Lazarus Had it Easy by Jp LaFond
Goody Miller wearily wiped her brow, leaving a smear of wheat flour. Even with the windows open on this sweltering summer day, the kitchen reminded her of the ultimate fate of the unwary soul. The village girls whined once again that they weren't allowed to strip down to their undergarments so that they would be more comfortable.
"Life is strife, ladies," Goody Miller answered. "Our lot is to toil in this world. Our reward is in the next."
The baker's preaching was lost on the complaining young women, who all but rolled their eyes in response. But that didn't bother Goody Miller. She had lived among Papists for too long to be bothered by their unconcern toward their eternal future. She absently straightened her dress and her apron.
"Back to work. Idle hands," Goody Miller said, as she went back to kneading dough. With a minimum of grumbling the girls got back to work and the baker's thoughts ran away from her. Her kitchen was quieter now, at least during the day. The mill was not as active as it had once been. The big wheel wasn't turning during the day, and she found that she missed the slight shaking of the floor. Goody Miller hadn't realized it before, but that was a way of feeling that her husband had always been near her. Aud had changed with his illness and the aftermath, though. He didn't work during the day anymore; he couldn't. The witch hadn't mentioned anything about that.
She also didn't approve that the young men Aud had hired to help in the mill now spent their days idle. There was plenty of work that needed to be done, yet all they did was to sit about talking and smoking. The only time that she saw them busy was when there was a ship to load or unload. At least that work was being done, she thought to herself. She would have to have a word with Goodman Porter about them.
"Mrs. Miller?" one of the girls called out.
"Goody Miller or ma'am," she corrected. "What's the problem, Ivy?"
"Is Mister... Is your husband well?" The girl's questions died on her lips, under the baker's cold stare.
"Yes," Goody Miller answered in a tone that made it clear that she was not willing to be the subject of gossip. "I will tell him that you were asking after him."
Ivy murmured her thanks and went back to her tasks, but it wasn't long before Goody Miller heard the girls. They were not trying to be hurtful, she knew, but that didn't do much to alleviate the pain.
"No one has seen him out during the day in weeks."
"They don't go to the church like the rest of us."
"I don't know," Ivy protested. "If something were wrong, we would have heard about it."
"The wheel only turns at night, now."
Goody Miller could feel their eyes on her. She sagged under their scrutiny, reminded again that women were weak and God commanded that every woman cleave to a man. She was to offer solace, her husband strength. The Lord's will was clear.
"Ma'am?" Goody Miller felt Ivy's hand on her arm. "Are you well?"
"No. No, I don't think I am." She straightened up and looked away, unwilling to show the simple gratitude on her face. It wouldn't be seemly. "I should get some water. I will return shortly."
She turned quickly and walked out of the kitchen. She unlocked the door to their small home and slipped inside. Knowing the curiosity of young girls, she locked the door behind her. Her nose wrinkled at the scent of her husband. There wasn't much that could be done, so this too must be endured. But still, she made a note to bring in more flowers. If she couldn't open the windows during the day, she could at least try to make the smell of decay and spoiled meat a bit more bearable. She approached their marriage bed and paused, asking Him for strength.
Her husband lay where she had left him. Until his illness, he had never spent a day abed. His eyes turned toward her. He had changed. Gone was the man that she had married. There was no more laughter or smiles. The quick wit had been replaced by little more than a vague curiosity.
He stared at her.
"Hello, husband," she said, as she sat next to him. Her skin crawled at the thought of what she must do, but she steeled herself. He reached for her, and she took his cold hand in hers. She felt his strength, as he pulled her to him. His cheek was waxy and dead against hers.
The witch had said that there would be differences, but she hadn't fully understood their Faustian bargain. She had been weak. She was afraid to lose her husband and leave their son fatherless. She had only wanted to save her family and instead she'd damned them all.
"Life is strife, ladies," Goody Miller answered. "Our lot is to toil in this world. Our reward is in the next."
The baker's preaching was lost on the complaining young women, who all but rolled their eyes in response. But that didn't bother Goody Miller. She had lived among Papists for too long to be bothered by their unconcern toward their eternal future. She absently straightened her dress and her apron.
"Back to work. Idle hands," Goody Miller said, as she went back to kneading dough. With a minimum of grumbling the girls got back to work and the baker's thoughts ran away from her. Her kitchen was quieter now, at least during the day. The mill was not as active as it had once been. The big wheel wasn't turning during the day, and she found that she missed the slight shaking of the floor. Goody Miller hadn't realized it before, but that was a way of feeling that her husband had always been near her. Aud had changed with his illness and the aftermath, though. He didn't work during the day anymore; he couldn't. The witch hadn't mentioned anything about that.
She also didn't approve that the young men Aud had hired to help in the mill now spent their days idle. There was plenty of work that needed to be done, yet all they did was to sit about talking and smoking. The only time that she saw them busy was when there was a ship to load or unload. At least that work was being done, she thought to herself. She would have to have a word with Goodman Porter about them.
"Mrs. Miller?" one of the girls called out.
"Goody Miller or ma'am," she corrected. "What's the problem, Ivy?"
"Is Mister... Is your husband well?" The girl's questions died on her lips, under the baker's cold stare.
"Yes," Goody Miller answered in a tone that made it clear that she was not willing to be the subject of gossip. "I will tell him that you were asking after him."
Ivy murmured her thanks and went back to her tasks, but it wasn't long before Goody Miller heard the girls. They were not trying to be hurtful, she knew, but that didn't do much to alleviate the pain.
"No one has seen him out during the day in weeks."
"They don't go to the church like the rest of us."
"I don't know," Ivy protested. "If something were wrong, we would have heard about it."
"The wheel only turns at night, now."
Goody Miller could feel their eyes on her. She sagged under their scrutiny, reminded again that women were weak and God commanded that every woman cleave to a man. She was to offer solace, her husband strength. The Lord's will was clear.
"Ma'am?" Goody Miller felt Ivy's hand on her arm. "Are you well?"
"No. No, I don't think I am." She straightened up and looked away, unwilling to show the simple gratitude on her face. It wouldn't be seemly. "I should get some water. I will return shortly."
She turned quickly and walked out of the kitchen. She unlocked the door to their small home and slipped inside. Knowing the curiosity of young girls, she locked the door behind her. Her nose wrinkled at the scent of her husband. There wasn't much that could be done, so this too must be endured. But still, she made a note to bring in more flowers. If she couldn't open the windows during the day, she could at least try to make the smell of decay and spoiled meat a bit more bearable. She approached their marriage bed and paused, asking Him for strength.
Her husband lay where she had left him. Until his illness, he had never spent a day abed. His eyes turned toward her. He had changed. Gone was the man that she had married. There was no more laughter or smiles. The quick wit had been replaced by little more than a vague curiosity.
He stared at her.
"Hello, husband," she said, as she sat next to him. Her skin crawled at the thought of what she must do, but she steeled herself. He reached for her, and she took his cold hand in hers. She felt his strength, as he pulled her to him. His cheek was waxy and dead against hers.
The witch had said that there would be differences, but she hadn't fully understood their Faustian bargain. She had been weak. She was afraid to lose her husband and leave their son fatherless. She had only wanted to save her family and instead she'd damned them all.