Page 3 of The Demon of the Wood

“Of course, Uncle, I will be stern this time,” she replied, tucking the money away in the pouch around her waist.

She picked up the plates and walked hastily to the kitchen, setting them on the counter and scarfing down the scraps. Then she grabbed one of the stale scones and ate it while standing by the dying embers of the fire.

Her uncle didn’t like her keeping fires in any rooms they didn’t need to be in, which were any room he or his sons were not in. The exception was the kitchen while she cooked. When it died off and the scone was finished, she went to the back door and slipped on the old muck boots of Jason’s. They were several sizes too big, but she tightened the laces to help with the movement, and she grabbed an old wool cloak, tossing it over her shoulders.

She didn’t tell her uncle she had this cloak. Someone had given it to her in the market. It had been tattered with several holes, but she’d salvaged thread and sewed it up where it was barely noticeable. It kept her warm enough when she went to and from the market, foraging in the woods, or cutting firewood. But she knew her uncle would accuse her of stealing if he saw it, so she hid it in the pantry and put it on when he wouldn't see.

It took twenty minutes at a normal pace to get to the market, but on fine sunny days like this one, Melina walked slowly, humming as the sun hit her face, savoring the time alone. The air filled with the scent of pine, and she could already smell food from the houses along the way. Her stomach growled, and she ignored it. Occasionally, people in the market gave her old bread for free, but since she wasn’t truly a beggar, she had to wait and see if they had enough after helping the others. She didn’t mind. Many of them didn’t have homes to stay in, and she at least had that.

Melina made a habit of not being bitter. Resentment sometimes tried to boil in her spirit, but she pushed it away. She couldn’t think of it or let it win. She just had to get from one day to the next. It would be very easy, she thought, but her uncle had taken her mother and her in many years ago and kept her around even after her mother died. Everyone knew her mother’s transgressions, and she knew they called Melina a whore herself behind her back.

But George had never kicked her out. It was not ideal, but she had shelter, food enough, and little pleasures like reading from the library. George had told her not to enter that room, and it was the only thing she disobeyed him in. It was a necessity for her, though. She needed the tales of adventure and love, of new cities and places and people who had joy and love, for in those moments that she read, she had them, too.

She had read every book in the library at least ten times over. George was not a reader, so there had been no new books since she’d been living there, but she had favorites she could read every day for the rest of her life if she pleased. Sometimes merchants had new ones at the square and she thumbed through them, desperate to take the volumes home, but they were an extravagance she couldn’t afford. The same with the cloth she saw in the seamstress's shop window. She had taken her mother’s old dress as she’d gotten older, but she was taller and broader than her slight mother had ever been, and the sleeves hit her mid forearm, the seams loose and gaping, and the length improper. Melina was an excellent seamstress herself. She had asked her uncle once if she could purchase some fabric.

“What for?” he’d asked, dumbfounded.

“To make a new dress,” she’d replied, gesturing to the one she had on. “Mine does not fit well.”

He’d taken her in with a harsh and disapproving gaze. “That one fits you well enough. Are you trying to seduce men? You don’t want to fall into the same sins as your mother. If I find you hanging around men, I’ll leave you in the forest to die, Melina. I won’t let you get away with what your mother did.” He’d wagged a big, meaty finger at her, and she shook her head, never bringing the subject up again.

But she knew just the dress she would make if she could. It would have an elegant gather around the neckline, the sleeves puffing off the shoulder. She’d have a floral bodice of brocade and golden eyelets for the ties to loop through.

The market was bustling, the warmth of the bodies about her making her loosen the tie of her cloak to expose her arms. Families filled the market, little children running about, toddlers hanging onto their mothers, their fat little hands so cute she could bite them. She stared for only a moment before looking away. Even if she ever found someone to marry, she had never received her cycle, she knew she would never have children. Even if her heart ached when she saw their chubby little faces. She navigated the stalls, coming to the general store and stepping in. It always smelled of spices, and she took a deep breath in as she walked to the counter.

“Hallo, Mr. Collie,” she said, and the older man gave her a broad, toothy smile.

“Well, hallo there, dearie. I see you are enjoying the cloak I gave you.”

Melina nodded, patting it. “It is an amazing gift. Thank you, Mr. Collie.”

“What can I get for you today?”

“I need thirty pounds of flour and some oil to go with it.” She took out the coin pouch, counting them for the right amount.

“You will not carry that back by yourself, will you?” Mr. Collie asked.

Melina nodded. “It isn’t so terrible.”

Mr. Collie grumbled something that sounded like “useless men,” then whistled. The door opened, and Melina turned, her breath catching and cheeks coloring. She averted her gaze quickly as her pulse thrummed.

Gregory was the most handsome man in the village. With shaggy blond hair that caught glints of red in the sunlight, and eyes of blue crystal, she felt like a fly caught in a spider’s web every time his attention was directed at her. Which was often.

No one else ever paid her much mind. With all sharp angles and dull brown hair, she was nothing like the beautifully plump and shining women in the village. She had never expected the men to look at her, even when she’d nursed a few lovesick notions about different boys over the years, and she’d thought it best.

She was the whore’s daughter. The child of the girl who fell from grace. She didn’t need any connections to men with her to get back to her uncle or around the village.

But Gregory was quite different. He always flashed her that winning smile and she would stumble a step or two, feeling as if she were in a daze. She knew he must give everyone that smile, and made other women feel this way too, but no one,no one,lookedat her at all, so his attention felt like the flare of a lighthouse in the dark of night.

“Gregory, carry this girl’s items back to George Mavenhall’s house. And escort her, too. She has to walk all along that forest road back, and I want nothing happening to her.”

Melina glanced up to see Gregory grinning.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, his eyes locked on her like she was a prize he was determined to win.

Gregory began gathering her items, and she turned to pay Mr. Collie.

“You didn’t ask for one of these this time, and I know the other must be about to run out,” he said, taking the coins and pulling out a candle from behind the counter.

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