Rebekah's Refuge Read online

  Rebekah nodded yet again. After all, what other choice did she have?

  Chapter 5

  I, Frederick Ingalsall, can no longer do the work for which—

  The bronze-faced young man slowly raised his head from the paper he was scrutinizing. How short the letter, but how portentous! If he sent it to the proper quarters, it would be akin to awakening a cobra. The hood would flare as the head raised, the lashing strike so quick and so—

  “Sir?”

  Frederick started and turned to the brusque voice. A weathered-faced woman stood before the counter, and beside her was a girl. The girl wore a plain frock of black satin, and her face was downcast. Her eyes were closed, so Frederick could not discern their color. Yet it was her hair that struck him most forcefully. It rippled down her back in rich burgeoning gold as if it were a field of dancing daffodils. Only one other person had hair similar to the girl’s, and Frederic shook his head forcefully to banish that thought from his mind.

  Frederick shifted his gaze to the woman. “Yes? May I help you?”

  Martha surveyed the modest drugstore with its wooden counter, arrays of shelves and the goods on display. “I need to purchase some headache powder, and my daughter and I require refreshment,” she said.

  Frederick nodded and managed a wan smile. “Certainly. I have sarsaparilla and plenty of meat to make sandwiches. I also have rutabaga cream tonic.” He laughed self-consciously. “It’s a menu item I sometimes enjoy having for sale, although most of my customers are unwilling to try it.” He sighed ruefully. “I can procure your headache powders while you decide.”

  “You like rutabagas, too?” The girl spoke softly, and Frederick saw a tentative smile flit across her face.

  “Indeed,” he said, turning to her with a smile of his own. “They’re a garden unto themselves, and the taste fairly frolics on your tongue. It’s really quite a delicious drink, if I do say so myself.”

  The girl nodded. “Yes,” she said wistfully. “They’re my favorite vegetable. My mother—”

  “I’ll have a sarsaparilla and a ham sandwich,” Martha said quickly. “Go ahead and order, Laura. We’ll sit here at the counter.”

  Frederick looked at the girl expectantly. “And you, miss?” He was startled to hear the girl’s name. It reminded him so very much of another girl, one who had enjoyed rutabaga cream tonics as well.

  “Um, do you have cucumbers?”

  Frederick smiled. “Yes. I have pickles, too, and fresh, salt rising bread.” He was delighted to find someone interested in unusual fare. So often, his days were filled with concocting prescriptions or standard sandwiches with ingredients that never varied. His customers were creatures of habit who never wanted to try anything unusual.

  The girl said, “I’ll have a cucumber sandwich with dill and cream cheese, if you have it, and a rutabaga cream tonic, please.”

  Frederick rose from his stool and began to assemble plates and mugs. “Glad someone wants to try this tonic,” he said happily. “It’s been a recipe in my family for years. Invigorates the taste buds and has lots of vitamins.” He plopped two mugs on the counter. “Don’t be afraid to tell me if you don’t like it, miss.” His voice held a smile. He turned to Martha. “I’ll fetch your headache powders, ma’am.”

  Frederick stepped behind the counter to select the packets of powders. “Did you hear about the illness in Wickson?” For the first time, his self-assured voice trembled. “I-I pray that no others have fallen ill. Have either of you heard any news? It’s horrible, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” Martha said wearily. “We’ve heard nothing besides the fact that Wickson is under quarantine.” She pushed her uneaten sandwich away and sat down her mug.

  “Let’s pray it can be stopped,” Frederick said. He approached the counter and placed the packets of headache powders beside Martha’s plate. “May I get you something else? I’m sorry if I offended you. Sometimes, my tongue runs away from me like a skittish colt.” He laughed nervously and turned to survey the girl. He noticed that she was eating her sandwich with apparent enjoyment. She ate daintily, but her smile grew with each bite. Delight filled him. A cook is an artist in his own right, and it was rare to find such a connoisseur for food.

  “You didn’t offend me,” the woman said. Frederic noticed that her hand trembled as she reached for a worn wallet in the pocket of her dress. “We must go.”

  “Of course.” Frederick returned to his place behind the counter and studied his letter. It was often best to leave the diners alone. He swallowed as he perused his message yet again. Even now, the package was ready. All that was needed was for him to hear the proper words, and the package could be handed to the courier with no trouble. Even now, he could tear the letter up. But that quarantine! So much senseless fear. Quickly, he folded the letter and stood up. He would deliver it tonight in the usual—

  “How much do we owe?” Frederick smiled as the girl proferred some coins for him to take.

  “It’s on the house,” he said. He laughed. “That tonic would have gone to waste anyhow.”

  The girl placed her hands on the counter and leaned forward. “Thank you,” she said. As she said these words, Frederick suddenly saw the film that covered the girl’s eyes. She was blind. He realized what a fool he had been for not noticing before. She had been holding the older woman’s arm, after all. Even so, her walk had been self-assured. She spoke in a lowered voice. “I do want to buy M-Mother some apple pie. How much might a slice be?”

  Frederick blinked and cleared his throat. “A slice is two gabriks,” he said, wondering how she could have known that he had apple pie to offer. He reached to a shelf for a knife and the pie plate. Of course, as soon as the heady fragrance wafted toward him, the mystery was explained. Frederick deftly cut a larger slice than usual and began to wrap it in brown paper. He watched as the girl felt among the coins in her hand. She gave him two ridged, silver ones. “Thank you,” she repeated. “I—”

  “Laura? We must go,” Martha said. Frederic saw the girl flinch at the name. How strange. He handed her the still-warm slice of pie. “Have a safe journey,” he said.

  The girl nodded. She leaned even closer. “You make delicious food and drinks,” she said softly. “Please make sure that’s what you keep doing. I smell wormrack. Be careful.” With these words, she turned away and reached for the woman’s arm.

  As the woman and girl departed, Frederick slumped against the counter. His heart hammered. “Great Egaphia,” he breathed. “How did she know?” The answer suddenly dawned upon him with shocking force. The girl had to be a norn! The poison called wormrack had no scent that humans could discern. She had ordered no meat, for norns did not eat it. She had loved his rutabaga tonic, a drink no human customer would order. Frederick shuddered.

  Chapter 6

  “What were you doing?” Martha asked. She led Rebekah along the teeming sidewalks, the norn’s hand clasped above Martha’s elbow. People scurried in every direction, many carrying satchels Martha knew held all that they owned. Refugees were leaving Plumvale in droves, anxious to reach a place not in such close proximity to Wickson. “What were you saying to that man?”

  Rebekah smiled. “I only wanted to buy you some apple pie. You’ve been so kind to me.”

  Martha blinked. “That’s sweet of you, child, but don’t spend your money on me.”

  “We can share it,” Rebekah said sternly. “If someone does something nice, isn’t it right to repay them in kind? That’s what Mother always says.”

  Martha sighed, feeling her anxiety ease just a bit. She turned onto Brutus Street, breathing a prayer of thanks that her house was only two blocks away. She felt quite secure behind her own locked doors. “We’ll eat it when we arrive home. I have some cheese. Thank you, Laura.”

  Rebekah sighed. “Might you call me by my real name?” she whispered.

  Martha navigated her way past a large group of children. They wore threadbare clothes, bonnets, and straw hats. They were being herded by
a woman with a pointed chin, beaked nose, and a tired face. The woman wore a plain frock and a rather incongruous hat with a garish carnation upon it. Martha recognized the children as orphans from Periwinkle Terrace, a nearby establishment designed to care for the parentless. Periwinkle Terrace belied its name, for the grounds were the bleakest Martha had ever seen. “Your name is Laura,” she said, turning her attention back to her own charge. “You must remember that.”

  Rebekah nodded, her attention diverted by the cacophonous sounds of shuffling feet and the hushed whispers of the children. A scent came to her in dizzying waves; the scent of loneliness and despair. How does that scent smell? Like unwashed clothes mixed with rotting refuse. A strange sensation coursed through her, for not only did she smell sorrow, but she heard a strange melody. The melody was faint and distorted by the noise around her, but she could hear it distinctly. “Whose children are those?” she asked.

  Martha hastily explained about the orphans as she turned onto a cobblestone walkway. “Ten years ago, when the Bind Weed Plague first struck, many children were left without parents. Periwinkle Terrace was established to accommodate the increase of orphans. Deplorable place,” she said. “The Sisters of Goodwill keep it up as best we can, anyhow.”

  Rebekah frowned. “I lost my father when the plague struck,” she said sadly.

  Martha sighed heavily. “The plague shows no favoritism. It strikes whenever and whomever it wants. Come now. We’re nearly home.”

  As Rebekah stepped onto the walkway, she immediately felt that something was different. For one thing, the noise around her lessened considerably. The scents of decay lifted, replaced by the perfume of many flowers. Power that had lain dormant began to stretch as if awakening, and her hair began to stir. “It’s beautiful here,” she said.

  Martha smiled. “I call this place my oasis,” she said. “It has always been a sanctuary for me. My husband built this pavilion when we were first married. He knew how much I enjoyed a private place.”

  “What happened to your husband?” Rebekah asked, forgetting that Mother had always told her not to be nosy.

  “The plague,” Martha said sadly. “My daughter was eleven then.”

  The path began to slope upward, and Rebekah soon found that the fragrance of water was growing strongly around her. The musical cadence of water filled her ears. “You live near a brook,” she said. They walked a bit longer and reached a closed-in place. Rebekah felt the odd sensation as of walls rushing to meet her. Tentatively, she reached out her hand that was not holding Martha’s arm. Sure enough, her fingers caressed a stone pillar on her right. She knew that there was one on her left as well.

  Martha halted. “Just ahead of you is the door to my home,” she explained. “When we go inside, you’ll find a staircase on your right.”

  Rebekah walked forward, noting that she tread upon a softer material. A carpet of some kind must be before the door. She listened to the grating of a key in the lock, and the door opened with a squeak.

  ***

  Rebekah entered the house. She heard the reverberation of her footsteps upon the marble floor and inhaled the rich aroma of lavender. “Your house is so big,” she said. “You are wealthy.”

  Martha laughed self-consciously. “The house is not so big as all that.” Martha’s voice held a smile. “It’s just two storeys. And, I’m certainly not rich. I manage, by Egaphia’s grace. My husband was a banker.”

  Rebekah laughed. “It’s bigger than Mother’s cottage.” She felt her cheeks flame with embarrassment. “I mean—”

  “No need to be nervous,” Martha said. “I know this arrangement isn’t easy.” She reached for the package Rebekah held. “Let’s have that pie, shall we?” She laughed ruefully. “I didn’t eat much at the drugstore.”

  “I know.” Rebekah shook her head. “You should have tried the rutabaga tonic. It wasn’t sour but sweet. It tasted a bit like pumpkin and vanilla.”

  Martha laughed. “I don’t think I’ve ever tried a rutabaga in my life. No desire to, either. I was nervous, too.” She guided Rebekah to an oak table and directed her to sit. “I’ll get some cheese.”

  Soon, Martha and Rebekah were eating in contented silence. The sharp sweetness of the cinnamon caressed Rebekah’s tongue, and the crisp, salty crust and sweet apples blended with the sharp taste of the aged cheese. Baked goods were a rarity at her home, and the luxury of indulging in this treat filled her with delight.

  “Apple pie was Laura’s favorite,” Martha murmured. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” Rebekah bowed her head. “How old was Laura when she was taken?”

  “She was fourteen,” Martha said stiffly.

  Rebekah swallowed. “Will you please help me find Mother?” She placed the remainder of her pie on the table. “What can we do to find her?”

  “Nothing right now,” Martha said brusquely. “It’s growing late, and the streets are crowded. Come. I’ll show you to your room.”

  Rebekah slowly stood, her heart sinking with sadness. She knew that time was precious, but she suddenly felt exhaustion grip her with satin-cloaked fingers. “May we look for her tomorrow?” she asked.

  There was a long pause. Finally, Martha said, “Perhaps.” She began to walk, and Rebekah followed the sound of footsteps to the staircase. She trailed her hand along the marble banister and mounted the stairs to the second floor. “Your room will be the one on the left,” Martha said.

  Rebekah entered the room. The lavender scent was replaced by the smell of peppermint. As Rebekah’s groping hands explored, she touched a walnut table with a bounty of combs and brushes atop it. Her fingers brushed a round, alabaster jar. She recognized the feel. The jar was similar to what she had at home. It was a hair tonic, one designed to strengthen hair and enhance its growth. Rebekah suddenly realized that if she touched the bed, it would have sheets and a quilt. This room was not a guest room. How could it be, when the woman had not left her side?

  Rebekah swallowed. “I-I cannot sleep in Laura’s room.”

  “Of course you can,” Martha said. “It hasn’t been used in quite some time. It will enjoy being lived in again.”

  Rebekah sighed. “I don’t want to—” Her voice dwindled as she realized how rude she was being. This woman was giving her a place to stay, and Rebekah was rejecting her kindness. “Thank you,” she said.

  “I’ll leave you for now,” Martha said. “I think we could both do with some rest.”

  Rebekah listened to Martha’s retreating footsteps. When they had faded completely, Rebekah groped around the room until she encountered a cloth covered window seat. She sank into its embrace and began to weep. Feverishly, she listened, sighing in relief when she heard the thread of melody that all norns could hear: Egaphia’s song of creation that was woven into their very souls. She heard Mother’s voice, but the thread of music was tenuous, like a summer storm of wildness that was not behaving as it should. I’ll find you, Mother! She thought fiercely. I’ll follow your song and rescue you. I promise! She bowed her head and allowed sleep to claim her.

  Chapter 7

  “You aren’t eating enough.”

  Tabitha turned from the bookshelf she had been perusing. Her temples throbbed, and her breathing was ragged. “I have no appetite,” she whispered.

  Charles’s face fell. “I don’t want to resort to watching you, but I will if you don’t use sense.” His face was more drawn than ever. “You have to eat, or your sacrifice is useless.”

  Tabitha shook her head. “What do you need with me?” she asked. “Don’t you see how thin my hair has become? What possible use can—”

  “It’s not up to you to decide how beneficial your sacrifice is!” It was the first time Tabitha had heard the man raise his voice. “Now eat and drink. I don’t want to cause you pain.” He turned away. “I’ll return in half an hour.” Tabitha watched as the man trailed his hand along the wall. Then, as if he were a phantom, he vanished into thin air. Tabitha hurried to the wall and fev
erishly groped along its surface. Suddenly, she cried out in pain as her fingers traced a design on the wall. She jerked her hand away, shocked when she saw a red burn mark crisscrossing her fingers. She gazed at the design on the wall; an etching of three interlocking maple leaves. She saw that the etching was made of iron. Understanding dawned. Norns were unable to touch iron. She knew why she could not escape. Wearily, she approached the table before the window and began to sip the tomato broth and drink the honey wine on the tray. She had to obey the man. If she did not, the man would find Rebekah. Tabitha would subject herself to any amount of torture if only her daughter could live.

  “How is she feeling today, Father?” Tabitha started as a young man’s voice emerged from the other side of the wall. “I’ve brought a stronger batch of pain medicine.”

  “Thank you, Frederick.” Tabitha was startled to hear her captor’s voice tremble. “I’m doing all I can.”

  “I know, Father,” Frederick said wearily. “I’ll try to find something stronger to alleviate her pain.” There was a long pause, then he said, “Have you heard about Wickson?” His voice shook.

  “Yes,” her captor said. “It’s horrible. I sometimes wonder how a loving Creator can allow these atrocities to occur.”

  Frederick cleared his throat. “I was thinking I’d go to Wickson and help. I could offer—”

  “You’ll not set foot there!” Her captor’s voice was irate. “Your mother suffers from that infernal plague. I won’t risk you being afflicted, too.” After a moment, his voice softened. “Forgive me, Frederick. I know you meant well, but you mustn’t endanger yourself.” He sighed. “I tried to find help for the Bind Weed Plague when it first struck ten years ago. I funded a project to seek an antidote, but the project failed. That sickness is unpredictable. You make me proud, son. Do your work here. You help people, even if you don’t realize it.”