Misery

She slid on her riding gloves and then tugged hard at the straps tethering her bags to her ride. As far as travel horses went, this one seemed fine. Not terribly athletic, but sturdy enough to get through the first leg of the trip where the roads were in reasonably good repair. She would need a much stronger animal for the second half of the journey, when the roads would become barely passable trails in the woods and the streams would run like rivers after the spring rains.

"Be careful, my dear," Catherine said, pulling her daughter-in-law into a gentle hug. "Don't get your hopes up too much."

Elizabeth nodded. "Keep an eye on Bede," she said in return. The two women locked eyes in understanding.

"Jake's here, Miss Elizabeth!" Elijah called, racing down the path from the barn. Around the corner came Jacob Prescott, the guide Elizabeth had hired. She knew little about him, except that he had served as a travel guide and mail carrier for the Greens and had been the recipient of leftover meals from her own kitchen at times. Like Henry, he wore an eye patch that covered an injury sustained while serving in His Majesty's army. But that was where the similarities ended. Henry was a big, jovial man, with a quick wit and always interested in good conversation. Jacob was exceedingly tall, his bones held together with lean muscle. His angular face was darkened by coarse stubble, growth a daily razor would struggle to keep up with. He spoke few words and kept to himself. Elizabeth expected a quiet ride. 

Jacob dipped his chin, touching the brim of the leather hat that could either shield his eyes from the sun or protect his head from the rain. Elizabeth noted the treated leather overcoat and wondered what Jacob knew about potential weather conditions. She glanced up at the sky, clouds hid a weak spring sun, but did not appear to hold rain. Not a frequent traveler, her barely used riding clothes would have to do.

Elizabeth knelt and gave Christopher a kiss on his little head, breathing in deeply the warm cinnamon smell of his soft curls. "Be good, son!" she smiled, ruffling his hair and winking. "Take care of Gramma while I'm gone." The young boy straightened with responsibility and slipped his hand into Catherine's as if to protect her. Elizabeth blinked back tears. She would not be gone long.

***

Rain poured in heavy sheets as Jacob and Elizabeth slowly made their way along the post road, if indeed it could be called a road. The traveling hat Elizabeth wore melted onto her head and her cape clung heavily to her shoulders. She had long ago abandoned her soaked riding gloves and now winced at the blisters that were developing on her palms. She was chilled to the bone and miserable. Jacob seemed just fine.

Elizabeth was grateful to enter the woods, optimistic that the canopy of trees would help lessen the rain beating down on her. But the early spring leaves were no match for the downpour. She tried to sit taller in the saddle to bring some relief to her aching back, but soon found herself hunched over in a failed attempt to avoid wet branches that lashed at her face. 

It was an eternity before they emerged from the wooded maze and into an open pasture. The rain had finally stopped but the setting sun remained behind clouds that still swirled overhead. Jacob still rode silently, rarely glancing back to make sure she was still there. Gazing past his shoulder she could see a small cabin come into view. Its neighboring barn outsized the home by at least twice as much. No animals grazed in the yard, choosing the comfort of warm shelter instead. Elizabeth was jealous of their luxury. 

But she too would soon feel the luxury of fire in the hearth, a meal in her rumbling stomach, and a warm bed to sleep heavily in. The house ahead was small, but well-kept. Faint flickers of light already illuminated the windows, the rain-soaked day brought out the candles early. She could make it the relatively short distance to that blessed front porch.

A young boy, not much older than Elizabeth's own Christopher, sat on the top of the porch steps cutting a stick with a small knife. He looked up just as they were coming down the path, shaking his scraggly hair from his face. As if having lived this a million times before, he hopped up as they approached and began unloading saddlebags before the riders had even dismounted. 

Jacob nodded wordlessly at the boy, then catching Elizabeth's eye, hitched his head to the side silently telling her she was to go inside. Jacob took the reins of both horses and left toward the barn. The boy hauled up Jacob's saddlebag, leaving Elizabeth to carry her own as she followed him inside.

Elizabeth was so cold, the small fire in the main room of the house seemed like a great Lammas bonfire. She got too close, her wet clothes steaming, but she did not care. She knelt down so her wet hair and face could feel the golden warmth. 

"Goodness girl, what are ya doin'?" Elizabeth jumped at the harsh string of words. More words came rushing before she could even consider a response. "Those wet clothes gonna make the whole house smell like horse and mold."

A pause. The woman was short, quite fat, and wrinkled with age beyond her actual years. Elizabeth sensed she did not appreciate the company. 

"Come, get food." 

"Perhaps I should change..." The woman's scowl halted Elizabeth's words. 

On a heavy square table was a pewter plate with some dried out cheese, a hunk of bread that was more likely the source of mold than Elizabeth's previously blamed riding clothes, and what looked like preserves that had not been properly preserved. Was that coffee? Elizabeth picked up the coffee and sipped carefully, immediately disappointed in the barely warmed bitterness. Tears stung her eyes, the sheer misery of thinking she would get some desperately needed sustenance and this...this was it?

"I'm exceedingly tired," she choked. "Perhaps I shall just retire to bed."

"Suit yourself," the woman shrugged. "You sleep upstairs, first room on the right. Nessie be joining you later."

Elizabeth did not even get her bag, she just trudged alone up the rickety stairs. The first room on the right was dark and musty. The bed was small with barely a mattress on its ropes. When she saw no fire in the fireplace, she finally burst into tears. Godwin House, even at its lowest point, always had fires ready for weary travelers. She pulled off her cape and unpinned her clothes, spreading everything out on rafters to dry as best it could. Wearing only her shift, she settled into the unwelcoming bed, pulled the threadbare quilt around her shoulders and sobbed heavily until exhaustion finally overtook her.

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