The Weavling

Chapter 4

Eleanor's mother breezed past her into the house. Close behind was her father. Both radiated confidence and superiority in every way possible. Her mother wore an elegant, formal dress made of a soft, gray fabric that extended down to her ankles. It was an expensive piece of clothing, fit only for a woman of her stature. Her golden blonde hair was swept up into a neat bun at the back of her head. Eleanor's father wore a dark green topcoat and trousers of a similar color. The coat was richly embellished with brass buttons and golden stripes at the sleeves and shoulders. The entire outfit, from coat to shiny black shoes, was meticulously neat. Not a crease could be found.

"Hello Mother, Father," Eleanor said, then softly closed the door behind her parents.

"I trust you've not left a mess in the kitchen?" her mother asked. She reached up and began to pull pins from her hair.

"It's all cleaned up," Eleanor assured her. Little footsteps thumped down the staircase.

"Guess what happened today!" Abigail shrieked as she jumped over the last stair and landed nimbly on the wooden floor below.

"Abigail, news is no reason to forget your manners," Father reprimanded. Abigail slumped.

"Sorry. Hi Mother, hi Father. How was your day?" Without waiting for an answer, she took a deep breath and rapidly told them of her promotion in Weavling Training. Both parents appeared unimpressed, especially Mother, who regarded her youngest daughter with nothing more than disinterested acknowledgement. Her cool green eyes betrayed no positive emotion. Eleanor watched the exchange to see how her mother would react.

"That's Eleanor's job, is it not?" Father asked, when Mother didn't respond. "Taking care of all that Weavling business?"

"It is," Eleanor confirmed, "I'm taking care of it." She twirled a strand of her hair around her fingers. Her parents walked into the kitchen. Mother had pulled all of the pins out of her hair, and her blonde curls now cascaded down her face. It gave her a warmer appearance, but did nothing to help her uncaring attitude.

Meredith rushed to serve each parent a serving of stew, while Eleanor set the table. Abigail had snuck away. Eleanor looked towards the stairs and frowned. Abigail thrived on praise and happiness, and nothing good could come from their parents treating her accomplishments so irreverently.

When everyone, sans Abigail, had sat down to eat, Eleanor ate as quickly as she could. She didn't bother to try to cool off the spoonfuls of stew before putting them in her mouth, which proved to be a bad idea, as her tongue now felt as if she had licked a candle flame. Nonetheless, Eleanor continued to rush through her meal.

"Do you have somewhere to be, Eleanor?" Father asked pointedly. She looked up at him.

"I need to go help Abby prepare for her stay at Extended."

Mother put her spoon down at that, and regarded Eleanor with annoyance.

"That is no reason to eat like a pig. You're a member of this distinguished family, and I cannot have you falling into the habit of neglecting your etiquette."

Eleanor opened her mouth to protest -- or agree, she wasn't entirely sure. Mother continued to talk before Eleanor could get a word in.

"Furthermore, your sister will not be referred to as 'Abby.' Your ancestors earned the right to use noble names, and your father and I work to maintain that right every day. The least you could do is show some respect." Mother's voice rose steadily in pitch and volume as she chastised Eleanor, whose cheeks were now flushed with embarrassment. She glanced at Meredith, her eyes pleading for help, but her sister's eyes were downcast, avoiding the argument.

"I'm sorry," Eleanor said. A tense silence fell over the table as everyone finished their meals. Eleanor asked to be excused, to which Father gave a curt nod, and placed her bowl on the counter in the kitchen. She then located another wooden bowl and spoon, and filled it with stew. Eleanor fled upstairs, blinking angry tears out of her eyes.

Eleanor paused to wipe the corners of her eyes and compose herself, then took a calming breath and opened the door to Abigail's room with the hand that wasn't holding the stew. Abigail was curled up on her bed, arranging her wrinkled purple quilt into small mountains of cloth. She looked up at Eleanor and sniffed. Her eyes were rimmed with pink.

"Do Mother and Father love me?" she asked. Eleanor was taken aback.

"Of course they do, Abby! Why would you need to ask that?" She pushed the bedroom door closed again. Abigail sniffed again and wiped at her nose.

"They never care about what I do at school, or when I learn something new, or if I pick them flowers and things," she explained in a shaky voice. Eleanor swore she could feel her heart breaking, and her eyes threatened to tear up again.

No good crying in front of Abby and making her cry more, she scolded herself.

"Oh, Abby," Eleanor said, and sat down next to her sister on the bed. "Mother and Father are always just tired after they come home from working at the castle. You know how you get cranky when you're tired?" Abigail nodded.

"Well, adults do too. That doesn't mean they don't love you, not at all!"

"I heard what Mother said to you downstairs. She was so mean just because you were eating fast and shortened my name," said Abigail, and began to poke at her blanket designs, demolishing the peaks she had made.

"Mother's very serious about noble names," Eleanor agreed, somewhat sadly. "But that's just how she is. She loves all of us very much, and so does Father."

Abigail sniffed once more, then gave a shaky smile. Eleanor handed her the bowl of stew.

"Here you go, dear one. Try not to spill on your blankets," she warned. Abigail stirred her food and swallowed a spoonful. Eleanor realized something.

"You used your Weaving to listen to what we were saying downstairs?" she asked. Abigail blushed, then said reluctantly,

"Yes...Sorry. I just wanted to hear what was going on, I didn't mean it."

Meredith nodded.

"Alright, but make sure you don't do it again."

Abigail promised that she wouldn't. Eleanor smiled at her, and she smiled back.

"Why do kids always say 'I didn't mean it?'" Eleanor asked. "What is there to 'mean?'" Abigail shrugged and giggled.

"I don't know, we just do!" she replied. Eleanor laughed and stood up from the bed.

"Since you're not going to pack your things for Extended, I suppose I'll need to do it for you," she said. Abigail stuck her tongue out, and Eleanor began to gather everything her sister would need for the trial ahead of her.