The Ferryman - Book 1

Chapter 9:

Aunt Rena

Deep behind the door she heard footsteps, and the door swung open.

A girl of sixteen stood in the doorway, staring blankly at Moth. Her hair was piled in a bun high on her head, and tendrils of it had escaped and spun themselves around her face. Though young, she had heavy rings under her eyes.

“Is…is Tully Sacherd here?”

“Why?”

Moth was about to answer when she recognized the round face and splash of speckles. “Salvia?”

Salvia cocked her head. “Yes?”

“It’s me, Mere!” Moth restrained herself from rushing to hug her, so instead gestured at her. “You’ve grown so tall already, oh it’s been years, hasn’t it?”

Salvia’s face softened. “Mere? Oh, come in, I didn’t realize you were coming today!” As she helped Moth carry in the luggage, her face tightened and she turned slowly. “Wait, you came today?”

“Yes, a few hours ago.”

Salvia rushed Moth through the foyer and into a parlor barely bigger than her luggage. “You must’ve walked from the station! Mere, are you okay? Your feet must be burning. Why did you come early?”

“I’m fine, don’t worry, the walk wasn’t that long,” Moth said, though she untied her boots to yank them off her aching feet. Walking across dirt was more comfortable than walking across cobblestones. “You weren’t expecting me Sunday?”

Salvia froze, and lines grooved the sides of her mouth. “Tully said it was Monday.”

“Oh, well maybe I wrote Monday by mistake–”

“Tully!” Salvia howled. She climbed on a chair and slamming her palm against the ceiling. “Tully, get down here now!”

There was a heavy thump far overhead. Then, creaking across the ceiling and down the stairs. The walls were thinner than a fingernail; Moth could hear every footstep echo through the house, as she made her way with a jump to the bottom of the stairs and shoved open the parlor door.

“Salvia, scab of my heart, I was almost done with my index,” Tully said, wiping ink from her hands onto a rag. She started when she saw Moth and took a step back.

She had grown another inch since Moth had seen her – she was as tall as a boy, and was wearing baggy work pants, belted tight and bunched up around the waist. She also had a massive black eye.

“Tully,” Moth shouted, jumping up to hug her, her head reaching only to her collarbone. She gripped Tully’s arms and looked up into her face. The black eye wasn’t fresh, but was healing already; no swelling, but covering most of her cheekbone in a deep purple. “Why do you have that?”

Fingering her cheekbone, Tully tried to wink through her fat eyelid. “Salvia’s not been very patient with me, lately.”

Salvia rolled her eyes, blowing a scrap of her hair from her face. “Oh hush. She keeps getting into stupid fights with martinets.”

“They’re starting it, talking about Aunt Rena like that,” muttered Tully, twisting her mouth. She caught sight of Moth’s expression and hit her with her hip, saying, “but you look like a picture, don’t you? Face as bright and clear as the morning!”

“Did you think she was coming Monday?” demanded Salvia.

Tully opened her mouth and closed it. “It’s Sunday, isn’t it? We’re you always supposed to come on Sunday?”

“I’m afraid so, yes.”

“I swear on my grave I thought you were coming Monday. I’m so sorry Mothball! Did you walk all the way here?” Tully grabbed Moth and began to wail. “Did young men accost you in the street? Were you accosted?”

“Tully, she’s tired,” snapped Salvia. “She must be starving. Mere, please sit down, I’ll get you some tea, and I’ll see if we have anything to eat.”

Salvia left the parlor, and could be heard all the way in the kitchen putting on the kettle and rummaging for food in the pantry.

“Is Aunt Violet out?” asked Moth, squeezing herself into the corner on a chair, using her luggage as a footstool so there was enough room for Tully to worm her way to the windowsill.

“She went to the market.” Tully was framed in the window by an evening light, and she stared out the dirty glass panes into the street.

Moth nudged her gently. “You know I’m going to ask about the martinets.”

“I know.” Tully sighed and rubbed her mouth. Moth saw her knuckles were scraped up. She shook her head, saying, “Not now, though - I don’t want to talk about something so stupid yet. Let me see you hand, eh?”

Holding it up, Moth showed Tully her left hand. Tully took it carefully and examined the curl of her fingers with narrowed eyes.

“Does it hurt to be touched?”

“No, just to bend it out of its…” Moth puzzled for the words, “out of its shape.”

“Unless its underwater, yeah? Can it be frozen into a new shape if you, uh, smoosh its position underwater.”

“No, it just goes back to being curled, as if it dries like that.”

Tully pursed her lips and leaned back. “I’ll show you around the washing house tomorrow. We have another girl who’s only been here a week or two, so you won’t be the only newborn.”

Clatters and clunks drifted through the kitchen, and Salvia crossed into the parlor with a tray of biscuits and jam, and a few boiled eggs. “Dinner is still cooking, so this’ll have to hold you over until then.”

Moth took the tray eagerly and set it on her luggage, as Salvia sat on a stool by the empty fireplace. She picked up a biscuit, surprised to find it heavy and coated in seeds, but she split it open and spread jam on it and took a bite, trying not to make a face at Salvia and Tully grabbed biscuits.

The jam was clingingly sweet, it stuck to the grooves of her teeth and coated her tongue. She could barely taste the fruit – perhaps it was cherries – it seemed like only gelatin.

“Did you make this jam?” Moth asked Salvia.

“It’s jelly, and lord no, I don’t have the time. Mom gets it from the market.”

Accepting a cup of tea, Moth appreciated it – it was strong and fragrant, nothing like she ever could get in Hiren. She then opened a boiled egg and paused, looking down into it.

“Something the matter, Mothball?” asked Tully.

“Is this alright?” Moth asked, showing the egg to her. The yolk was a pale, graying yellow. “Are your chickens alright? It’s not winter anymore.”

Salvia and Tully gave each other puzzled expressions. “We don’t keep chickens, we buy it from the market. That’s how all the eggs look.”

“But its spring? It should be orange.”

“Mothy, what are you talking about?”

Moth felt her face getting hot and she quickly ate the egg. The flavor wasn’t fatty or rich, but she was hungry and didn’t care. “I suppose the chickens here are different.”

“You’re going to find a lot of things in Magden are different than Hiren,” said Tully, picking up her luggage. “Come on, love, let’s get you settled in before Mom gets home.”

Swallowing a final gulp of tea, Moth followed Tully up the staircase, which was barely wider than her shoulders. She ducked her head to avoid a support beam, arrived on the second-floor landing, and then up another flight to the third floor.

“What we lack in width, we make up for in height – watch your elbow, the doorknob sticks out a bit.” Tully showed her into a guest room.

It had one square window overlooking the street, and over the next few rows of houses, Moth could see the river Wylle. The room itself was half the size of the parlor, with a bed taking up most of the space, and cabinets nailed into the wall to make use of every square inch of storage. The room felt damp – there was mold growing in the windowsill, and neighboring houses blocked what light could get in.

In the corner was a typewriter balanced on a side table – the table was missing one of its three feet, so a brick had been stuffed under it to keep it upright.

“You’ll be sleeping in my workspace, unfortunately. It was that or share a room with me or Salvia, and this way you’d get some privacy.” Tully heaved Moth’s luggage onto her bed, and then sat on a stool by her typewriter. “I got used to coming in here to work so I could chat with Aunt Rena – she’d get these headaches from the cleaning supplies and come to lay up here, and I didn’t want her to be too alone. Now I can’t seem to write anywhere else in the house.”

Moth touched her shoulder. “I’m sorry about Aunt Rena. You took good care of her, Tully.”

Tully grimaced, cleared her throat and said, “But look at my progress. Two years in the making and I’m still not done with the manual, I keep remembering little tidbits to help with getting stains out, or starching. Good thing I got all Rena’s advice before she croaked.”

Moth saw a stack of papers in a box; some paragraphs were crossed out and rewritten multiple times. “Thank goodness for that machine or I’d never have been able to read your letters.”

Tully grinned at her. She stood and opened the dozens of cabinets on the wall and said, “These should all be empty except for the one nearest the typewriter – its full of inky ribbons so don’t put your fine lace nightgowns in there, please.”

Moth opened her luggage to start unpacking, placing her clothes neatly in the cabinets with Tully’s help.

“Oh,” Tully said, wrinkling her nose as she neared the carpet bag. “What smells like a stuffed-up chimney?”

Moth pulled out her apron. It felt like a dream to remember she had lent it to the sentry, though it had been that morning. She unfurled it - it reeked like burnt leaves, and Tully coughed and opened the window, fanning her hands.

Something glittered on it, and Moth saw the earring made of gold and opal. She unpinned it and placed it in a box of her jewelry – not that she had much besides a few simple hairpins. The earring was the nicest thing she had, even without its twin.

There was a slamming noise on the floor below them, and Salvia’s shrill voice carried up, “Mom’s home!”

Moth hurried out of the room and down all the steps, and saw Aunt Violet in the foyer, setting down linen sacks full of groceries and taking off her gloves and hat.

“Aunt Violet, hello,” said Moth nervously, landing at the bottom step. “How have you been?”

Aunt Violet turned around and gave her a thin smile and a limp hug. “Ah, Mere, good to have you. Tully helped you set up, I suppose?”

Moth tried not to stare. Violet’s face had gotten lean, and deep grooves tilled her cheeks, giving her a perpetual frown. Her pinkish-blonde hair had lost its luster and was now striped with gray, leaving behind nothing of the red color that had brightened it before.

Moth felt Tully standing behind her and moved to let her down the stairs. Tully’s face was flat as she said, “I’ll put away the groceries.”

“Ah, thank you. I’m feeling lightheaded again, I think I’ll lie down until dinner. What are we having, Salvia?”

“Bean soup and the bread from yesterday,” Salvia said, reaching out to squeeze her hand.

Nodding, Aunt Violet patted Salvia’s shoulder and dragged herself upstairs.

The three young women stood silently in the foyer, until Moth picked up one of the linen bags – a light one, full of herbs – and said to Tully, “I’ll help if you show me where to put it.”

“Ah, Moth, you must be tired from–”

“Tully,” said Moth, looking at her with a smile. “I can help.”

Tully avoided her eyes and gave a short laugh, but grabbed up bags and followed after her into the kitchen, with Salvia behind them to finish dinner.

Like her new room, the kitchen felt cold. It’s brick walls had mold deep in the grout, and its walls were damp to the touch. You had to walk down four deep steps to get into the kitchen, so the only windows were high on the wall and let in a postage stamp of light. Despite the hot fire that quivered in the stove, Moth shivered when she entered the kitchen.

Salvia went to a pot on the stove, stirred it, and said over her shoulder, “Make sure you hang up the herbs, Tully.”

Together, Tully and Moth unpacked the groceries and put them away in cabinets, bins, and hung the herbs up to dry near the stove.

The silence in the kitchen was unbearable. “Aunt Violet looks unwell,” Moth said to Salvia, who was focused vacantly on the swirling bean soup. “Is she ill?”

Salvia hesitated, but Tully scoffed. “Yeah, it’s called laziness.”

“Tully, stop it,” said Salvia, the lines under her eyes crinkling. “You know that’s not the problem.”

“All I know is it’s been months and you’ve done all the cooking, and I’ve done all the washing, and she lays in bed.”

Salvia shoved loose tendrils of her hair up into its bun, trying to stay calm. “Her sister died.”

“Our aunt died. Here we are, working.”

“She loved Rena.”

“And because I work, I don’t?” demanded Tully, her voice raising. “Should I mourn and lay in bed all day? Would you want that, Salvia, to be left doing everything?”

Salvia bit her lip and turned away from Tully.

Tully stomped out of the kitchen. “It’s Sunday, and I’m not going to waste my only day off like this. Bring me a bowl when its done, I’ll eat at my typewriter.”

They heard the slam of her feet going two stories up the stairs.

Moth rolled up her sleeves and finished putting away the groceries, and then came alongside Salvia at the stove, saying, “I smell spring onions. Garlic, too?”

Wiping her nose, Salvia nodded.

“What herbs did you use?”

“We…had a bit of dried parsley left over.”

Moth took the spoon and tasted the broth. “Delicious. Did Aunt Rena teach you? I remember her being the one who cooked the most.”

“She taught me, yes.” Salvia got one of the beans out and tasted to see how cooked they were. “If she wasn’t washing, she was in the kitchen.”

Deciding the soup was finished, Salvia moved it from the fire and let it cool on a large trivet on the counter. She pulled the bread out from the cabinet and smelled it, saying, “Its yesterday’s bread from the bakery, but it’s alright.”

“Is bread very expensive?”

“Expensive? No. Well, it has gone up a bit.”

Hiren produced most of the wheat in the county, but Moth supposed the other regions were having good grain production. “With a little butter and garlic I could toast it in the pan, and make it a little softer.”

Salvia held the loaf, but hesitated. “Mere, you must be tired.”

“Oh, I’m fine,” said Moth, gently pulling the loaf from Salvia. With her help finding the garlic and butter, Moth cut the bread in pieces and toasted it in a pan with an economic amount of butter. Salvia stood at her elbow and watched her studiously until the fragrant, toasted slices were pulled out and placed on a plate.

Salvia began to assemble two trays, and Moth asked, “Does Tully need two servings?”

“One’s for Mom. She doesn’t usually eat down here. Neither does Tully.”

Moth glanced at her expression, and then at the single chair pulled out from the table. She said, “Well, I can’t stand eating alone. Can I eat with you?”

Surprised, a pink glow spread over Salvia’s face and she muttered, “Well, yes, if you’d like.”

“I’ll take a tray up to Tully, and you to your mother,” said Moth, and Salvia nodded.

They climbed the staircase in a row, but Salvia got off at the second floor, and Moth made the trek up to the top story and to her new room. She could hear the steady clack of the typewriter keys when she pushed open the door. “Dinner’s ready, Tully.”

Tully sat cross-legged on her stool, hunched over her manual. She stretched and took the plate, muttering a thanks. Moth turned to go, but Tully said, rubbing back her blonde fluffy hair, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Moth stopped, scrunching her eyebrows. “I didn’t say anything.”

“I know, I just want you to know,” said Tully, turning back to her typewriter and pounding on the keys. “I don’t want to talk about anything that goes on in this house.”

“Alright.”