The Grey Dawn Read online

  The Grey Dawn

  By Stacey DeMichael

  The Grey Dawn © by Stacey DeMichael 2017

  This book is a copyrighted work, and as such all rights are reserved. No part of this publication may be eaten by giant slavering wolf-dogs, reproduced, transmitted, copied, or stolen by any individual, group, or organization by any means or methods currently known or hither forth created, without written permission from the author. The only exception is short quotes used in reviews of the book.

  This is a work of fiction. No characters, scenes, dialogue, or events within the story should be understood as real. Any resemblance to real people, places, events, or conversations is coincidental and beyond the scope of this work and the author’s intent. No horses, knights, wolves, or beastly nobility were injured in the making of this story.

  Cover Design: SelfPubBookCovers.com/AfterTen

  This book is dedicated to Sir James, my own knight in shining armor.

  Psalm 23

  Romans 8:28

  Matthew 6:26

  Contents

  The Grey Dawn

  Chapter One: Running and Wheezing

  Chapter Two: A Tale for a Tankard

  Chapter Three: Over the Edge

  Chapter Four: Deep into Darkness

  Chapter Five: The Liar Thief

  Chapter Six: The Cursed Castle

  Chapter Seven: The Dungeon

  Chapter Eight: Salt and Light

  Chapter Nine: The Midnight Visitor

  Chapter Ten: The Beast Within

  Chapter Eleven: The Picture Bird

  Chapter Twelve: The Disappearing Stranger

  Chapter Thirteen: The Promise

  Chapter Fourteen: The New Potato Peeler

  Chapter Fifteen: The Whipping Post

  Chapter Sixteen: A Collection of Sinners

  Chapter Seventeen: Stoned Hope

  Chapter Eighteen: The Sword, the Skillet, and the Silent Strike

  Chapter Nineteen: More Bad News

  Chapter Twenty: Gifts, Blame, and an Invitation

  Chapter Twenty-One: Coercion

  Chapter Twenty-Two: Hope Abandoned

  Chapter Twenty-Three: Reinforcements

  Chapter Twenty-Four: The Thief in the Wood and the Sole Defender

  Chapter Twenty-Five: Into the Unknown

  Chapter Twenty-Six: Stubborn and Stupid

  Chapter Twenty-Seven: Shackled and Beaten

  Chapter Twenty-Eight: Anywhere but the Manor

  Chapter Twenty-Nine: Search, Seizure, and Unforced Confessions

  Chapter Thirty: A Squire, a Bride, and a Wife and a Half

  About the Author:

  Chapter One: Running and Wheezing

  The autumn sun glinted off the radiant yellow, red, and orange leaves offering one last breath of warmth before the leaves fell to the gales of winter’s reign. However, it was not the change in weather that put a spring in Ellalee’s step; it was the angry man chasing her. Ellalee stifled the burble of laughter that rose in her throat as she glanced back. She wasn’t even out of breath as her long strides carried her up the dirt path that cut across the side of a hill through the edge of the Wyndale Woods away from town and, more importantly, away from the furious man giving chase. Ellalee loved the feeling of freedom boy’s clothes gave her. Her bare feet pounding, unencumbered by the confines of her ratty old leather shoes.

  Glancing again over her shoulder, she saw that the man’s face was apple red, and his nose positively glowed. The baker was beginning to stumble now. She rolled her eyes and pushed her legs faster. How far was this baker willing to give chase over one lousy loaf of bread? His shouts were reduced to short bursts interspersed with puffing and wheezing which were getting lost in the distance she continued to put between them as she sprinted up the dirt trek. At the top of the rise, she looked back once more over her shoulder and saw that the baker had finally stopped and hunched over his knees, pinching his side. She laughed out loud and kicked out more distance between them. Ellalee could hear the baker snarl at her merriment. Perhaps if he didn’t eat so much of his own bread, he might be in better shape. The better for me that he does, she thought jauntily.

  She careened into her cottage, tossed the bread to her younger brother who crutched over to the hearth, yanked out a stone, stuffed the bread into a small alcove, and then quickly replaced the stone. Without breaking stride, Ellalee ran to Daniella helping her younger sister yank the old puke-green nursemaid’s dress over her head to cover the knickers and shirt as she simultaneously stuffed her feet back into her old kickers. As soon as the dress was over her head, Daniella began assiduously buttoning the buttons up the back as Ellalee ripped off the cap allowing her long chestnut braid to fall down to her waist. Ellalee used the cap to scrub the dirt from her face that camouflaged her more delicate facial features. Between the two young women, no words were exchanged as their fingers flew. A bead of perspiration popped out on Daniella’s forehead. Ellalee finished scrubbing and once more wiped her brow on the hat which had so recently hidden her hair before tossing it onto the rocker and collapsing down on top of it. She snatched up her sewing, found her place, and winked at her brother just as the door reverberated from the pounding of the bellowing merchant.

  Ellalee bit her lips. It was difficult not to giggle with that feeling of euphoria, which only those who’ve completed mischief and stand just a hair from its realization, feel. The stoic, fair-haired Daniella glowered at her momentarily, turned, steeled her shoulders, and opened the wooden door to an overweight, overwrought baker.

  “I know that scamp went this way,” he wheezed as he pushed through the door causing Daniella to stumble backwards. “There he is. I’d recognize you anywhere, I would. It’s off to the gaoler for you, lad. You’ve robbed me for the last time!”

  “Oh, for pity’s sake!” Ellalee said disgustedly without moving from her rocker lest she reveal the hat tucked under her. “Are you telling me that you chased a crippled ten-year-old all this way, and he beat you? Do come over here and tell us all how you achieved this marvel, Christopher.”

  Dutifully, Christopher picked up his crutch making a great display of discoordination as he hobbled over to the hearth rug. Unlike Daniella’s fair hair and grey eyes, Christopher shared Ellalee’s coloring with chestnut hair and blue eyes, though his eyes were a lighter blue than Ellalee’s sapphire ones.

  “Show the nice man your leg.”

  The man had the courtesy to wince when Christopher pulled up his pant leg showing the ill-healed leg from a horrible break the year prior. Ellalee knew it twisted Christopher’s heart when he had to showcase his mangled leg, but as his sisters did their part so he must do his.

  The man looked around the room for another boy roughly the same size.

  “Search the house if you like, there is no one here but us.”

  It didn’t take long for the baker to search the two rooms of their dilapidated cottage, and still he grumbled unconvinced. “I know that boy came this way.”

  “Search again. Search the grounds. I doubt you’ll find anyone here but the three of us here, sir. The boy you are looking for must have run past because we have seen no strangers,” Ellalee said completing her next stitch. “I have heard tell about thieves in the Wyndale Wood….”

  The baker looked momentarily indecisive and then gave Ellalee a speculative look so she hurried on, “Should we see a lad resembling Christopher, with two good legs that is, we will promptly come and tell you.”

  The baker, perhaps partially mollified or perhaps disillusioned with his hope of capturing the small thief, grunted and left.

  Daniella closed the door and leaned heavily against it blowing out a breath that made her golden hair feather up around her face. Christopher watched circu
mspectly from the window.

  “He’s gone,” he whispered after a few moments.

  “You grow careless, El. You led him right to our door. Had you not thought to sit on the hat, he may have had us.”

  “Or smelled the bread.” Christopher’s mouth watered.

  “I keep us fed, not every day, but most.”

  “We can’t keep this up,” Daniella replied. “Soon Christopher will grow taller than you, and no one will fall for this shell game. We need a real solution.”

  “I’d be happy for you to suggest something rather than just complain. We sold our home, our animals, our furnishings, our books, and most of our clothes to make it through the last three years. I take in as much laundry as the two of us can wash each week for the pittance that it gives us, which is never enough. I have no dowry and no hope of a good match, certainly no hope of saving one for you, Daniella, when you come of age next year.” Ellalee closed her eyes and rubbed her temples as she reflected back on the last three years.

  When their merchant father had not returned from sea after six months, they assumed he was merely delayed. By nine months, they had laid off some of the staff to stretch the funds until their father’s return. But after a year had passed without word, economies had to be taken. Ellalee was forced to let the rest of the staff go as well. By the time fifteen months had passed, Ellalee and her siblings held a memorial for their father, and following that, they began to sell possessions.

  After a year and a half, Ellalee began writing letters for aid. Blinded by her own suffering, she hadn’t completely realized their family’s newly acquired status as persona non grata until she began asking for assistance from her father’s former friends. A couple families responded that they would consider employing Ellalee as a governess, but did not offer consideration for her siblings. Daniella and Christopher would have to try to find employment elsewhere, and Ellalee realized that if she accepted this fate, she and her two siblings would be separated, very likely, forever. After horribly and grudgingly accepting the certainty of her father’s demise, Ellalee refused to consider any outcome that separated their small family further.

  She began reaching out to her father’s business associates, and found that there were no jobs for young women, even those who could read, write, and perform basic accounting, certainly none she would consider. The only sliver of hope came from a letter written out of desperation to the tavern keeper in Bressott, Tate O’Neill.

  Old Tate, as Ellalee’s father had most often called him, had six children of his own and couldn’t take on any more, but promised an introduction for Ellalee at the baron’s estate and would personally vouch for her so that she could secure employment. It wasn’t the best offer they’d had. It was the only offer they’d had that kept them together. Packing only what they could carry and carefully sewing the small remaining funds they had into the hem of Ellalee’s cloak, the three siblings walked for nearly a week from their home in Blackpool to arrive in the small hamlet of Bressott.

  Old Tate had fed them when they arrived out of pure God-given grace and, true to his word, quickly secured Ellalee an introduction to Mistress Bane, the housekeeper at the baron’s estate. He also gave them directions to an abandoned cottage on the far edge of town that sat on the edge of the Wyndale Wood. The cottage, from Old Tate’s story, formerly belonged to a now-deceased woodcutter.

  Ellalee had felt incredibly blessed when she and her sister became laundresses for the manor, so grateful were they for the work. To add to their good fortune, Christopher, soon also found work helping out with the horses at the McCarthy’s farm. They also found the abandoned woodcutter’s cottage. It was in utter disrepair, and the roof was gone. According to Old Tate, no one had wanted the place because the last inhabitants died of some horrific pestilence, and the cottage was now considered somewhere between contaminated by plague or plagued by spirits. The tale varied by who told the story and their aim in the telling at Old Tate’s tavern. But Ellalee figured that cleaned up, it was their best option regardless of spirit or plague, and truly, if she pondered at any length, the rundown cottage was their only option given their lack of funds.

  They repaired the door, put thick burlap over the windows, and worked diligently over several weeks of evenings thatching the roof. Having never done this type of work themselves before, they found that it was harder than they anticipated, and to this day, the door jammed into place and the roof leaked. But, overall, the cottage seemed safe, was relatively dry, and gave the three a semblance of home. For the first few months, the siblings lived in fear that any day, someone would come and drive them from this place, but after half a year, they relaxed then relinquished their vigil for strangers coming to evict them.

  Even with all three of them working, Ellalee soon came to realize that at the best they existed on subsistence living, hand to mouth, barely making ends meet. Mistress Bane usually found reasons to keep part of their promised pay, but with Christopher’s wages from the McCarthy’s where he worked as a barn boy, the three siblings managed to eke by day in and day out, sharing their evening meal by the fire and their stories from the day. It wasn’t the grand living they’d had before, but still together, somehow, it was enough.

  After Christopher’s injury coupled with the on-going villainy from Mistress Bane, their lives had quickly spiraled into desperation. Circumstances created three waifs starving each day hoping only for their next bite of food. It wasn’t many weeks following Christopher’s accident at the McCarthy’s barn that Ellalee stole for the first time. The guilt had plagued her so severely she had trouble sleeping from either the fear of discovery or the remorse of breaking one of the ten rules Christians are asked to keep. Somehow, over time, the stealing became easier, especially as starvation took up permanent residence in their humble abode.

  Ellalee looked up from her bleak reverie and frowned as she saw Cristopher looking guiltily at the floor. Ellalee blinked rapidly. It wasn’t Christopher’s fault that since the injury, no one would hire the boy. After all, who would hire a cripple when so many whole boys needed work? No one could afford to be generous, except maybe the baron, and she’d seen firsthand how tightly he pinched a penny. Christopher seemed to view himself as simply a mouth that needed feeding though he would help put the clothes on the line which, even he realized, was hardly help at all.

  Daniella sighed and shook her head, her lips thin, and her gray eyes downcast.

  “I know it is wrong to steal,” Ellalee conceded with lackluster conviction.

  “We are only given ten little rules,” Daniella said. “It is amazing how often we break them.”

  “Let’s eat the evidence and start on the laundry. It looks like rain,” Ellalee said trudging into the other room to grab the basket of dirty clothes.

  It didn’t take long to finish the one loaf of bread between the three of them. Daily bread, indeed. It would have been nice to save a few pieces for tomorrow, but as they hadn’t eaten yesterday either, they found it hard to stop. Tomorrow, Ellalee would be paid and they’d have food, for a couple of days at least, even if Mistress Bane took her, now customary, share of their promised pay.

  They took the basket of laundry outside. Ellalee filled the cauldron from their rain barrel and lit a fire beneath with a firebrand from the fireplace. Then she used the posser to beat the dirt out of the clothes before putting the garments into the cauldron to let them soak. Each garment was pulled out with a washing bat and scrubbed on a washing board with strong lye soap that made Ellalee’s skin red, sore, and cracked.

  “Feather pillows,” Ellalee said as she scrubbed the breeches in her hand.

  “Fine leather shoes,” Daniella sighed as she rinsed the clothes and wrung the water from garments twisting each item in her now strong hands. “I don’t know why we play this game. I think it makes things worse when we think about all we lost. Depressing really.”

  “If I can’t have the real thing, I can at least have the memory. No one can take those. In fact,
I think the saddest thing in the world would be losing the memory,” Ellalee replied evenly. “With a strong imagination, I can actually remember the feeling of that feather pillow.” Ellalee winked at Christopher.

  "Meat!” suggest Christopher. He took each item from Daniella, careful not to let the garment hang low enough for the wet hem to catch the dirt. He straightened each clothing over the line trying his best to lay each item very straight to keep it from wrinkling.

  “Always thinking with your stomach,” Ellalee said with a wry smile. “Books! After missing Papa, I might actually miss reading the most.”

  “Mincemeat pies,” Christopher added.

  “Ribbons for my hair,” Daniella sighed.

  “Melted butter on my bread.” Christopher was just getting going.

  Ellalee’s heart felt suddenly heavy. She looked down at the washing board so that Christopher couldn’t see the pain in her eyes. His body would be growing far faster if Ellalee could keep food in the house for all three of them. Tomorrow, she vowed, she would see if she could buy some meat. Maybe Christopher’s leg would strengthen if he had the proper food. Meat was expensive. Doubtless they would either have to starve or steal by week’s end.

  The rain came that evening, but not before they had the clothes off the line. A cool breeze before the rain had saved their day’s work. Each item was folded to be returned on the morrow. Christopher built up and stoked the fire that vaguely kept their little cottage warm through the night from dead fall Daniella collected in the Wyndale Wood.

  Ellalee stared at the thatched ceiling long after she had laid down to go to sleep, agonizing over the day’s events as she watched the rain drip through the cracks and crevices, hoping it didn’t pool enough to soak her pallet. In the dim light of the fire, she could see the outlines of her siblings and listened for a moment to Christopher’s soft breathing and Daniella’s restless turning.

  God bless Christopher, she thought. I think he believes he will not live and so no matter how awful the day’s events, it is one more day alive and therefore a day redeemed, a very tangible reason to be thankful.