Quintspinner - A Pirate's Quest

Chapter Six

CHAPTER SIX

Life with the newborn was unbearable. Charles Thomas Willoughby III was mostly a mewing brat, in Tess’s opinion. He had only four stages of existence–sleeping, crying, eating, and pooping–and he rotated through them with the same regularity as the arrival of night and day. Tess’s mother had remained weakened and bedridden for several weeks after the difficult birth, and a melancholy had settled deep within the woman.

The babe was small, with scrawny limbs that seemed soft and floppy, until he was startled, at which time he would throw his head back, his arms and legs shooting out in stiffened little sticks, making him look like a human starfish. The biggest things on her brother, Tess observed, were his eyes and his voice. Everything seemed to upset him, sending him into a high pitched screaming fit that grated on her nerves. The birth had been long and difficult, her father had explained, and such tumultuous births often left babies easily irritated.

At the time of the birth, he had checked the newborn over and quickly pronounced him to be ‘unmarked’. The relief in his voice cut through Tess like a surgical scalpel. Her own birthmark–an acorn-shaped brown spot below her left earlobe from which a few delicately shaped teardrops trailed three finger widths long down her neck–had always been a source of shame to him.

“Ye’ve a gypsy’s earring, ya’ have,” Mrs. Hanley had cheerfully explained to Tess when she was old enough to understand. “That’s what it is, alright.” Her eyes had narrowed and she whispered, “The Fates mark their Chosen …” and she’d looked suspiciously over her shoulder as if expecting someone to jump out at her that very moment, before she continued, “but that’s another story altogether.” She had sighed and smiled at Tess. “Mark me words, little one, much of what ya’ imagine will become a reality fer ya’, if ya’ wants it bad enough and ya’ can put yer mind to it.” She had nodded in her wisdomly way. “Yer meant fer great things, ya’ are,” and she had hugged Tess to her bosom, kissing the girl’s head. “Great things.”

Her father did not share Mrs. Hanley’s optimism.

“Mrs. Hanley, this is a Christian household! I’ll not have you speaking of gypsies and pagans within my home! Not while you are in my employ!”

He required Tess to wear high collars, powdering the mark over when she didn’t, and her hair was nearly always fixed in a left sided plait. An overheard conversation between her parents and not meant for her ears, had brought Tess’s sense of self worth into painful perspective a few years prior.

“Charles, she’s past thirteen years of age,” her mother had pointed out,” and we must start making arrangements for possible suitors–”

“Elizabeth, have you forgotten that she is marked?” her father had asked irritably. “What reputable man would have her so?”

“The ‘mark’ as you call it, could possibly remain out of sight until after the marital legalities were completed, by which time it would be too late to matter.”

“I am quite certain ‘false pretenses’ would be adequate grounds for annulment.”

“She’s not disfigured, Charles! It’s just discolored skin–”

“People less educated would not interpret it so!” he had shouted. “Better that she had been marked by cowpox or measles than carry the mark of the Druids! It’s pure superstition, but superstitious people talk! As do any who are in envy of our station in life.” He had stabbed the air with his finger as if to mark his next thought. “At least a pox survivor would have some great worth in the work force.” And with that, her mother had abruptly risen from her chair and swept from the room.

Out in the hallway, Tess had shrank back from sight, tucking into the darkness of the under-stairs cubby, hot tears of shame sliding silently down her cheeks, her hand softly covering the side of her neck.