The Whipping Tree

I: Copper and Rust

I 

Copper and Rust

Three Years and Several Months Ago

         Joan wakes up in the morning with her toes frozen and the tops of her arms equally icy.

         She shivers and scrunches into a ball, curling in on herself beneath her covers, and wondering, all the while, why it is so cold.

        A shadow flits across the floor of her bedroom and she is startled before remembering that, one, it is morning, and two, it was merely a bird.

         Only when the lark flutters onto her dresser does she remember why she is so cold, and, upon realizing that, feels a niggling thought prodding at her brain. She is forgetting something important.

         But first, she thinks, I must close the doors.

         A wave of goosebumps sweep from her arms down to her sides, and tickles her very core. She fetches a cotton shawl from the back of a chair and drapes it over her shoulders. When that isn’t enough to fend the cold, she wraps it around herself.

         Before shutting her balcony doors, she steps out onto the outcropping and looks out at the field behind her house.

        She and her family are not the wealthiest in Drachmere, but compared to the rest of Brevinham, they are very fortunate.

         Her eyes fall upon the tiny, room-sized huts that have windows but no glass, and sighs as she speculates how on earth the farmhands manage to keep warm. She placed herself through a single night with open doors and just about froze to death.

         She scans the lush fields for something, someone. Her gaze is already flitting around before she is conscious of what she is doing or what and who she is looking for.

         The answer comes to her easily and she sighs, shutting the doors tightly and flipping the rusting latch to lock them.

         She is partway through dressing before she remembers what day it is.

         Maud’s birthday, she thinks. She is unsure whether she is glad or not. Special occasions in the Ailemer family, or perhaps any high-class family, mean no lessons, with a day of entertainment and celebration in its stead.

         She tucks one of her rare pieces of comfortable clothing back into her chest of drawers and goes looking for her gowns. Never one to dress extravagantly unless the occasion calls for it, Joan has barely any idea where those garments are kept. Vera knows exactly where everything is folded away, and after a couple seconds of calling down the stairs, she arrives.

         “What is it today, Miss Joaneveive?”

         There is something red on the bottom of her chin, and when Joan points it out, Vera wipes away and answers that she and the cooking staff have been preparing Maud’s birthday meal for quite some time.

         “No disrespect for your cousin, Miss Joaneveive, but she certainly has an eye for…quality items.” Vera chooses her wisely, even though she knows Joan would never rat on her. “She asked for us to make something out of wheat—and add tomatoes to it.” The maid looks down at the flour mixture crusted on her hands. “I’ve only seen it once when I went to Hildegard, but it certainly looked difficult to make.”

         Joan nods along and thinks of Maud.

         Where did I place her gift?