Young Writers Society

The sisters didn’t return for hours. Arthur took Joan into the run-down infirmary to more properly treat her wounds, both mind and body. While I spoke with Cassidy about the clinic's planning, I caught a glimpse of Andrea and Edna walking through the hills. They switched between idle conversation and argument as if it were more natural than breathing. After Joan had been bandaged, we walked home silently. Poor Joan clung to my arm the entire way.

It was only when sprinkles of water caught on the window did the sisters return. Joan refused to even look at Andrea for fear of retaliation, yet when I watched the two step into the house, I’d never seen the old woman look so worn and tired. Her wrinkled face never sagged so heavily. Edna scuttled to Arthur’s side, covering her face with her hands as he took her to her chest. Quietly, they exited before any of us could hear her cries. Joan ran after the pair with a guilty expression.

The old woman and I stood in lonely silence. “A sacrifice,” Andrea whispered, staring at her cane with her eyes glazed over.

“What?”

“Our village was ruled by a dragon. To keep her from attacking us, she required virgin sacrifice. When Edna was born, they chose her. They always chose children. It was easier than having to assure...” she trailed off, turning her head to the window. I’d never seen Andrea with such a solemn face. “Mother and I refused, so we kept Edna hidden. Of course, the beast grew angry and left half the village homeless.”

“And the other half?” I asked suddenly.

“Charred.” I cringed, but the old woman continued. “When our father found out, he retaliated. I don’t blame him, but he wasn’t the nicest man before that, either. So, I did the only thing a crazed teenager would do. Before Mother could hand Edna over, I stole her away.”

Silence prolonged as the rain began pounding on the window, demanding entry and constantly refused by the locked wooden shutters. Andrea took a deep breath. “They all burned days later, but I’ve never looked back.” Old, sunken eyes were suddenly peeled from the floor and locked onto mine.

“When I die, don’t look back. Never look back, please,” she pleaded softly.

I came towards her and took her hand in mine. “We’re apothecaries. We can’t look back.” That seemed to comfort her slightly. Her feet moved slowly, patiently. Her boney, shaking hands took the door handle gently, caressing it like a lover. I didn’t have the will to tell her to stop. She moved so peacefully, so quietly... I’d never seen her like that before. She stepped through the door, crossing the border, and let the rain slide down her cheeks. I’d never seen her look so full of life. Andrea never glanced back at me before closing the door.

Only then did Edna and Arthur return. Arthur held her in his arms, keeping her steady as she almost pounced on me. She was flushed and panting, her eyes darting around like a dragonfly. “Where is my sister?”

We found her sleeping on the riverbank the next morning. I’d never seen something as romantic as her cradling the grass beneath, threading her fingers through the sand and dirt as the stream washed over her face. Edna shook her awake in a panic, only to be met with a slap on her cheek and Andrea’s scolding over waking her up so indignantly. Even Joan started laughing at the sight of an old woman drenched, her socks and shoes taken by the water. Arthur offered to carry her home out of pity, only to be met with a harsh “Bah!” and a weak kick on his cane.

Joan and I were often put to the hardest of labor whenever we accompanied the elders to clinics. So, of course, when it came to refurbishing the broken-down shack into a clinic, we were put to the task. It wasn’t lengthy, thankfully, but it was quite an exercise of willpower. Especially when Andrea surveyed us while we fixed the roof with a fine eye, then walked straight under the ladder. In fact, she almost knocked it over with her cackles as she went. Joan was hesitant about such an old woman intentionally bringing about bad omens, but Edna hushed her before any more canes could be stolen.

The argument from days prior still affected the sisters to some extent, but both refused to admit it. It was only made more obvious by how little Arthur and Edna could hide their newfound affections for each other for the coming weeks. At some point, Edna even started sneaking out from her shared cot with her sister over to Arthur’s in the middle of the night, then returning by morning. It’s impossible to forget the way Joan screeched in disgust when she got up to wash her face late one night.

Repairs went smoothly for the most part. Every success was celebrated with extra spices in stew and a full night’s sleep from Joan. When the clinic opened its doors, it was the first time I ever saw Andrea and Joan smile at each other.

Arthur happily went about organizing different herbs and oils into newly repaired cabinets with the (unfortunately) eager help of Cassidy. “Oh, this one! It’s pretty!” she exclaimed, examining a roll of saffron. Arthur nodded and, with little excitement, once again directed the illiterate girl to the other drawer.

With every breath came a,

“No, the other one.”

“Oh, this one!”

“Yes, that one. The T’s.”

“Ts?”

“Yes... Like tree.”

“Oohh! The tuh sounding one! I’m on it.”

Arthur’s responses soon became exasperated and automatic hums of approval, no matter what Cassidy said.

Joan watched attentively, clutching her staff tightly to her chest. With a face resembling a doe, she turned to me. “Do you think Cassidy would make a good apothecary?” The village girl continued to dash around the clinic, examining every little trinket she could get her hands on (without Andrea throwing a fit).

“Perhaps,” I shrugged, “But I doubt the older folks really care for another spry little girl.”

Joan hummed a solemn tune, hunching over with embarrassment reddening her cheeks. “I suppose I’ll have to find a boy, then,” she chuckled awkwardly.

Before I could comfort her with a smile, Cassidy had already left the clinic, racing to retrieve her father. Once the girl had left, Arthur groaned and stretched out his bad leg. “She’s a lively one,” he sighed, “Very tiring, too.”

Edna fixed up documents and records silently. She only turned to face Arthur briefly. “Maybe her father isn’t sick, but just weary from raising her.”

The couple laughed, staring at each other just a moment too long, before Arthur nodded in agreement, massaging his thigh briefly before he took his cane and maneuvered to the desk she was seated at. Joan groaned, sticking her tongue at them when the pair glanced back. “Are they always so romantic?”

I pet the ends of Joan’s hair. “Just don’t tell Andrea that.”

The clinic opened three days later. Its first ever patient was a man in his seventies with a cough so harsh it almost knocked the rickety building over. It was the middle of the night when they arrived, so all we had for warmth were thin blankets and the few candles donated by the village girl. Cassidy held him tightly, patting his shoulder as he struggled to sit on the flimsy cot. She shushed the old man as he shook wildly. Edna and Arthur tended to him dutifully while Joan, Andrea and I sat on the sidelines. Joan watched the procedure attentively, mental notes jotted down every second. Meanwhile, Andrea wore a pensive expression, then leaned toward me. “I’ve no clue why that girl wants to save such an old fellow. He’ll be dead in a decade, give or take.”

Joan bumped the old woman with her elbow. Andrea was shocked she was even paying enough attention to her whispering. “Cassidy loves her father. Isn’t that enough?”

Andrea scoffed. “Then give him to their dear and precious vampire lord. This is a waste of time!”

Suddenly, Cassidy’s father hacked louder, turning towards us sharply. “I don’t–” He wheezed painfully, “–want to see my children die. No father wants to watch as,” Cassidy quickly tried to reign in her father, her face twisting in horror as he explained himself. “–as my children grow wrinkled.”

Andrea’s expression was unmoving, but Edna and Arthur gave each other a look only lovers could understand. A sort of empathetic telepathy as understanding washed over them. Joan wasn’t as phased as the adults, though. Instead, she sighed and lowered her chin to the floor. Perhaps we had doubted her ability to sympathize and comprehend the people around her. We often did that to children.

“Perhaps I should’ve explained sooner,” Cassidy huffed, patting her father’s shoulder and rubbing his arm. He leaned to her touch, a gesture that the village girl could only attempt a brave and smiling face for.

Clinic operations continued as usual. Andrea was much more involved than she ever was previously. Unlike years before, she helped us with filing and storing herbs. She even joined Joan on expeditions to retrieve mint by the ponds and rivers. Joan was wary at first, naturally, but it only took a few weeks of such for Joan to smile every time she left and returned with the elder woman.

Even Cassidy’s sister-in-law, Fiona, began to welcome us, (yes, even enough to learn her name!) especially when the father’s cough improved. In fact, when her baby cried and whined, she willingly handed it to Arthur. She spoke to us, too. Briefly, but she spoke, nonetheless. “Hard work, this must be, hm?” she said quietly

Arthur rocked the baby as easily as he breathed. “Not at all.”

Fiona tilted her head. “Truly?”

“Truly.” 

Fiona leaned in. “Truly truly?”

Arthur sighed. “Truly truly truly.”

Fiona’s eyebrow raised. “Why did you choose this life, sir?” she finally whispered.

It was the first time I’d heard Arthur with an irritated tone. “Did you choose your’s? Or is your life so blissful that you can’t imagine why anyone would want to be more than a domesticated animal?”

The room turned silent. Edna covered her mouth in shock, meanwhile Joan’s jaw was agape. Andrea and I simply glanced at each other.

Fiona gasped, her expression turning indignant. “How dare you insult me! This ‘clinic’ of your’s is my name, remember!”

Arthur stood, though appeared slightly shorter than Fiona thanks to his limp. “Then take it back.”

Fiona’s lip quivered.

Arthur’s eye twitched. “Make a choice for once!”

“I have made choices, you pig!” Fiona snatched her infant back from Arthur. The babe began to wail even more, painfully too. “I am not some stupid sheep! I chose to keep this baby, despite his father being some forceful and craven swine I will never know the name of! I chose to aid my father, I chose to lend you this rubbish dump my little sister inherited. I will not have you judging the life I live!”

Arthur growled, but before the situation could escalate, Edna ran to Arthur and held him. The hand on his chest pushed him back from Fiona and Edna whispered to him words of comfort, though unintelligible to most of us. Fiona hmph'd and turned on her heel. Even after she slammed the door, anyone could hear her baby sobbing for miles. None of us spoke about the incident, though I could tell Joan’s lips had wanted to part some sort of question. Unfortunately for us Apothecaries, most things had to be left unspoken.

The next day, Arthur was back to his jolly self and tended to patients as usual.

As I’ve said, usual operations. We would always be a controversial group. So, besides that incident and a few others (one brutish man had punched Edna in the nose, leaving it bloody for several days), the rest of our time went smoothly. Except for the fact that we had been kicked out of Fiona’s house. That was alright, though. In all truth, most of us were more comfortable sleeping on the floor of a clinic.

Patients came and went, all with some sort of indignity and superiority. They entered with curiosity, yet never wanted to acknowledge that they were turning to human services. Patients acted humble and polite, but would never admit that secular things like herbs had helped ease the pain after they left.

Joan always frowned about it, muttering under her breath about people’s lying and hiding. They seemed abundant in these parts, she’d say. Edna would comfort her, saying that most of humanity was far less accustomed to change then we were. I glanced at Andrea, who busied herself by dusting the cabinets. Joan would then sigh and nod her head, moving towards the window and staring off until the hills and fields. It was like this for several weeks, occasionally interrupted by a thunderstorm or sudden rise in the riverbank. Thankfully no goods were damaged, but my heart ached every time I saw Joan leap to attention from her sleep when lightning flashed. Boarded windows and doors offered no consolation.

In a strange turn of events, we all had become comfortable in this place. The clinic was dark, sun only peeking through windows and dim candles and incense lighting up the night. Joan’s shivers and occasional paralysis would die down as she decorated the clinic with flowers she found growing outside. Edna and Arthur’s conversations grew deeper and closer every day, a connection that I denied to envy. Even Andrea seemed more lax, though that didn’t mean she’d stop ruffling Joan’s hair and ruin her handkerchief to annoy her, nor did she stop slapping me over the head (a strange move of affection she used to barely ever show to me)

One late night, I was closing the shutters on the windows when Joan grabbed my arm, gasping as she did. “Joey?” I whispered. The nickname was something that came so naturally to me, but I’m not sure when I had switched to that name. “Why aren’t you resting?”

“The lightning bugs!” she cheered. I had to shush her quickly, lest she wake the others. “There’s thousands of them out there! Can we go catch some?”

I gazed out into the grassy plain, where thousands of flickers twinkled, constantly moving and ever-changing. Joan’s eyes seemed just as bright as the insects. I smiled softly at her, or at least tried to. “Is that what you call them?”

Joan tilted her head. “Of course! What do you call them?”

“My mother called them star fragments,” I responded.

Joan let go of my arm, now resting her head on the windowsill (or what was left of it. Not everything in the clinic could be repaired). “You don’t talk of your mother much,” she suddenly said.

I shrugged. “There is no reason to focus on the past. Not mine, at least.”

Joan nodded with a hum. “I understand,” she whispered. With a guilty smile, she turned to me. “So… want to catch some star fragments with me?” I looked back at the slumbering bodies on the floor. Andrea slept by Edna, the two holding hands, and Arthur was in a fetal curl without Edna by his side. Then at Joan.

Joan kicked her shoes off into the field as soon as she left the doorway. I followed suit, though much more gracefully than her. While I raised my skirt and pried the boots off, Joan was already leaping and dashing wildly through the tall grass. She dove for an insect, her entire body engulfed in the greenery. All I could hear was her giggling. It was so infectious that I was forced to join in, running after her as soon as possible.

It had been a long while since I felt so free, or even human. Everything but that night had been a sleepwalk through life, occasional flashes of wakefulness when Joan asked me a question or turned to me for guidance.

A contest began soon after. Joan frantically tried to catch several fireflies in her palm, trapping them in a jar clipped to her belt. While it was supposed to be for her prescription, she rarely used the jar for its purpose. I desperately missed such an advantage, as each bug slipped through my fingers. “Ten! That’s ten! I win!” Joan cried, jumping up and down.

She ran to me as fast as she could, showing me her jar of bugs with sparkling pride. Her hair was a mess now, strands sticking to her sweaty forehead and dew-ridden grass and dirt glued onto the bottom of her dress and apron.

I took the jar gently, still panting from our excursion in the fields. Joan wrapped her arms tightly around my waist, still tittering while she was out of breath. I couldn’t do anything but stare at the bugs. “They’re for you,” she breathed. I couldn’t do anything but stare.

When we returned, unable to hide the dirt on the clothes stuck against our skin, Edna was leaning in the doorway with a smile. Joan entered first, sliding by her shyly. Edna patted my shoulder as I passed by. I simply nodded to her.

The next day, Joan was resting against the windowsill (or what was left of it, not everything in the clinic could be–

Joan suddenly stood to attention like a hare when grass ruffled. The others were preoccupied, but I noticed her. “Joey?” I called. No response. Joan looked as if a ghost passed through her. “Joey, are you–”

“A carriage,” she whispered with a tremble in her lips, her eyes blown wide. “There’s a carriage. Coming near. Nearer.”

The clinic went silent. Edna dropped the needle she had been sewing patches in clothes with. Every one of us heard it.

Only nobility could afford a carriage.

“A carriage!” Joan shrieked. “A carriage– a carriage is coming near! A carriage!”

“Shut it, stupid child!” Andrea screamed. “Hide the herbs!”

“Hide it all!” Arthur said, rushing to the cabinets.

Edna scrambled to the drawers, “Don’t hide it! That only admits guilt! We must play dumb! Dumb! We know nothing!”

Arthur repeated. “Nothing.”

Andrea joined the cacophony of voices screeching once again. “Nothing! We’re as dumb as that Cassidy girl, you hear?!”

“Aye,” we responded in sync.

I grabbed Joan’s shoulders, pulling her away from the window and boarding the door shut. I rubbed her, but nothing soothed her. Pots, pans, containers and drawers all clattered in a chaotic rhythm, chairs screeching against wooden planks and tables knocked over in the craze.

Instead, poor Joey screamed and wailed wildly, her voice just barely making it over all the chorus of sound.

“Find the garlic!” “Bury it!” “Let none be found!”

“The carriage! We’re doomed! The carriage, the carriage!”

“What of the incense?” “Leave it!” “Claim it’s for the fragrance!” “Yes ma’am, and the–?” “I don’t care about the–”

“A carriage coming near! A carriage! A carriage!”