Previous Challenge Entry (Level 4 – Masters)
Topic: BEAT AROUND THE BUSH (05/25/17)
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TITLE: Untangling the Knot | Previous Challenge Entry
By Ann Stocking
06/01/17 -
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We walked along the steep path to our cottage. “Come on, Dorie. Our Mam’s in a better place,” Myrlene coaxed.
With our Da gone and raising us lot by herself, Mam’d had a hard life. Myrlene and me, with George and Roddy between us. The boys’d gone away to the mines when they were big enough; I didn’t know them. Myrlene’d never married.
Then Mam got sick, wasting away, while the pain in her belly grew. Like a suffering saint, she’d never let on. Then it was too late.
“But it’s hard, Myrlene.”
Myrlene looked away over the valley, and I thought she’d cry, but she turned and kept trudging uphill to home. Without Mam, the cottage was gloomy. Cold.
“I’m goin’ to sew while the light’s good,” Myrlene said, taking up our basket of piecework. “We’ll need to do Mam’s share, if we’re goin’ to keep a roof over us.”
It seemed a poor end to our mam’s burying day. I sniffled, tears burning. “Aw, Dorie,” Myrlene held me. “It’s goin’ to be fine. Have yourself a little sob, but then we have to get on wi’ it.” She stroked my hair, then eased me into Mam’s chair.
That night, Myrlene wrapped herself around me, and we slept, the cottage so strangely empty and lonely. In the morning, when I awoke, Myrlene was already moving about, stoking the fire, stirring the porridge. We’d just finished our breakfast when there was a knock on the door.
Mrs. Betts.
“How are you the day?” She thrust herself into the cottage before Myrlene could utter a word and settled her bulk into Mam’s chair. She inclined her head toward me and raised an eyebrow. “Well?”
Myrlene pushed the water pail into my hands. “Dorie, fetch some water. For tea.”
I looked at Myrlene belligerently. I didn’t want to share our precious tea with the old cow.
“Go on, girl, mind your ... Myrlene,” Mrs. Betts cooed.
I left, but stopped outside the door.
“Ye goin’ to tell ‘er?”
“What does it matter to ye?”
“Ye know why.”
“Mam’s not even cold.”
“Aye, that’s it. Wi’ your mam gone, it’s time.”
Myrlene gave a sob, and frightened, I ran for the water. What were they talking about? When I returned, Myrlene leaped up to fill the kettle.
“Shall I tell ‘er, then?” Mrs. Betts asked.
“Please, no.”
“Oh, but, Myrlene, she’s a right, don’t ye think?”
I looked from one to the other, fear churning inside. Their words were twisted, tangled.
“What do ye want?” Myrlene whispered.
“Ye know what I’m after. A ha’penny a month, like yer mam gi’ me.”
“I can’t.”
“Yer mam said the same thing. I persuaded her otherwise,” Mrs. Betts cackled.
The kettle boiled. Myrlene got a cup from the sideboard.
Mrs. Betts leaned back and grunted. “Aye, it was lucky day when I went lookin’ for berries up here thirteen years ago. There ye were, with a bellyful. Not yer mam. No, it wasn’t her at all.”
The cup slipped from Myrlene’s hand.
“Myrlene? What is she saying?” I cried.
“Ye see, Myrlene? The poor bairn. What’s that the bard says? Summat about gettin’ snarled up in spider webs?”
“Leave. Let us be.”
“And miss yer confession?” Her eyes narrowed. “Or me ha’penny?”
Myrlene made a choking sound.
“Go away, Mrs. Betts,” I cried. “Yer upsettin’ me sister.”
“She’s not yer sister. She’s yer mam. There, I've said it outright. No more lollygaggin' about.” She heaved herself up. “Gypped meself outta a ha’penny. Ta for tea,” Mrs. Betts said, smirking. The door banged shut.
I ran to Myrlene, sending broken pieces of crockery skittering, and she held me close. Myrlene’s me mam? How?
“I’m sorry, Dorie. I was young as ye, a babe meself. Mam thought we could pass ye off as hers. Then that horrid woman found out. I’d’ve told ye, but not like this. Oh, Dorie.”
I cobbled the pieces together, trying to understand. Questions I didn’t know how to ask that still needed to be answered.
“Say summat, Dorie,” Myrlene pleaded.
Hadn’t Myrlene been like a mam to me all the while? Bringin’ me up and always carin’ for me with love made sweet by sisterly affection?
Me sister. Me own mam.
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The emotion in the story was well carried out through the dialog.