~ Stepping Stones ~

by

Carolyn Ann Aish

One

The insulting voice bellowed again, causing everyone to pause in their various tasks for a second or two.

"Stand over there out of my way! No, not there; over there where I can see you." Lord Beric waved the back of his hand as the two girls pirouetted away from him. "There! That’ll do. Now, stay there, both of you, until I tell you to move!"

Seven-year-old Sarah clung tightly to her older sister Michela’s dress as if her life depended upon not letting go. The frightened girl hid her face in the folds of the fabric, feeling comforted by the familiar warmth and protection.

Although nearly nineteen, Michela was just as afraid as Sarah was, but in a different way. She felt she was living one of Sarah’s nightmares. Michela had never suffered a nightmare, but from Sarah’s descriptions, this was what it would be like. In numbness and confusion, Michela kept thinking, This can’t be happening; this is not happening to us!

Standing stiffly amidst the disordered activity, Michela--in her black dress--looked like a princess in mourning. Her long golden-brown hair, arranged simply around the back of her head, was perfectly in place as she fixed her blue-green eyes on the distant wall. Michela’s pale face was inscrutable; no one would have believed this chaos was her home.

Beric strode to her, rattling a bunch of keys in her face, asking, "Which is the treasury key?"

Without replying, and with trembling fingers, Michela selected the right one.

"It better be!" he said grimly, swaggering across the marble floor, his boots scuffing due to his erratic gait. Almost as wide as he was tall, his shock of brown-gray hair looked like a worn chimney brush. It perched atop a huge kettle-shaped ruddy face bristling with forests of eyebrows, nose-hair, and thick moustache. Shaven pats of round features drooped between his large ears, which again sprouted stiff thick hair from the ear-holes themselves. His wide red bulbous nose and huge protruding belly spoke of one who drank alcohol and ate rich food to excess.

Some minutes later, Michela recognized two coffers--a chest and a box--carried out of the castle to be loaded onto the carts waiting in the courtyard. Guards stood, alert, their weapons at the ready as though expecting an ambush. The coins inside the coffers were tax-monies, collected from the extensive estates surrounding the castle, taxes due to be paid to the king. The chest contained the family jewels, and the box held various articles that had been greatly valued by Michela’s father, Lord Raynor.

There was nothing Michela could do. This man, Lord Beric, while claiming to be her guardian, was taking everything of value from their home. And Michela knew she had no right of argument, either with Beric’s documents or with the considerable army that had ridden through the gates with Beric at its head.

Sarah turned to watch as valuable tapestries and vases were removed and carried outside.

"Oh, Daddy, Daddy; how could you leave us? Why did you die? You cannot help us... and we need you," the girl moaned. Tears drizzled down Sarah’s face, and without thinking, she licked them as they ebbed at the sides of her mouth.

Michela’s frayed emotions were beyond lamenting her father’s sudden death. Was it just yesterday that Lord Raynor’s horsemen had carried him from the forest and taken him in a coffin to the castle chapel where he lay in state? How unprepared she had felt for such bad news. But how can one ever be prepared for…death? Michela wondered sadly. How shocked she had been, but no tears had come. She wondered why she had not cried. I will never cry, she told herself. Our father left us in such debt to... that man... Beric. How could Father have done this to us? Why did he not tell me? How could he sign that document, giving Beric rights over Sarah and me and the castle if something unforeseen happened? Father should never have trusted a man like that... but perhaps... perhaps... I did not know my father...

Sarah gave the cry of a wounded kitten, and Michela saw that the chapel itself was being stripped of its treasures--the golden chalice and tray for communion, velvet covers and embroidered cloths, tapestries and floor-coverings.

"Oh Michela, they’re taking everything, and most of it’s going to be sold!" the girl cried.

Michela wondered what would become of their home.

"Where will the villagers go to worship?" Sarah asked.

Michela did not answer but chilled with a sudden thought. There’ll be no worship. God has forgotten us.

Beric strode to them again, his eyes bulging and his stance threatening. He sickened her but she refused to allow him to intimidate her. She had been schooled to look people in the eye.

"Right! Get yourselves outside and into the carriage…" Beric stopped mid-sentence as Sarah ran from Michela’s side to a slave who carried the large leather-bound Bible. With her hands on the beloved book, the girl tried to halt his exit. In surprise, he stood still. Laying her head on the large book, Sarah cried, "No, please! Don’t take the Bible away; please don’t sell our Bible!"

In a few ungainly strides, Beric gripped Sarah by her upper arm, twirling her around to face him. With an open hand, he slapped her full in the face, at the same time releasing her so that she fell like a rag doll across the marble flagstones. The child was still for a second or two. Sarah’s small frame convulsed, then her heart-wrenching cry drew Michela’s feet into flight toward the sister that Beric had clouted out of the way, like a clod of mud.

Snatching her sister up off of the floor, Michela enveloped her, rocking her as a mother would a wounded baby. Looking around for support and assistance, Michela remembered that all of their employees had been dismissed--forcibly ordered to leave. When Beric and his henchmen had arrived, early that morning, the horsemen and footmen were instructed that if they sought re-employment, they were to go to Beric’s castle in Clifton. The workers remaining in Rayburn Castle--inside and outside--were all Beric’s: the slaves, the servants, the footmen and the armed guards. Michela drew a ragged breath and held Sarah tightly while realizing, No one is coming to our rescue, they’re carrying on as if this treatment is normal.

"Get up!" Beric shouted, hovering over the pair, his hands on his huge hips. Michela suddenly felt afraid--the man was drooling in satisfaction from his anger! As she struggled to obey this beast that claimed to be their guardian, he reached over and wrenched Sarah from her, shouting at the hysterical child, "Shut up, or I’ll shut you up!" He raised his hand.

Michela lost her control and wrested Sarah back again, thrusting the small girl behind her skirt. Sarah, gulping and sobbing in panic, fell to the floor again.

"You will not strike my sister!" Michela said, her eyes blazing into Beric’s.

Without hesitating, Beric’s palm smacked across Michela’s cheek, and then with the same hand, he backhanded the other cheek. Although she recoiled, first one way, then the other, Michela turned her head back to face him. Raising her chin even higher, she stared at Beric in defiance. In the back of her mind, Michela told herself bitterly that he was not a man; he was a worm, with the intestines of a chicken and the self-control of a mushroom.

"Tell her to stop bawling, or I’ll have her whipped! And you too!"

Michela felt stunned, but did not take her eyes off him. She could hear Sarah’s faltering, long-drawn sobs. Threats of whipping were foreign to Michela and Sarah. The older girl thought he could not be serious.

Looking toward the door, Beric bellowed, "Get Percival! Tell him to bring his whip!"