Escape from the Past (8 page)

“Tell me about your mother.”

That caught me by surprise. I’d been thinking about my mother before I went to sleep, but I’d been so busy making it through the day, that I’d pushed the thought of her away. Besides, I might get another lump in my throat and I had no time for that right now.

“Her name is Barbara,” I began. “She’s German. Works at a bank.”

I wanted to scream. In the U.S. it had been special to have a German mom. It obviously didn’t matter when you were in Germany. Duh.

But Luanda didn’t seem to pick up on that. “Bank?”

I nodded. “She works with money…coins.” Heck, I didn’t have a clue what she did. Not exactly. Something with business loans. I’d never cared to ask. Luanda stood watching me, her arms relaxed. I wondered why she didn’t seem more surprised.

“My father left…we live alone.”

The woman tilted her head. “You helped the tanner’s girl.” I nodded. “You’re a healer—like me. Will you visit again?”

I stared back in surprise. What did she
want
with me? I had no interest in seeing another smelly place. Maybe she’d transform
me into a bird or worse…

“I’m pretty busy.”

She nodded and sniffed, the nostrils on her potato nose flaring. “It will rain today. Stay out of trouble, young Max.” For a moment her eyes sharpened while all the wrinkles scrunched together into a frown. “It can be a dangerous place.”

Luanda turned before I thought of a comeback. A wind gust rippled across the reeds as if the woman had summoned bad weather. I shivered. If her face and tone were supposed to frighten me, it worked. I yanked on my clothes except for the shirt. My skin felt icy wet. I’d get dry and warm at Bero’s house. Even if it stank.

In Bero’s hut I stoked the fire and hung my shirt above. Juliana lay with her eyes closed, the hair a loosely braided pillow around her. I took a sip of pine needle tea that stood forgotten from this morning and watched her. I wondered how old she was. I’d ask Bero without attracting too much attention. I needed to talk to him anyway. About the harvest festival and about what year it was. They’d gone to church instead of the fields, so it had to be Sunday. Was the game I’d traveled into maintaining the same schedule as home?

“Why so serious?” Juliana gazed at me. She attempted to sit, but then her mouth twisted with pain and she slumped back down.

I shook my head. “Nothing.” I pulled my bench a bit closer. “Tell me about Miranda. What do you do for her?”

“I attend at meals, help with dressing, hair, anything she needs…” She shrugged.

“You don’t like her.”

Juliana shook her head. “She’s cruel and unjust. She accuses us of idleness. Everyone is afraid of her. I’d fancy serving Lady Clara. She was kind—and prettier, too.”

“What do you know about her?”

“Lady Clara visits with Lady Miranda a lot. I think she’s lonely—her husband is blind and not very nice to her.”

“Why did she marry him?”

“He was much different before he lost his sight. He was funny and joked with us maids. Now, he sits around and drinks.”

“You worked for Lady Clara?”

Juliana nodded. “Before her husband got sick. He’s one of the Lord’s vassals. Knight Werner is generous and lets them stay in their manor. But she couldn’t afford to keep us and I went to Miranda.”

“Must be tough to be an invalid around here.” I remembered the girl’s wound. “Your leg feeling okay?”

Juliana’s perfectly arched brows crunched into a frown. “Your speech is vexing. What does it mean…okay?”

“It means fine. Like better or tolerable.”

She nodded, but the suspicion stayed on her face. Ignoring it, I kneeled to take another look under the bandage. One couldn’t be careful enough. The gash looked as it had this morning. I wanted to touch her leg, the good part, but stopped myself. Instead I replaced the padding and stood up.

“You look nice,” she said, her eyes lingering on my upper body. I glanced at my chest, which was still tanned from summer. Abruptly, I turned away, my cheeks feeling hot.

“Thanks,” I managed. Clearing my throat I returned to the bench. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

“What’s that?”

“Someone you like and hang out with.”

She looked at him in consternation. “Your speech is so strange. I don’t understand. What is hang out?”

“You spend time with the person you like,” I tried.

An inkling of a smile played around her mouth. “You talk funny. I serve Lady Miranda and see her guests and a few of the squires. They’re dim-witted.
Mutter
hopes I’ll marry one. She’s worried I’m getting too old.”

“How old are you?”

“Fifteen.”

“You’re a teenag—You’ve got plenty of time.”

Juliana shook her head. “It is best to marry early, to be protected.”

“Why?”

“Because when knights visit, they will take us if they desire it.” The perfect skin around her nose glowed pink. “I try to stay away as much as I can. Many of the maids have bastards.”

“Like Lady Miranda’s bastard son?” I said, avoiding her eyes.
Talking about sex was dangerous territory.

She shook her head again in impatience. “That’s different. Ott is a Lord’s son. He’s Miranda’s only child.” She paused. “It is rumored his father is the Duke von Dörnberg.”

“Who’s that?” I thought of forgotten history lessons. Nothing came to mind.

Juliana shrugged. “The court master of a powerful landgrave. Do you have a lass?”

“You mean a girl?” I thought of the girls in my school and how spoiled they seemed, my half-hearted attempts at kissing Julia Kellermann at a recent party. Juliana was a slave and afraid of getting raped at any moment. Somehow, I wanted to protect her. “Not really.”

A rap at the door made me jump. Maybe Bero was being polite. I grinned to myself as I opened the door. Bero didn’t know the meaning of polite.

“Why are you knock—?”

Lady Miranda pushed past me into the room. She’d lifted her skirt a few inches as if she wanted to avoid contamination. Behind her a man in his twenties, dressed in black and green velvet, entered. His hair, the same color as Miranda’s, was long and stringy and topped with a droopy hat, ringed with some sort of reddish fur.

“We’re looking for our maid,” Miranda said. “Ah yes, there she is.” Miranda’s gaze swept through the room, her eyes narrowed in disgust. “She’s deserted her post without the merest excuse. We came to collect her.” Miranda snapped her fingers at me. “Step aside.”

“She was attacked by your son and needed help,” I said, stepping between Miranda and Juliana. I was at least ten inches taller, but the fellow behind her looked like he wrestled in his free time. His chest was broad and the sword on his hip looked well used.

“What a brazen thing to say,” the man said. “Who are you?”

“I’m Max. You?”

“Mind your filthy mouth.”

Miranda raised her arm. “Silence. I’m Lady Miranda. This is Lord Ott, my son and the master of our estate.”

More like a rat, I thought. The guy’s front teeth were too large for his face as he stood sniveling behind his mother. The air of entitlement was hard to miss.

“Juliana is bound to me,” said Miranda.

“Juliana can’t travel.” I moved in front of the girl and crossed my arms. “She nearly lost her leg after your son stabbed her with a pitchfork.”

Ott’s rat eyes squinted with loathing.

“Surely, this is a most unfortunate misunderstanding. The girl is clumsy.” Miranda glanced at Juliana and the bandaged leg. “Why didn’t she ask for my aid if she had an accident?”

“It wasn’t an accident.” ‘Cause your son is a lusty swine, I thought. “She may die if she’s moved right now,” I said instead. Below us Juliana started to moan in obvious agony. “She couldn’t possibly serve you well. She needs someone to take care of her.”

“I’ll put her on my horse,” Ott grumbled.

Miranda looked back and forth between the girl and me. Finally she sighed as if she’d been dealt a terrible blow. “I’ll expect her back in time for the harvest festival. We have guests and celebrations. I need her. Otherwise I’ll have to have her seized for stealing.”

“She didn’t take anything,” I said.

“She’s been given many things,” Miranda said. “Dress, shoes, food…lodging.”

You slave driver, she’s been working for that
I wanted to scream. Digging deep for self-control, I bowed my head. “We’ll discuss it with her mother.”

Miranda turned to leave. “Yes, good of you to remind me. Juliana’s mother received two Schilling for her.”

At the door, Ott glanced at the girl on the straw sack, his eyes
raking across her body. I was ready to punch the guy in his ratty teeth.

Ott scanned my outfit. “Bizarre robes and no manners. Somebody ought to teach you to honor your Lords,” he hissed. “Watch yourself.” His eyes blazed with something like hate before he followed his mother outside.

Watching Miranda and her rat mount their horses, I suppressed the urge to kick him in his velvety butt. By the time I rushed back inside, Juliana was crying.

“I knew she’d made an arrangement.
Mutter
never told me she received money.”

I fumed. Gaming was supposed to be fun. Jimmy’s game was a nightmare, neither entertaining nor enjoyable. Helplessly I sat down next to Juliana and patted her hand.

She threw up her arms and pulled me close. “Don’t let them get me,” she sobbed. “He’s lusty and…”

Fighting to keep my breath under control, I clasped on to her. “When is the festival?” I whispered, sticking my nose into her hair.

“It starts Friday night and ends Sunday morning.”

“This Friday?” I felt the little puffs of her breath on my bare shoulder—exquisite.

Her head moved up and down.

“So, we have four days to figure this out.”

“She’ll want me the morn of Friday.”

I patted her back. “We’ll find a way.”

She sighed and the room turned quiet. I should get up, I thought, but my body refused.

“Caught you,” Bero announced into the stillness.

I drew back. Nothing had happened, not even a kiss. But I felt guilty nonetheless. It had to look suspicious, me without a shirt, hovering over the girl.

“Juliana cried,” I said, searching to steady my voice while jumping up and yanking my shirt from the fireplace. “Lady
Miranda and her son, Ott, came to claim her. I sent them away, but they want her Friday.”

“Likely story.”

“It’s true,” Juliana said. “
Mutter
sold me to her.” Her eyes looked dark with anger as Bero’s mother entered the hut.

“We needed to eat,” their mother said. “It was shortly after your father…I never expected this…” Her arms dropped as tears spilled across her cheeks and she slumped on the bench.

Tired of crying women, I pulled Bero by the sleeve to follow me. “We need to talk.”

We walked into the yard next to the stall. The pigs were lolling in a mud puddle, grunting with anticipation of another excursion. I took a seat on the cutting block used for wood splitting.

“I saw that rat, Miranda’s son,” I said. “Juliana cannot return to them. They’ll kill her or Ott will rape her and get her pregnant.”

“What can we do? Miranda is a lady. We do what they tell us.”

“We must find another place for Juliana—somewhere safe.”

Bero shook his head. “I don’t know how.”

“What about town?”

“
Heiligenstadt
? Nay!” Bero said. “I visited once. It’s dirty. Rats the size of my sows. People get sick.” Bero picked up a chunk of wood and hurled it in the dust. “You don’t understand. A lass has no choices. She does what she’s told until she gets married. Then her husband tells her what to do.”

“Listen to yourself.” I jumped away from the block, nearly stepping on one of the pigs. It squealed and took cover behind its friends. “She’s your sister, for goodness sake. Don’t you want to protect her?”

Bero shrugged. “We’re serfs. It’s life.”

I stared at my friend. “How can you give up this easily? We have to find a way. I’ll help her even if you don’t.”

“How?”

“Don’t know yet, what concern is it of yours? She’s just a
lass
and doesn’t have a choice,” I jeered. I wanted to punch Bero. Why was he such a dickhead? I sat back down. It was useless. Who was I anyway? It’d take hundreds more years till they had decent laws.

Bero stared at me. “I’ll help you if I can,” he said in a small voice. “It’s just—you show up and do all these feats. You know things… It messes with my head.” Suspicion had crept back into his eyes.

When I didn’t answer, Bero turned and walked toward the hut.

“Bero, wait.” I climbed across the barrier to catch up. “Sorry. I need your help. I think if we work together we can find a solution. She’s too good for them and…” I ran out of words as I thought of the rat.

Bero nodded. “Let’s get a piece of bread. Sows need grazing. We can talk if you want to come with me. That is unless you want to squeeze my sister some more,” he smirked.

I punched him in the arm. “Jerk.” But I couldn’t quite wipe a grin off my face.

At the edge of the forest, we plunked into the grass, Bero’s pigs happily sniffing for bugs and roots. Grunts and slurps emanated from the old sow and her new offspring. Half a dozen piglets squeaked happily while lining up along her belly to suckle.

“How about she serve at the Klausenhof Inn? Take care of the guests?” Bero said, jumping up. “She could sleep at home every night, help
Mutter
with the house. We sure could use another cook.”

No kidding, I thought. “What if the barkeep sells her to his guests?” I said aloud. “Just think of all the men getting drunk and then…”

“Then
you
come up with an idea.” Bero slumped back down. He sounded angry again.

“What about the dressmaker? She could learn to sew and visit with the ladies when they need something made.”

“He’s too stingy. Besides, he has two daughters who do his sewing.”

I felt deflated. No idea was good enough, not to mention getting money to pay back Miranda.

In the west, a wall of clouds darkened the sky. A low grumble echoed across the meadows. The pigs, suddenly nervous, began to squeal. Luanda had been right, I thought. The wind picked up, raining acorns and leaves. Still without a plan, we sprinted back to the village. I felt discouraged and anxious as if the sudden storm had appeared to warn me. Heavy raindrops pelted the dusty path as we approached Bero’s hut.