Rebekah's Refuge Read online

  No answer came. She pounded on the door, all sense of dignity forgotten. “Please, let me out!”

  Footsteps pounded outside her door, and a key turned in the lock. “It’s all right!” Martha rushed into the room, enfolding Rebekah into her arms. “You’re all right, now.” She rocked the trembling girl to and fro, and Rebekah realized that Martha was shaking, too. “I went outside for a moment. I’m sorry I had to lock you in, child. I had to make certain you weren’t a carrier of—” Her voice trailed away as she reached out a hand to stroke the tendrils of golden hair upon Rebekah’s head. “Egaphia be praised,” she breathed. “It’s the same color as before.” She released Rebekah. The girl hurried to the window seat and huddled upon it.

  “I’m sorry,” Martha repeated. “I had to be careful. Bind Weed Plague is highly contagious. I had to take precautions.”

  Rebekah turned her head toward the window. “That orphanage directress cut my hair.”

  Martha sighed. “I shouldn’t have left you alone. I think she was just being overly cautious, but you’re quite safe now. Many humans are suspicious of norns, I’m afraid. They cannot understand, and hysteria takes over. I make mistakes, too, even though I should know better.” Her voice was sheepish. “Doris and the orphans know what you are now. Word will spread. Ten years ago, many norns were taken captive to determine if an antidote to the Bind Weed Plague could be found. The Bind Weed Project caused no end of problems. Instead of the desired results, the captured norns became carriers of the disease. They exhibited no symptoms themselves, but there was always a chance they could spread the plague to humans.” Rebekah listened as Martha began to pace. “On top of all this, there is Charles to worry about. I failed to keep Laura safe. I won’t make the same mistake with you.”

  Rebekah swallowed nervously. “Did Charles approach Laura outside your house? Did he have honey wine for her to drink?”

  Martha cleared her throat. “I don’t know,” she said. “I was not at home when he came. I assume so. She had to have been drugged or something of that sort. She wouldn’t have gone away willingly.”

  Rebekah shuddered. “Charles must have known that Mother was a norn as well, because he came directly to our house. He offered Mother money in exchange for me.”

  Martha laughed bitterly. “He left a purse of gabricks where I would find it. It was an exorbitant amount. Charles leaves money at every house.”

  Rebekah bowed her head. “Mother threw the purse at his feet. I heard gabricks falling everywhere. I heard him sigh. He didn’t even bother picking them up. He said he’d return the next day. You know the rest.”

  There was a long pause. Martha approached the window. “Listen, Rebekah. You have to tell me what happened yesterday. Why did you tell the children not to eat the pastries? What drove you into such a frenzy?”

  “I-I smelled wormrack,” Rebekah whispered. “The pastries were laced with it. The orphans would have become very ill. I had to distract them.”

  “Poison?” Martha’s mind raced. The man from the drugstore had delivered the food to Periwinkle Terrace. Why would he want to harm children? He had seemed so kind. Something was wrong. She had to formulate some sort of plan to keep Rebekah safe. She had lost one daughter. She refused to have the death of other children on her conscience. She must contact the authorities and report her suspicions of the drugstore’s owner.

  Now, she reached out and gripped Rebekah’s arm. “Listen to me.”

  Rebekah felt Martha’s hand tremble. The woman’s palm was damp with sweat. Rebekah’s heartbeat quickened at Martha’s urgent tone. “What is it?” she asked.

  “I cannot allow you to accompany me outside again,” Martha said. “When I’m not here, I’ll lock you in this room.”

  Rebekah gasped. Fear coursed through her veins. Martha was kind, but her fear would hinder Rebekah’s quest. “You promised to help me find my mother,” she said, her voice shaking. “You cannot lock me away.”

  “You know what’s happened to your mother without me having to tell you,” Martha said, her voice hoarse with self-loathing. “Norns that Charles takes have not been seen again. I hope every day, but I am so afraid. Do you know what I would have done for Laura if I could? I’d have given my life just as your mother—” She choked on the words. “This is not an option. You’ll stay here in this room whenever I’m away.”

  Rebekah forced herself to stand. Her limbs shook. “My mother isn’t dead.” She placed her hands on her hips. Anger roiled within her. “I would know if she were dead. I wouldn’t hear her singing anymore.”

  Martha sighed heavily. “You hear her sing? Perhaps you only think you—”

  “No!” Rebekah blinked but could not contain her tears. “All norns hear each other sing,” she said. “We hear each other with our hearts. I know you’re not a norn, but didn’t you ever hear Laura sing?”

  Martha flinched as if she’d been struck. The girl spoke truthfully. Laura sang not just with her voice. A continuous melody always seemed to surround her. Tears flowed down Martha’s cheeks. “Yes, child,” she whispered. “I heard Laura singing.”

  “Then you understand,” Rebekah said.

  “Perhaps I do.” Martha turned toward the door. “Your hair will grow back soon,” she said softly. “I’ll bring you some soup to help you regain your strength.” She left the room and did not lock the door.

  Rebekah sat upon the window seat. Resting her throbbing head against the cold windowpane, she softly began to sing. She had to let Mother know that she would save her at all costs.

  Chapter 11

  Angela awoke with a cry. The growth reached out with thorn-tipped fingers, groping its way through her innards with invasive intensity. She hadn’t felt such pain in some time. The salad Charles procured kept the pain at bay. Searing heat enveloped Angela’s frail frame as she struggled to rise from her bed. She stumbled as nausea clawed at her stomach. “H-Help me,” she choked. “Please! Someone help—" She fell to her knees, hot tears mingling with vomit as she succumbed to the pain.

  “Angela?” Charles burst into the room, swearing as he beheld his wife’s condition. He gathered Angela into his arms. Shaking, he carried her to the bed, propping pillows behind her. Fear ran rampant within him. What had caused this sudden relapse? “Darling, I’ll fetch some warm water to bathe you,” he said gently. “I’ll be right back.”

  Angela whimpered. “It hurts so much, Charles,” she said. “Why does it hurt so?”

  Charles gritted his teeth in frustration. “You just need a stronger batch of salad, sweetheart. I’ll procure it for you.”

  “I cannot eat anything now,” Angela whispered. “I’m so nauseous.”

  Charles nodded. “I’ll fetch you some peppermint tea with honey and mandragora, then. It will settle your stomach and help you sleep.”

  Angela bowed her head. “Charles? Do you think our daughter’s death was only the beginning of our punishment? Perhaps Egaphia is punishing me for what I did.”

  “Rubbish!” Charles’ face convulsed with rage. “You only sought to have a child, Angela. You’ve done nothing wrong.” He bowed his head with sadness. “I sought to heal you, and my actions were rash. If Egaphia is punishing anyone, it’s me.” His face contorted with pain. He picked up Angela’s basin from the dressing table. “I’ll fetch water now,” he said. He left the room, his mind traversing unpleasant memories.

  ***

  “Charles? Come look at this.” Angela stood at the kitchen window, gazing at the abundant array of vegetables in their neighbor’s garden. “Have you ever seen anything like it?” She gestured to a patch of swaying plants. Tall, slender stalks supported diamond-shaped leaves of a vibrant chartreuse. A peculiar scent floated through the air toward their open window, a scent similar to honey but more earthy and sharp. “Aren’t those plants most unusual?”

  Charles smiled and planted a kiss on his wife’s cheek. “Indeed,” he murmured. “From what I’ve read, norns are known for their creativity. Wonder what
that vegetable’s called?”

  Angela shrugged. “I wonder how it tastes.”

  Charles smiled. “Why don’t we simply go and ask her?”

  Angela laughed. “That woman? She never speaks to anyone. She never shares her vegetables with anyone, either. Norns are strange creatures,” she continued musingly. “I knew one when I was a child who threatened to trap me in a hedge of thorns simply because I wouldn’t play the game she wanted me to play.” She bowed her head for a moment and then returned her gaze to the window.

  Charles frowned. “Then perhaps it’s best to forget about those plants, Angela. Let the woman tend to her own business, and we’ll tend to ours.”

  “Perhaps you’re right.” Angela laughed. “I’m just curious, I suppose. Besides, our daughter will grow up living next door to a norn. She’ll be curious as well.” She tenderly patted her swollen abdomen, a look of concern clouding her eyes. “She still hasn’t moved, Charles. I’m worried.”

  Charles drew Angela into a strong embrace, his lips brushing hers in a gentle kiss. “It’s early yet. And, how do you know the baby will be a girl?”

  Angela smiled. “I just suspect she will be.”

  Charles laughed and kissed Angela once more. As Angela responded, Charles’ ardor increased, and he crushed her to him protectively, sighing with contentment. When they drew apart, Angela’s eyes were moist. “Charles, I’ve failed you so often,” she whispered. “I’ll try not to fail you again.”

  Charles swallowed the lump that rose in his throat. Angela had suffered five miscarriages already. “This child will live,” he said firmly, hoping to convince himself. “And, you have never failed me, Angela.”

  ***

  It was only a week later that the first spots of blood appeared on Angela’s nightgown. The pain began soon after. Physicians held out little hope for the baby’s survival. It was at that time that Angela began an hourly vigil at the window overlooking their neighbor’s garden. She gazed hungrily at the array of chartreuse plants. A tremendous craving surged within her. The craving grew stronger every day until even the child within her womb kicked in feeble affirmation.

  A fortnight after the craving began, Angela turned to Charles, who had been observing her with mounting concern. “I must have some of that salad,” she said, her voice raw with longing. “I’m almost certain it will keep our daughter alive. A norn’s hair produces life-giving plants. We must get some.”

  Charles shook his head. “We don’t even know what that plant is called,” he said.

  Angela frowned. “That’s of little consequence. Our daughter longs for it. I can feel her kicking within me. She never stirred in my womb until I saw that salad. Feel her kicking yourself.”

  Angela took Charles’s hand and pressed it against her abdomen. Their hands entwined, husband and wife smiled as they felt the feeble thrusting motion of tiny feet pushing their hands away. They laughed and embraced. Charles felt tears rise to his eyes. “Will it make you content?” he asked gently.

  Angela nodded fervently.

  ***

  That night, Charles crept beyond his neighbor’s fence, his heart hammering with fear. Just a handful of the chartreuse leaves. Only a few leaves to make a small salad. Surely, no harm would come of that. He approached the swaying slender stalks with their profusion of diamond-shaped leaves. With trembling hands, he reached out and plucked a handful of the leaves. Turning, he prepared to hurry away.

  “The leaves are useless without the root.” A soft voice spoke behind him, and Charles turned, fear causing a lump to rise in his throat. A plain-featured woman stood there, her face strangely expressionless. “And, did it ever occur to you that the polite thing to do is to ask before taking someone’s property?”

  “I-I’m sorry,” Charles managed to say. “I meant no offense. My wife is expecting a child, and she has suffered five miscarriages already. S-She thought the leaves could be used to keep this baby alive. I only wanted to help her.”

  The woman frowned and bowed her head. She reached out and plucked one of the vibrant plants. “Use the leaves in a salad,” she said, “and steep the root in water to make a tea. The root is bitter. Use honey to sweeten the tea, or your wife will be unable to stomach it.”

  Charles blinked. “Y-You’ll help us?”

  The woman nodded. “Come back as often as necessary,” she said brusquely. “But come in the light of day. My name’s Rebekah, by the way.”

  ***

  Thus began a strange friendship. Rebekah began visiting Charles and Angela, and they, in turn, visited her. Angela took home-cooked meals, and Rebekah brought armloads of the chartreuse plant. The more salad and tea Angela ate and drank, the more the need grew. Every morning upon waking, Angela waited with bated breath to feel the baby’s kick. She always sighed in relief when she felt the child stirring within her. She called Charles to her side, joyfully guiding his hand to her abdomen and assuring him that she would not be a failure.

  ***

  Then the day came when Angela’s labor commenced. The labor was strenuous, and Angela’s cries of pain caused Charles immense worry. After unending hours, the physician beckoned for Charles to approach. “She’s lost so much blood,” he said. “The baby’s breached. I don’t know if I can—”

  “You must save my wife!” Charles said harshly. “I can’t live without her.”

  The physician nodded. “I understand. You must face the possibility that the child will not survive.”

  Charles bowed his head. “I don’t understand. The pregnancy went so well. We’ve been procuring remedies to help from a norn, and—” His voice trailed away as he saw the physician’s ashen face. “What is it?”

  “Your wife didn’t tell you, did she? I warned her that it was unwise for her to bear children.” The physician’s voice trembled. “Sometimes, miscarriages occur because there’s a problem that cannot be fixed. Your wife’s gravely ill, Charles. I fear it is the Bind Weed Plague that afflicts her.”

  Charles gasped in horror, knowing full well that the sickness was a death sentence. He stared from Angela’s ashen face to the physician's concerned frown. The physician abruptly turned away as Angela cried out with a piercing wail.

  Charles rushed to the bed, gasping in horror as he saw the fresh flow of blood. Charles gritted his teeth and gripped his wife’s hand. He glared at the doctor. “Do whatever you must to save my wife.”

  The physician nodded sadly. “I can do very little, I’m afraid. The child poses a danger to her as well.” His face convulsed. “I’m sorry. I had assumed she’d told—” His voice trailed away as he surveyed his patient. “This procedure will take time. I will do all in my power to save both mother and child, but be aware that your wife will be unable to have any more children after this procedure.” He frowned sadly. “You’re dead on your feet. Go outside and collect yourself. I’ll come to fetch you soon.” He resumed his work.

  Charles turned and left the house, raising his fists toward the sky in futile anger. He glared at his neighbor’s house. Rebekah’s remedies had failed. All his work had been for naught. And, Angela! Oh, what a fool he was! How could he live without her?

  The grass rustled beside him, and he turned in time to see Rebekah approach. She was shaking, and tears flowed down her cheeks. “Here,” she whispered brokenly. “This will ease her pain.” She proffered a braid of golden hair. Charles blinked as he finally noticed Rebekah’s shorn head. Her face was twisted with pain. “You would give me your own hair to save Angela’s life?”

  Rebekah looked at him intently. “Yes. I have seen the way you look at her,” she said softly. “No one’s ever looked at me in that way before. I’ve watched you both from afar for years. This year, you invited me into your home. You and Angela are the only friends I’ve ever had. I fled my own village because people believed I was a carrier of the Bind Weed Plague. I had a child, a child not of my blood but one who meant so very much to me. I had to leave her in the care of my sister. I found refuge in this
place but feared to approach anyone. You dared to come to me for help, albeit by unorthodox means.” She managed a feeble smile. “Your trials have been my trials.” She sighed. “The hair is a plant. Chop it up and make a salad for Angela to eat. It will ease her pain. My hair will grow again, and I will give you more salad to help her.” She blinked rapidly and turned away. “A norn’s hair cannot cure an illness such as she has, but her pain can be eased, and her life can be prolonged.” She bowed her head. “I’m sorry, Charles. If I had known she was so ill, I’d never have given you those plants. Did you notice that something was wrong?”

  Charles trembled with pain, clutching Rebekah’s golden braid in his hand. He had noticed his wife’s bouts of nausea, the odor of rot that lingered about her, and her expression of pain. However, every time he had asked Angela if anything was wrong, she had said nothing. “Thank you, Rebekah,” he finally managed to say. “H-How can I ever repay you?”

  Rebekah shook her head. “Your happiness is payment enough, Charles. I’ll help for as long as I can.” She turned and walked away.

  ***

  Charles trembled as the memories surrounded him. The child had not survived. It had indeed been a girl, just as Angela had prophesied. The physician had managed to keep Angela alive, but he had given her a month at the most to live.

  Rebekah had been as good as her word until her sacrifice had resulted in her death. Charles had been tormented by an agony of indecision, wanting to tell Rebekah to stop but also desperate to relieve Angela’s pain. After her death, he had desperately sought other norns to help him. He had funded a government project to seek an antidote for the plague, hoping fervently that a cure for Angela could be found. The project had failed. He knew his actions were wrong, but desperation ran rampant within him. It had been ten years, and Angela still lived. Only through the procurement of salad from norns had this fact been possible.

  Angela’s longing for a child had persisted, and Charles had arranged for the adoption of an eight-year-old boy named Frederick. The sweet-natured child had provided comfort to Angela and had now grown into a kind man. When Charles looked at his son, he always drew comfort from the hope that possibly he had done something right.