Waffle Dreams, Part 1: Batter Up

Fanny sat up reluctantly, unable to ignore the sound of the cock crowing any longer. She reluctantly threw off the thin blankets and drew her legs up beneath her woolen chemise as the cold nipped at her toes. Sighing, she squinted her hazel eyes, trying to adjust to the dark room and steadily avoided looking at the large pile of laundry against the wall. She sighed again as it all came into focus, as it did every morning. Putting off the washing was easy since her husband had passed over a year ago. No one ever visited the lonely little cottage at the base of the mountain, and so it mattered little if stains from yesterday’s pottage or cooking grease besmirched her aprons. It would be seen by no one but her. Her alone.

Fanny moved quickly now, rising and sorting through the pile of dingy linens, randomly tossing on a few pieces that weren’t too badly stained and that she hoped would be warm. She pinned her loose, untamed curls atop her head and wrapped herself in her only shawl, though she wondered if the holes appearing in it made the effort worthwhile. Finally, she pulled on a large pair of boots, boots much too large for her own small feet. She smiled briefly as she slid her legs into her husband’s old boots, blowing a stray piece of black hair from her eyes as she gazed down at them. She kept them polished and mended as best she could, and they still gave her a familiar, warm sensation as she slid them on. She pulled them over her knee and halfway up her soft thigh. Her husband had been a large man, and his clothing dripped off her petite frame on those occasions when she chose to wear them. Her smile and remembrances were short-lived, however, as she stood and steeled herself to face the day. She moved quickly towards the door, lest the memories flood her mind and sadness overtake her.

 Fanny passed from the tiny bedroom, through the larger area that passed for a kitchen and common room, and tugged at the old pine door. It protested loudly, creaking and shuddering as she pried it open and stepped through; outside the wind howled as a multitude of black-dappled autumn leaves whirled past, several of them blowing into the little house. More to sweep later, Fanny thought listlessly as she stood in the center of the yard, looking around the small homestead. A cow stood in the remnants of the once whitewashed barn, waiting to be milked, something she would have to do first. The eggs needed to be collected and the hens tended to, the water fetched . . . a whole host of morning chores suddenly made her weary as the cock crowed once again.

 Fanny rushed through the simplest of the tasks first–fetching water and milking the cow. She then hurried to grab the wicker basket and collect the eggs. She was still wiping sleep from her eyes as she stumbled towards the hen house, careful to avoid the cracked and broken floorboards within. The hens flapped and cackled as she called out to them, “Halloo Margery! Good morn’ Hilda, dear!” She reached into the nests, happy to have found two or three usable eggs for the day. When she turned to check the one remaining nest, however, she froze, her cheerful tones dissipating in the cool morning air.

 Not far from her lay the figure of a man. She could tell he was tall, though not perhaps so tall as her husband had been, but certainly . . . well-formed. He lay on his side, his dirty white shirt torn open to reveal a long gash in his upper arm that reached up to his rounded, muscular shoulder. His skin was tan despite the approaching autumnal season. Fanny swallowed hard, almost certain he couldn’t be from around these parts. She forced her eyes away from the well-biceped arm and examined the man’s face. Long strands of damp blond hair lay across his rounded, yet rugged cheek and clung to his full lips. She swallowed hard, willing her feet to move, ordering herself to turn and run back to the house where her husband’s bow and arrows lay in the corner of the common room. She knew how to use them and was a fairly good shot. Circumstance had forced her to learn quickly.

But her will failed her, fear giving way to curiosity, compassion, and something else she dare not name. She stood unmoving for a few moments longer then put the basket of eggs down and went to the stranger’s side.