Field of Death: A Gift

Alicia Connor sat dozing in her chair by the hearth in the small, snug cottage when a knock came at the door. Waking with a start she blinked, and called out in a voice still weak from the coughs that had wracked her frail frame all winter.

"Who... who's there?"

There was no answer.

With the slow care seen in only the very old, or infirm, the woman leaned forward with her elbows on the arms of her chair and pushed to a standing position. The light blanket that had lain over her legs fell in a heap on the floor, and again her thin and reedy voice called.

"Is anyone there?"

How odd. The cottage was not anywhere near a main thoroughfare. Her husband had made certain of that when they moved here from Flaxley. The only visitors that dropped in MEANT to be there, weren't just dropping by. And anyway, everyone who knew them knew she had been unwell, and would never have been so impolite not to speak up and save her the trouble of getting to her feet. With Caleb and Jesib both out tending to the planting, she was alone there in the house. Most of the time she managed the house well enough without them, with frequent rests in her chair by the hearth.

She was beginning to feel peevish as she moved slowly to the door. Honestly, anyone with any sense in them would at least answer when asked who was there. If it was that Wilson girl come calling again...

But no. The wee thing had taken Fionn's loss harder than Alicia had expected. Those two apparently had grown closer than she knew. Not that she knew much, cooped up in the cottage all the long winter. And now her boy taken like that. Perhaps she should ask after Becky Wilson. Sometimes a woman to grieve with, young or old, can soothe the ache. That good Ian Blackthorn had assured them he would do all he could to find out what happened... and why... If there really was a reason.

Her thoughts tumbled over one another in the disjointed haze that accompanies illness. Still, she shuffled slowly toward the door.

There were times Alicia didn't know if she would have the strength to go on. But her husband needed her. And Jesib. Poor lad. He kept blaming himself, saying he should have been the one that night, running errands. No matter that he had been off on another errand for his father. When it came to such things, people sometimes didn't have any sense.

With a rueful twist of her mouth, Alicia realized she herself wasn't using much sense, wallowing in her sorrow for herself. She would get better. Her family would survive. They always had. Well... except for Fionn. Sweet angel lad. Seemed like the light of spring had dimmed, and the days grown cold again the day they put him in the ground. A grey wave of sadness washed over her thoughts once more.

Her hand reached for the door handle and swung it back. No one there. Not surprising. She squinted into the mid-morning light, eyes watering a bit from the brightness of it. That's what she told herself was the cause, anyway. With a last look from right to left she wiped the tearing away with her fingertips and looked down at the small stone step in front of the door.

"Now... wha's this?"

Bracing one hand on the doorframe, she half bent, half kneeled to pick up the small package lying there. Wrapped in a scrap of cheap brown cloth, tied with twine, it was light. An uneven shape.

"Huh." She straightened with a heavy breath, steadied herself, and closed the door to shuffle back across the room. Easing herself down into her chair, she reached for the blanket, tucked it over her legs once more and sat with the package on her lap.

Though fatigued, there was still enough curiosity in her to untie the string and pull back the thin cloth.

It was a carving of a small bird on a branch, wings outstretched as it reaches out to take flight. As she lifted the delicate piece to turn it, a bit of parchment fluttered to her lap. A hasty scrawl spelled out:

“For Jesib”

She turned her attention once more to the fine carving, turning it around, and over. There, carved into the base, the letter F.

For no reason she could understand, the tears welled forth once more, and she lay her head back against the high back of her curved rocker to weep. Barely pushing her feet against the plain floor of the cottage, she rocked in the chair that had soothed little Fionn when he was a baby... and after a time it soothed her as well. Wrung out and fatigued from just these past few minutes she fell asleep there, and dreamed of a little boy who grew into a young man and then changed into a bird, taking flight into a clear blue sky and flying far beyond sight. The small carving still lay in her lap, covered gently by her slender hand.