Mira

Chapter the Third

The girl worked and lived on a family farm. It would have been accurate to say that it was her family's farm, and then again it would not. She was a foundling, and one could say that the farmer and his wife had taken her in out of the kindness of their own hearts, but that would be a gross distortion of the truth.
If you'd asked either of them why they'd picked up the baby and brought it home, the best you could hope for would be a dismissive
"Well it's free labor, innit?"
Which the girl herself could tell you was a lie.
The farmer's wife never missed an opportunity to remind the girl that she was not working for free; that she was, in fact, repaying her adoptive parents for their kindness, food, shelter, and clothing. The woman kept a ledger of everything that the girl had ever eaten, used, or worn for all sixteen years of her life. (The book was very large and the writing very small.) According to the woman's calculations, the girl had at least six more years of labor before her. And, come to think of it, she was still eating every day, wasn't she? That adds up, doesn't it? Better make that ten years, just to be on the safe side. The girl's only hope of getting away from the farm was through marriage, and all possible prospects in her small village were grim.
The farmer and his wife were never exactly certain why they had picked up that baby from the side of the road on the way home from market day. They were even less certain of why they had kept her, though the most logical explanation for the keeping of the baby was pure stubbornness. They knew as soon as they'd brought her home that it was a mistake to have a baby. The couple had no children of their own and knew nothing about babies. Calves and lambs were one thing, but human babies were completely foreign to them. However, neither party was willing to admit that it had been stupid to bring home the baby and so she stayed. They named her Mira because "Hey, you!" was an endearment that they reserved for one another and 'Girl' seemed too obvious a name.
Most often, the girl was relieved that she was not actually related to her parents. The woman was mean tempered, bug eyed and had fat legs. The farmer was not by nature a mean spirited man but was easily controlled by his domineering wife and as a result appeared to be an ornery sort by all accounts. They'd never had an intelligent thought between them and their only act of generosity ever performed was so out of character for the pair that the forces that motivated them to it left them completely baffled.
Were this a proper fairy story, the foundling girl would be beautiful, patient, kind to all living creatures and grow up to discover that she was actually the true and rightful heir to a faraway kingdom where she would go to marry a handsome and conveniently available nobleman.
In reality, Mira was rather plain looking. Her nose was a bit beaky, her lips erring to the side of thinness. Her large brown eyes were framed with an abundance of thick dark lashes, but set slightly too far apart. She did have beautiful dark hair that was prone to cascade naturally into shining curls. Perfect princess hair (don't get any ideas), but completely impractical on a farm.
She had developed a kind of patience through dealing with her adoptive parents. She had learned to keep to herself if she wanted to avoid a belt or a switch around the farmer's wife, particularly on market days. The farmer's wife delighted in telling the villagers that she was raising a deaf mute -- she believed that it added to the value of her apparent generosity and kindness -- and subsequently she forbade Mira from speaking in public.
The girl was kind to animals. She loved animals of all types, and for this she was glad that she'd been raised on a farm. From an early age she'd found the company of animals far superior to that of other people. She found an ease with beasts that required no cultivation; it was simply there. Whenever a particularly stubborn horse or mule needed to be shod, Mira was called upon to soothe it. If a cow refused to give milk, Mira was sent directly to it with her stool and pail. It was easy for her to discern what the animals needed and wanted, and they seemed to find it easy to trust her.
She felt conflicted, however, on the subject of kindness toward other people.
She remembered quite clearly one fall afternoon when she'd been sent to bring in wood for the hearth. Wanting to make only one trip from the woodshed to the kitchen, the girl had piled one too many pieces of split wood in her arms. That piece had dropped from the top of the pile to the kitchen floor as soon as she'd entered the house, prompting the farmer's wife to berate the girl. She threatened that Mira would go without supper and most definitely would face an encounter with the switch.
On that particular day, this had been more than the girl could bear. She felt her temperature rise as she watched the woman storm across the kitchen in her stumpy crabwise waddle in pursuit of the whipping cane, hung in its place of pride on the far wall. Mira gritted her teeth as she dropped the rest of the wood beside the fireplace. Her heart raced as the woman whirled around to fling another string of insults at the girl. The farmer's wife disregarded the slight wind that had sprung from nowhere to stir the girl's unruly curls.
'Break.' Mira thought, the word five bold red letters in her mind and before her eyes.
Bearing down across the kitchen like an ill-tempered wind in her own right, the farmer's wife suddenly tripped over the fallen piece of wood. She landed hard at an awkward angle and broke one of her fat legs. She immediately began howling for her husband. When the farmer came running he found his wife in the middle of the floor swearing that the girl by the hearth had just broken her leg. Taking in the scene, even the dimwitted farmer knew what had happened. It was clearly an accident. There was nothing to do but calm his wife and send the girl for the healer.
Mira, however, knew better.
The next few weeks were a bit more pleasant out of doors, where the farmer's wife could no longer follow her about and order her around. There was no extra work, because the girl did most of the work to begin with. Inside the house, the woman's accusing glare followed the girl everywhere she went. Whenever the farmer was in earshot she bleated like a goat until sympathy was showered upon her.
One might suppose that the farmer's wife would have treated the girl a bit more kindly after that, either out of respect or fear. One would suppose incorrectly. After her initial shock, the farmer's wife decided that it was the girl's clumsiness at dropping that piece of kindling that had led to her injury.
Still, Mira knew better.
This new found power frightened her. She vowed not to use it until she could make sense of it and control it.
Shortly after making this vow she decided that she had no real interest in figuring it out and thought it best to go back to tending her animals and keeping out of the way of the farmer's wife.


The sparrow knew none of this.
He knew that the girl cast a yellow and green glow. Not the customary green and yellow glow of your traditional wizard. There was a difference. It was subtle, but the trained eye learned to pick up on such subtleties.
But he needed a wizard.
He decided it was time to make contact.

Author's Note

Reviews are welcome!

Reviews

[SweetNutmeg]

Interesting development!

I do wonder why she lost interest though. Somehow "...she decided that she had no real interest..." is a bit odd. It seems like it would be hard to brush aside such an occurrence and that it would be a struggle to dismiss it. A bit more insight into her thought process here might be interesting.

I am looking forward to the next chapter eagerly!

[A. H. Pinley]

In the section below I thing some dialogue between the girl and the busted leg mother. The conflict would look really nice laid out in shouting and tension between the two. I can't wait to see where all of this is leading.


On that particular day, this had been more than the girl could bear. She felt her temperature rise as she watched the woman storm across the kitchen in her stumpy crabwise waddle in pursuit of the whipping cane, hung in its place of pride on the far wall. Mira gritted her teeth as she dropped the rest of the wood beside the fireplace. Her heart raced as the woman whirled around to fling another string of insults at the girl. The farmer's wife disregarded the slight wind that had sprung from nowhere to stir the girl's unruly curls.
'Break.' Mira thought, the word five bold red letters in her mind and before her eyes.
Bearing down across the kitchen like an ill-tempered wind in her own right, the farmer's wife suddenly tripped over the fallen piece of wood. She landed hard at an awkward angle and broke one of her fat legs. She immediately began howling for her husband. When the farmer came running he found his wife in the middle of the floor swearing that the girl by the hearth had just broken her leg. Taking in the scene, even the dimwitted farmer knew what had happened. It was clearly an accident. There was nothing to do but calm his wife and send the girl for the healer.
Mira, however, knew better.
The next few weeks were a bit more pleasant out of doors, where the farmer's wife could no longer follow her about and order her around. There was no extra work, because the girl did most of the work to begin with. Inside the house, the woman's accusing glare followed the girl everywhere she went. Whenever the farmer was in earshot she bleated like a goat until sympathy was showered upon her.
One might suppose that the farmer's wife would have treated the girl a bit more kindly after that, either out of respect or fear. One would suppose incorrectly. After her initial shock, the farmer's wife decided that it was the girl's clumsiness at dropping that piece of kindling that had led to her injury.
Still, Mira knew better.
This new found power frightened her. She vowed not to use it until she could make sense of it and control it.
Shortly after making this vow she decided that she had no real interest in figuring it out and thought it best to go back to tending her animals and keeping out of the way of the farmer's wife.

[JLGottschalk]

Thank you, will contemplate dialogue.

[Peninsula Pariah]

Forgot to rate it. Commensing rating...

[JLGottschalk]

Thanks! I did that a lot when I first started reviewing other people's work too. It's all too easy to overlook for some reason.

[Peninsula Pariah]

I like the term "foundling". I think maybe I was one... :)

[JLGottschalk]

I like it too! I wish I could take credit for the word itself, but I'm fairly certain I've read it somewhere. Probably a fairy story or fable, I was big into those for a very long while.

[JLGottschalk]

...By the by, thanks for the read! And subsequent review. I appreciate that you're still reading this.

[Peninsula Pariah]

I dont recall ever seeing the word before. Was just going to assume its your baby... but I did come across the word "innit" today on another website. Seems like that was used in S.K.s dark tower series too..or "kennit"..maybe both?

[JLGottschalk]

"Kennit" most assuredly was in the Dark Tower series. I'm sure "innit" has been in Mr. King's books numerous times. He loves his slang and keeps it real. So real that it makes you cringe sometimes, which is one of the things that I deeply admire about him.

[Peninsula Pariah]

Yeah Mr. King takes you there, no doubt. There's a good chance he's the one that originally inspired me to write.