Donkeyskin - ON HOLD

Of Goodbye and Hello

*Of Goodbye and Hello* 

Early into the fourth month of the year, as the last traces of snow on the ground were receding up the mountain, Mattelaine readied herself to leave. Elodie helped her pack her few belongings in a little satchel, and, on the day if her departure, roused her in the gray pre-dawn, huddling beneath a shawl to protect herself from the fine, icy mist drifting down, as it did most mornings, until the midday sun burned it away.

Together, the two girls made the walk along the path, through the village, and out onto the main road–the same road that had led Elodie over the mountain–past Ninon and Birch's to where the path curved west, sloping downhill. At the top of the hill, the girls said their farewells, and Mattelaine set off down the road.

Elodie watched her go, her hands twisted together, fighting back tears, until the fog shrouded her cousin completely from view. Then, when not even the flutter of Mattelaine's cloak flickered in her sight, Elodie turned away, her tears falling freely now, and sank onto a fallen log at the side of the road.

How many more people would she come to care for, only to have to give them up? Why did it seem as though she was cursed to be faced only with goodbyes? Her mother, M. Beaufort, Adrienne, her Nurse, and now Mattelaine. Would she lose Ninon or Birch next, or perhaps Juliette or Simon? Would her heart withstand yet another round of farewells, or would it shrivel up all together, unable, or afraid, to let anyone new into its embrace–after all, why risk love if it only meant another goodbye?

How long she sat on that stump, her arms on her knees, her hands clasped loosely before her, she did not know. It was long enough for the raw wind to chafe her cheeks into a hot glow, long enough for the mist to dissipate, leaving a green and gold spring's morn in its place–long enough for several travelers, trappers and woodsmen to pass her by.

It was perhaps two hours before noon when she heard a clank and fuss somewhere downhill. She roused herself, by now familiar with the sounds of a large party of travelers, and shook out her skirts. It was late enough, and the village far enough from any other, that she knew the travelers would have to stop there for the night, or risk camping on an exposed face of the mountain, in a region where late spring snows were common, and early summer blizzards not unheard of.

With that thought in mind, Elodie gathered her skirts in hand, hoisting them above her ankles, and hurried back in the direction of Ninon and Birch's. She would have to warn the villagers, all of whom would be at work in the fields, to prepare for their guests, even if those strangers only wanted to stop for a meal and a bit of a rest. It would put the plowing off, to be sure, and the farmers would grouse, but it couldn't be helped.

Ninon was in her garden when Elodie came hurrying up the path. She rose from where she'd been kneeling, dusting her dirt-covered hands–she'd been planting potatoes–and ran forward to meet her friend.

"What is it? Didn't Mattie make it off all right?" she asked.

Elodie waved her off. "She made it. But there's travelers coming, Ninon, a large group of them. We need to let everyone know."

Ninon's eyes widened, and she bobbed her head. "Oh, indeed!" she said. "Come. Hurry! If they're city folk they'll expect some sort of entertainment tonight, too. Never mind that planting's still on, and it's birthing season. The ones that come during harvest are the worst, though. You'll see."

With those ominous words, Ninon hollered for Birch, and, when he popped his head around the barn, relayed Elodie's news. Then, she grabbed her friend's hand and dragged her at a fast trot in the direction of the village, shouting the news to anyone they passed.

Within half an hour, the village was transformed. Little girls hung pennants on strings across the square before the inn, while older girls beat linen and rugs on the inn's front porch. Men and boys rushed about, fetching casks of ale from various cellars, bringing in fresh game, and taking out other provisions, including dried fruit, flour, sugar and honey.