The cities had been in turmoil since the war started and the roads were too busy for Mary’s dad to make it between towns. Instead he had made his way to settling in to the town she had first played her lute in. She was idly waiting with the cart as he dad bartered with the local mayor. He was being forced to sell the reliable place she had called home on the roads because of the war. It caused Mary’s heart to ache that she was losing her favorite animal Bess and the cart. Instead she was sulking in a strange woman’s home.

The woman was thin from the lack of good food for a single woman in these times. It wasn’t easy to make a living when you didn’t live with a husband to take care of you. Signs of children being in her home a lot showed in the knocks on the low parts of furniture from boys with knives and toys that seemed lost under where small ones couldn’t reach. However there were no beds for a child, just one massive one that could fit maybe three adults easily. It was a glorified pile of hay but that was so much softer than sleeping in the cart.

Mary sat at the table watching the woman make a meal. Mary couldn’t remember the last time she didn’t eat in an inn or on the road from the stew pot. Her mouth watered at the scent of spices that filled the air and venison that simmered in a thick broth.

The woman her father was courting was Harriet Trunksplitter. Mary was unsure if she would be a good fit for her papa. “Harriet, what do you do to make money?”

The knife stilled as she was preparing root vegetables. She looked over her shoulder and gave her a serene smile, “I take on all the little children that are not big enough to work but not too small to need their mother’s tit. I teach them basic manners and the laws that they have to follow when they get older.” She slid the vegetables in the pot and stirred it slowly. “I’m sure you have gotten some of that from your father on the road. There are all sorts of laws he has to follow to be a merchant.”

Mary crossed her arms as she watched the Harriet cook. Mary was unsure how she felt about her father looking at replacing her late mother. Mary knew though that Men needed women in their life. He had done his best to take care of Mary all the while. But the road was nowhere for a little girl. With the threat of bandits, animals, and the road’s condition. Sleeping on hardwood, camping in the rain, stopping to hide from the sun under the wagon. “What kind of work do you think Papa is going to be able to do? They’re taking away his cart and Bess! Why are they allowed to do that?”

Harriet turned and checked the over, looking inside it at the bread that was slowly rising inside of it. “Well, unfortunately if he doesn’t find a job with the scribes he might have to go to the warfront. I don’t like that idea, he is a very nice man and I don’t think he would have the stomach for the blood that is there.” Harriet wiped her hands on the apron she was wearing and the look of worry on her face made Mary feel a little better that she was worried for her father. “Thankfully I take care of the mayor’s boy whenever he goes on a trip. I get to stay in their home and cook the meals for the boy. Maybe I can use that to help him get a job scribing for the mayor.”

Mary chewed on her fingernails as she thought about her dad going to war. She didn’t want to be so far away from him. She would be left in a commune house and have to live without him for so long. Every moment that he wasn’t here in this house with her made her nervous that he had been whisked away and his cart taken from him without paying for it.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Suddenly Harriet was behind Mary and her thin long fingered hands were brushing Mary’s hair. Something she had been doing on her own since her mother had died. “What..”

“Shhhh, I can see you’re worried. They wouldn’t just take him away. They would give him some time to say goodbye to you.” Her brush was soft as it straightened out Mary’s hair. The little girl closed her eyes as she was tended to so kindly and warmly. “Your father must be a very good man.”

“What makes you say that?” Mary asked wanting to hear someone else praise her father like he deserved to be.

“Well, the letter he sent me was beautiful. It spoke poetically about the open road and how he had already felt he missed me.” A little jealousy burned in Mary’s chest but the calm soothing of someone brushing her hair free of any tangles warred against it. “Since I last saw him he has lost a little weight, for such a thin man that is worrisome but then I see you.” Harriet’s hands stilled and rested on Mary’s shoulders as the kind woman slowly wrapped her arms around the girl. “You’re healthy and strong, you haven’t lost weight even with the hard time your father must have had since the war started. Which means he has given up food to make sure the most important person in his world is taken care of.”

“You really think he feels that way?” Mary blushed at the thought of her father loving her that much. She hadn’t even noticed that he was eating less than usual. She knew the food was sparser and much more expensive then it had been before the war had broken out. Rationing and price gouging coming into effect.

“I know it.” Harriet moved around the girl, a new feeling of safeness settled in Mary as she looked around. The bun in the oven came out and was steaming. The simmering stew on the stovetop bubbled away quietly. “Dinner will be ready when Gerald gets here. You look tired Mary. Would you like to lay down?”

Mary glanced over at the bed and the call of it. The promise of something softer than hardwood. Mary got off the chair and crawled onto the bed. The straw giving way under her weight just a little before molding around her body. “It’s so soft,” Mary muttered.

“You poor child thinking straw is soft. One day I’ll make sure you can lay on a cotton bed and know true luxury.” Harriet came over to Mary and pulled a blanket over the girl. Then sat at the edge of the bed. The scent of a hard day being ended with stew filled the air as sleep started to come to Mary.

“Harriet, do you think you could love my dad?” Mary asked as her eyes fought to close themselves. The comfort of the bed was too strong for her to hold on much longer.

“If he treats me half as good as he treats you, then I wouldn’t have a choice.”

Then Harriet began to sing,

Oh dreams they come with a mother’s song. The wind will blow and the moons stay long. As the nightmares arrive, they won’t be strong. You’ll be protected by a mother’s song.

Be warm and soft in my embrace, whimper and cry you won’t lose face, There is nothing to make your heart race, Be warm and soft in my embrace.

Oh babe of mine, with your heart still weak, I beg of you find the love you seek, open your eyes and please take a peek, I’ll keep you safe with your heart still weak.

Harriet’s fingers brushed the loose hairs from Mary’s face as the girl had fallen asleep. The ancient song went on about the melancholic loss of a mother’s child. No one knew where the song had come from. But whoever wrote it must have felt the heartbreak no one should ever know.

The Weaver comes, to spin your dreams. She has knit your clothes so there is no seams. You will be forever in the light of moonbeams. The Weaver comes, to spin your dreams.

Harriet already knew her feelings for Gerald were strong. She had fallen in love with him and Mary the moment she laid eyes on the two. The girl with talent and her father who lived for only her. Harriet bent down and kissed Mary’s forehead as the girl quietly snored.

“Sweet dreams Mary. I’ll wake you for dinner.”