landlost | ONC 2024

one.

I BREATHED IN the scent of my sister's soft brown hair, of woodsmoke and dried plums, and illness, maybe for the last time.

She cuddled into my touch, her eyelids flickering with sweat and fever, and I dug my nails further into our shared flax bed as I heard footsteps along the hallway. It was Mother, I could tell, stomping impatiently towards us.

My heart throbbed more painfully with every step, until I heard her swish aside the cow pelt blocking the doorway. For half a moment, I reckoned if I shut my eyes and pretended to be asleep, maybe she would leave me alone. Leave me and Naamah in peace.

"Na'el," she hissed, my name venom in her mouth that she had to spit out. She dug bony fingers into my shoulder, nearly ripping my nail beds out as my pitiful attempt to escape my decided fate came to an end. She pulled me upright and jerked me off the bed, and the entire frame rocked.

Naamah whimpered, and I bit back a yelp I knew would wake her as Mother's claws pierced my skin. "Stupid girl," she said in my ear, as she hauled me away from my sister. I kept my gaze on Naamah —— only seven harvests old, oh gods, she's so small, and I can't look out for her anymore —— to hide the tears burning my eyes.

"You know your suitor's coming today," Mother jerked me along the hall, past she and Father's room, to the entrance of our house, where change inevitably awaited. "You can't afford to mope and sabotage everything your father's built, not today, not ever."

My mind stuttered with a panic that prickled my skin. "I know, Mother," I said, the scent of incense branding my throat, because she'd already given me this speech. Usually enunciated with the slapping of fist on flesh. "I won't let you or Father down."

Mother pulled me outside, and the sun dazzled me. She didn't wait to let my eyes adjust before tugging me towards the dirt street, where my father and a stranger stood, leaning against a mule-driven cart.

I lowered my head and finally pulled out of my Mother's grasp, just as my father boomed, "Here she is, my daughter, Na'eltama'uk." He jabbered on incessantly about how twin boys ran in the family —— lies —— and how I would easily bear strapping heirs to continue the stranger's legacy.

I adjusted the tichel tied around my head, making sure my light brown plaits were covered. The tichel was faded and fraying, and as was my simlah, borrowed from my mother. I felt a flush build in my cheeks as the itch of the stranger's gaze settled on my face.

I thought back to Naamah lying on the bed. Did Mother know that she had to flip the pillows every half-hour to keep my sister's neck cool? Did Mother know what my sister's favourite lullaby was, to sing to her when the fever dreams grew more vivid than real life? Did Mother know how to comfort her during her nightmares?

"She'll make a good bride to you, sir," my father said finally, ending his spiel of endless promises that I wouldn't be able to fulfil. With his loud voice and open, almost dumb-looking face, it was easy to mistake my father for being confident. In actuality, he was anything but. His brother who'd worked on the East River and had been sending money every two weeks was dead, his youngest daughter was in death's clutches, and his wife was a nag who particularly despised his proclivity to neglect the holes in our roof and and go gamble instead; of course his eldest daughter would be the one to save them.

Me. My hand in marriage would save them, if I was worth a good bride price.

"She won't be my bride," the man said, his voice like the sound of a stuck wheel on gravel. "My father regrets not being here to pick her up himself, but," his dark eyes flickered to me, and then back to my father. He shrugged nonchalantly, his massive shoulders rolling. "I am sure you understand."