Aldrich awoke
with a start. Sweat trickled from his
brow. Instinctively, he reached up and
placed his hand over his left eye. Then
slowly he sat up and looked around the room.
The moonlight
poured into the room through the open square window, lighting the floor. Aldrich could see his two sisters sleeping on
their pallet on the other bed in the room; Hope was nearly lying on top of her
older sister. The two boys were on a pallet
on the floor.
Aldrich put a
hand against the wall, gaining comfort from the familiar, rough boards, and lay
down again with a sigh. It had been a
dream that woke him ā the same dream that haunted him for as long as he could
remember. Voices, a flash of light and
pain, and then darkness. And he always
woke up in a cold sweat.
What did it mean?
Aldrich
remembered the time he had asked his wise friend, the old hermit, about it.
āWhat are dreams?ā Aldrich had asked.
āThat is a question that has yet to be
answered ā though many a philosopher and doctor and spiritual man have searched
the subject,ā the old man said complacently as he stirred a broth over his tiny
fireplace. Then he pattered barefoot
into the yard and loaded his arms with pieces of chopped wood. āSome say dreams are from God. Others say dreams are but the act of a
creative mind rearranging the information you have given it over your lifetime,ā
he continued, his voice sounding strained as he carried his heavy load back
into his hut and dumped it by his fireplace.
āI have a dream,ā Aldrich said,
slowly. āVoices, blinding light and
pain, darknessā¦and then I wake up.ā The
boy ducked his head. āIt frightens me.ā
The old hermit studied the boy for a
moment without saying anything. Then he
turned back to his broth. āIt may not be
a dream,ā the old man said, ābut perhaps a memory.ā
āA memory?ā Aldrich queried. āWhile I
sleep?ā
The old man stirred his broth without
looking up. āA memory,ā he
repeated. For a moment, he was silent
and the only sounds to be heard were the rhythmic sound of the spoon scraping
the bottom of the pot and the chirping of birds outside the hut. āWhat happened to your eye? The left oneā¦the
one that is white,ā the old man asked.
Aldrichās hand went self-consciously to
his face. āItās blind,ā he answered in a
low tone.
āWhat happened?ā the old man repeated,
still stirring his broth.
Aldrich shook his head. āI donāt remember,ā he said.
āOr maybe you do,ā the old man said,
lifting his eyes to meet the boyās.
Aldrichās eyes opened wide at this
thought. He had never considered the
possibility before.
The old man lifted the spoon to his lips,
blowing across the hot liquid until it had cooled. Then he sampled it, nodding and smacking his
lips in satisfaction. For a moment, the
boy wondered if the old man had ended his talk, but then the old man spoke one
more time.
āThereās no need to fear it,ā he
said. āLet the dream comeā¦and see what
else you remember.ā
The dream still
came with a sense of terror, but Aldrich found that it ended when he
awoke. He was no longer afraid of the
dream itself, but he was no closer to finding out what it meant. The voices in the dream were blurred so that
he could not understand the words. And
the dream was too short to afford many other clues. Aldrich rubbed his forehead fitfully and
rolled onto his stomach.
Sleep refused to
return to Aldrich. He lay quietly until
a purplish hue in the east began to erase the stars from the sky. Then he quickly pulled his clothes on and
stepped over his sleeping brothers. If
he got his chores done early, there would be time for lessons with the old hermit
this morning.
Ducking under the
curtain that covered his doorway, Aldrich stepped into the tiny kitchen. His mother was already up, quietly gathering
breakfast preparations. She smiled at
him and motioned for him not to wake his brothers and sisters. He nodded and smiled in return, pointing out
the door. She nodded, tucking her red
hair behind her ears and wiping her hands on her apron.
Outside, Aldrich
sucked the cool air into his lungs. He
loved the forest life. Already it was
coming alive. Birds were chirping. Aldrichās dove pigeons were cooing. After breakfast, his brothers and sisters would
feed the dove pigeons and gather their eggs to sell at market. Aldrich shouldered an axe and walked to the
woodpile.
The little woods-cow
leaned her head over the side of her small pen and lowed a greeting. She would calf soon and would remain in her
pen until she did. It wasnāt safe to let
her wander deeper into the forest to have her baby.
Aldrich set a log
upright and lifted his axe over his head.
He was a tall boy for his eleven years.
He would never be as big of a man as his papa, but a life of work had
put muscles on his young form. He swung
the axe down with confidence, splitting the log in two. His mop of roughly cut dark hair fell across
his face as he bent to set his split log upright. Then he raised his axe over his head and
swung again.
When he had
split enough, Aldrich lifted his load and carried wood back to the house. As he put the axe back in its place, he
overheard his parents talking inside the kitchen.
āI donāt like him
spending so much time with the hermit,ā Papa growled.
Mama made no
response, but Aldrich could hear her setting wooden plates on the small table.
āThe fewer people
we have contact with the better,ā Papa continued. āAnd whatās he going to do with booklearning? Itās asking for trouble, thatās what.ā
Aldrich heard the
rattle of the big spoon against the pot as Mama poured porridge into each plate.
āIf we get caught
over thisā¦ā Papa said, raising his voice.
āWe wonāt get
caught,ā Mamaās soft voice interposed.
Her footsteps crossed the floor, and Aldrich knew she had gone to her
husbandās side. āWeāre safe here ā you know
that.ā For a moment, it was quiet in the
kitchen. Then Mama spoke again, her
voice as muffled as if her cheek was pressed against her husbandās shirt. āI feel like we owe it to him,ā she said
wistfully. āAfter all, we were a part of
bringing him to this world.ā
āWe didnāt have
much of a choice,ā Papa retorted, but he sounded in much better humor than
before. Aldrich breathed a sigh of
relief, knowing that, for the moment, his lessons with the hermit would
continue.
āGet the rest of
the children up, Mama ā daylightās wasting,ā Papa ordered. Then he raised his voice, āBoys! On your feet!ā
Aldrich stomped
his feet against the threshold and ducked inside the hut with his load of wood. His mama smiled at him.
āHurry up! Breakfast is getting cold,ā Papa said,
sitting down at the small table.
The younger
children stumbled out of the tiny bedroom in various stages of sleepiness. Only a year younger than Aldrich, Patience
alone emerged with her golden hair combed. Justin, Jacob, and little Hope all had tousled
hair and sleepy eyes, but the sight of breakfast brought them to life quickly.
āMind your
manners, Jacob!ā Patience scolded, as her 7-year-old brother lifted a spoonful
of steaming porridge to his lips. āPapa
hasnāt said the blessing yet.ā
āI was only
smelling it,ā Jacob protested, squirming hungrily in his seat.
āHeavenly Lord
and Father, we thank Thee for Thy many blessings,ā Papa prayed as every head
bowed. āAmen.ā
For several
minutes after the prayer, the only sound was the sound of eating. Papa finished first and pushed his chair back
from the table.
āJustin, I
promised the Georges you would have that harness mended by noon today. Iāll take it to him after lunch. Jacob, you might as well start your planting
without your brother since he has to finish the harness. Patience, help your mother,ā Papa assigned as
he pulled his boots on and plopped his hat on his coarse blonde hair. āAldrich, tell the hermit you wonāt see him
next week. Theyāve called for all able
bodies to do the planting for the town.
There will be a few shillings in it for us, and Lord knows we need them.ā
āYes, Papa,ā the
children chorused.
āMe?ā Hope
pleaded. Her name had not been mentioned
in her papaās list, and she didnāt like it.
A smile tugged at
the corner of Papaās mouth and he bent over and kissed the top of her tousled
red hair. āHope, be good,ā he said, and
she was content.
![]() |
If she were wearing a peasant girl dress, this might be Hope. via Pinterest |
Comments
Post a Comment