to plan and dream a new life for themselves.

In the salt air and the bright light, daughters who had never married found freedom and confidence. Life at the Cliffs was simple and satisfying. Each learned from each, and their natural creativity found outlets in works of art, music, weaving and woodworking, story and verse.

Some there were, who became expert at remedies and healing, and these established the Healing Path.

My own dream for you is that you will study at the Cliffs someday and pursue your place on that Path.

And that is where I met your father, in a mild firstmonth of Winter. We fell in love, married that Summer, and you were born all those many years ago in the Springtime of the following year. Some say we find love in the season of our birth. I certainly did. May the Maker bring you true love in the Springtime if you have not already found it.

Where do your talents lie, my daughter? Observer? Healer? Artist? Songstress? Musician? Some marvelous combination?

Pursue what speaks to your heart and let the Maker and the Healer’s Oath guide you in all things.

Know that I love ye beyond story and beyond measure.

Ye are your father’s and your mother’s wondrous dream come to life.

Mother

 

Gregoria read the letter several times before replacing it in her father’s lettercase. Her mother, ever the one to notice and account for details, must have written the letter to be opened by Gregoria if her mother died because of a childbirth gone wrong or some sickness had claimed her, but why had her father kept the letter and never shown it to her?

 

On second thought, It was easy to understand why Gregor had kept the letter, but why not show it to her when she had begun classes at the Cliffs, as her mother had wished? The letter had to have been written before Gregoria was born. “My longed-for Gregoria,” she read.

 

Father must have been waiting for my wedding day, she decided.

 

But Gregoria’s first Fair Pairing had been her last. The Wheel had stopped on the first spin, and the moody son with the matching number had cared nothing for her feelings or interests.  He’d done well for himself and had a fine house and a large family at one of the Crossroads. Her father comforted her and supported her decision.  Her mother confided her own first Fair Pairing had failed, and she could not imagine her life without Gregoria’s father, the man who had freely chosen her three seasons later.

 

Gregoria hadn’t met anyone suitable at the Aintree Town Hall gatherings. She preferred the Wythe House scriptorium and the world of books and poems.

 

Losing both of her parents within less than three years of each other had unmoored her.

 

There had been no shortage of love or encouragement. Early on, she’d struggled with the idea of sharing her parents’ love with Hannah, her adopted sister; but her dissatisfaction vanished with her first glimpse of life at the Cliffs. The sea had stolen her affections at first sight . . .

 

Her own life, she suddenly realized, could be otherwise; she could return to its true center.

 

She would accept the Midwife’s offer of Motherers for Hannah, take Leda to the Cliffs, and finish her course of study. She would become the only woman to earn both honors, the ring of the Master Healer and the silver scroll brooch of the Master Observer.

 

Hannah stood in the doorway, eyelids reddened and shoulders drooping.

 

“Go back to your room. Nap first — Leda is already asleep — and then I will fix something for supper.”

 

Hannah turned away and walked back down the hall to her room.

 

Gregoria rose and shut the bedroom door.