True Deceit

CHAPTER ONE

Before the Mourning

The neighbor-tree’s resident tawny owl was not yet to bed when Annika came out to the mail basket. She placed but one envelope within the carrier cloth, as she did in each day’s morn. The town’s letter-taker would not come till shadows had crossed to the house’s east side, but every day, seemingly earlier still, Annika greeted the moon not yet brazen by dawn, fearing the taker may be early should she forget to place the letter then.

Indoor air was but stiller than that outside, and never warmer. Annika’s long locks, bound up tight in the warmth of later-day, hung loose and hot over her bare neck. The sounds were much the same on either side of the walls, though raspy growls turned deafening inside. Seth slept yet, though the feat was slight, the hour being early and him not yet but an hour down. Such a cacophony of noise came from his exhausted form, and would only last until the cat came up at dawn. Even knowing his unrest, Annika could sleep worriless, for his waking hours held more peace than his rest. It was upon his surrender to torturous dreams and deepest slumber that she was roused, though not by the glorious snores.

Annika sat on a quilt-covered rocker, with naught to do till the chickens stirred. She’d have enough minutes to collect the night’s roost afore the cock caught wind of sunny breath and roused himself. Seth slept naught through much, and this boisterous braggart, standing not even to the knee, woke him with even a morning cough. Annika saw the earliest rays seep through the window sill, and on she went to find what little breakfast they would have.

She had naught but an apron to gather the lot, which held fine with but four hens to be laden, and only two with any to show. Her fingers were made as pockets to separate sprigs of rosemary and basil which she plucked en route to the kitchen. There was no cheese left in the ice box, but enough sausage to serve Seth, which sat well with Annika. With omelets for every morning’s meal, she tried to keep it varied for the boy’s sake, while she knew how to live on uniform tastes.

The ice box was in the cellar, and Annika didn’t bother relieving her load before going down to gather the meat. Though her apron sagged, her limbs held all with little struggle, as such was necessity. For as she knew he would be, Seth sat at the table when she entered the house, and his eyes fell heavily on the meat. The boy loved the tender sausage, and he knew little was left, so would have protested had she not already taken it up. As it were, nothing could keep her from using it after the air had held it this long.

Annika smiled at his worried brow, willing it to smooth. All her goods went onto the counter afore Seth could but stand to offer aide. “If you want to help,” she said, “take the corn to the chickens and the cat.” Annika knew the tasks would not keep him, but the gentle ginger kit would.

Seth smiled at last, patting her shoulder as he came to the cupboard. His hand grasped the smallest sack of feed among the dozens taking up near two shelves’ space. The cat would never eat one kernel, but would batter the pieces he was given. Seth knew not to hand out too many, but he would not deny the kitten its play. Annika watched him step outside, and her rigid spine let slack her tired frame.

She started up the stove and found the iron kettle-pan, dropping as much store-bought oil as she could spare for a two-egg omelet. She brought down a plate and spatula, both made of hand from wood. The plate was one of three that sat on the shelf, though only two had been used for a time.

Memories pulled Annika’s shoulders down with her eyelids. Her dear Robbie had been at sea for many a month, sending all the wages of travel by a parcel-man he’d known all his life. Annika’s letters reached him as his were sent back her way, one touching the other within a fortnight. She touched the finger bearing his ring of Ever-Promise, his way to bind their hearts under truest love. Annika smiled, though it was not without grief.

The eggs were close to burning now, and she crudely slid the meal onto the plate. This one held no meat and would be cold once Seth reemerged from his cat’s grasp. His omelet would have the sausage, full with four eggs, no garlic, and yet hot on the pan. He had tried to object to this routine, but Annika cooked their meals in the same way in any case. Seth was but 15, still growing with much grown. She was but one, no child of Robbie’s to feed, so she took little.

The boy came in and sat, accepting the plate and metal prongs, though with a look of disapproval and worry. Seth would not pick apart his food until Annika sat at one of two remaining chairs beside him. They lowered their heads to their plates, silent as had become tradition, and each ate another omelet as the dawn but broke over the roof peak.