Chapter Two
8 years later
Sweat ran down her back. All her muscles were sore, and her cheek throbbed from the hard slap she'd received from her father.
Rebecca wiped her brow with the back of her wrist as she finished stuffing the mattresses with fresh straw. She picked one of them up and hauled it to her grandmother's room. She slowly came back, and winced as she bent to retrieve the next one.
Her mother watched her. "It's your own fault," she said gently. "You know he hates hurting you. If you'd just do your work instead of spending all your time down at the beach daydreaming..."
Rebecca did not reply. Her dark eyes remained hooded.
Her mother sighed, and stood from the table. "Your grandmother would like some help in the garden when you're finished here."
When Rebecca again was silent the older woman went outside. Rebecca watched her for an instant, and then bent over to finish the mattresses broodingly.
When the mattresses were all completed and put back where they belonged, Rebecca straightened her back with a cringe. She pushed her wild curls away from her sweaty forehead and made her way to the garden.
The day was windy, and, watching her, Rebecca could imagine her old grandmother being blown away by it, to a different world with pixies and princesses, like the stories she'd heard all her life.
But the old woman's frail form remained steadfast as she bent over her precious plants. She glanced up and saw the young girl standing staring at her.
"Ah, Rebecca," she greeted in her customary way. "Your mother tells me you are not in the best of moods today." Her voice was rusty from lack of use; Rebecca was one of the few the old woman spoke to.
Her granddaughter rewarded her with a tiny smile. "How would she know?" She asked in her own soft voice.
Her grandmother raised her bushy eyebrows. "You of all people should know that there are more than one to determine a mood, Rebecca."
The girl moved next to her and bent to pull a weed. She raised here fathomless eyes to the bright sky. She suppressed a heavy sigh.
Her grandmother's faded eyes did not miss the forlorn expression that crossed Rebecca's face. "I think you must be in a melancholy mood at this moment. What goes through your odd little head?"
The old woman did not expect an answer, so rarely did her granddaughter express her inner thoughts.
"I want to leave this place," Rebecca murmured, and knelt down in the dirt to tend to more weeds.
Her grandmother paused, a contemplative look on her wrinkled face. "Why? What do you find so unbearable about it?"
Rebecca shrugged her slender shoulder slightly, grace in her every movement. "It is... dull. Ever day has become a pattern."
The old woman laughed. "Dull? Every day is a new day! Nothing ever happens twice. I think you have read too many books. You should be grateful, my dear. What other fisherman's daughter on this rock knows how to read? What other girl has been blessed with your eyes and that head of hair? If you need to escape here than do so by reading your books. But once back in reality be glad that you have the things you do." Silence met her.
They worked under the hot sun without further conversation. When Rebecca sat back on her haunches, tipped her head and closed her eyes, listening to the ocean beating against the rocks, the old woman rested also.
"You may go," she said. Rebecca looked at her. "Tonight if you gather wood and start a fire, I will tell you and your sisters one of my stories." She added.
Rebecca gave her grandmother a faint smile and rose, mindless of the soil covering the front of her dress and hands.
The old woman watched her go. "What that girl needs is a man," she said to herself.
A breeze played with the loose tendrils of her hair, and whipped them against her face. The old woman frowned, and her brow furrowed. "There's a change in the wind," she murmured with stirrings of unease as Rebecca disappeared from sight.
* * * * *
"These stories always end with a kiss," Madelaine observed. "Why? Can't a woman be saved without one?"
Her older sister laughed. "It seems so," she said teasingly. "Everyone knows about you and Conrad's moment by the docks!"
Madelaine gasped and her face bloomed with color. She opened her mouth to retort, but Rebecca waved her hand at them to be quiet. Madelaine glowered and silenced.
Their grandmother finished her story with a rhyme, as she always did.
"She looked into his eyes,
and saw past the beast.
But when he turned in a prince,
she did not mind in the least!"
Madelaine giggled and even Rebecca smiled. Lauren was gazing into the fire dreamily, and Rebecca knew she was thinking of their neighbor's son.
"And they lived happily ever after!" Madelaine piped. The old woman laughed.
"Yes, Madelaine, thank you," she said graciously.
Lauren rose. "And thank you for the story, grandmother." She put the fire out. The small room was smothered in darkness.
Lauren hugged their grandmother and Madelaine followed suit. They both climbed up the creaky ladder to the loft. A few moment's later the sound of rustling and whispering could be heard.
"Isn't that Madelaine so comical?" The old woman whisper to Rebecca. The girl nodded, another small smile hovering about her lips, but it was hard to see in the darkness.
Her grandmother leaned over, and patted Rebecca's hand. Rebecca's smile disappeared as she watched her grandmother wince in pain as she stood from her place on the floor.
The old woman noticed. "I see the darkness does not conceal my old age," she chuckled. Rebecca's shadowed, pretty face was carefully expressionless. She just cupped her grandmother's arm and walked with her to her bedroom.
A look of tenderness crossed the old woman's weary face. She placed a hand on the girl's smooth cheek. "Don't be so ready to leave here, young one. When you do and travel the world, you'll find the only place you want to be is back home."
Rebecca only hugged her in reply. "Good night," she whispered, then let the old woman go and walked away a few steps.
Her grandmother closed the door until only a crack remained, and without her granddaughter's knowledge she peered out.
Rebecca stood in front of the window, as she did so many nights. The moon shone on her serious face and long black hair.
She appeared as if she might be from another world... and the old woman wondered if perhaps she was.
