Escape from the Past Read Free Page B

dust and body odor was worse. Disgusted, I rubbed my nose. It didn’t do any good.
    The left side of the ceiling hung so low that I easily touched it with my hand. The other half was hidden by dense smoke. A scrawny fire smoldered in a stone hearth along the back wall. In front of it stood a woman of indefinable age, stirring a cast-iron pot.
    “You’re late,” she said without turning. “Next time we eat without you.”
    “I told you she’s mad,” said the girl who’d been shelling beans earlier.
    “Hush, Adela,” the mother shot back. I looked back and forth between them, struggling to follow the weird speech while identifying the smell emanating from the pot. Nothing came to mind. Despite the terrible stench in the house, my stomach gurgled in anticipation.
    “Nay, I was late because of this lad,” Bero said. “He needs shelter for tonight.”
    At last, the mother turned around. Even in the gloom I could tell that she was shocked, maybe scared, her eyes blackish pools in the haggard face. She carefully placed the ladle on a stone plate and stepped closer—her eyes now squinting, scrutinizing. I wanted to bolt. A disgusting odor enveloped me. While Bero smelled of earth and pigs, the woman reeked of sweat and something sour. I tried breathing shallow breaths, thinking I should just leave and sleep outside. But then I thought of the rustling in the woods, the evil riders wielding their swords—worse, how clueless I felt.
    “His name is Max,” Bero offered from the bench. “He hid in Hanstein’s forest.”
    The woman stepped closer and then crossed herself. “May the Lord have mercy. A W
anderer
to bring doom to our
Haus.
”
    I vehemently shook my head. “No, no, I’m just lost and need a place for the night.”
    Bero’s mother stepped closer still. She was inches shorter, yet her shoulders were wide and her arms thick and muscled. I shrank back. She’d beat me to a pulp no problem. To my horror she extended an arm to inspect my hair. “What’s a lad like you doing in the Lord’s forest? You look like a stranger. A conjurer perhaps.”
    “He said he is from the village,” Bero intercepted. I wished he’d shut up. It was nerve-wracking enough to deal with Bero. The woman was positively frightening—nothing like my mother who was gentle and sweet.
    “I’m visiting,” I tried. Maybe it was best to say as little as possible.
    Bero’s mother grabbed my T-shirt and rubbed the fabric between thumb and forefinger. “Your clothes are…odd.” Then her eyes fell on my shoes, half hidden in the straw. Obviously not hidden enough. She got on her knees mumbling something. Then she crossed herself again. I stood waiting and hoping my legs wouldn’t tremble. To keep from fidgeting, I stuck my hands in my pockets, my right fingertips making contact with something within.
    I’d forgotten about the knife and wristwatch. The band was broken and I’d procrastinated having it fixed. What if she searched me and found my stuff? They’d call me a witch for sure. Wait. Weren’t those female? What was the male equivalent of a witch?
    “You cannot stay, it’s devil’s work.” She straightened and crossed her arms.
    Bero watched from the bench. “I think he’ll be fine. He’ll workfor me.” I stared back. Was he high? I was going to do no such thing.
    “Let him stay,” the girl said, her eyes glowing with curiosity. “He’s thin. He won’t eat much.”
    “He’ll be an extra hand,” Bero said.
    The mother continued staring and for a moment the room grew silent. At last she stood and poked a forefinger at my chest. “Visiting, hmm?”
    “Yes, Mam.”
    “All alone? No mother to take care of you then.”
    “Yes.” I fought to hold her gaze though I wanted to disappear and go home. Have dinner with my mother.
    “It is agreed then. For tonight. Don’t think I won’t be watching you.”
    “Thank you,” I stammered. It sounded like a sigh.
    “Let’s eat. Adela, fill the bowls.” The mother