The Whipping Tree

I: Copper and Rust

         Every year, all presents have to be hidden, for Maud—curious perhaps in a not very intuitively beneficial way—is one of the nosiest girls Joan knows. She usually is clever and sneaky on where she hides things that need to be hidden. She sighs when her memory yields no results.

         One problem at a time, she tells herself.

         She focuses back upon the subject at hand and smiles sheepishly. Vera does not question Joan’s expression, but she does raise her eyebrows.

         “What was it you wanted, Miss Joaneveive?” she asks politely.

         “Have you seen my dress?” Joan asks.

         Vera clucks her tongue. “You have more than one, Miss Joaneveive.” She reaches for the closet door to open it, and slides her hand into each compartment of the set of drawers. She rummages for silk fabric amongst the cotton pieces, frowning as she does so.

         “Did you give it to Selma to wash?”

         Joan gasps. She remembers handing the young maid a bundle of clothes and telling her to handle them carefully.

         “Yes,” she groans. “Are there none left in there?”

         Vera straightens and shakes her head.

         “Oh…” Joan cups a hand over her mouth and lets her chestnut hair fall forward to cover her face. “Oh Vera, what will I do? My mother will not let me out of the house if I’m not properly dressed.”

         Vera places her hands on her hips. “I believe you’ve just found a solution.” She brushes out of the room before Joan can ask what the solution is.

         She comes back no more than five minutes later, holding a finely cut cotton dress, dyed a rich shade of emerald that can only be found on the plains up in the northern mountains, near Otius Mountain.

         Joan recognizes the dress immediately. Some time a few years ago, her mother wore that dress quite frequently.

         “Did you ask my mother?”

         Vera nods her head. “Lady Ailemer is far from pleased you forgot it was Maud’s birthday today, but she says you may wear one of her simpler dresses.”

         Joan feels irked for just a moment before brightening at the dress. The sleeves are embroidered with fine gold thread, as is the hem and neckline.

         “If I may, Miss Joaneveive, your ruby necklace will go well with this.” Vera treads carefully to Joan’s bedside table and pulls out a box, cushioned with wool and cotton. Inside lies a ruby necklace, the small gem inlaid in a bronze backing.

         Vera holds the dress and rhombus-shaped pendant up to Joaneveive and smiles, her eyes sparkling. “You will look breathtaking, Miss Joaneveive, you really will.”

         Joan feels restless, and puzzles over why as she changes. The reason surfaces when she needs Vera to clip on her necklace for her.

         It is the look in her eyes, though it’s cleverly disguised, that makes Joan uncomfortable.

         Vera is the happiest person Joan knows. She smiles at anything, takes all her situations lightly and calmly. And to see her face fall a little when she gives the dress and necklace to Joan, and again when the two face the mirror and she clicks the necklace into place…Joan has never felt sillier.