I blinked back a tear from what I’d witnessed that day, how they’d cursed and spit at me. I was the one who’d weeded their gardens, cleaned their houses, and taken care of their children. I’d organized games of sports for their kids. I’d not only lived in their houses at various times, but had continually visited, helping their kids with reading or math, doing odd jobs, baking cookies for the family. They knew me.
And yet, with a word from the mayor, they’d forgotten all that. It had apparently slipped their minds that I’d never said an unkind word no matter how anyone treated me. They’d forgotten how I’d cooked those Sunday dinners they’d raved over and all the times I’d taken care of the sick: emptying bedpans, cleaning up vomit, bathing the dying or dead. And then, even after I restored that old shack and no longer lived with them, I’d kept working for them, doing the chores they hated, tending to their kids.
I’d worked so hard for what I owned, but when I chanted myself free from the peril of their sudden hatred of me and returned to my shack, I’d feared to take the time to pack well. My money pot. I should have grabbed that, at least, but I’d been in such a panic, fearing that my witchcraft couldn’t hold the villagers for long, knowing that I had given proof to exactly what the mayor had said.
My body had ached from the stones that had hit me, and I’d honestly been terrified, my hands shaking, my breathing erratic and shallow. Would they really have killed me? Would the hate I saw in their eyes drive them that far if they caught me?
As I galloped away, I regretted most that I’d left Frey’s grooming tools behind. I should have grabbed his brush and currycomb, some oats and apples. My bed had a brand-new comforter. My clothes — I wished that I’d taken a moment to grab some of them. The garments were all second hand, of course, but I’d earned every shirt, pant and coat by my own wages.
Yet, feeling sorry for how I’d been treated by the village would never achieve anything. Look where I’d found myself — inside this heart of goodness named Mrs. Penn. And the boys loved me. Me! It was almost like I’d discovered a real family, people who saw me as a person, not just as someone to slave for them.
I wiped a tear and brought myself back to the present and to the fact that Mrs. Penn was eyeing me with sympathy. Had she been watching me this whole time as my brain backtracked over the past? Could she read into my heart and see my utter desolation of a life charred by one moment of uncontrolled mob rage?
I took a sip of water and tried to push away the horror of those memories. That part of my life was over. I didn’t need to go back there. It could only haunt me if I let it, or so I told myself. But whether that was true or not, I didn’t need to worry about it now.