Witch Song (Witch Song #1)

Chapter 7

~For Christmas, three chapters posted today! Merry Christmas everyone! 

7. A TASTE OF FOOLISHNESS

Fanning herself with a heavily starched piece of cloth, Berlie watched over her honeycakes and bread with half-closed eyes. She had spent the predawn hours in her sweltering kitchen and the remainder of the day at her booth. Cooking wasn't so bad, but she didn't enjoy watching her wares spoil in the sun. No one, it seemed, had bought much today. She turned to her young daughter, Dall. "Maybe we should just call it a day."

"Do I get to eat some honeycakes?" the child clasped her small hands under her chin and leaned eagerly forward.

Usually, they only ate the bread that went stale or moldy. Berlie opened her mouth to say no, but stopped at the crestfallen look on Dall's face. "All right. You may have one now. One more when you finish your supper."

Interlocking her fingers, her daughter squealed in delight and bounced from her chair to the honeycakes.

Berlie started packing up when a voice startled her. She jumped and turned.

"Oh, I'm sorry ma'am," a man said.

He was about Berlie's age. And oh, he was handsome. She pressed her hand against her chest and took a deep breath. "Oh, that's alright. What would you like to buy?"

He shook his head gravely. "Unfortunately, I'm not here to buy. I'm looking for a young girl who may have passed this way."

Berlie crossed her arms over her chest. She remembered all too well the thin girl who had devoured her honeycakes as if she'd never tasted one before. "And who might you be?"

He leaned forward. "She's a runaway, you know."

Berlie knew that look. The look of a man after a girl who had shamed him, not someone he was worried about. "You should've never married one so young," she said through clenched teeth, remembering her own wedding day.

He quickly backtracked and, she thought, changed tactics. "No, no. She's not my wife. She's my sister."

Berlie pursed her lips. "I can read a lie on a man's face as easily as decipher a sign above a shop door. I've nothing to sell to you; and if you don't leave, I'll summon the sheriff!"

The man took a menacing step forward, but Bloy, from the booth next to Berlie's, spoke up, "You alright Berlie?" Bloy wasn't looking at her. He was looking at the man.

She gave Bloy a small smile. He was as ugly as a mule, but as gentle as the softest breeze. He'd asked her to marry him more than once. Perhaps next time, she'd say yes.

With a wide smile, the man turned into an amiable stranger again. "I'll just be on my way."

Wringing her hands to steady their shaking, Berlie nodded appreciatively to Bloy. Her daughter's sticky face had lost its grin. Bending down, she kissed Dall's forehead. "It's alright, sweetie. Let's go home and get some supper so you can have that other honeycake."

That was all it took for Dall to forget the exchange. Berlie finished loading her cart and pulled it up the hill to the poorer side of town.

When she reached her run-down house, she hauled up the cellar door. She could still sell her wares for half price to her neighbors when they returned from their day's labors. Descending the ladder, she shut her eyes and took a moment to enjoy the delicious coolness. A sound made her start. She'd half-turned when a hand clamped over her mouth and pulled her down the last two stairs. She bit down hard on a pair of fat fingers.

"Ow!"

Berlie rushed for the ladder, but a hand seized her ankle and hauled her back. She cracked her head on a rung. Hot blood ran down her forehead. But she'd been in scuffles before. Her husband had been that kind of man. Rushing her attacker, she buried her knee in his crotch. With a groan, he doubled over.