Chatty and lively, the man started talking to my husband, word by word, extracting our story from him. Enoch didn't seem to care that the story we created to avoid talking about the black death was wobbly.
Atti was often contradicting his own words. It was painful to hear how he tried to come up with the reason we were looking for a new home in the middle of winter. But I pushed away any thought of interrupting or intruding in the conversation.
I only noticed that I was copying the other woman's behavior when we stopped. The old looking house was almost at the opposite end of the settlement. The change was very subtle, but I was following my husband one step behind and stopped at the same time as the men did.
Over the years, I moved a lot. Growing disapproval of witches forced me out of my hometown ten years ago, after my mom died. Since then, I met Atti, got two kids and had to move six times. Sudden death of a cow, unknown disease of the local sweetheart, chicken stopped nesting, the list goes on and on,- somehow it was all my fault. Bit by bit I learned to fit in, disguise.
Enoch was showing us the inside of the abandoned kitchen. Many items, like an oven fork, old cutlery and linen, were still in place, as if owners left in a rush.
"Ok, let's leave them to their staff," Enoch nodded at me and the women-still-to-be-introduced, "I'll show you the smithery."
"Ok, settle in, my dove. I'll be back to help soon."
Atti nodded, and I caught a disapproving gaze of Enoch. What's his problem?
As men left, I put my heavy bags on the dirty but solid looking table and helped Arlene to get on the bench. She was blinking slower and slower, and would fall asleep at any moment now. We left the previous village weeks ago. But she was still so used to her mid-day naps.
Looking around, I realized that Atti took Art with him. That boy needed his rest, too.
My eyes stumbled upon Enoch's wife. The woman was still as a statue, frozen in the middle of the room where Enoch left her. Blank expression made her youthful face look even younger, almost childlike. Cold gust from the open door waved the fabric of her dress and sent shivers down hands.
I swallowed, clearing my throat. Would she even reply if I talk to her? Maybe she was numb?
"Hi, my name is Airic. What's yours?"
"I am Elisa," she drawled, as if awakening from a sleep. "I will explain to you the schedule: wake up early, men and kids should be fed at sunrise. Pastor expects them at the prayer every Sunday. Kids four to twelve should be at school after prayer ends. You have no food put aside for the winter, so Enoch will send you to the houses that need help. They will share food with you. Shops are on Clower street, left from the plaza. Laundry once a week, at the river house. I will come and get you in when it's time..."
This was the first time I heard someone talk this way. Short, stubby phrases and not a sign of emotion, no opinions, just… instruction? She was so... dead inside. I would suspect that she was a golem if her skin wouldn't be so human looking. It did look weird, though. But I wasn't in the mood for investigation. Especially when I had to keep my magic at bay, so the pastor wouldn't feel it.
"I am very grateful that you are hosting us in the time of hardship, Elisa. Is there anything that I should know about the settlement? How is life here? Are there any unspoken rules? Any interesting gossip?"
"Pastor is very kind. Obey his word, and you will become a valuable part of the Sun Congregation."
We stood for a moment in silence. Then she looked around, as if trying to remember where she was. Then she started helping me to clean the house. The woman swept the floors while I brought some water from the well at the end of the street. Together, we washed the windows, tables and floors removing the thick layer of dust. I kept glancing at Elisa. She was working tirelessly.
I was starting a fire on the stove when I got started with a thump. Elisa dropped the wicker basket with dirty linen in the middle of the room, right where she was standing, and turned to the door.
My eyes followed the direction she was looking. Only now I heard men laughing and saying their goodbyes on the porch. Enoch and my husband must have returned.
Elisa slipped out of the door and I saw her falling behind Enoch, right on his hills. She left without even looking at me.
I rubbed my arms, trying to get rid of the shivers before picking up the basket to move it out of the way.
"Oh, my dear dove. This is the luckiest day of our lives! I will show you the smithery later. Can you imagine: the previous smith was trading with Assen! Their merchant still comes to the village regularly. He is a good friend of a pastor. We'll be in clover!"
Аtti kept marveling at our luck while I helped Art settle near Arlene. My gut disagreed with Atti. But I couldn't think of anywhere else to go, so I kept quiet. And focused on cooking some dinner out of the produce that villagers left for us in the cold room for dinner.
Only at night, when kids were sound asleep, and I laid by Atti on the straw mattress, I asked my husband,
"You didn't notice anything suspicious about Enoch's or his wife's behavior? This village doesn't seem weird to you?"
"Stop worrying, Ari. We'll survive this winter. That is all that matters. Besides, Enoch is a great lad. You will get used to this place."
I sighed and stared at the wooden ceiling until a heavy, fuggy sleep pulled me into its whirlpool.
***
Our previous town was affluent. People there were showboating on the verge of being vulgar. They drenched houses in flowers and herbs: roses, lilies, lavender, sage, elderflower... All for the nearby Lord. In the summer, the heavy smell of jasmine would knock you out in seconds.
And celebrations. Those people loved to celebrate. Every weekend someone's house was decorated with colorful fabric. Music and smells were reaching to the other end of the town. Kids loved the place.
It must be due to the abundance of the previous life that Slotem seemed so dreadful. And it was not only about the smells, colours, or architecture. Quite the contrary. Light wooden houses and profusely lavish carvings were brightening up the town. Clean, spacious streets left a lot of room for the sunlight and air. But the atmosphere was suffocating.
Disapproving stares of my husband's new acquaintances followed me everywhere I went. It felt like my dark brown clothes were too bright, my voice was too loud, I wasn't hard working enough... Everything about me challenged them.
As per the pastor's preaching, I had to "renounce profane habits to become an obedient part of the Sun Congregation".
It's been three days since we arrived. And every time I was left alone in the grey swamp of local women, I couldn't help but panic.
Today was the first time when the sky in this sun-doused place turned grey. Heavy clouds were weighing above our heads, promising plenty of snow later.
I stepped out of the schoolhouse and shrugged my shoulders. It was time to show up on the plaza for my daily assignment.
"Hey! Wondering what they're gonna make us do today?"
Zaira lived right across the street from the schoolhouse. Her husband was a teacher, and they arrived at the settlement a couple of weeks before us. She was the only animated woman I've met here. And frankly, she was one of the few straws keeping me sane in this place.
"Yes, maybe clean horse shit in a pastor's stable…"
"There aren't enough shovels in the world to clean the shit out of that man's stable…"
I smiled in agreement. It surprised me how Zaira survived here, with her sharp tong and refusal to bend to pastor's authority.
"How are Zeon and Zef doing?"
Zaira had a boy, a couple of years older than Art. He had a very weak health, and was fighting some kind of sickness right now. I could have offered to treat him, but that would have exposed me instantly. And I still wasn't sure if I could trust Zaira that much.
We started walking towards the plaza.
"He's still in bed but filling better. Thank you for asking." she wrinkled her nose. "It seems like you care more than my husband. Zeon's been ignoring our son ever since he got sick. Hurts the poor boy more than an actual cold."
"I'm glad to hear Zef is feeling better. It's a shame they still make you do this communal service when your kid is ill."
"I know. Something is really wrong with these people!"
Zaira came closer, almost touching my hand.
"Sunday is close, and I have been dying to share this with someone," she bent even closer, whispering even in my ear. "Meet me behind the stables an hour before the sunrise, will you?"
A grey woman almost bumped into us at the intersection and we jumped apart. I nodded my head, looking into Zaira's eyes, too cautious to say anything in front of this puppet.
I had an unpleasant experience of finding out they couldn't keep secrets from their husbands. Enoch told Atti that I should not ask his woman to gossip, as that is a sin and we'll be punished for it.
When we came to the plaza, the pastor's assistant was already reading out loud the list of duties for today. And as if I just gained the gift of premonition, they assigned me to cleaning the cow stables today.
Enoch let Zaira home. Apparently, her husband complained to the pastor that their child was sick for too long. Enoch shamed her for taking bad care of her family in front of everyone. As if she wasn't asking for some time off to look after Zef before.
On Sunday, I woke up to the morning frost seeping into the room through the closed blinds.
Atti was gone. He told me yesterday that every Sunday the pastor expected them to partake in a prayer. Women weren't invited. I had a bad feeling about it, but Atti was adamant about going.
We didn't see each other much throughout the day, both too busy with our chores. Only before bed I had a chance to enjoy my husband's company.
As I dressed up and prepared to leave, I stopped by to check on the kids. In the dimly lit room, two small figures lay intertwined on a brass bedstead. The room was quiet, save for the occasional pop from the fireplace and the soft breathing of the children. They always slept in on Sundays.
I smiled: Atti lit the fire in their room before leaving. We gave kids the room with the fireplace, as Art was prone to colds in the wintertime.
I stepped into the biting chill of the winter morning and tightened my fur-lined cloak around myself. The ground crunched beneath my boots as I made my way towards the horse stable. Puzzling Zaira's invitation was bugging my mind these past couple of days.
The smell of rotting hay and manure weakened by the fresh, frosty morning hoar hit my nose as I came close to the building.
Zaira stood with her back against the rough wooden wall of the stable. Her face lit up as she noticed me approaching. She grabbed my hand, with her mitten covered warm palm and signed for me to keep silent, as we walked around the building.