Sewing Can Be Dangerous and Other Small Threads by Mallery S. R

Author:Mallery, S. R. [Mallery, S. R.]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2015-03-31T04:00:00+00:00

EMMA AT NIGHT

The women in my family, I am told, have collectively handed down our ancestral folklore as long as anyone can remember, beginning with my great-great-great-great-great-great grandmother Eugenie. She was one of the most eloquent of our clan, recounting these tales to her daughter, who then sat down with her own daughter and so forth and so on, until one day, centuries later, my mother enriched me with the life of Emma, perhaps the most gifted cognate of us all.

According to Eugenie, Emma had always felt at one with the night. She claimed it was only then that there were no class distinctions; the world mostly emerged balanced, a balance totally ignored during the day. Indeed, for her, the daylight had often brought scorn and envy from many of the villagers around her.

“Pray, pardon me, m’lady, if thou wouldst not mind. I should like to pass,” sneered the teenage boy angling past her in the narrow, mildewed corridor of the local abbey. Smacking her dress aside with his right hand, he made the parchment papers she had been holding fly out of her arms. She stood still for several seconds, refusing to appear weak, but kneeling down to gather up the frayed pieces of paper, her tears came in quickly.

A gentle pat on her shoulder caused her to look up into the creviced face of an elderly monk with compassionate eyes. He spoke softly, tenderly. “I have watched thee, child for several years hence, coming here, reading, nay, devouring the words on our pages, and it doth touch my heart. Pray tell me, wherefore didst that young man be so cruel to thee? In faith, ‘tis beyond my comprehension.”

“Father Mathew, thy abbey hath taught me to read now for three years hence. Verily, in the village they doth loathe me for it.”

“I hear tell thy embroiderie is some of the best in the village. Is that not enough pride for thee?” His words scolded, yet his demeanor remained kind.

“Yes, I am proud of that which I sew; still, I ask thee, shall we all be punished for not being noble born?”

The monk hesitated. “Pray, do not despair, child. Come here in a fortnight with thy family. If all goeth well, I shall have a surprise for thee. In addition, prithee, bring some of thy embroiderie samples.”

A summons to the abbey was a true gift from God, an event so powerful if it weren’t for the charitable monk coming towards them two weeks later with outstretched arms, her family would have been far too apprehensive to stay.

The monk addressed Emma’s father. “I hath spoken with Lord Buckingham, and he hath agreed to help thy family. If thou, good sir, wouldst be willing to go fight in the Crusades for our King Richard, his Lordship will treat thee well in return. Taxes shalt not be collected and thy daughter shall live in his manor. ‘Tis her skills in embroiderie that giveth him interest, and he hath assured me she shall be given an excellent position in the Wardrobe.

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