Electronic fiction by ladyhildegarde
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Other Works
Poems
Stories
he plainest bird has the sweetest song;
Nature's truth applies to me,
for though I'm plain my heart can do no wrong.
All day I'd make melodious peal for thee.
I've toiled all winter in the boughs
of the forest's sternest tree,
sparing no moment for idle or sport.
I've feathered a downy nest for thee.
How then won't you settle in the bough,
warmth for warmth with me as dew doth fall?
A grand life not for naught will please thine eyes,
but close your eyes, sweet, for a sparrow's love is all!
ake me where a warm wind blows
cast me in the torpid sea
drown me till I forget all things
but this Heaven where I long to be.
Make for me a mossy bed.
Let water trickle through my hair,
the sun is warm upon my face,
and in my lungs is bracing air.
Now all is still and darkness falls.
Even so I linger in the vale.
Past memories consume me whole
till I am shadow, and they are real.
low wild wind blow;
bring me news of my true love,
for the grass goes long, and the hayseed withers
and my heart grows cold as the setting sun.
Teacups in a row,
and the shadows are growing long.
My restless feet wear treads in the floor
after my work is done.
Quiet in my soul;
quiet creeping cold, a frostbite encroaching.
This is death, this monotony;
I'm waiting for you, though all's gone numb.
Footsteps in the snow.
Oh, my darling, home at last; lo, three winters past.
My faithful head comes to rest at home;
this shoulder to lean upon.
dreamed of darkness, of you in my snow-bound sleep.
At your loving kiss, my eyes flew wide, my lips red as blood warmed by your touch.
You stole me away to a place where the wind in the trees
moaned like the restless dead, where spiders plotted my death in the dooryard, where loved bloomed wildly, a rose with plucking thorns.
You surrounded me with the shadow of your love till all I could see was darkness, and I dreamed.
n the desert, ribbons and frills were scarce, but Mary did the best she could with old scraps. Intently she focused herself on fixing an old gown so that she would look good for her lover when he returned after his long journey.
She didn’t own jewels, but she put ribbons in her long, dark hair and decorated her gray eyes with kohl. Her eyes were the only solemn thing about her; the rest of her was carefree, vibrant, self-centered.
Her lover was from a rich family, descended from royal blood. Nevertheless he was honest, hard-working and loved her, though she was beneath her in class. Mary was proud of the match, anticipated a happy marriage, and focused herself on her appearance and bridal clothes.
“You’re dressed up, Mary,” Ruth commented, pausing to watch Mary at her embroidery. She was only wearing her shift, but she had already done her hair in a coronet. The smoke-colored gown she held was her most precious, and Joseph’s favorite. He loved the way it matched her eyes.
In a characteristically adolescent fashion, Mary avoided repling, gave Ruth a smile and continued working.
“Why are you so dressed up, Mary?”
Ligeia, Mary’s servant, looked up from her work. “If not for it’s own sake, it’s for Joseph’s. He comes home today.”
Mary squirmed uncomfortably, wishing Ligeia would be quiet. The women smiled at her amusedly, and she hated being laughed at. She sewed steadily, pretending to ignore them.
“To be young again,” Ruth observed lightly, and Mary glanced up at her, her solemn eyes the color of gathering clouds. She did not appreciate the two other women smiling at her expense. Her pride was too great to withstand it.
Her nerves were on edge. She would see Joseph this very day, who had been away from Jerusalem for a week.
There was a fallen temple some distance away from her house. It was overgrown with vines, and flowers bloomed up the crumbling walls. She stepped to her window and looked out over the terrain in bright afternoon light. Beyond the sea of yellow grass, the old temple was a shadowed blot on the horizon.
Narrowing her eyes, she peered closer to see if she could catch a glimpse of a lone figure, waiting there. Her heart quickened as she thought she saw Joseph. Yes, she thought frantically, it's him. He's returned from Jerusalem.
Her heart racing, Mary cast a hasty glance around her before slipping out the back door, making certain not to reveal her presence to Ruth or Ligeia, who were still at the front of the house. Gathering her silk skirts close, she made a dash across the field through overgrown, crisp grass.
She was out of breath when she reached the old temple, leaned against one cool, shadowed wall, squinting to see inside the building. As she paused, she was aware of her own agitated breathing, throwing echoes around the room. Mary swallowed, trying to calm her racing heart, and reached up to smooth her dark-blonde coronet of hair.
“Joseph?” she whispered after a moment. “Joseph, are you there?” She was ashamed at the slight tremble in her voice. Though they had been betrothed for a long time, she was hesitant to show her feelings for him. Her great pride left her when she was near him.
Joseph had never treated her with the reserve that others did. He had never been daunted by her facade of pride. He expressed a passionate love for her, which humbled her and brought a stinging blush to her cheeks.
She frowned at the ensuing silence. She realized that she might have made a mistake. Perhaps it was another man in the temple, not Joseph, that she had seen from across the fields. She regretted her impulsiveness. Her trysts with Joseph there had been kept secret from her mother. If it were a servant from the house, he might tell her mother of her presence there. She would put an end to the meetings entirely, Mary knew.
She froze at the sound of a footfall, then moved forward, peering into the darkness. Mary had never before dared to step further into the temple than the shadowed portico, where she often watched the sun set with Joseph. Had he receded further into the temple to wait for her today? And why? She moved forward, glancing around curiously. Someone was there, she realized with a start, seeing a shadow pass along the wall.
As Mary stepped further into the temple, the wind rose, and a few white feathers blew around her feet in a tiny whirlwind. There was the indistinct outline of a man against one wall. She paused, reaching out to clutch the doorway as she met the stranger’s pale eyes. Her knuckles whitened and she dug harder into the wood as the man stepped forward, and she saw a brush of feathers against stone, two great wings, unflexing, white feathers blowing into the drafty old temple. She thought for a moment she was going to faint. “Who are you?” she managed through dry lips.
He outstretched one white hand to her, and Mary looked down at it as though he was extending a viper to her. “I have a message for you, Mary,” he said with a reassuring smile. “I have very good news for you."
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What was she to do with his good news? Sing and dance? She hadn’t wept yet, but the temptation was beginning to be unbearable. The holy spirit will come upon you. It was dreadful news. She was betrothed, soon to be married. She had so many other things to think about.
Bile rose in Mary’s throat as she stared at her bed in the corner of her moonlit room. She pressed her hand to her lips and swallowed, trying to gather her courage. It couldn’t be true, she thought furiously. Her mother would say it was what she deserved, for meeting her lover in a temple dedicated to the old gods. God was angry with her, playing a nasty trick.
But Gabriel had reassured her then till she hadn’t felt frightened. He had reminded her of a unicorn, a white being not of this world, pure, but cold, too. She had never seen a unicorn, though she knew of the legends that they could be approached by virginal woman. Mary thought wryly that her virginity must be important to God somehow. It angered her, though now she felt more frightened. She could sense a presence in the room with her.
She saw that she was still wearing her silk dress. She thought sadly that Joseph hadn't come from Jerusalem that day, as he had said he would, and she had worn it in vain. Reaching up with trembling fingers, she unbraided her coronet of hair till the dark blonde curls fell around her shoulders. Then she untied her gown and, clad in her white shift, cautiously approached the bed. Gritting her teeth, she sank down into the mattress. She was alone, she thought. Quite alone. And how else could she be? She couldn’t exactly remain a virgin if she didn’t conceive the baby alone, after all.
It made no sense at all. It was insane. Mary shook her head in the darkness. She sat in a pool of moonlight in the middle of the bed and waited.
She hoped “the spirit of the Lord” would come soon. Mary looked down at her body, at her arms, deathly white, as she was certain her face must be. She had rarely been afraid in her life, and this new experience angered her with the helplessness it made her feel.
With an impatient noise, she pulled back the covers and buried herself beneath them. She fell into a deep sleep, but she was not unaware of the sensations overtaking her body. In her sleep she tossed and moaned: her skin grew clammy and her stomach tightened; she began to feel pain like menstrual pain, which made every muscle in her body cramp tightly, except that this was much worse. She was sure if only she could retch she would feel better, but she couldn’t pull herself up or open her eyes.
She turned, whimpered, doubled up and pressed her face into her knees; cried out, feeling half-mad with the pain; she reached out into the darkness. For a moment she’d seen Gabriel at the foot of her bed, and she thought if she could just touch him he’d ease her suffering.
Mary reached out into cold air, heaved and tossed till she rolled off the bed, buried her face into the cold stone floor, gasping for air.
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The words had left him cold. And as he moved from his porch into the field of spring grass, the wind stirred up white feathers around his feet. Rather like chicken feathers, Joseph thought, not without a trace of bitterness.
It was late in the evening, but he had to see her. He’d been home for three days, and every day her mother had told him Mary was ill and wasn’t ready to recieve him. Her mother thought she had some sort of stomach ailment: she was pale, feverish and sometimes gasped out a few unintelligible words. Mary’s mother guarded her like a hawk, but Joseph was intent on seeing her. To prove to himself that the dream hadn’t been real. He would tell Mary about it, and she would laugh.
Or maybe she’d be shocked. He could never tell about her. Perhaps she’d stare at him with round blue-gray eyes and declare that of course she wasn’t pregnant! In fact, perhaps she had been ill with monthly pains for the past three days and her mother had been too embarrassed to explain.
Joseph nodded. And tried to forget Gabriel’s words.
He gave a start of surprise when he approached the house and saw Mary standing at the porch railing. She wavered like a reed in the wind as though ill and unsteady, but he could see her watching him with bright eyes. Her hair was covered with a soft, pale mantle and she wore a rose-colored dress. They should have been at the temple, enjoying one another's company after their long separation. He had longed to hear the ringing sound of her laughter.
The look in her eyes stopped him from reaching for her. There was no laughter in her eyes; she did not looked pleased to see him. Her blue-gray eyes, which had always been solemn in spite of her frivolous appearance, reminded him of a storm-tossed sea. “Joseph,” she said unsteadily, reached out to him as he moved to the porch.
His dark hair whipped up in the wind and Mary reached out one hand to touch it. Joseph stilled at the sad, wondering look in her eyes, then reached out and clasped her fingers in his own. Her hands, cold and clammy to the touch, told him she was still ill, and that standing up was as much of an effort for her as it seemed.
“Sit down,” he said quickly.
She ignored him. “I’m sorry,” she said, still watching him steadily. “I know I must have disappointed you. Mother mentioned at one point you had returned, but I was too ill to see you.”
“It would seem that you still are. Sit down on the steps," he said, a tender concern for her overriding his fears at the lifelessness in her face.
She knelt abruptly, though her face grew strained, and Joseph feared she was having another pain. As she reached out and touched the porch column her fingers trembled, and she tightened her hold on the pillar as though she might fall.
“Joseph, there’s something I have to tell you.”
He stiffened, and shook his head, not wanting her to speak.
Mary glanced at him with narrowed eyes, then blinked slowly, as, for the first time in days, she felt a glimmer of hope, or happiness, at the understanding in his face. “Do you know about it?” she asked in a small whisper, as though afraid to voice the question.
He reached out and gripped her hand, and Mary moved closer to him. They sat on the porch steps together, the wind whipping quickly around them, stirring up dust and leaves. The sky was darkening rapidly, turning crimson, as the sun sank below the horizon.
“I had a dream,” Joseph said grimly, “of an angel who told me I mustn’t be afraid to marry you under any circumstances.”
Mary’s eyes widened and she nodded. “Yes, that’s true,” she said breathlessly. “You mustn’t be afraid to marry me.” Her eyes filled with tears.
“It's true. You’re pregnant.” The disappointment in his voice was almost too much for her to bear. Abruptly Mary withdrew from him and stood, shuddering, against the wind, watching it whip the clouds into dark, airy swirls.
When she didn’t speak, he rose and watched her intently. Mary stood still for several moments, staring broodingly over the horizon. She felt braced by his presence, thankful she would not have to face her trial alone. It was a sensation of freedom to have him near her.
Her heart fluttered, and she turned back around and looked into his eyes with an intensity Joseph had rarely seen in her. She stepped closer to him, her every muscle taut, and gripped his hands.
“Ah, God,” she whispered, and her eyes which were usually as clear as calm water were brimming with tears, hollow. Her lips trembled with passion as slowly she shook her head. “How I wish it could have been yours.” He gathered her close, as she began to sob, and Mary clung to him, feeling her heart was as dead and light as a tattered leaf in the wind.
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© 1998-2007 by ladyhildegarde
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Last update
Monday, July 2, 2007 5:35 PM