The Mask of White and Red - Part 4

thinknzombie (59)in #fiction • 7 years ago (edited)

“I don’t understand.” Ilsa looked over at Kerrie, but she was staring out the window and wouldn’t meet her eyes. Ilsa followed her gaze. Snow had piled up against the window ledge and frosted the tops of the panes. It was only early afternoon, but the storm seemed to have banished the light.

Shona and Pastor Beckford shared a look. They were seated side-by-side on a settee. The cream and gold cushions were so firm they barely dipped at all beneath their collective weight. The house may not have been a palace, but Shona kept it well and filled it with luxuries bought via the generous wages of Kerrie’s son, William.

Someone had lit the lamps. Yellow flames flirting with the glass enclosures of their flues. Shadows played across the Pastor’s face.

“What Pastor Beckford is saying, Ilsa, is that there’s no more money. And as much as I've loved having you here, you’ll need to support your father.” Shona reached over and gave her arm a squeeze. “You can stay at the hospice. You’ll just have to earn your keep.”

“I dare say it's better than sewing all day,” Beckford said, leaning back.

Kerrie huffed. “What would either of you know about honest work?”

“You’ll keep quiet if you know what's good for you. Your good-for-nothing son has told me to deal with you as I see fit,” said Shona. Each word dripped with unmasked hatred. Ilsa heard a whimper and realized it had come from her own mouth. She pulled up her knees, hugging herself.

Shona was looking at her now. She could feel the weight of those eyes. All she could do was bunker down.

“Ilsa,” said Shona, now matter of fact, as if commenting on the weather, or the price of butter. “You can stay through next week. After that you will live at the Hospice with the good Pastor.” Ilsa’s throat tightened. Was there any air in the room at all?

“No. She can stay through month’s end,” said Kerrie.

“Impossible!” Pastor Beckford’s face turned a deeper shade of blotched purple.

“I will pay all the bills until then,” Kerrie said. “She can have what I earn from tailoring.” She smiled, and Ilsa felt the warmth as if the season had suddenly turned. “Until you find your feet. Which I know you will.”

She wanted to run across and hug Kerrie, but the way they were looking at Kerrie…it seemed better to let her alone. She looked up again to see Kerrie watching her and silently mouthed “Thank you” to her.

Kerrie smiled. It was good to see her smile.

⁂

Ilsa found Kerrie at her stall working on the bodice of a dress. All around were the sounds of a bustling market, but louder than the calls of haggling merchants was the clatter and the shouts of a team of carpenters erecting an enormous, wooden platform not far from the gated market entrance. It was an additional layer of noise that set Ilsa’s teeth on edge.

Kerrie looked up from her work. “Ah, it’s you, poppet. Take a look.” She held up the dress. Tiny crystal beads glittered as she moved it to and fro. Ilsa gasped. It was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen.

“Lovely, isn't it? It belongs to Lady Desmonde.” Kerrie held up a hand to her mouth as she laughed. “If I do this well, her man says he’ll bring more. She’s an entire wardrobe needing letting out, the poor dear.”

The fabric was light, barely registering to her touch, and smooth and cool. Tiny stitches secured hundreds of beads speckled around a bodice that looked as if it would barely know modesty let alone protect it. What would it be like to wear a gown like this? Had her mother once attended balls and parties in such finery? She smiled, imagining the music, the platters of food, the handsome couples twirling. It would be so magical. Her breath caught, tears threatening to embarrass her in front of Kerrie yet again. Everything they'd ever owned had been reduced to ashes. It wasn't fair.

Kerrie was watching her. “It’ll be alright, love. Your father will be fine.”

Her cheeks burned red. Only she hadn't been thinking of her father at all, but of everything she'd lost, a life she would never know.

If she could just heal her father’s hands, maybe together they could make a go of it. Things would never be normal--she’d never get her mother back-- but it would be a life not too distant from what might have been.

She stood, knocking over a tin full of pins and a pair of razor-sharp scissors. Perhaps there was a way. The thought sent a shiver of excitement along her spine, but under that a barely suppressed well of fear. What if I fail? No time to dwell on that.

“Ilsa! What— Where are you going?”

She started to run, already past the edge of the stall by the time she realized the fright she must have given Kerrie. “To see Father,” she shouted back over her shoulder. The hat seller across the way frowned at her as she passed. Ilsa barely noticed. Her father would know how to heal his hands and she could do the work. She’d seen him work often enough. She’d even helped out in the surgery. It wasn’t a lack of skill that was the problem, it was a lack of knowledge. She grinned, and suddenly the sea breeze felt cool against her face instead of muggy and oppressive.

Author's Note:

I hope you enjoyed Part 4 of this story, The Mask of White and Red. I hope you will come back again for the next episode to be released very soon. If you did enjoy this, as always, please do upvote, resteem and comment.

Part 1 is here, please do go and check it out: https://steemit.com/fiction/@thinknzombie/the-mask-of-white-and-red-part-1-make-a-minnow-sbd-pledge-special-edition
Part 2 is here.
Part 3 is here.

-- @thinknzombie