Dreamwalker's Bride - Chapter 13

A gentle awakening
Anaisa woke with a shiver, the cool fingers of morning seeping in around the edges of the thick quilt.

It was nearly dawn.

She’d never slept so well. Her normal nightmares had begun the night, but strangely dissipated, leaving her with a vague, peaceful dream of a gently flowing stream shaded by large, green trees. Her nightmares had returned at the very end, waking her up in a state of fright, like she did most every day.

The respite through the middle was an anomaly, and she didn’t know what to make of it.

Rubbing her eyes, she looked around. They widened as she recalled where she was. Married!

Anaisa froze in place, listening for movement on the other side of the blanket that hung like a frail wall across the middle of the home. There was not a sound.

Silently, she sat up and retrieved her dress, quickly washing her face and hands in the basin at the head of the bed and dressing. She was to meet Trace’s family today, and go into town for supplies.

If he remembered she was there!

She took a few short steps and peeked around the edge of the blanket, wondering if she could sneak around him to go use the outhouse.

A military bedroll lay disheveled on the floor, empty.

He’d woken up earlier than she had and left, then. Perhaps chores?

She frowned, wishing he’d been loud enough to rouse her so that she didn’t appear to be lazy. After all, one of the only good traits she’d claimed for herself was being a hard worker.

Quickly, she stoked the fire, made the bed, put away the bedroll, and took down the hanging blanket so that the home would be easier to move around in without ducking every time she crossed the room. She heard no rain this morning, so the storm must have passed in the night.

The light from the window began to brighten, and Anaisa tidied the rest of the home and cooked a quick breakfast over the fire.

She was certain that Trace must be out doing chores, so she set the meal on the table and decided to slip out for a private moment. She could delay her need of the outhouse no longer.

The farm looked different in the early morning light. She hadn’t gotten to see anything before the storm the day before. Her eyes located the barn, a pen for sheep, a pasture for horses and cattle, and flat, even fields beyond.

There was so much… space. The times she and Katia had snuck out of their home, the city had seemed crowded and filled with the press of humanity. The breeze that blew here smelled of animals, certainly, but there was a freshness to it, a boundless quality.

Rousing from her reverie, she made use of the outhouse and walked back to the house, breathing deeply of the rain-cleansed air in the openness of the world.

Was it too open? In the city, though it was crowded, there were always others. Servants, or strangers. Always someone to hear you. Perhaps not help you, but at least notice that something was happening. Out here, Anaisa could not see another person. Where was Trace?

She found him, to her mild surprise, in the house. He stood in the middle of the room staring at the empty bed. He turned slightly when she returned, anxiety plainly giving way to relief on his face.

“I thought… you may have left,” He admitted. “When you weren’t here.”

“I told you I would work hard,” She frowned, feeling defensive. “I made you breakfast and cleaned, and you thought I would just leave without any real idea of where I am or how far the next farm is?”

She’d made those considerations yesterday. Trace paused and considered her for a moment before he spoke again.

“You seemed to not like being in debt to others. The thought crossed my mind that you would have cleaned and cooked a meal as a kind of payment for being provided a safe bed for the night.”

Anaisa pursed her lips. Had that been her decision, she certainly would have found some way to pay him back for the use of his home, but probably nothing that would have delayed her departure long enough to risk her capture.

“Breakfast will get cold,” She changed the subject and handed him the plate, electing to eat out of the cookpot this time.

Trace sniffed deeply and took it, wolfing down the simple fare as if it were one of the most delicious things he’d ever had.

“Thank you,” He said belatedly, around a mouthful. “This is a great meal to start the day.”

“Your day started before mine,” She tilted her head. “Is there so much to do before sunrise?”

“Milk the cows, get the eggs, feed the animals, the basics. I also did most of the daily chores already since we’ll be gone to town for much of it.” His eating paused as he explained, but then resumed at full speed when he was finished.

“Which of those chores am I to learn?” She asked next, trying to picture what each of those tasks might look like in her head, but falling short. She did want to earn her keep adequately before leaving.

“Getting the eggs is easy, but you might need to get the chickens used to you,” Trace’s chewing slowed. “I can teach you to milk the cows, but don’t do it without me until you’re comfortable. The feeding… perhaps some, but not everybody. I also don’t want to overwhelm you by showing you everything all at once. Even what you’ve done in here makes a difference.”

“In here?” She asked.

“Cleaning. I didn’t think much of it, but it’s very different walking into a clean house than a messy one, especially when it smells so good.” He grinned and took another bite.

Anaisa frowned, but he didn’t seem to notice. He was entirely too complimentary of her, and it put her on edge a little bit. Why was he going out of his way to be kind? She hadn’t done much in this room, simply a few minutes’ work. It looked better, certainly, but she hadn’t even expected him to notice.

Her father had certainly never taken note of anything she accomplished.

But Trace wasn’t like her father. Not at all. He was an odd creature that she could not figure out, but certainly couldn’t ignore. Perhaps she might need to get away from him sooner rather than later so that she didn’t get terribly attached. A poor, farmer husband might be inconvenient when she got her fortune returned to her.

“When do we leave?” She put the question to him as he scraped his plate clean.

“Now, if you’re ready,” He said. “The army didn’t pay me awfully well, but I should have more than enough to get what we need.”

Anaisa nodded, some guilt creeping in over the fact that she had no money to contribute to the household. She should have fairly vast wealth at her disposal, and as her husband, he would have been entitled to a sizeable dowry, as well as a title to match hers.

She came with nothing, but he seemed satisfied anyway.

Trace led her out to the barn, where a simple wagon was sheltered from the weather and several animals were housed.

A cat, orange and fluffy, mewed at her and approached.

“Oh!” Anaisa froze. Cats were mean, hissing animals that often carried dead mice in their teeth. They were never allowed inside the house as their housekeeper had hated them. She told the girls they were dangerous, but Katia had always secretly suspected the woman of lying.

The orange animal trotted up to Trace and wound around his legs. To Anaisa’s utter shock, he leaned down to pet its head and speak to it.

The cat leaned into the man’s attention, making a loud sort of grumbling grinding noise.

“This is Scruffles, or Scruffs, whatever you want to call her,” Trace said.

“This cat has a name?” The woman asked, her surprise increasing every second. The city was nothing like this.

“She keeps vermin from the barn. You can pet her if you like, but she mostly keeps to herself.”

Anaisa looked into his eyes to try to gauge whether he was joking or not. He didn’t seem to be. A farm was an extremely odd place!

Slowly, she knelt down like Trace had, imitating his posture.

“She’s not dangerous?” Anaisa asked to make certain.

The man laughed out loud. “Only to mice.”

She held out one hand toward the creature, and Scruffles extended her nose. Anaisa tensed, ready to snatch her hand back if she was about to be bitten, but the cat merely sniffed her before leaning the side of her face into Anaisa’s hand.

Delicately, the woman stroked fur that was softer than anything she’d ever felt in her life. The strange noise seemed to coincide with a vibration emanating from Scruffles’ throat.

“What’s she doing?”

“She’s purring,” Trace smiled. “It means she likes you.”