I Am Rosaline
Chapter Four

The weather was dismal to say the least. It was raining outside and the mist was so thick you could barely see ten feet in front of you. The fire in the fireplace had burnt down to almost nothing. There was a thin strand of smoke rising from the ashes and the warmth that must have once been, had since left the house.

The furniture was made of wood and had been placed neatly in the room. There was only one room with stained glass windows, one door and the fireplace. There was a small staircase up one side of the room leading to a loft. There were no bedrooms, bathrooms or kitchen. This was the most basic of dwellings I had ever seen. The wood smoke still hung heavily in the small room.

I slowly walked up the thick wooden stairs and I could have sworn that I heard them creak.

The loft was a lot bigger than I had first imagined. There was a large bed, big enough for two adults, against the one wall. At the foot of the bed was a very old wooden chest with a water bowl made of wood and a jug was made of wood as well which sat next to it. Beside each side of the larger bed was a small table and on one table was a pipe with what looked to be some sort of clay ashtray. Beside that was a pile of folded clothes with a large pair of leather shoes tucked neatly under the table. On the opposite side was a table with a very old, but clearly used, scuffed leather bound family bible. Beside the bible was a homemade candle. Here too, undergarments were folded on the stool beside the table and a dress was hanging on the wooden hook from the wall. Each of the sleeping areas was separated from the rest of the loft by hanging curtains.

On the other side of the curtain were two smaller beds, or cots. In each bed, covered by thick blankets and animal skins, was a little sleeping body. Between their beds was a wash table with a similar bowl and jug with water covered by a thin film of ice. In front of that was a little stool with what also appeared to be folded clothing and two pairs of shoes beneath the stool. sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ FindNøvᴇl.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

The two sleeping cots were separated from another single bed set against the furthest wall. In this bed lay another body, also asleep and covered by blankets and skins. There was a table with a similar bowl and jug and another table with a comb and brush and a small mirror with a wooden frame. Wooden dowels were set into the wall and a coat and dress were hanging up on them. Folded on the little stool were what appeared to be the undergarments belonging to this sleeping body. They were not quite white, but very clean and I could see that a lot of time and effort had been taken in mending them. I moved quietly forward to take a better look at the clothing and could see the fine needlework and neatness of the patchwork. This was the small room of a young girl unlike the other one that seemed to house boys, judging by their shoes and the absence of anything feminine.

I went back and looked at the room where I now knew there had to be a husband and wife even though I couldn’t see them for the blankets and animal pelts that covered the bed.

This was clearly a family of five, with the mother, father, big sister and two boys living in a very rudimentary house in a very cold and miserable looking place on the border of a wooded area. The sound of water outside made me understand that a river or creek was nearby. Actually this was a perfect place for a family who did a bit of farming.

As I turned to go back down the stairs, I heard a bed creak and I quickly turned to see a body moving under the covers of the big bed. Quietly I watched as a pair of small feet popped out from under the covers and inched their way over to where the undergarments were folded on the chair beside the table. Agile toes gripped the edges of the material and whipped them smartly back under the covers. I watched the bed covers move silently, as what was apparently the woman, started to get dressed under the warm covers. I smiled. That’s something I would have done. I did not like the cold. I sighed, and thought to myself that I had just had another memory.

Not long after, her head emerged from under the covers. I could see her long red hair fall over her shoulder as she pushed herself up and the covers off. She rubbed her hands together and for a moment sat very still with her eyes closed and I realized she was saying a morning prayer. She had a small round face, high cheekbones, large eyes and a small mouth. I would not say she was beautiful, but she was pretty. She quickly got up, slipped on her small, well-used leather shoes and headed over to the chest where she carried out her ablutions in hurried motions. I could only imagine how cold she must be getting. She pulled her nightshirt over her head as fast as she could to avoid the body aching cold, she quickly put on the rest of her undergarments, pulled her woollen dress over her head and buttoned it up the front. Then she quietly headed over past the two smaller children and leaned over the young girl and I could hear her whispering. I was unable to hear what she said, but I heard a moan and a grumble from under the bedcovers. The woman responded with a gentle hushing sound. I watched as she helped the young girl get up so that she could get washed and dressed. The young girl was beautiful and at least sixteen or seventeen years of age, judging by the gentle roundness of her hips. She had long dark blonde hair that would, if she stood outside on a sunny day, reflect soft copper tints. This young lady was a true beauty. She had a heart shaped face with high cheekbones, full lips, a small nose and eyes shaped like almonds. I could not clearly make out the colour of her eyes, but I imagined them to be hazel coloured. The young girl resembled her mother, but there were also subtle differences. Once the mother had plaited and pinned up the young girl’s hair, she quickly sat down and did her own hair. Both ladies tucked their hair under little white caps and together they quietly moved downstairs. The young girl rekindled the fire and together they hung a pot of water on a hook to the side of the fire and placed a grid just over the flames. It became clear that they were preparing breakfast while it was still so dark outside and the whole world was still asleep.

The mother took a cloak from a peg near the door and wrapped it around her shoulders before stepping outside and quietly closing the door behind her.

The young girl removed a wooden barrel from under a table and measured out two cups of what appeared to be flour, into a wooden bowl. She poured a little water from a jug into the flour and slowly stirred it in.

A short while later, the girl’s mother returned with eggs. She handed two to the girl, who added them to the mixture. The young girl took the mixture over to the fireplace where a griddle-like pan with molten lard was waiting. She poured small amounts of the mixture into the sizzling pan, then flipped the flat cakes with a knife until all of the mixture had been used. She then set about frying the rest of the eggs her mother had collected. Her mother removed what looked like rashers of pork from a larger barrel from the pantry section of the small kitchen and placed them next to the frying eggs in the griddle pan,where she left them to crackle and sizzle after quickly removing the fried eggs. I glanced up at the loft and noticed that the father had got up and was washing and dressing.

When he was done, he stomped over to where the two youngsters were still sleeping and woke them by shaking each one’s shoulder and calling their names, none too quietly. “George! Jeremy! It’s time to get up. Come now, get a move on and don’t make me wait!” His voice was very deep, but at the same time incredibly soft.

He had dark brown shoulder-length hair, which he tied up with a leather strap. He had a thick beard and moustache that was flecked with grey and his bushy eyebrows covered the most beautiful azure blue eyes. When I looked at him I felt something flutter in the pit of my stomach and it was then I realized that I was watching my own family. I was watching my husband, Carl. I was the mother and we had a daughter of seventeen and twin boys of about ten years old. I had no idea how I knew this. I had no clear memory. It was more like feelings and smells and textures that brought a sense of knowing. I was in no doubt as to what I was watching unfold before me.

I watched who I knew to be my husband and the twins come downstairs and whom I have realised was me, received good morning hugs from the two blonde haired, blue-eyed boys, who were the image of their father, and a peck on the cheek from Carl. When the boys snuggled and hugged their mum, I noticed that she held them that little bit longer and smelled their hair and touched their faces. I knew what she knew. Her young son George was a sensitive boy. He loved going off on his own to watch deer and birds, much to the irritation of his father who, by all intents and purposes was a very practical man.

She looked over at Carl, who was absent mindedly redrawing the plans, in the dust from the hearth, to the long awaited new house. I noticed the books on the shelves on the wall and was impressed that a man of that era would encourage his wife and children to study.

While George was sweet and gentle, Jeremy was loud and brash and boasted when he did more work than George. He was proud of the blisters and calluses on his hands and would show them off to his sister and me. Jeremy was a hardworking boy who lived to make his father proud of him. He was continually looking to his father for approval for everything he said and did. The praise showered on the children by their father was constant and he always encouraged them to do more.

My daughter, Christina, was hard working and wanted nothing more than to get away from the family smallholding and find a decent husband in the city. Like her mother, she enjoyed reading and when the travelling salesman would come by they would find what they could, to trade for books.

Once all the indoor duties had been done, my daughter and I would work outside in the garden tending the herbs and vegetables that provided our family with nourishment.

Yes, I remembered this well. Carl was a mason by trade, but now, due to a shortage of work he ploughed his own lands and used his skill for his family. While my daughter and I went about our chores, my husband and my two sons made building blocks from clay after working on the lands. The blocks were neat and of an identical size because wooden templates had been made so that each block would be identical to the next. The blocks were left out in the midday sun to bake and then neatly stacked in the barn where a blazing fire continued the drying process. Broken, or cracked blocks were smashed and left in a pile that Carl would use beneath the foundation of the new house he planned to start building in the spring.

I knew all of this without having a real memory. By watching my little family I knew what was happening and what would happen next. I did not want to stay, but some sort of macabre curiosity kept me from closing my eyes and returning to the lean-to where I was sitting when this vision began. I wanted to leave, but just could not. There was something to watch out for and learn from. I begged to anyone who could hear me for strength to continue because, already, I could feel my soul start to crack and waited for the impending shatter!

I moved forward in time to when the sun started setting on the little house on the edge of the woods and everyone started returning from their chores. Mother and daughter had headed off earlier to the nearby stream to collect water in barrels. On their return, the father began describing a system he planned to build where the water could be guided to the new house and at the same time be used to irrigate the vegetable garden.

I realized that he was describing a water duct where water would be pumped, via the water wheel, into a dam or lake like structure from where an irrigation system could easily be set up.

The family was very adventurous and forward thinking for the age in which they lived. I knew that it was this sort of thinking that got them - my family and myself - into so much trouble.

I briefly wondered if I would be able to prevent what was about to happen from happening to them, but realized that I was there as an observer and not their saviour. I was there in spirit only and there was nothing I could do. I knew that preventing what would inevitably happen, would alter the future and that would be catastrophic in so many ways.

I found myself looking out for signs - any signs - that Erro was nearby and ready to pounce. I couldn’t remember clearly how it came about that my little family faced such danger, but I knew that it was going to happen quite soon. It was not accepted that women could read and write, or converse in a so-called man’s world, but I knew the women in this family did so with ease. I’m sure that, that must have something to do with it. They had opinions and thoughts that their husband and father listened to and often used. They would sit in the evenings and discuss ways of improving their lives and their living conditions. They would talk about how to produce better crops for sale at the market. How to make more money and buy more land and perhaps another cow and more sheep. They would talk into the late hours and as a family unit they prospered.

I seemed to recall that there were those in the nearby villages and smallholdings that envied them. Rumours were rife as to how they were able to accomplish all that they had.

They were a kind, friendly family who always gave to the homeless, the poor and to the local parish. It was because of all these things that they stood out more prominently than other families. As far as Erro would be concerned, they were walking around with targets painted on their backs!

In that era the family were none the wiser as to the workings of the universe and the ramifications that their efforts would bring. As I observed what was obviously a loving family, my family, going about their daily lives, I found myself deeply troubled. For some reason I had a deep emotional connection with them to the point where I felt like weeping. I felt myself torn between simple, observant learning and yelling at the top of my lungs for them to prepare for the imminent danger that was about to befall them. I felt a sense of panic and the growing need to do something. As sure as I had felt this need the realisation of futility enveloped me like a black cloud. I was not able to get involved. This was so much harder than I would have imagined.

I needed Samara’s help. I closed my eyes, forcing myself to exit this vision, and returned to the place where I had left the old woman. I slowly opened my eyes and looked at her, “Is there anything I can do to help them? Is there any way I can save that family, my family? Please I need to know. I can’t bear the thought of them being targeted and hurt.” I could hear the pleading in my voice and felt an awful tightening in my chest.

“You have to understand that what you are seeing is just a shadow of the past. There is nothing you can do to change what has already happened and if you do try you will cause more harm than good. Take heed. Not all is lost. You shall have solace. You need to go back and try to see where Erro came from and how she found out about your family. You need to understand her powers and recognize and acknowledge how powerful her evil is and then also discover her weakness, she has to have one, everyone has one. She is very smart and her one true vice is her ability to manipulate others.” Samara spoke gently. I sensed that she understood how I felt and would be as truthful as she could be while helping me in my journey.

“Oh God, I don’t want to go back! I am remembering things that I don’t want to remember.” I felt the tears running down my face. “What is this? I can shed tears, but I can’t feel pain?” I asked in what sounded like a really pitiful voice.

“Yes, you can shed tears and as far as the pain is concerned, you are being protected right now by not being able to feel. Everything has a purpose and there is a purpose in everything. Are you ready to continue?” I looked at Samara. Her eyes were still closed. She held out her hand to me, “I will be with you.” In some small way that brief statement gave me hope and courage.

I took her bony old hand in mine and closed my eyes and was gently carried back in time to that fateful day.

Sᴇarch the FindNovel.net website on G𝘰𝘰gle to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.