Toxic Tales

What's in a Name? Part 7

We both lay down to get some rest. Looking at the newly-made pile of gold, I was quite satisfied with my work. I was certain I could finish on time if I worked at this pace (provided my wrists didn't break from the constant movement).

Bridget woke me at dawn. Once I'd had some water, I sat down again and continued spinning. She sat nearby on a hay bale, idly playing with a piece of gold thread. After a few hours, she surprised me with this question: "Why did you kill my father?"

I paused for a moment, not sure what to say. "It...it wasn't my intention, I promise you that."

"Intent is meaningless." She stood up and towered over me. I hoped she didn't have the dagger with her. "Whether or not you meant to kill him doesn't matter, but you did. What happened to make you do it?"

I sighed. I said, "He had been taking advantage of my father's kindness, and forcing him to spin more and more gold for him. I went there that day to ask him to stop."

"And he said no, so you killed him."

"No!" I looked at this haughty, dark-hearted woman and felt a surge of bravery. I stood up and glared at her. "In my anger, I told him about you—how you spend time at the tavern every night earning wages on your back! He didn't know about your profession, and when he accused me of lying, he pulled the dagger on me. I managed to get it away from him, I was defending myself!"

She stepped closer to me; we were almost nose-to-nose. She was livid. "That didn't mean you had to kill him! He was drunk! He would've pulled a knife on me if I said something to upset him. He didn't deserve to die!"

"Didn't he beat you?!" My anger matched, if not exceeded, hers. "Didn't he hurt you every day of your life ever since you were born? I know about you and your miserable little life, Bridget. Ever since your mother died, your father has been punishing you for it—I'd wager that if I hadn't killed him, you would have done it yourself!"

Bridget slapped me across the face. We fell silent, glaring at each other. When we heard footsteps outside, I was worried that our yelling had attracted someone's attention. Once the sound passed, we both sighed in relief.

I regretted what I'd said. "I'm sorry," I said softly. "I've felt so much guilt since I took your father away from you. I would give anything to change the past."

"It's fine," she responded. In the dim light, I could see tears in her eyes. "I'm sorry I hit you; I'm just worried that you might be right about me...that I would have killed him..."

She began to cry softly. I wasn't sure how to comfort her, so I settled for placing a hand on her shoulder. She smiled—the first genuine smile I'd seen from her—and wiped her eyes. "Come," she said, gesturing to the wheel. "We've wasted enough time." I sat down without another word and continued spinning. 

The next day followed in the same manner. By the third sunset, the little remaining strength I had came only from the feeling I always got when I spun gold: that my father was with me. My wrists were terribly sore, as was my back from leaning over the wheel. My hands were covered in callouses and blisters, but when I saw the results of my work, the satisfaction I felt almost made up for the pain.

What had seemed impossible when I'd first arrived had now been accomplished. The cavern that had been so full of simple straw was now glittering with mountains of gold. There was enough to support several villages for a decade (but I had the distinct impression that the king was not planning to use it that way). I smiled at my work, taking pride in the skill I'd learned from my father. I knew he was proud of me, too.

Even Bridget was impressed. "This is...incredible," she said, slowly turning around and taking in the view. "I don't know what to say...well, except, thank you."

I hadn't expected any appreciation from her, but I was happy to receive it. "Of course," I replied. "I sincerely hope you have a wonderful life, Your Majesty."

I bowed slightly when I said that; she laughed and said, "Yes...'Your Majesty'...I do enjoy the sound of that."

Thinking back on those words, I'm disgusted at myself for acting so foolishly.

The rest of the plan was simple. The guards came to sneak me out of the castle at dawn. They walked me as far as the palace gate and sent me on my way. I could hardly wait to see my home and family again.

Emilia and Nicholas had returned home the following night, and naturally were quite concerned when I wasn't there. As I came closer to the cottage, I saw Emilia pacing anxiously outside the front door. When she saw me, she ran towards me and threw her arms around me.

"Where have you been? I was so worried," she said, sobbing. I stroked her hair and kissed her, apologizing for worrying her. "Nicholas has been up half the night, staring out the window waiting for you to come home...I couldn't think of anything to say to him..."

"I am so sorry, my darling," I said again. "I'll tell you everything, I promise."

Now that the deed was done, and Bridget was (supposedly) out of my life forever, I felt no qualms about explaining to Emilia what I had been doing. This meant revealing my foul deed of killing the miller, but I was relieved to finally tell her. Nothing hurts more than keeping a deadly secret from the love of your life.

Emilia listened carefully, her eyes wide with amazement. "No wonder your hands are injured so!" she said after I'd finished. While she nursed my swollen fingers, I dared to ask the dreaded question: "Emilia, do you still love me, knowing what I've done?"

She looked at me, a warm, loving smile on her face. "You are my husband, and I will never stop loving you," she said, kissing me. "What happened was unfortunate, but I am so glad you told me."

I sighed with relief. "Thank you, my love. Now things can go back to normal, and we can have a happy life."

I spoke too soon.