The Whipping Tree

I: Copper and Rust

I
Copper and Rust
A Year and a Few Months Ago 

         She thinks a stroll will clear her head.

        Draping her favourite shawl over her shoulders, Joan closes her balcony doors and shuts her bedroom door behind her. Lady Ailemer is out of town and Joan knows her father will not mind if she goes out, though she has to tell someone she is leaving.

         “Vera?” she calls once she is downstairs. “Vera?”

         “In the kitchen, Miss Joaneveive!”

         Joan goes into the dining hall, and takes the door at the very back of the room. She can hear the bustling in the kitchen when she hears the door, standing slightly ajar.

         She takes a deep breath and smiles as she catches the delicious scent of Yurmna berries, most likely baked into Vera’s signature pastry dough.

         “How are you, Miss Joaneveive?” Vera asks once Joan comes into view. Her presence would normally call for attention, but at a time of day like this, the kitchen is simply too busy to mind anyone who enters the room. Joan can hardly be heard over the crackling of the fire in three different locations, the bubbling of broth in a pewter cauldron, the clap clop clap of knives chopping vegetables and meat, and the several maids hurrying about the confined space carrying platters, baskets, buckets, and more.

         “I’m fine, thank you. How are you, Vera?” Joan casts her gaze outside and feels a thrill of pleasure at seeing the good weather.

         “Just fine, Miss, thanks for askin’.” Vera thumps the slab of dough in front of her with a closed fist, shaping and reshaping it with an ease that could only come from years of work in the kitchen.

         Sometimes Joan wants to ask Vera to teach her how to make something, anything, even just a plain flour and water concoction. But she remembers the last time she tried as well as the expression on her mother’s face when she found her daughter getting her hands dirty.

         “What can I do for you?” Vera dusts her fingers off and places them on her hips, looking fondly at Joaneveive.

         “I would love to go out for a walk. Just in the back.” Joan thinks it odd that she feels more comfortable asking Vera than either of her parents, but she knows it is because Vera is reasonable about almost everything.

         “Just out back?” she asks. “Why?”

         Joan raises an arm and gestures outside. “I don’t think we’ll see much more of this kind of weather,” she says. “Surely you would not keep me inside on a day like this?”

         A look of concern crosses Vera’s face. “Some o’ them farm boys are rowdy,” she says slowly. “What if somethin’ happens?”

         Joan is silent for a moment. The thought never crossed her mind. She tries to think of a solution, and when she comes up with none, says, “I don’t think anything will happen.”

         Vera shakes her head. “The farm boys can be trouble,” she says. “Maybe you could take one of the maids with you to walk around town? How about Selma?”

         The girl in question stops chopping carrots and does a small curtsy to acknowledge Joan. “What is it, Miss Joaneveive?” She tucks her thick, wavy brown hair behind her ears and blinks her doe eyes at Joan and Vera.