Grass Stains

The dark lane stood empty and shallow, and the low hum of voices chanted quietly. In the blackness of the night, the crowd seemed to be led by the full moon. It hung low that night as though even it was in agreeance to its paths. Torch lights lit their way as the crowd walked towards the house.

Lenoir Manor.

The witch of Lavenham was what they called the odd child that had come to these parts. That was where she was kept. Where her spells stayed and her evil remained. Once a pleasant town, strange happenings had happened since she had come here. Weather topsy turvy crops dying, and a weary presence loomed about the city altogether. There was no doubt that the black-headed, black-eyed quiet child was a witch. And if the family would do nothing about it, they would; they had to.

What sort of child was born without the knowledge or recognition of a mother?

What child looked as strange as she?

What child acted so oddly?

Spoke with an accent without knowing another language?

Lourdes did.

As if knowing that they were coming for her, the child stood at her window. Her small hands pressed against the panes of glass that separated her from them. Her hair hanging all around her shoulders, eyes closed as though she stood casting a spell at this very moment.

Their cries chanted louder and louder, awakening all in the house, their torches raised towards the heavens.

"Bring out the child,' they cried.

They would do what they must. Even if it meant that the child must die by their own hands. To protect the town, they would do what they must. Glancing from her perch in the window, Lourdes did not hide. She made sure she stood in full view. A smile crossed her still young rosy face. Her eyebrows wriggled. Any other child might have been scared, but not she. Her hands moved from the window to her chest as she watched the murderous, blood-thirsty crowd come for her.

~

Lourdes's arms' waved behind her as she stood on the cliff's edge. The murky water sprayed droplets around her face. Splashing in harmony with the wind, loose rocks falling echoed in the day's silence. Quietly mimicking the crows that flew in circles above, Lourdes stared at them. Her foot dangling at the edge, she pushed herself forward. Further and Further towards the edge.

"Lourdes!" Charity called out, catching in her attempt to fly. And swiftly, Lourdes danced her feet backward. There was nothing more opposite than the cousins. Charity was everything Lourdes was not. Her golden locks seemed to seal in her own sainthood. Her ice-blue eyes always told every emotion she felt. In fact, right now, they were still red from the little play they'd read.

Lourdes's black eyes, though devoid of emotion, seemed to know every other sentiment other than sadness. When both lovers had died at the end of the play, Lourdes laughed a deep, steady laugh.

"I still do not understand how it was comical to you. Dying for true love...so tragic," Charity cried when she'd finally lured Lourdes away from the cliff.

"How can you not laugh? To let love be the death of you seems very foolish indeed. Love is so temporary and seems to be the source of stupidity. Everything, even life, is unimportant when a new shiny lover stands before you. But over time, that lover becomes less shiny, less loveable. And then what was it all for?"

"You are young...and that is why you cannot understand the deeper things. Love is not temporary; it's forever. When with the right person," Charity reasoned.

"I am only one year younger than you, and I am just as worldly if not more than you. Sixteen is really quite grown up!" Lourdes fought back.

"Still...even if only a few months I am older, I understand these things better," Charity returned resolutely. "Besides, how can you describe mamma and father? They were truly in love, you know?"

Lourdes held back her laugh, the subject still raw she quietly nodded in agreement, despite mumbling that she doubted they 'really loved each other."

"Romance is the very thing that separates humans from animals, you know?" Charity continued.

Lourdes giggled as she rolled in the grass, wiping away the damp mist that covered her. "Then I am an animal," she cried, croaking like one of the frogs bounced on the ground.

"One day, you must grow up, you know?"

"If dying for love means growing up, I never will!"

Charity laughed, "I don't mean that!" she paused. "honestly, I could never marry someone without my father's approval anyway."

Lourdes shrugged.

'and what does that mean?" charity asked, mimicking Lourdes' shrug.

"I only said I would not die for love. But the heart has its own mind. One that is not guided by perspective, wisdom, or approval."

Charity stood as she packed away the mess they had made from their picnic.

"One second, you don't believe in romance; the next you do, I can't understand you. Do you not long for the same approval?"

Sniffing the wet grass, Lourdes thought, then shook her head no. "I know my heart, and I will go wherever it takes me."

"Even to the grave?"

"Not there!" Lourdes cried, clipping the grass and tossing it at Charity.

"Well, since only one of us can boast of having a lover. We will talk on the subject no more," she said, lending her cousin a hand, so she could pull her up.

"You promised never to speak of that!" Lourdes said, rejecting her cousin's helping hand.

"Father is not in sight. You know my lips are sealed even though I cannot agree with you hiding the truth from father."

Lourdes, who'd managed to lift herself up, kicked at the ground. "I know...it's more complicated than all that, is all."

Charity petted her arm. Slipping her arm in hers smiled, "Say no more."

Arm in arm, they dashed down the grassy hill. The thick England fog painted a cloud around the girls as they walked home. Their black dresses did not display the vitality that breathed through them.

The English countryside was perfect this time of year. Blooms from the first of spring were still standing tall. Green grasses poked their heads out to get a final taste of air before night fell.

No matter what either girl claimed to feel about romance. The scenery had to awaken their romantic sensibilities.

The girls' voices turned to giggles, settling on a less controversial topic. Giggles that halted abruptly when they passed a dilapidated church. Charity squeezed Lourdes's arm. Lourdes knew that Charity had become frightened at graveyards since her aunt's death.

And had Lourdes not loved Charity so much, she would have poked fun at her innate fear of death. The reasonable, wise, predictable, sound Charity was afraid of death. A natural part of life. That was in itself laughable. Lourdes had learned that she had to accept that death came with life to survive. Perhaps that is why she did not cry much when aunt Edyth died. Life had been too good for too long. It seemed about time for a change, a tragedy. It was not at all unexpected to her. In fact, Lourdes had even dreamt of her aunt's death a fortnight before she died. But she'd never said it for fear of the rumors starting up again.