Throwing clay shadows, p.1
Throwing Clay Shadows, page 1
Contents
Title Page
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3:
Chapter 4:
Chapter 5:
Chapter 6:
Chapter 7:
Chapter 8
Chapter 9:
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16:
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
amazon end matter
sample fiction
TITLE PAGE
Throwing Clay Shadows
Copyright 2010 Thea Atkinson
Published by Thea Atkinson
No part of this publication may be reproduced in whole or in part, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form electronic or otherwise without permission from the author.
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Isle of Eigg: The Croft: March 26, 1807
Something was wrong with Ma's belly. It was as big as a lump of bread dough, puffing up over the bowl so secretly, it didn't seem to grow at all till she looked at it next. Maggie hated that about bread dough, that it grew when she wasn't looking, and now matter how long she stared at it, trying to figure out how it got bigger, it just wouldn't budge till she got tired and started playing with her favorite dollie Bessie. She'd forget all about watching the bowl, and there would be the dough. All rounded up and stinky and wanting fingers to poke into it. So for sure, she hated how the stuff grew. And she hated that Ma's belly seemed to be keeping the same kind of secret.
It had grown into a bulging thing that made Ma sigh a lot and rub it a lot and, when she thought Maggie wasn't watching, talk to it a lot. The belly shortened Ma's usual long step and made her breathe heavy as though she was lugging a pot too large to handle. The belly pressed forward all the time, taking all the attention in the cottage and stealing touches from Da.-- But the belly couldn't trick Maggie; it hadn't always been big. Oh no. The day Maggie had made it to four fingers old, it had barely been there.
That was when Ma told Maggie there would be a sister, and because Ma knew things, Maggie believed it. Once, Ma told her that Da would hurt his thumb with his axe and sure enough, the morning came and he came clumping in from the yard, holding onto his hand with thick, red liquid covering the sleeve of his leine.
Later, she sat with Ma next to the fireplace where it was good and warm and listened to all the stories Ma had of the old days and the Highlands that she didn't visit no more. Sometimes there'd even be lessons about how to come to know things like Ma did, all in the accent that was so much stronger than Da's, "Close yer eyes, my own. Look a' the colors behind. They'll turn into kin, if ye want them tae."
Maggie tried hard to let the colors behind her lids change; she really wanted Ma to be proud of her. Sometimes she'd manage it, and she'd see Ma or Da, and sometimes if she was lucky she got to see the young boy wearing a strange white kilt that sometimes visited her in dreams. She wasn't sure she liked those dreams; they always made her feel all squirmy when she woke up. Mostly, though, all she saw when she tried to see things was just the black that came with closed eyes.
It was much easier to spend her open-eye time watching for the sister.
So she waited and waited for the sister but nothing changed except the belly in its own secret way. It kept swelling like bread in a pan till she had to bend her neck backward just to look up and catch Ma's attention. Ma got a cough, too, that came more often and lasted longer as the belly grew. The cough made Ma's eyes water and made Da squinch his caterpillar brows together and grumble about the damp that came up through the mud floor.
Then Ma stopped moving around the cottage at all. She took to lying in bed all day. The coughs came in between horrible moaning sounds, then yelling sounds--and then cursing sounds. Hearing Ma curse was terrible enough but when she cursed at Da, well, that made Maggie grab her dollie and hide under the table to get away from it all.
"I want Ma not to cough," she told Bessie as they played beneath the table, but Bessie said nothing back, her painted-on dollie mouth was tucked into a smile that Maggie wanted to scratch off, just this once.
She loved Bessie. Bessie slept with her every night and grinned at her every morning, but today she couldn't stand the dollie's frozen smile. It was wrong to smile today. Wrong with Ma in bed and Da touching her forehead every time she groaned.
Maggie wanted to shut out the sounds, and every time she heard Da complain, "It isn't time. It isn't time..." she wanted to fling Bessie across the floor and yell at him to stop. She wanted everything to go back to the way it always was, with Ma and a small belly, with Da looking after the sheep and with Bessie being just a dollie with a stupid smile. Dumb dollie. Didn't she know she shouldn't smile today. Dollies should be careful if they didn't want to get a licking.
Maybe if she scraped a nail across the pink lips, she could scratch off the stupid smile. The pink stayed bright. She tried again. Again the lips stayed painted. No matter how much she scraped, Bessie still smiled and Ma still groaned and coughed.
Maybe she could work on the lessons. Maybe today she could get the colors behind her eyes to change into pictures. She'd pretend to be that boy with the white kilt. Sentu, his name was, Sentu, in his land with no water. And Bessie could be his friend, the one called Ahmen. Of course, he would get hurt--and good for him too, for smiling on such a day.
A screech came from Ma's bed that made Maggie feel like she did when she got caught pulling hair out of the hound's ear. Oh oh. She was going to get a licking now and all because she wanted Ahmen to get hurt. She shouldn't have wished it. Ma always knew when she was being a bad girl. Maybe if she squeezed her eyes right tight no one would see her and they'd forget she was being bad.
The colors behind her eyelids exploded into tiny bits. They had never done that before. And when the colors disappeared, she saw a new person in her mind: a young lass with skin the color of walnut bark. She had on an airisaidh of feathers instead of the usual plaid, this lass. How grand it would be to wear wings like that and not have to wear the stinky wool plaid that scratched her shoulders when it got wet. Those feathers looked soft on the lass; she looked content to wear such finery.
The lass beckoned to her with a long finger and Maggie caught a look at her eyes; they were different colors: one brown, one green. She wasn't sure she liked the way those eyes looked at her--looked through her and made her feel as though the bad things she'd been doing were even worse now the young lass knew about them. Oh, how she wished she'd not wanted to hurt Ahmen.
Then she was gone, and Maggie felt like her head was spinning in circles and Da was saying, "Come to, lassie, come to."
She peeped open one eye to see him crouched down next to her, swiping a tear from his stubbly cheek. She thought of the sheep and their babies and how he always crooned to them when they first were born and wrapped the lambs into his leine for a moment because he liked the newness of them. Now, a woolen lump got pressed close to Maggie's nose as she crouched beneath the table, but it didn't smell like a lamb. It had the same salty smell, but it didn't smell like barn and manure the way the sheep smelled either.
"It's a sister for ye, lass," he told her, squinching his brows even lower. He wiggled his ears, and she couldn't help smiling. Da's ears were so big they could make a hound bitch mistake him for her pup or so Ma always said.
Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to crawl out enough to peek at the lump.
It was a strange thing, the sister, not at all what she'd thought it would look like; she had thought it would look like the lass she'd seen behind her eyelids, but this wee thing wasn't even the same color. Maggie could almost see through its eyelids. It had no hair; its wrinkled mouth worked into a cry she could hardly hear. It was really a very ugly thing.
Da rose then, and made his way over to the bed where he slipped the lump of wool between the covers next to Ma.
Maggie wanted to see more of the lump. She scrambled over to the bed, not able to stop looking at it: the pink skin; the faerie fingers. There was something about this...thing, this small person that was the sister that made a squirming started up in her belly just like when she had those dreams about Sentu and Ahmen. Her belly twisted around in there, crept up her chest and sat on her tongue. Something was there. Some word. Some name. And every time she looked at the wee sister, that word-name wanted to be spoken. Though she couldn't move her tongue into whatever form the word wanted to take, she thought right away of the lass with walnut-bark skin.
Hugging Bessie close, she climbed onto the bed from the bottom where Ma's deer-long legs were covered with her favorite plaid.
"Come tae me, Maggie lass," Ma whispered. "Have a wee peek at yer sister." Then she started coughing again.
Da's hands were on Maggie's belly as he tried to pull her away.
"Leave her, Ang. It willna be long." Ma told him, reaching out a free hand.
Maggie made for it, worming her way to the top of the bed.
"She shouldn't..." Da started to say, but Ma shushed him the way she did when Maggie tried the no word on her.
And then Ma was pulling her close enough that the sister's screwed-shut eyes could be poked.
"Aye, she's real, lass," she said.
"She gots no hair," Maggie complained. Everything had hair, even the lambs when they were born.
Maggie felt a kiss land on her head as Ma chuckled. "Aye, but it's nae trouble," she said.
"I have hair," Maggie said proudly. Yes, she had hair and this new sister had none. She felt strangely happy about that for she knew Ma liked to touch it; she always crooned over the mane she called 'silkie skin but for the rat's nest,' and now she said the words she always did when Maggie tried to twist away from the inevitable brushing.
"Ye've hair like my Ma's, "Ma said, sighing. "Shame for it tae take a thousand strokes tae straighten the mess."
This time Ma didn't try to smooth it down and Maggie cuddled in close. It was warm there with Ma and with the sister. So warm.
She woke in her own bed, scratching her leg where a bedbug had been busy. Any sounds that had come from Ma's bed had stopped. Da stood in the middle of the cottage, holding onto a sister-sized bundle of wool that he placed on the floor next to the hearth. He barely moved for a moment, eyes that could be counted on to wink at her didn't even slip over her body; instead they were open as wide as those of an about-to-be-supper lamb.
Maggie peered across the room as she got up. She could see that Ma finally slept. Even teatime came and still she slept. Da wouldn't look at her. Instead, after tea, he carried the bundle of wool out into the spring air and Maggie crept to the doorway to see what all the goings-on were about.
The bundle lay on the ground next to the well, and Da seemed to be looking for something. She scratched her leg again, wondering, when she saw him dragging his shovel from the barn, what he wanted it for.
"Ah, lass," he said, noticing her. "Come to." He waggled his bony fingers toward her.
She shoved on her shoes and pulled a plaid tight to her neck; maybe he would show her some new lambs...although it was still a little too early, or so he'd said yesterday.
"Would ye like a walk, lass?" he asked. "Just us two?" He hefted the shovel over his shoulder and reached out a hand. "It's a bonny day for it."
The way he said bonny day, and the way it almost sounded stuck in his throat made her think he had a surprise for her--a bath perhaps, somewhere out past the barn where he could have got it ready without her knowing. She shook her head in answer.
"Come to, lass." He took a step toward her. "We'll go out to the moors, and ye can scare up a grouse or two if ye've a want."
"OK," she said. "I'll scare eight of them," she said, and held up all of the fingers on one hand to show how many she'd roust for him.
She expected him to get excited at the thought of so many grouse for supper but he just left the bundle on the ground next to the cottage and he started away. If she wanted to scare the birds for him, she'd better get moving. Oh, how Ma would sleep with them all gone. The quiet. The peace. Even the hound followed. Watching Da, Maggie thought he moved an awful lot like the hound with its short legs fighting to pass through bushes much taller than it was.
It was fun to imagine him and the hound as brothers. They did look alike in some ways: the great brown eyes, the huge ears. She laughed at the thought as she slowed down enough for him to catch up. The smell of seaweed came up and over the moss at her, bringing with it a shiver of fog. She could see the spine of An Sgurr, off in the distance, through the jumbles of juniper brush, but it would disappear soon; Ma always said that even An Sgurr couldn't escape the mist.
Da said nothing as he stopped at the spot where they had all come for a picnic last summer. He looked about, and with a grunt, began digging into the earth. Maggie chased the hound while she waited; if there were birds to scare, best to run all around so they'd lift right where he could see. Besides, it would be supper soon, her belly told her so and he didn't even seem to be looking for any grouse for the pot.
Before she could find any, he was holding her hand again as he led her back to the croft. She liked holding his hands. they were big and warm and as soft as a lamb's ear, even now when muck covered the palms.
They weren't home but a few minutes when he lifted Ma into his arms, wrapped in the coarse bed sheet and carried her outside.
"Where you taking Ma?"
He pointing to the milking stool with his toe. "Sit ye there till I get back," he told her.
Then went the sister-sized bundle, too, off in his arms. Maggie sat with the hound outside the cottage like he told her. It was tough, though, to sit on the milking stool for so long. She hated sitting, doing nothing. Good thing he came back soon enough.
"Where's Ma?" she asked him. "Where's the sister?"
"We'll go to them now," he said, but he wouldn't look at her. Instead, he brushed at his breeks where some mud had collected and closed his eyes as though he was tired. Maybe he was if he was going to keep walking back and forth to the moor. Sure enough, off they went again back to where two mounds of dirt like black molasses buns sat on the moor. She liked molasses buns, especially the way Ma made them with oatmeal freckled over the top, but there was something wrong with thinking about these piles of dirt the same way.
Still, she sprinkled the freckles of daisy petals atop like Da told her to because they were Ma's favorite. When the fog wet her lashes, she pretended the tiny globes of water that blurred into burns so close to her eyes, were drops of faerie water, ready to change her green eyes to silver. Da's lashes were wet too. And his cheeks. She wondered what he pretended.
She felt his arms wrap around her in a great squeeze that nearly squirted the air out her nose.
"Yer Ma's gone to peace," he told her. "Gone to God, lass, where she won't suffer no more."
How grand for Ma that she wouldn't have to cough no more all the time. He hadn't said anything about the sister, and his voice sounded as if it had a hard time coming up through his throat, but still, Maggie was sure things would be back to normal now that the belly was gone and Ma wouldn't cough no more.
Still, it was odd that he sighed so sadly when he gave one last look over his shoulder at the mounds.
When they got home, she ran to see if Ma was awake, but her bed was empty, and Ma gone, like he'd said. Still, Maggie could swear she heard her whispering everywhere she moved: next to the linen chest, beside the mattress, underneath the table. Everywhere. She sounded impatient, like she sometimes did when she wanted Maggie to come close instead of dawdling. Maggie liked to dawdle, but this time it wasn't fun. No matter how much Ma whispered, Maggie couldn't find where the voice came from; she couldn't make it to Ma.
She finally went to where Da was dropping bowls onto the table.
"Where Ma?"
"I told ye, lass, she's gone. Now come get yer supper."
She crawled up next to him on her chair and scooped up her spoon At least she didn't have to answer Ma now because it was mealtime; a wee lass should never talk with her mouth full. Still, he seemed so sad, so quiet with Ma gone, that she wanted to help him somehow, tell him Ma needed the peace.
Looking up from her bowl of watered mutton stew, she peered into his eyes and told him, "I glad Ma gone."
He made a choking sound that started her belly squirming again.
"Careful, Maggie," he said. "A good lass doesn't speak ill of the dead."
Dead? What was dead? Did dead mean Ma? Poor Ma. Now she wouldn't moan anymore, but did that also mean she hadn't gone to get better? Had Maggie just made things worse; would Ma's voice go away now, too?
Oh no. She'd really done it now. Da pushed back his chair and ran like a beetle over to the fireplace. He turned to the hearth where he was lit with bits of yellow light that Maggie knew came from the burning peat he'd collected three nights ago. He looked like he was trying hard to stand up, and he never looked as though he would fall even when he played with her in the meadow, chasing her and chasing her till he said he had to sit or fall down. His legs were good strong things that could chase her for hours but he never had to sit. He never fell down.
Not now. Now he looked as though he was about to fall. He kept running his fingers through the bush of hound's-fur hair, shook his head as he looked into the fire.
