Escape from the Past (6 page)

“Anyone home?” I yelled when I saw the front door standing open. “Bero?”

Bero kneeled near the fire pit at the far wall. He dabbed at something on the floor and his shoulders shook with what sounded like quiet sobs.

“Bero? What happened?”

“Miranda, the brazen shrew, I want to flog her,” Bero said. But I didn’t listen. I stared at Bero’s sister, Juliana, whose face was the color of bleached flour. Her hair, a blend of honey and walnuts, lay draped around her shoulders. Her eyelids fluttered, and every breath rattled in her chest. I leaned closer. The girl’s leg was exposed and blood seeped from a gash into the straw beneath. The skin around the cuts looked shredded and puffy.

“Where’s your mother?”

“In the fields. I wanted to get help but I don’t dare leave her.” Wiping his eyes with a grimy sleeve, Bero fought to keep his voice steady. “We can’t afford it anyway, but she may bleed to death or worse…” A new sob escaped his throat. “I told
Mutter
Lady Miranda is no good, but
Mutter
didn’t want to listen. Now see what happened.”

“What
did
happen?”

“Ott, Miranda’s bastard, attacked her. He’s been after her ever since she moved yonder. She hates him, told him to leave her alone. After market she was collecting eggs in the barn when he cornered her. He forced himself on her. They struggled. Juliana is strong when she wants to be. She kicked him in the ballockstones—”

“The what?”

Bero pointed at his crotch while managing to look annoyed at the same time. “He got mad, grabbed a pitchfork and caught her in the leg. Then, instead of helping her, he ran off. She didn’t know what to do. Miranda always takes his side—even if he’s just a bastard. So Juliana came here. It took her hours.”

I leaned closer. I’d just seen her this morning. She’d been scared, but well enough. The girl who lay there shivering looked like someone else, trembling and sickly. My gaze wandered to her leg. I’d seen nasty wounds before when Jimmy had crashed his bike, but this looked like ground beef. I shuddered, trying not to show my revulsion. Chances were good she’d get an infection. If she didn’t die, she’d lose her leg.

“We need a doctor?”

Bero jumped up, waving the blood-soaked cloth at me. “We’ve naught in the village. Besides, we can’t pay. There is a healer. Many of the villagers are afraid of her. They use her when the sickness comes or a babe is born.”

“That’s a start. Want me to find her?”

Bero shook his head and opened the door. “Nay, you won’t know the way. She lives near the river. I’ll go.”

He has no clue how well I used to know this area, I mused. Whenever or wherever that had been. How could Jimmy’s father have created a world this convincing? This had to be another test. I felt disgusted with Jimmy’s father for making people suffer.

Clenching my teeth, I bent over the girl. Sweat beads covered her forehead and upper lip. She mumbled something I couldn’t understand. I picked up the bloody cloth and immediately dropped it. It was filthy. If I knew one thing it was not to touch open wounds with dirty things. I swallowed and took a closer look.

This was
real.

The pitchfork had caught her in the shin and side of the calf. The skin was torn away, exposing dense ribbons of muscle. The bleeding had slowed but it was hard to tell how deep the prongs had gone. What she needed was a good antibiotic, the wound cleaned and stitched up. Heck, she needed the emergency room.

I grimaced—very funny, looking for a hospital when they didn’t even have running water. The girl moaned. Two red splotches on her cheeks glowed unnaturally bright on her pale
face. Fever! I had to do something. I needed water. At least I’d cool her face while we waited. I found the wooden bucket and another rag near the window. The cloth was stained, but didn’t smell. Carrying both outside, I poured water over the cloth to keep the bucket from getting contaminated. The water was probably loaded with bacteria anyway.

I wiped Juliana’s face. “Isn’t that better?” I noticed her nose, small and straight, the tiny ears and the smooth skin of her cheeks. She was pretty in a way that made my stomach flutter. But my eyes were drawn to her leg again.

“Who are you?” she mumbled.

I returned to her face. “I’m Max.” I felt strangely shy looking into her eyes, hazelnut brown like Bero’s, followed by a weird fluttering in my stomach.

“I saw you this morning. You’re Bero’s friend,” she said. It wasn’t a question.

I nodded, surprised, but I really did care for the skinny jerk who stank of pigs and moved like a squirrel on speed.

“He’s gone to get help so we can fix your leg.”

Juliana’s face twisted in agony. I winced. I was such an idiot for reminding her of the pain.

“I’ll lose my leg,” she whimpered. “They’ll cut it off. I’ll be maimed, a cripple. Or I’ll die.”

I grabbed her hand. “No, we’ll fix it. Don’t worry. I’ll find a way, you’ll see.” I glanced at her face but her eyes had closed. The rattling in her chest was back. I suddenly needed fresh air and yanked open the door.

Across the mud-covered front yard and dirt path, a girl of six or seven stood staring in frozen fascination. Her mouth gaped open. When I waved, she flinched and raced into the dark hole of her front door. I made a face, thinking of the science fiction movies when aliens had shown up on earth. That’s what I had to look like to them.

A low moan came from inside.

“Bero, where are you?” I mumbled scanning the trail. It smelled of more rain, the clouds above charcoal gray. The pigs squealed and I remembered the well. After a quick look inside—Juliana lay still again—I snatched the buckets, refilling the empty pail inside the house and watering the pigs. They snorted and slobbered, drinking greedily. I looked around for food, but the stall was empty except for a layer of straw sticky with pig dung.

When I emerged from the barn, Bero scurried up the road.

“I can’t find her,” he cried. “I looked all over. She must be in another village, helping with a birth.” He crumpled onto the doorstep and began to weep outright.

I swallowed the sudden lump that appeared in my throat. Somehow I had to figure out what to do. My mother used lots of natural remedies when I was growing up. I needed herbs that disinfected like rosemary or sage or garlic. I didn’t remember seeing anything in the meager garden outside. There were no grocery stores or pharmacies. Frustrated I shook my head.

I’d watched every episode of
Survivorman
and
Dual Survival.
They were a joke compared to what was going on in
this
world. But still… Then I remembered. Pine needles, bark and sap could be used to disinfect and for vitamin C.
Bear Grylls
in
Man vs. Wild
had plucked pine trees to make tea.

It was worth a try.

“Bero, quit your crying. We got work to do.”

Bero looked up, his face wet and snotty. “What? You are a healer now, too?”

“Shut up and listen.” I wanted to smack the guy, but then I remembered Juliana on the straw sack. “I know stuff. Can you find a pine tree?”

“What for?”

“Answer me.”

Bero slowly nodded and pointed toward the edge of the forest.

“Take this bucket and collect a few boughs, some bark and if
you can find it, sap.”

Bero shook his head. “Why?”

“Cause we’ll help your sister keep her leg.” That shut Bero up. “One more thing. Where can I get clean cloth?”

Bero frowned, but swallowed his comment. “The dressmaker lives across from the
Klausenhof.
How’re you going to pay for that?”

“I’ll take care of it. Hurry and get me the pine.”

Bero raced off, the bucket dangling from his arm. I ran back inside and started a fire. I’d always loved to burn things and had built hundreds of fires over the years, mostly to the frustration of my neighbors who hated the smoldering fumes. I grimaced when the twigs caught and smoke began to fill the room. Choking and coughing, I fanned the flame until it caught. Better.

After adding more wood, I took a last glance at the girl. She lay very still, but her chest rose and fell more evenly. I’d have to hurry before the fire went out or she woke up. I poured water into the cast-iron kettle and hung it above the fire.

Then I sprinted up the road toward the amazingly new
Klausenhof.
Nobody sat outside, but an orange glow and roaring voices filtered through the windows. Alcohol vapors hovered in the air. I could’ve used vodka or some other strong liquor to disinfect Juliana’s leg. But that surely cost a lot. And vodka was made in Russia. Forget that.

I searched the houses across the way. A crude wooden torso swung from a pole in the front yard of a slightly better looking shack. That had to be it. I rushed to the front door and knocked.

“Hello?” I yelled pounding the door again.

“I’m closed.” The man in the entrance wore a battered leather apron over a green silk vest and matching shirt. By the looks of the oily stains and bits of fabric stuck to them, he’d worn the same outfit for years. “Come back Monday.”

Ignoring my disgust I shook my head. “Bero’s sister had an accident. I need clean cloth. Something soft, like cotton or linen.”
The man didn’t budge and I was ready to push him aside to look around. “It’s urgent.”

While the dressmaker skeptically gawked at my jeans and shoes, I worried about wasting time. The fire would go out before this old goat was ready to do something. Of course there was the small problem of payment. Would the guy play ball and trade?

“Sir, please, it’s important.”

The man still stared and then shook his head. “I don’t do business with strangers.”

“You know Bero, the tanner’s son? His sister, Juliana? It’s for her. She’ll die if I don’t get the cloth. It’ll be your fault.” Not exactly fair, I thought, but I didn’t care.

The dressmaker shook his head and crossed himself. Then he slowly nodded. “I have linen and nettle for smallclothes.”

“Can I see it?”

The tailor stepped aside and I entered the gloominess beyond. Shelves lined the walls, stacked with a meager supply of various fabrics. An oversized table, covered under a half-finished woman’s outfit of green velvet took up most of the room. I tried remembering what they were called.
Surcot
—that was it.

I searched the shelves as the man threw two folded pieces of fabric in front of me. I carefully touched them. The linen was cream-colored and softer than the nettle. “I’d like both…if you trade.”

Without waiting for a reply, I placed my pocketknife on the table. I’d carried it for years—a Christmas present from my father—and though I barely ever used it, I felt naked without it.

The man stared but didn’t touch the knife. “What is it?”

“I’ll show you.” I unfolded the large knife, then the small, the mini scissors and the nail cleaner. I picked up a piece of thread and cut it with the scissors.

The dressmaker gasped. “I’ve never seen such a tool. It looks like witchcraft. So small. Where did you get it?” His voice was suddenly filled with doubt.

“My father gave it to me.”

The man scanned my shirt and I wondered if he could read.

“What do you want for it?”

“The linen
and
the nettle.” I held his breath. “And I need a shirt…eh, tunic.”

The man swallowed and remained silent, but his eyes never left the knife. “Show me how it works.” He pointed a blackish forefinger at the larger blade. I folded and unfolded the tools and placed the knife back on the table. “This is for your nails.” I pretended to scrape dirt from my fingers, which were filthy once again. Not that this made any sense. These people were so grimy that a little dirt under their nails was hardly worth mentioning.

“Take the cloth before I change my mind.” The man grabbed the knife and began playing with it.

“What about the tunic?”

“I’ll make one. Come back in three days.” The dressmaker snatched the knife and let it disappear in his pocket.

“Thanks.”

I raced toward Bero’s hut feeling strangely elated. I’d done my first trade and gotten what I needed most. The hut stood deserted. Bero hadn’t returned and I rushed to tend the fire. The girl still slept and I added more wood to coax the flames back to life. The water steamed but it had to boil before it’d be clean enough. I needed more wood. I raced back into the yard and found a stack of firewood behind the pig barn. Back inside, I loaded the fire and lit the two meager grease lamps. It was getting dusky. Bero’s mother and younger sister would be back any minute and I wanted to be well on my way to treating Juliana’s leg.

I unfolded a piece of the linen, trying to keep it clean. The table was covered in years of unrecognizable food spills. Maybe I should scrub it outside. The girl moaned. No time for that now. I found a crude knife on a shelf and began to cut notches into the edges of the fabric. Then I tore two-inch wide strips and several
rectangular patches.

“Did you steal it?” Bero stood in the door, looking his suspicious self.

“I
bought
it,” I said. “Show me what you’ve got.” Bero held up his bucket stuffed with pine boughs, bark and clumps of sap. His hands, black and sticky, smelled like pine. “Good job. Get the mugs, put some pine needles into each one and bring them to the fire.”

Bero followed orders while I went in search of a ladle.

When the water boiled I filled each cup. “Set them on the table to cool.”

“What is it?”

“Pine needle tea. Now we need to fix the disinfectant.”

“The what?”

“Never mind, bring your bucket.” I inspected the sap, which stuck to my fingers. My mother had shown me how to add oil or alcohol to make a salve. By the bare bones look of the cabin, I’d have to search elsewhere. Laying the pine goop aside, I picked apart the bark and boughs. After adding them to the water, I stirred and let it boil. “Let’s carry the pot outside. It needs to cool.” Bero didn’t say a thing as we lugged the pan outside. The water steamed and emitted a strong piney smell.

“Listen, Bero.” I threw a furtive glance back into the hut. “We have to clean her leg and wash out the germs.”