Page 2 of Finding Her Luck
Her sisters had never understood her. They had all the good luck in life. Able to avoid breaking their favorite dishes, stains on their new dresses, tears in their layered skirts, and loose threads in their sleeves. They could can fruit and beans into clean jars without dropping them, sew pretty things without knotting the yarn, walk into town without falling once.
They had all the proper accomplishments of farm wives. Plus, an impressive skill in doling out shortcomings with compliments. When they had their friends over for tea, she heard them do so with such ease that no one even noticed.
Corrin took a bite of her fish. She eyed her sisters and their husbands. They weren't trying to make her miserable; they were miserable people. She knew, from what Nanny had said, from the sounds she heard in the night, and her sisters’ faces in the morning, that there was no joy in their marriages.
Their men were decent, humorless farmers, who thought like old men long before gaining their twentieth year. Kate and Beth had raced to their marriage beds because that was what all the village women did. Everyone knew an early marriage proposal was lucky.
Nanny also said yes to her first marriage proposal. She told Corrin the story. Older, wiser, with fat fists like autumn hams, Nanny's first husband declared to his chosen bride that she was lucky to have a good man like himself.
In spite of his pronouncement, Nanny's first marriage, like
Kate's and Beth's, found no joy.
If Corrin shed her bad luck, it would come from her husband and a happy marriage. He would love her, wildly love her, the way Grandfather loved Nanny. He was a man who stayed with his wife, devoted himself to her and gave her pleasure. No one sang songs about him or told stories about Grandfather and Nanny around the campfire, but they had loved and laughed and worked together for twenty-five years. They'd made each other happy.
Corrin wanted that too. And her man would not smell like pig manure.
*
Corrin woke in the dark of the next morning, well before the sun came up. She dressed in her raggedy fishing clothes, hurrying to get out of the house before one of her sisters could stop her and demand she change and stay home to face Barthollo.
There were still stars in the sky when she grabbed her gear and pulled her light coracle into the river. The round boat had been her grandfather's. She was the only one in the family who could use it without getting dumped into the water.
Depending on the time of year, there were the noises of bugs, birds, and frogs to call to the morning Child and sing him awake. The Mother and the Father moons, with their full faces, liked to glare down balefully with eyes of silver, annoyed by the revelry. Everyone knew that once a child was awake, there was no putting him back to bed again until he was good and ready.
Early morning was the best time of the day. The Mother and Father had to make room for the Child, with his bright head of gold hair, popping up on the horizon to chase his hounds across the sky. The exchange of colors on the horizon never failed to leave her breathless. And she always felt it a relief to have the Mother and Father-dour and watchful, the cause of her curse and drain of her luck-tucked away and out of sight.
Seated in her round boat on her knees, Corrin had just set her net when she heard a noise. A splash in the river that could be a happy trout. When she turned her head, she saw a flatbottom boat sluicing quietly toward her. She counted ten heads and ten sets of wide, mannish shoulders.
Not fishermen, then.
This was her part of the river by silent agreement with the village, like it had been her grandfather's. Locals wouldn't trespass, and if they drifted her way by accident, it would be in a single person craft like her own.
These were men of ill intent. Raiders.
Blasted evil luck.
A month ago, a rogue band of men had attacked and taken over a village up north on the river. Some said they were mercenaries and ex-soldiers, without a general to lead them or a war to fight. With no place of their own, they took over the 'humble life' settlement rather than settle into it kindly, the way normal people did. Rumors on the river said they killed all the able men, married the village head's daughter, drank all the ale and wine. With no regard for winter or hard work, they ate all the food in storage. Which was the worst offense of all.
And now, they were looking at the easy pickings of the river.
She had forgotten all about the danger.
Corrin had her boat, her nets, and a small knife. Dropping the net in the water, fast and silent, she tried to sneak away before they saw her. She felt as small as a turtle. She must have the advantage.
Blue lightened the sky on the horizon, but the Child's sunny head hadn't yet peeked above the tree line. Great shadows unevenly blanketed the river from trees and brush. The Mother and Father hid their faces in conversation behind the clouds, an old couple up in the sky arguing about Corrin's fate. What would they choose this time? It was dark and hard to see. The best time for good fishing. Or good raiding. Or good hiding.
She counted her strokes with her heartbeat, moving to the shore. Her grandfather's coracle had never moved as blessedly silent. Doing as Grandfather had taught her, Corrin's paddle entered and exited the water without a splash or drip, slicing neatly. No sloppy choppy for her.
She was almost there. Almost there. And then her paddle hit something, a branch creating a loud, echoing thump.
By the moons, no. Not now. The circumstances were ripe for a good escape, a chance to reach the shore and shout the alarm. But blasted moons. They'd done it again. Were they up there laughing about her curse behind their cloudy hands?
The sound was distinct. The raiders heard it.
She heard a call, "Ho, there!" They spotted her reaching the shore.
The chase was quick and anticlimactic. Never clumsy with the boat before, Corrin tripped and stumbled out of it. Water and mud up to her knees. Her feet caught in her other net and her knife flew off into the bushes from her hand. The sound of it hitting water and sinking ten times as loud and echoing above the shouts of men behind her. Rushing her.
