Nobody's Child (complete)

Chapter 2 - Escape

Chapter 2 - Escape ©2018CarolynAnnAish

Cloudy, dull and damp, an earthy smell lingered in the heavy atmosphere of the day. Boy stood on the bleak hillside, just outside the village walls, watching numbly as the sages lowered the coffin into the deep hole. Marcie, shrouded in the new black dress and veil she had purchased with Seymour's money, wailed loudly, and moved her large bulk to the grave-side, supported by the inn-keeper and his wife. Boy shuffled to stand by Marcie and together they dropped a little earth to land upon the crude wooden box. There was no elaborate family vault for Seymour, no fancy funeral. However, almost all villagers were out for the brief ceremony and burial.

Boy watched sages come, one by one, standing by the open grave, each proclaiming his last words of wisdom to the departed Seymour. Then villagers trudged over to pay their tributes. Youngsters threw flowers down the hole. Seymour, when aware of those around him, had spoken only kind words.

Warm tears slid down Boy's cheeks. What did Seymour do wrong, that such a horrible accident happened to him?— he wondered.

Boy whispered, "Why, God? Why have you taken Seymour away from me? You have made me nobody's child."

Sage Gable placed his hands upon Boy's heaving shoulders, saying, "Seymour was much too good for this evil world!"

Boy wiped away the tears from his eyes and looked up into Gable's warm, kind gaze. "A friend is a sage; and a sage is a friend," sages chanted at each meeting. They waited to fill in the grave, and Boy allowed Gable to lead him from the hillside and back through the village gates.

The small dwelling seemed large and empty when Boy arrived back. Marcie was nowhere in sight and Boy guessed she was off with her women friends, maybe with the inn-keeper's wife, possibly drowning her small sorrow in a stein of ale. Marcie had kept her associations secret from Seymour, but Boy knew about them. He sighed. Such impropriety was best not to be dwelled upon, and Boy decided to think about the future, his future. He believed that Marcie would soon find someone to marry her and take care of her.

Boy looked up at the niche. The place was empty! In the fading daylight, he blinked to make sure, but the vessel was missing. Marcie planned that Boy wouldn't be able to carry out Seymour's wishes regarding the bracelet. Boy sighed. Life was promising to be complicated from this moment on. Marcie despised him. She would only want to use him as a work-horse; she would never allow Boy to be her provider, to run the financial affairs of her home. As a gloomy darkness overtook the stone chamber, Boy curled up on his mat, feeling drained, exhausted. In self-pity and grief, he sobbed himself to sleep.

As Boy's heavy eyelids opened reluctantly, his being surged with the knowledge that some permanent disaster had overtaken him and life was to be unkind to him forever. Marcie had not returned home last night but Boy wasn't surprised. His head felt heavy but he knew he must rise. Seymour had often said, "If one does not work, one will not eat." Having eaten very little over the last few days, Boy was hungry. He felt guilty of having overslept. Seymour should have roused him! Then Boy remembered; Seymour would never again be there when he woke in the morning.

Boy thought of the pendant and wondered if he should recover it from under the stone. Where else could he hide it until he could travel to Brandenburg capital, to find Rambert? Not thinking how the food had arrived on the table, Boy ate fresh fruit, a bowl of thick yogurt and one crusty but fresh bread roll. Pouring well water from the pitcher, he filled the little remaining space in his stomach with the cool liquid.

It washed over him —he must thank the kind neighbor who brought the food. And there was another matter he should to take care of —Seymour had a small wooden chest containing papers. It was at Sage Gable's home, which was in a more opulent part of the village. He should fetch this chest before Marcie claimed it. Seymour had often added papers to his collection and brooded over scrolls he had written on in the past and placed in the chest. Staring around the stark chamber, Boy knew there was little of value in their dwelling, but the furniture had made it a home. Seymour always paid the Shrieve for rent of the dwelling, a month in advance. Boy calculated he would have another week before the need of payment for shelter would be pressing.