Page 6 of The Forgotten
“No, it isn’t. We all deal with death in different ways. It’s all right not to feel bereft.” Petra noted Elia’s look of surprise but said nothing. Of the three children, she’d been closest to Cyril, and he forgave her more than he would ever forgive the other two. He always remarked that Elia resembled his dear departed mother, so perhaps he even loved her. He hadn’t loved Edwin, and made that clear, especially once Edwin’s affliction became apparent. Cyril said it was a curse. Edwin was a cursed boy born in a cursed place.
Dunwich had been a prosperous place once, a city that went back to the times of the Anglo-Saxons, known then as Dommoc. It was a place of commerce and trade, a place to which merchants flocked and fortunes were made. It boasted one of the biggest ports in England, with as many as eighty ships at its zenith, and a population of thousands. The town’s decline began long before Edwin’s birth, even before her own, but Petra heard stories of the great storms that came in 1287 and 1328. They eroded the coastline and destroyed houses and part of the harbor, engulfing it in water, which never receded all the way. The priests said that it was a punishment from God on the wicked people of Dunwich, a pestilence brought on by their greed, but there were those who said that the fault lay not with the people, but with the land. The cliff on which Dunwich had been built was made of sandy soil, easily washed away by the pounding waves and strong currents of the North Sea.
And, of course, there were those who attributed the wrath of the sea to a local legend. Eva, a heartbroken young maiden, had cut out her heart and threw it into the sea after being forsaken by the man who’d taken advantage of her. According to the tale, Eva failed to die and haunted the sea from that day on, wreaking havoc on the place that witnessed her disgrace. Petra’s mother had told her of the legend when she was a little girl, and Petra wept for Eva, heartbroken at the thought of a young woman being so ill-used by a man she trusted.
Petra hadn’t fared much better than Eva. There was a man who’d made false promises and a child conceived in sin. There had been no time to waste, no chance to find a kind and gentle suitor. Petra had to marry in haste to hide her condition, and the man she married, although kind enough at first, turned out to be a cruel and domineering master. He made Petra’s life a living purgatory, especially once Edwin’s fits began, and Petra realized that therewas something terribly wrong with her precious boy. Perhaps it was a punishment from God, a cross to bear as the wage of her sin. She’d gone against the teachings of the Church, had lied to her husband, and had protected the man responsible for her situation, rather than holding him accountable. She deserved to suffer, and she bore it silently, but why Edwin? Were the sins of the father, or in this case the mother, always visited upon the son?
Petra’s labor with Edwin had been difficult. It lasted for several days, with the child lodged in the birth canal for nearly a full day before being forcibly dragged out of Petra’s womb by her mother, who feared for her only daughter’s life. Edwin had been blue, his heartbeat faint, and his eyes closed to the light of an overcast winter morning. He made no sound, even after being slapped on the rump by his grandmother. Edwin clearly wasn’t meant for this world, but Petra cried and cried, and begged to hold her baby. After an hour in the arms of his weeping mother, Edwin rallied, letting out a thin wail that pierced Petra’s heart. He lived, and she would do anything to see him thrive. Edwin was never hale and hearty, but he survived and that was all that mattered.
Edwin grew up to be a kind-hearted boy, who felt deeply for others, especially for the mother who always interjected herself between father and son to protect him from the former’s wrath. Fear and anxiety brought the fits on, more often than not, and Petra did everything in her power to shield her son and keep him safe. The fits began when Edwin was only two. They passed as quickly as they came, but the shaking was so violent that Edwin often bit his tongue and nearly choked on the saliva that foamed at his mouth. He usually fell into a heavy sleep after a fit, his body desperate for a period of quiet needed for him to recover. Petra prayed that the fits would stop as Edwin grew, but they only got worse, lasting longer and sometimes resulting in injury. Once, when he was eight, Edwin thrashed so violently that he broke hisarm and had to wear a wooden splint for nearly two months. Petra strongly suspected that Cyril was glad of the injury. He would have happily inflicted it himself had Petra not begged him to let the boy be.
“What’s to become of him?” Cyril roared as Edwin cowered in the corner, frightened out of his wits. “Who will take him on? Who in their right mind would want an apprentice who’s so afflicted?”
“Why can’t he work with you?” Petra pleaded, hoping that Cyril would teach Edwin the shipbuilding trade once the boy got older. It was a valuable skill in a port city where new ships were built and damaged ships limped in for repair. But Petra knew the answer before Cyril even had a chance to reply. Edwin couldn’t work with his father. He had to be taken on as an apprentice and complete his seven years before applying to be accepted into the Guild, of which Cyril was a member. But just because Cyril was a journeyman, a master craftsman paid a daily wage, didn’t mean that the son would get admitted, even if he managed to complete his training. The Church and the guilds ruled the town, as they did every town in England. Edwin was freeborn, the son of a freeborn man, but he might as well have been a serf for all the choices he had open to him. At least as a serf, he wouldn’t starve, and he’d be put to work doing a job that would put food on the table, meager as it might be.
“Are you mad, woman?” Cyril carried on. “What do you think he’ll do to himself if he’s holding an axe in his hand and a fit comes on? He’s broken bones without so much as leaving home, and you want to allow him to wield sharp tools in the vicinity of other men? Out of the question. I’d send him to the priory, but even the monks won’t take him if they find out about this curse he’s been born with. It’s the Leper Hospital for him once he’s ofage. I’d happily take him there now. Why waste good food and clothing on someone who can never repay it?”
“Cyril, you can’t mean that,” Petra wailed, terrified that her son would become one of the hideously disfigured unfortunates who resided at the St. James Leper Hospital on the outskirts of Dunwich, looked after only by a master who saw to their needs at great risk to his own life. There was no other place for an afflicted person to go. The cripples of the town received alms from the monks, but Petra and Cyril had kept Edwin’s affliction a secret, hoping and praying that he would grow out of it in time. Besides, he was of sound mind and body most of the time, so the monks might not see fit to dispense alms to someone who was capable of earning a wage. The alms went to those who were missing a limb or were soft in the head.
“Cyril, please. Surely there’s something Edwin can do that isn’t dangerous. There’s nothing wrong with his mind.”
“And what good is a mind?” Cyril taunted her. “He’s the son of a shipbuilder, a man destined to work with his hands. Perhaps you’d like to spend all our savings to educate the idiot? Teach him to read and write? Much good it would do him.” Cyril had stormed from the house, leaving Petra in tears and Edwin in a comatose sleep. Petra hated Cyril for his cruelty, but deep down she knew he was right. Edwin needed to learn a trade, and most trades involved the handling of dangerous tools and performing under the sharp eyes of master craftsmen who’d not keep Edwin on once they learned of his affliction.
Petra put Edwin’s future from her mind as she went about setting out pies and platters of sliced pork for the mourners and refilling their cups with beer or hippocras. She tried to keep the cost of the wake to a minimum, but many of Cyril’s guild-mates had come to the funeral, and Petra could hardly keep them fromcoming to the house. She’d hoped that there’d be some food left over for the following day, but by the time everyone departed, there was hardly a crumb left. She’d have to go to the market tomorrow for supplies. Petra went about clearing and washing the crockery and sweeping the dirt floor, eager to get to bed. The children had retired to their bed in an alcove behind a curtain. They still slept together, despite the fact that the girls were on the cusp of womanhood. Unless Edwin slept on the floor, there was nowhere else for him to bed down.
“Petra, come sit,” her mother said as Petra set aside the broom and surveyed the small space.
“I’m for my bed, Mother. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
Maude nodded and rose to her feet. “Goodnight, child,” she said and shuffled toward her own pallet by the fire. Her old bones couldn’t take the cold, even on warmer nights. Now that Cyril was gone, Maude could share Petra’s bed, but she couldn’t climb the ladder to the loft, so had to sleep downstairs.
“Goodnight, Mother.”
Petra climbed the ladder and kept her head down as she walked toward the bed. The roof wasn’t high enough to accommodate a person at full height, but she only went up there to sleep. Her day was spent either downstairs or outdoors, performing the chores that took up most of her time. Petra removed her barbet, unpinned her hair, and stared at her reflection in the square of beaten metal that served as a mirror and hung on the wall. With her hair down, and by candlelight, she almost looked like the girl she’d been. She knew what her mother wanted to talk to her about, but she wouldn’t think of that today. Tonight was her first night of freedom in twelve years, and she would enjoy it as much as she could, since it wouldn’t last long.
SIX
NOVEMBER 1346
Dunwich, Suffolk
Petra considered throwing another log on the fire, then changed her mind. She needed to keep the fire going during the day for cooking, baking, and heating water for laundry, but in the evening, she let the fire burn down, huddling under woolen blankets to keep out the cold. She’d always been mindful of practical matters, but over the past month, the need for economy had become more urgent. Cyril had left a bit of money upon his death, but after paying for the burial and the stone cross to mark his final resting place, the wake, and buying some necessary supplies, Petra’s funds were greatly diminished. She’d cut down portions and allowed the children only one slice of bread smeared with fat when they broke their fast in the morning, but the savings wouldn’t last much longer.
Petra checked on the children, who were fast asleep, and sat at the table across from her mother, glad to be off her feet at last. She was weary, but not quite ready for bed.
“You must remarry, Petra, and soon,” Maude said to her daughter, bringing angry spots to Petra’s pale cheeks.
“Yes, so you keep telling me, Mother,” Petra retorted. “I am well aware of our situation.”
“Don’t think I don’t feel for you,” Maude said, reaching out to cover Petra’s hand with her own. “I know what it’s like to be awoman, my girl. You’re not the first to make sacrifices to feed your family and protect your children.”
“Haven’t I sacrificed enough?” Petra cried, but she knew what her mother was thinking even though she didn’t say it. There was no point; it’d been said often enough. She’d made her bed. She’d lain with a man who wasn’t her husband, got with child, and had to marry the first person who asked, desperate to avoid disgrace and possible banishment. She had no one to blame but herself. She couldn’t even blame the father of her child, since he was a man, and it was practically his responsibility to try to seduce a beautiful young girl, according to her mother. If only Maude knew the truth. Petra had never revealed Edwin’s father’s name. She had to protect him, and she had to protect herself. She hadn’t uttered his name since the day they said goodbye, walking along the beach, seagulls screaming above their heads and the bitter wind drying Petra’s tears.
Her lover was being sent away to a place she couldn’t follow. If he defied his father, he would be cast out, and unable to provide for a wife and child without a useful trade to rely on. He had to go, and she had to remain behind and find a way to survive. Petra had never laid eyes on him again, but he still lived in her heart, the handsome boy with soulful dark eyes whose slow smile pierced her heart and made her reckless. She’d known the risks, but somehow, when looking into his face, they seemed minor compared to not enjoying those moments with him and not knowing what it was like to lie with a man you loved rather than some suitor-turned-husband who was a stranger in every way.
Petra sighed, feeling like an old woman despite the fact that she was barely twenty-seven. She wasn’t old yet, but the flush of youth was long gone. At twenty-seven, she was considered middle-aged, a woman who was no longer expected to bear children for a new husband. Her main purpose would be to look after hiscomforts and act the parent to the children he already had, especially if they were still young and needed mothering. At this stage, marrying her would be a practical decision for a man, not an emotional one, and for her, marrying again and giving up her hard-won freedom would be a fate worse than death. Would life never give her a break? “I’ll sell Cyril’s tools,” she said.
Maude scoffed. “And how long will the money last? Winter is almost upon us. We’ll need extra wood, and Elia’s shoes are worn through. I’ve darned Edwin’s hose more times that I can count, and he’s outgrown his jerkin.”
