Rebekah's Refuge Read online

  Frederick sighed. “I’m not the saint you think I am, Father.”

  “Saint?” Her captor laughed bitterly. “Saints are not what are needed. Just people trying to do their best. Go see your mother now. I’ve left some poppyseed cake and peppermint tea in the kitchen. See if she’ll take some. Seeing you will do her a world of good.”

  Nothing else was said. Tabitha listened to the silence, hoping that both men had gone away. Then, her captor was inside her tower room. Tabitha shuddered as he advanced upon her. His wan features relaxed into a smile as he observed the empty bowl and tumbler. “Very good,” Charles said approvingly. “Come here.”

  Tabitha obeyed. Swallowing, she asked, “Your wife is ill?”

  Charles blinked, his face convulsing with pain. “Yes,” he said gruffly. “She’s been ill for ten years.”

  Tabitha’s face crumpled. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “But, I cannot cure the Bind Weed Plague if that’s your hope. No norn can cure it. We’ve tried to no avail.”

  “No, you cannot,” he said wearily, “but, the salad concocted from your hair is the only thing that keeps her pain at bay.” He stared at Tabitha for a long moment. “I do not like this task, you understand, but I cannot bear for her to suffer. Your weakness is something I am sorry to inflict upon you, but I am desperate. You will be nursed back to health in time.”

  “I’m not a mere tool for you to use at your whim,” Tabitha said, trying to blink tears from her eyes. “I have a child. I’m sorry for you, but surely you understand that I must go.”

  Charles’s features hardened. “I will help my wife,” he said, his voice resolved. “I’ll help her the only way I can. Life is cruel, and sacrifices, willing or unwilling, must be made.” He approached her and raised the scissors he held. Tabitha felt the familiar bite of the scissors, and she sank into unconsciousness.

  ***

  Charles clutched the bedraggled braid of golden hair. It resembled wispy straw. He sighed. Another sacrifice must be found soon. If only he could find this woman’s daughter. The daughter was young, and her strength would last longer. He wouldn’t have imprisoned this woman if Angela’s need hadn’t been so great. However, this norn’s hair would last another fortnight at the very least. That would give him enough time to procure what he needed. Charles sighed as he continued to gaze at the bedraggled braid. The acrid taste of guilt scorched his tongue and throat. He left the room to join his wife and son. A cup of peppermint tea would numb the taste of his shame, at least for a few moments.

  Chapter 8

  Grow, grow, Egaphia waits

  For flowers of love that we shall create.

  Spread, spread throughout the land,

  Bringing life and joy that is grand.

  The song caressed Rebekah’s mind. The song was wild, resembling a sudden thunderstorm that swept across a barren desert. All norns knew the song, an ode of homage to their Creator. The song was also a command that urged the earth to bring forth beauty and sustenance for the benefit of all people.

  But something was wrong. The song had an oddly stilted sound as if it struggled to come forth. Mother? Rebekah thought wildly, Please, please keep singing! I can’t find you if you stop singing!

  A sudden surge of weakness stabbed through Rebekah’s body, and a squeezing sensation gripped her heart. She gasped in shock, hearing her mother’s song stutter and nearly break. Rebekah remembered the day she had broken a preserve jar during canning season. The sound of shattering glass had stung her ears, a discordant shriek that had caused her to cry out. Now, it felt as if Rebekah was smothering, as if thorns were encasing her behind an iron wall. She awoke with a cry.

  ***

  Rebekah huddled on the window seat in Laura’s room. She couldn’t bring herself to sleep in the bed even though Martha had placed fresh linens on the mattress. Three days had passed, and although Martha allowed Rebekah to explore the interior of the house, they had not left the dwelling since their arrival.

  “I heard you cry out, Rebekah. Are you all right? Breakfast is ready.” Martha spoke from the doorway. “I made some peppermint tea with honey and some porridge.”

  Rebekah stood and approached the door. She was determined to ask her favor today. If she didn’t, she wouldn’t have the courage to do so later. “I’m all right,” she said wearily. “I had another bad dream. I must ask you something.”

  “I notice you haven’t used the bed yet,” Martha said, her voice concerned. “There are circles under your eyes. You must sleep.”

  Rebekah shook her head. “I sleep,” she said. “I also need to go outside.”

  Martha sighed. “I have to go to Periwinkle Terrace today,” she said.

  “Please, might I go with you? I have to get some fresh air.”

  There was a long pause. Finally, Martha said, “You may go with me, but I have to tell you that Doris, the directress, is very protective of her charges. You’ll find her a bit brusque at first, but that’s just her way. With the news of the quarantine at Wickson, she’ll be wary of strangers.”

  Rebekah nodded. The relief was tremendous. Being allowed to go outside was the first step to hopefully finding her mother. She walked toward the stairs, the prospect of peppermint tea suddenly very inviting.

  ***

  Rebekah felt the desolation as she walked beside Martha. Periwinkle Terrace smelt of bleakness. She felt the stirring of the leaf mark on her neck. The longing for creation awoke within her. She longed to sing and dance, to allow her hair to fly free. Her fingers strayed to the hat she wore to hide her tresses. Mother always said it was wise to keep her hair hidden when meeting strangers. Rebekah did not always follow this rule, but she had decided to do so today. She knew how irrational people became when norns were around. With the plague scare, she did not want to cause unnecessary trouble.

  “Ah! Martha Brunswick!” A rich voice spoke in front of her. “Welcome.”

  “Hello, Doris. I came to deliver the monthly payment from the Sisters of Goodwill,” Martha said.

  “You’re so gracious, Martha,” Doris said. “I don’t know how the children would manage without the help of your organization.”

  Rebekah heard Martha shuffle her feet, an act that seemed to indicate embarrassment. “It’s a team effort,” she said shortly. She reached for Rebekah’s arm and drew her forward. “This is Laura, a girl the Sisterhood is training. Never hurts to start young. So many people want to help. The children have no one else. I must say, it seems as if some money could be used to make these grounds a bit more cheerful.” Rebekah wasn’t certain, but she thought she detected a note of reproach in Martha’s statement.

  Doris sighed with apparent sorrow. “I know. But the practical expenses come first.” She laughed. “I do plan to give the children a picnic today. The man at the local drugstore donated some food. Such a nice young man. You remember his parents, don’t you? Adopted him from here when he was eight years old.”

  Martha sighed. “Yes,” she said sadly. “They’d lost their little girl to the plague, isn’t that right? The baby was stillborn. Isn’t the father the one who was so determined to find a cure for the plague?”

  “Yes,” Doris said softly. “He sends money here to help the children. A kind man but so very sad.”

  There was a long silence, and Rebekah felt the stirring of empathy inside her.

  Martha spoke again. “I know the children will love having a picnic.”

  “Yes,” Doris said. “They need a change in routine.” Her voice trailed away. After a moment, she addressed Rebekah. “Forgive me, young lady. Where are my manners? I’m Doris, and your name is Laura, correct?” She stepped closer to Rebekah, her voice holding a note of nervous suspicion. “Have you always lived here in Plumvale?”

  Rebekah swallowed. “N-No, ma’am. I lived in Mondia, but I came here because—”

  “She’s quite harmless, Doris,” Martha said with a note of weariness. “You know I wouldn’t endanger—”

  “Doesn’t hurt to b
e cautious, Martha, not during these times,” Doris said matter-of-factly. “I had two girls stricken five years ago, and although they survived the sickness, I won’t take any chances.”

  “Naturally.” Martha sighed. “Have you heard any news?”

  “Afraid not. Last I heard, there were no other reports of people becoming ill, but—”

  Rebekah was listening to the directress’s words, but the woman’s voice was growing fainter and fainter. The leaf mark was quivering, burning in its fervent desire to create. Something strange was happening. She heard a song surrounding her, a song similar to the song of creation she knew, but it was oddly distorted. The sound resembled the raucous cry of seagulls and the roar of a winter storm upon a wind-tossed sea. There were words to this song, but they were indiscernible to her ears. Every fiber of her being wanted to push against this horrible music. Where was it coming from? Rebekah gasped with the forcefulness of the desire, and her scalp throbbed. The hat on her head tingled with fire. She had to get away. The pain was becoming unendurable.

  “I’ll bring the children out now,” Doris said.

  “We really must be going,” Martha said quickly. “Forgive us for intruding.”

  “Nonsense! You should stay and eat with us. We always appreciate visitors.” Doris hurried away.

  Martha turned to Rebekah. She saw immediately that the norn’s face was ashen and sweat covered her brow. “Don’t let Doris worry you,” she said kindly. “She’s overly cautious, that’s all. We’ll go home now and have lunch. No need to stay here if you’re uncomfortable.”

  Rebekah sighed. “It’s so beautiful in the sunlight,” she said wistfully. “But something is wrong. It’s so sad here. I have to do something to help. My head hurts. If I don’t do something soon, I don’t know what will happen.”

  “Laura had a kind heart like yours,” Martha said softly. “Certain places made her sad, and she’d try to help, too. But, it’s not safe to show people what you are. You must learn to control your need.”

  Rebekah nodded. “It’s hard, though. I’ll—”

  “Here we are,” Doris said cheerfully. A cacophony of voices and shrieks of excitement filled the air. Rebekah smiled as she heard the children all around her. She heard Doris instructing the children to sit on the ground. The luscious scents of food filled Rebekah’s nostrils. Her mouth watered as she caught the unmistakable odor of pastries. Then she gasped as another smell assaulted her. An acrid stench enveloped the food. She felt her hair tremble in fear.

  “Oh, dear,” Doris said with a sigh. “I forgot to fetch the milk. Martha, would you be so kind as to get it? It’s in a pitcher on the table in the kitchen.”

  Rebekah listened to Martha’s retreating footsteps. The acrid stench was driving her mad. Why was no one reacting? Surely—

  “Children, take a moment to say grace,” Doris instructed. “You may not eat until thanks is offered.”

  Rebekah listened to the soft multitude of voices. “Bounty so grand, offered by Egaphia’s kind hand, We thank thee, gentle—”

  “Something wrong, my dear?”

  Rebekah started as Doris’s voice emerged from behind her.

  “No, ma’am. I’m fine. I—”

  “You don’t hear something, perhaps, or smell something unusual?”

  Rebekah blinked. That song! It had been coming from—

  “You are so very agitated,” Doris said as she leaned closer. “Why do you wear a hat? Do you have something to hide?”

  “N-No. I’m trying to find my mother, and—”

  “Your mother?”

  “Yes. I have to find her. She’s in danger.” She gasped as she suddenly felt Doris’s hand touch her hat. The woman’s hand was trembling. “What are you doing?”

  “I have children to protect,” Doris said harshly. “I will not allow trouble to come here, you understand.”

  Rebekah trembled, her mind a whirlwind of confusion. “Why do I smell something wrong with the food?” she asked sharply. “Why is it so sad here?”

  “Sad?” Doris sounded regretful. “Life is sad, my dear. But, I can’t allow you to endanger my charges, can I?”

  Rebekah had to get away from this woman. Somehow, she had to help the children. Norns could smell odors humans could not. Without stopping to think, she ripped the hat from her head, feeling her hair ripple down her back. “Don’t!” she cried out to the children. “Don’t eat the pastries!”

  Rebekah ran forward, heedless of Doris’s sharp cry. The exhilaration of creation surged through her, and her hair rippled and swayed around her with wild abandon. The scent of food was quickly overpowered by the heady fragrance of flowers. She heard the awed gasps of the children. She heard their hurried footsteps as they crowded around her.

  Then she felt it; the sharp bite of scissors. She screamed in terror as the murderous instruments bit again and again. She felt her hair falling away. Pain and weakness tore through Rebekah in relentless waves, and she crumpled to the ground.

  “What are you doing?” Rebekah heard Martha’s shocked cry fill the orphanage yard and heard the shattering sound of a pitcher falling to the ground. Angry voices bellowed around her, but she could not move. Pain and weakness rampaged within her. “M-Martha,” she whispered. “I-I can’t—” The last sound she heard was Martha’s ragged sobs.

  Chapter 9

  Martha shook with terror as she bent over the unconscious norn. Her upraised right hand pointed accusingly at Doris. She noticed that the children were staring at Rebekah’s prone form. “She’s not a creature in a zoo!” Martha snarled. She glared at Doris. “What in Egaphia’s Name were you doing? We’re leaving here now, and you’ll not stop us.” She bent to gather Rebekah into her arms, noting as she did so the profusion of flowers that now adorned the orphanage grounds.

  Doris’s face was pale, and she was shaking. “Forgive me, Martha. I have to be careful, you see. I didn’t mean—”

  “Didn’t mean what? To hurt her?” Martha’s voice trembled with pain. “She may not be human, but you had no right—”

  “Don’t you realize that she poses a danger to you?” Doris approached, her face ashen. The garish carnation on her straw hat seemed to tremble with fear. “Do you realize that norns are carriers of the Bind Weed Plague? A test to make certain she wasn’t a threat was to cut her hair. If it grows back normally, then there is nothing to worry about, but if the color is darker, and the texture is rough, it’s possible she’s a carrier. Don’t you remember the Bind Weed Project?”

  Martha nodded. The governing officials had desperately sought an antidote to the plague and had thought the norns might be able to provide one. The project had been a miserable failure. “The child’s ten years old,” she said. “Surely the officials didn’t take them when they were infants.“

  “On the contrary, Martha,” Doris said sadly. “They most certainly did. They took norns of varying ages. The project began with good intentions, and only volunteers were used, but corruption infects anything, particularly if money is involved.” She bowed her head but quickly resumed speaking. “Now, I understand why you’re upset, but I won’t apologize for my actions. It’s better to be safe than sorry. Where did you meet this norn?”

  “I met her on a train a week ago,” Martha said. “It was a train that derailed near Wickson Station. She doesn’t know where her family is. She needs my help.”

  Doris shook her head. “She should stay here under isolation. I’ll take care of her until information about her family can be obtained. And, I’ll be able to determine if she carries the plague. It’s not safe for you to keep—”

  “No! She’s under my care, and I’ll keep her safe.” Martha turned and abruptly left the grounds, clutching Rebekah tightly. Doris stared after her. Then she turned to her charges. “Perhaps the picnic can wait for another day,” she said gently. “Come inside, children. We’ll have soup instead.”

  Doris paid little heed to the groans of disappointment as she led the children inside. “We
want the magic girl to come back,” one of them said plaintively.

  “Perhaps she shall,” Doris said softly. “Come now.” She continued her progress toward the orphanage entrance, the children following with disappointed shuffles. “She shall return,” she murmured, a small smile blooming upon her careworn face. “She must.”

  ***

  In his opulent library, Charles held a piece of paper before him. He smiled as he read the missive: The norn you seek resides two blocks from my establishment. Look for the two-storied house with the stone pillars.

  Charles passed his hand over the iron-etched relief of maple leaves beside the bookshelf that housed horticultural tomes. The hidden door opened silently. He entered the chamber and stared at the sleeping woman. Her hair had grown again. All norns’ hair grew quickly, but the golden hue had faded. Charles stared at the gray, wispy hair and the norn’s pain-wracked face. She was so very sad.

  “You were clever,” he murmured softly. “But you had to know I would find your daughter eventually.” He surveyed the sleeping norn. He would leave her in peace, at least for tonight. Tomorrow, he would make Angela more salad, but for now, the norn needed rest. Her hair needed to grow a bit longer. Moreover, a greater sacrifice would soon be available to him.

  Chapter 10

  Rebekah awoke to tingling in her scalp. Weakness tore through her in waves. Shakily, she sat up, groping the soft linens beneath her.

  The room was silent. Rebekah listened feverishly, sighing in relief when she heard the tenuous thread of melody. Mother still sang. But, there was so little time. Her song grew weaker and weaker.

  Shakily, Rebekah rose from the bed. Her scalp burned, and her limbs shook with fatigue. Trembling, she walked to the door and reached for the knob. The knob did not move when she turned it. Rebekah gasped in surprise and shook the knob vigorously. White-hot panic scorched her innards. “H-Help me!” she cried, her mind whirling with confusion.