Alis

15
With roads newly passable after the winter, there were crowds wanting to travel. Once more she had Edge to thank: she would never have gotten aboard a wagon on her own. But Edge had elbowed her way through the throng, ignoring the protests of those she shoved aside. Only once did she stop, to exchange insults with a thin, sour-faced woman in the sober dress of the Communities. For a terrible moment Alis thought the woman might know her for a daughter of the Book, but the cold glance passed over her contemptuously. Just one more ragged city girl; they ought not be allowed to travel with decent folk. Edge bargained with the driver for a place, handing over some money. That done, she thrust a bundle of possessions and a fistful of small coins at Alis, saying roughly, “Don’t look like that. You can’t starve. And you don’t know how far you’ll need to travel to find this Luke you’ve told me about.”
So Alis had accepted the gift, stammering her thanks. Then the driver said, “Get in if you mean to have your place, or give it up. I can’t be waiting all day for you to finish your gabbing.”
The wheels were already beginning to turn as Alis took her seat, leaning forward to keep her friend in sight for as long as possible, but Edge had already turned away and was soon lost among the milling crowd at the wagon stop. Alis thought of her parting from Luke: at least they had said good-bye.
Wedged between a bony raw-faced youth who smelled powerfully of onions and an old woman with a basket on her lap, Alis slid in and out of consciousness, waking with a jolt from time to time when the wagon lurched and the side of the basket dug into her leg. Images from the night before haunted her sleep with sickening intensity. Dream voices blended with those of her fellow travelers in a constant, sinister muttering whose meaning was always just out of reach, though she strained and strained to grasp it.


At first the inns were expensive. Dismayed, Alis watched her small store of money diminish, went hungry for fear of spending all she had, and wondered what she would do if Luke and his grandparents were gone from Two Rivers when she got there.
Two weeks later she shook her head miserably when the plump, cheerful innkeeper asked her what she would take for supper. The woman looked at her appraisingly. “Aren’t you thin enough already? Girl your age needs to eat. I should know. I’ve a daughter of my own and she could certainly put it away when she was a lass. Got kids herself now—all boys.” She smiled proudly.
Taking a chance, for the woman had a kindly face under her dark curls, Alis said, “The journey’s cost more than I thought. I need to earn a bit to keep me going. If you need a hand here, I can work hard.”
Again the woman—Jessie, she was called—examined her closely. “Well,” she said at last, “you don’t look like a thief, and as it happens I could use a bit of help, Mary having gone off with that good-for-nothing fellow she thinks will marry her, though he won’t. I can’t pay you much, but you can have Mary’s bed for nothing till she comes to her senses.”
She took Alis into the kitchen where a big, friendly-looking man was taking his ease with a tankard of ale. The suppers were mostly done, for Alis had stayed out of the way feeling it was too much to bear, smelling the food and watching the others eat when she was so hungry.
“Will,” Jessie said, “here’s someone to give us a hand for a few days. She needs a good feed before we set her to work. Let her have some of that cold pie and whatever else, and then she can clear the tables.”
So Alis washed pots, changed bedding, cleaned floors, served food and drink. It was hard work but she ate well and she slept better, too. Once, tidying the best room that was kept for the few wealthier travelers, she stopped to examine herself in a mirror. She was taller than she had been, and thinner, too—that did not surprise her. But her face she hardly recognized. Mirrors had not been plentiful in the houses of Freeborne—they encouraged vanity—nevertheless, it was sometimes useful to be able to see that you were neat and clean, and Alis’s mother had taught her to check her appearance in this way. She was familiar with her own face, with its creamy pale skin and gray eyes. Now the face that looked back at her was almost a stranger’s. The hair that framed it was still long and fair but it was rougher, no longer glossy; the skin was duller, and the childhood roundness had gone. Pointed chin, sharp cheekbones: if she hacked off her hair she would look like Edge. Uneasily she examined the girl in the glass and thought she did not know her.
She was glad to eat well again but the delay tormented her. She must get to Ellen’s and find out where Luke was.
One morning when she went into the kitchen, she found Will and Jessie trying to comfort a chubby, dark-haired girl who was crying hysterically. Will’s usually cheerful face was creased with anxiety; he hovered helplessly as his wife attempted to extract a coherent story from the girl.
“Calm down now, Mary,” she was saying, “and tell us plainly what’s to do. Where’s that fool of a man you went away with?”
Mary’s response was a fresh outburst. Sobbing and hiccupping, she choked out a story of promise and betrayal: she’d trusted him, he was a brute, left her all alone, no money, hated him, wished she was dead. Another great howl, head on the table, shoulders heaving. Jessie rolled her eyes and said to Will, “You try. I must talk with Alis.”
They went into the little parlor and Jessie closed the door, shutting out the sound of Mary’s crying. Then she said, “Alis dear, you’ll have to move on, I’m afraid. I’m sorry to take your place from you, for you’re a much better worker than Mary, but she can’t help being what she is, I reckon, with a mother like she’s got. This is the only real home she knows. We’ll pay you for what you’ve done, of course, and make sure you get a place with a trustworthy driver, though I can’t deny I’ll be sorry to lose you.”
So the next day, Alis put up her bundle of belongings and Jessie gave her a loaf of bread, cheese wrapped in muslin, and the little money she had earned. Then she climbed into the wagon, and within a few minutes it had passed through the yard gates out onto the road going north, the wheels turning briskly in the crisp morning air.


In the predawn stillness Alis made her way along the lane to the farm. Ellen would be milking at this time, the cows gathered flank to flank awaiting their turn, their breath curling up into the cool morning air, tails swishing. Alis found she was trembling. In a few moments she would know where Luke was.
But as she crossed the yard, there was no sign of the animals: the packed earth was swept clean and the usually pungent smell was a mere memory. There was no one in the milking shed. She went up to the small farmhouse and knocked at the door. No reply. She tried the handle. It was locked. In desperation she went round the back and stepped up onto the back porch to peer in through the window of the kitchen. The big table was bare and the hearth empty. Ellen had gone.
For a few moments, Alis was stunned. How was she to find out where Luke and his grandparents were? Perhaps they were still at the Minister’s house, though it was not likely after so long, especially if Ellen had been driven out. But she dared not go into Two Rivers itself. She might still stand accused of setting fire to the prayer house. At the thought of meeting Thomas—and worse still, Robert—her stomach clenched.
Suddenly she heard footsteps and drew back into the shadows as someone came round the side of the house. A figure in a voluminous wrap, with long hair and a sallow, bitter face. Her eyes were red as if she had been crying. Lilith! Alis froze in horror. There was no escape. The other girl stopped abruptly and squinted into the shadows.
“Who are you? What are you doing here?”
“I . . .” Alis could not summon a thought.
Lilith narrowed her eyes suspiciously.
“You’re a stranger, aren’t you? What do you want?”
Alis let out her breath. Lilith had not recognized her.
“I—” She must think of something quickly. But there was no need. The servant girl interrupted her.
“Well, whatever it is, you’re wasting your time. There’s no one here.”
Before she could stop herself, Alis asked, “Where have they gone?” Lilith looked away for a moment. There were fat buds on the shrub growing beside the porch steps and she picked one and examined it. After a pause she said, “You don’t know what’s happened?”
Alis shook her head. Keeping her voice low, she said, “I’m not from these parts. My grandmother—when she was a girl, she knew Mistress Ellen. She’s sick, Gran is, and she wants to see her again before she dies. My mother sent me with a message.”
Lilith was tearing away the layers of the bud, letting the white pieces of petal fall to the ground.
“Mistress Ellen’s not here anymore. Nor the old Minister and his wife that was here with her. No one knows where they’ve gone. Their grandson, Luke, died of a fever last spring and then . . .”
For an instant Alis thought she would faint. Dead? Struggling desperately not to give herself away, she said, “How . . . dreadful. Did many people die?”
Lilith shook her head. “Oh, no. It wasn’t like that. Only there was a fire—the prayer house nearly burned down and he was missing all night. When he came back the next day, he took sick. His grandmother nursed him but it was no use. A week after, he was dead. A whole year he’s been gone.”
She stopped, rubbing the back of her hand against her eyes. Alis stood up with an effort. “I . . . I must go. Thank you for giving me the news. My”—she struggled to remember what she had said—“grandmother will be sorry.”
She drew her shawl about her face and went down the steps, not looking at Lilith.
Blindly, Alis went along. There were few people on the country lanes and she ignored those she passed, too dazed and sick to care whether anyone recognized her. Luke was dead. And it was her fault. He must have stayed out all night for fear that someone would see him and pick up her trail.
He was dead. It could not be true and yet it was. She had imagined him so often—tall and supple, with his soft dark hair and olive skin, his eyes shining with excitement to hear of her great adventure—and all the time, he had been dead. Now he lay quiet under the green turf of the burial ground. She would never see him again. She had not thought such pain was possible. She wished she might die, now, on the road as she walked so that she need not feel her great loss anymore.
But she was young and strong. The death that had come so swiftly and cruelly to him was not hers for the asking. She found herself at length on the highway again.
Sick with despair, she knew she could not go to Elizabeth and Jacob, even if she could find out where they were. How could she expect a welcome from them when Luke was dead because of her? The road south would carry her back to the inn where she had worked: Jessie and Will might help her. Or she could return to the city to rejoin Edge and Joel if she could find them again. But she would not go south. She had brought evil upon those who had helped her: Luke, Elizabeth, and Jacob; Ethan; even Joel perhaps, for her presence had set him at odds with the others, and it was only after her arrival that hurt had come to him. And trouble for Joel meant trouble for Edge also. No. She had defied the Maker and now He had punished her. She would not resist anymore. She would return to Freeborne.


It was once more early morning when Alis was set down by the cart on the road that led to her childhood home. A beautiful summer morning of soft wind, delicate blue sky, and the sweet gold of the corn ripening in the fields. Alis looked at it from out of a dark tunnel. It sickened her with its mockery. Her feet were sore, for she had walked a good many miles in the preceding weeks. Now her boots had rubbed the raw places bloody, but she welcomed the burning pain—anything to distract her from the agony within.
She followed the path beside the stream until she stood among the willows at the end of her mother’s garden. As a child, she had loved to watch the tiny fish as they darted to and fro or dispersed in alarm when she disturbed the surface of the water. Her mother had been afraid that she would fall in and drown. Would that she had! Now she waited on the bank among the softly shifting leaves for the place to reclaim her. If it would not, she would stand there forever, in sun and rain, until she was no more than a tree herself.
After a long while the back door opened and her mother came out to feed the chickens. The silly creatures set to squabbling loudly over the handfuls of grain, but eventually the pail was empty and the birds were pecking peacefully. Hannah paused to look down the garden, shielding her eyes against the morning sun. Standing among the overhanging branches at the edge of the stream, Alis did not even know whether she was visible. But then her mother frowned and advanced a few steps before stopping once more to peer into the shadows. Evidently something had caught her attention, for she came on again, until she was standing only a few yards from the bank of trees. Alis did not move.
“Good morning, stranger.” The voice was as brisk as ever. “Are you in need? Can I aid you?”
Still Alis did not move. Her mother came in under the shade of the leafy branches.
“By the state of your clothes, you have traveled far and perhaps you are weary. Will you come in and break your fast with us?” She smiled at the ragged figure whose face was half concealed by the shawl wrapped about her head. “Come. My hens are laying well. I will give you good fresh eggs, and new bread with honey from my own bees. And you shall rest awhile and tell us what we may do for you.”
She held out her hand, and when there was no response, took Alis gently by the arm and drew her down the garden and into the house.
Seated at the table in the kitchen, where the meal was already spread, was a gray-haired man, somewhat rounded in the shoulders. He looked up in surprise as they came in. Alis gave a start. It was her father. But he had aged, and his face was etched with lines of melancholy. Her mother seated her beside the table and sat down herself, saying firmly, “Now my dear, won’t you put up your shawl and we will say the morning prayer before we break our fast.”
With a weary hand, Alis pushed back the wrap. She heard a sharp intake of breath from her father and saw her mother go still. Then her father’s voice tentative, trembling, as if he dared not believe.
“Alis?”
She did not look at him. She looked at her mother: a few more lines perhaps, a few more gray hairs, but she still had her strength. For a long moment they stared at each other. Then Alis said bleakly, “I have come back. I will do what you want. I will marry him.”