Brigits Flame wk 3

[riotheclown]

Title: Sage, Rosemary and Time

Author: Urb-banal

Word Count: 820

Genre: Future Historical Fiction

Warnings: I don't think so, G rating?


“Cotton will wear out. Linen or wool is better.” Martha said. Her hands were shinny from the lanolin in the wool. She worked the spinning wheel deftly.

“But my dad always said that cotton breathes better.”

“He meant compared to synthetic fabric and he was right. But we can’t grow cotton and we can’t make synthetics either so it’s linen or wool or leather.”

“I can’t dress a baby in leather!”

“Well Lady La Dee Da, we will cut down some old clothes and sew new ones for him.  But we will run out of old clothes eventually and you need to learn how to spin.”

Lady was holding Sage, her tiny new born, in her arms. She was sitting next to the iron pot bellied stove that had been inserted into the original hearth in the kitchen of the 17^th century farm house. Martha, her neighbor and the friend of Sage’s father, who had recently been murdered by an angry mob in the city was sitting on a stool in front of an old fashioned spinning wheel by the open door.  The light was streaming in and Martha was in silhouette along with the spinning wheel; the shadow of them both reaching across the hard dirt floor to Lady’s feet.

Sage, her new born, was swaddled tightly. Martha, a former nurse practitioner, was adamant about how he was to be wrapped up.

“The Native peoples of North America have proven that a cradle board will prevent sudden infant death. You wrap the new born tightly with his hands folded over his heart and he will feel secure and connected to the beating of his own heart.” Martha had told Lady.  She had shown her how to stuff the blanket with dried sphagnum moss for warmth and also to absorb urine.  Martha carefully monitored his urine, his weight, and his responses.  He seemed to be healthy, so far.

Lady thought that Martha had a great many doubts about Sage but she too worried about his future. How was a child going to ever feel secure when he learned that he was born on the day his father was murdered?

But he was perfect. Lady smiled down at the sleeping baby. She and Steven picked the name: If a boy, Sage; if a girl, Rosemary.  Steven like "Sage" because, as he explained, it would take a long life to become a venerable old "Sage" or wise man. It was an optimistic name. Lady liked the name because sage was used to improve memory. The cure for Alzheimers was a dirivetive of sage.

The light dimmed briefly and Lady looked up to see Henry, Martha’s husband, enter.  He was holding something.  “I wanted to surprise you with this on Christmas day but you surprised us with Sage’s early arrival instead…” He placed a cradle with rockers on the floor by her feet.

“I’ve had some nice cheery wood planks waiting for a special project. I don’t think you can get more special than a cradle for his Lordship himself!” Henry was smiling.

 “Oh Henry that is beautiful!” and not a cradle board, thought Lady. There were carved roses in the head board and it was stained a dark red. It rocked smoothly and had stops on the rockers to keep it from tipping.  Lady placed Sage in it and clapped and grinned before running around and throwing her arms around Henry’s neck. 

Martha clucked.

Since Steven had been killed they had all been taken up with the birth of Sage. Martha and Henry found her in the barn and brought her back to their cabin.  Martha checked her and washed and treated her with gentleness that felt tender and then did the same for Sage. Lady was a girl who loved easily and who always responded to kindness like desert flowers did to rain. Martha and Henry and Sage filled up what would have been an unbearable loss for her.

“He didn’t love me. He wouldn’t have married me. I have no right to stay here.” Lady said finally to them both, her head down, looking at Sage in the cradle.

“Where would you go? There is no place to go. The city is burning. No electricity, no communication, no water, just anarchy…” Martha was now standing over her, her arms folded in unison with her brow knotting. Henry came and stood beside her. The two old people fit together like salt and pepper. Martha was short plump, black and peppery and Henry was thin, white and salty; both were very old.

“Yeah but the anarchists are probably from my old neighborhood…”

Martha interrupted her: “And you are wrong. Steven loved you. He wasn’t good at communicating his feelings but we could tell. You belong here as much as anyone… We owe it to him to see you and Sage are safe.”

Henry put his hand on Lady’s tiny shoulder. “Martha would go crazy if you left. She’d be left with just me to boss and I’ve learned to ignore her.” He smiled. “We love you. We want you here.”

“Gee” said Lady, “My own dad never said anything as nice as that to me.”