by Catherine Thompson

Cat climbed out of the bell-tower onto the roof of the abbey. Carefully, she slid down to her favourite gargoyle, a sour-faced gremlin that put her in mind of Mother Assumpta. Perching on the gargoyle's shoulders, she swung herself to the roof of the garden shed and thence to the hen house. From there it was an easy drop to the ground. She'd done it a hundred times for fun.

Gathering her small bundle, which consisted of some bread and cheese wrapped in her handkerchief, Cat trotted across the stable-yard, keeping to the shadows. She glanced back to make sure no-one was following. Most of the sisters were at their evening tasks, but one or two might have seen her.

The stone wall that surrounded St. Bridget's stood a good ten feet high. Cat flung her pack over it and followed, fitting her fingers and the toes of her shoes into the tiniest crevices. She dropped into the grass on the other side. "Free," she murmured to herself and smiled. She grabbed her provisions and made for the road.

The streets of Ashby were quiet this summer evening; Cat didn't see anyone until she reached the main market, where a few vendors remained, packing up their stalls. She'd been here a few times with Sister Sophia, the abbey's cook. Cat affected a casual air, as if she walked this street every day, hoping that none would remember her passing this way. Soon, she found herself on the North Road, leaving Ashby. For good, she hoped.

The shadows lengthened, stretching far to her right. Cat shivered, watching the sun drift below the horizon.

She walked until she reached the forest, through which the North Road cut like a sword. It marked the boundary of Cat's world. Here she hesitated. The forest was dark, growing more so with every minute. The moon, which had yet to rise, would be full, but even then, the forest would remain dark. Cat took a deep breath and forged onward.

The girl hadn't gone much farther when she heard a wagon approaching. She kept walking, but glanced behind her often. After a time, a weathered wooden cart hove into view, drawn by a great plodding bay horse. A large man wearing the homespun garments of a farmer swayed in the driving-seat as the cart lurched along the road. He drew abreast of the girl. "Hullo, there, lass," said the farmer. "Where might you be headed this fine evening?"

Cat made no reply; indeed, she had none. "Young'un like you oughtn't to be out here," the farmer went on. "The woods is a dangerous place at night for them as don't know it." He paused. "You look a mite tired. Daresay you wouldn't mind riding 'stead of walkin', right, lass? I could take 'ee home, where'er it might be."

"Don't have a home," Cat muttered in spite of herself. The farmer raised an eyebrow. "That so? Well, I'll tell 'ee, there's no better place for one as has no home than a farm. 'Tis nice, out in the country, no-one to bother ye. Ever been to a farm, lass?"

Cat shook her head. "Bet you'd like it," mused the farmer aloud. "You like animals, yeah?" Cat nodded. "Lots a animals on a farm--cows, pigs, chickens, horses. Dogs, too. Ye like dogs? I've dogs on my farm, lovely fellas." He paused again. "Here, lass, I've an idea. Why don't I take 'ee wi' me? T'missus and the bairns'll be glad to have 'ee."

Bairns. Cat looked up. She'd never had any real playmates; sometimes, Sister Giavanna took her along to the orphanage's school, and she would play with the children there. Mostly, though, they called her names and knocked her down until she got angry and started hitting them.

A home--playmates--no, better, brothers and sisters. A family. Cat felt a faint stirring of hope. She looked at the farmer. He seemed nice enough, a blocky man with a wide-brimmed straw hat squashed onto his square head. He smiled at her. "What d'you say, lass?"

It was dark by the time they reached the farm, which was well beyond the crossroads, across the river, in fact. Cat had nearly nodded off where she sat; the cart's abrupt halt jolted her awake. She lifted her head to look around when the farmer, who had introduced himself as Varas, climbed down from his seat. She could make out the dark shape of the house; light trickled out of the shuttered windows. Beyond were other buildings, which she guessed were barns or stables. A definite odour permeated the air, a mixture of straw, mud, and manure.

Varas turned to her. "C'mon, lass." He reached up and encircled her waist with his big hands, heaving her out of the cart. Cat felt his fingers probe her flanks as he set her down, as if she were a horse he was considering for purchase. She shrank from the touch. "Strong, no doubt," she heard him murmur. Then, more loudly, Varas said, "Well, Cat, let's have you in t'meet the family."

He pushed open the door, ushering her inside. "Here we all are." Cat tried not to stare. Three children, ranging in age from late teens to about ten or so, sat near the fire; two younger ones peered out of a bed. A tired-looking blond woman held a babe in her arms, her belly swollen with one unborn. She looked at Cat without interest. "Are ye hungry, husband?"

"Always." Varas hung his hat from a peg near the door, smoothing his hands over his balding pate, and sat down at the table that dominated the single room. "Erec," he addressed a tall blond lad stirring the coals in the fireplace, "go tend to Ben." Erec went out, passing Cat without a glance. "Cat, sit yersel' down," Varas continued. "Jadis, get Cat summat to eat, too."

"That's all right, I'm not hungry," Cat said. Jadis didn't look at her, just set a plate in front of her husband. "Why'd ye bring her here?" she asked, nodding in the girl's direction.

"She's an orphan," said Varas through a mouthful of bread and stew. "Told her I'd a place for her." He glanced at Cat, then jerked his head towards the bed. "If you ain't gonna eat, ye might as well sleep."

Cat didn't sleep much, kicked, prodded, and otherwise disturbed by her jostling bedfellows. Varas dragged her out of bed before dawn. "You didn't think I were keepin' ye for nuthin', did 'ee?" he said. "Y'ave work to do."

Cat soon found herself in the barn, a pitchfork in her hands, throwing soiled straw into a wheelbarrow and carting it to the manure pile behind the building while Varas and Erec milked the four cows. She worked as hard and as fast as she knew how, with Varas barking orders at her, then went back to the house for a bit of breakfast. After she had gulped down some bacon and toast, Varas dragged her outside again and set her to some fresh tasks. "I want it all done by the time I get back," he said. He had hitched Ben and Tom, a brown horse with one white foot, to a harrow; now he walked them from the barn towards a distant field.

No stranger to hard work, Cat was nonetheless tired when the day ended. She joined the family for supper, only to have Jadis push a plateful of food into her hands and send her to a corner of the room. "Not enough chairs," the woman said. When Cat tried to climb into the children's bed, she found the way barred by hostile faces. "Mam's put Geren to bed wiv us," said Jorn, the next oldest child, indicating the youngest boy. "No room fer the likes a you." Maryn, the eldest girl, threw a blanket at Cat. Cat carried it to the hearth and curled up in front of the fire.

Thus was a routine established, as rigid as any devised by the Sisters of St. Bridget. Cat ate in her corner and slept by the heart, until one day, Maryn blocked her entrance. "Mam's had her baby," she said, handing Cat a plate of food. "Ye'll be sleepin' in the barn."

Cat frowned. "This is my home, too," she protested. Maryn gave a bark of laughter. "Yer home? Oh, my fine miss, this ain't yer home!" She shoved Cat towards the barn. "Get yersel' off wi' the rest of the stock."

Stunned, Cat went. She sat in a pile of straw to eat, then curled up in the same spot to sleep. Alone in the quiet, she now had a chance to think about what Maryn had said. Was she really no more than one of the animals? Varas had told her she'd have a family-maybe not in so many words, but it was what she'd been given to understand. She had thought she would have playmates, but the children here were no better than the ones at the orphanage. At least she'd had orphanhood in common with them.

Her fingers found the medallion Sister Magdalena had given her on her last birthday, or what they called her birthday. "Bridget is the protector of our Order," Magdalena had said when she'd slipped the silver chain over Cat's head, "and she'll protect you, too."

Maybe I can go back, Cat thought, rubbing the medallion between her thumb and forefinger. Mother Assumpta and Sister Immaculata had made her life a living Hell for the last two years, ever since that incident with Bishop Dominic and her pet mouse Squeaker. Still, Giavanna and Magdalena had loved her and protected her from the worst of the abbess' wrath.

Cat wrapped what was left of her dinner--some meat, a bit of bread--in her handkerchief and crept out of the barn. She made her way across the yard as quietly as she could. She had almost got to the gate when a shape loomed out of the shadows with a snarl. A large tawny dog with a black muzzle stood in front of her. It bared its teeth. Cat took a step back. The dog's head nearly reached to her shoulder. The animal stepped towards her and let out a deafening bark.

Varas came charging out of the house. "Growler! What's all this?" Cat watched him take in the scene. "Tryin' to run off, was ya?" Varas smiled without humour. "I'll learn 'ee to behave."

He grabbed her by the arm and dragged her to the barn, snatching up a horsewhip. Cat could only stare in dumb terror. The farmer forced her into a corner of an empty stall, making her stand spread-eagle. Desperate, Cat tried a plea: "Please, sir, I never meant--" She turned her head at the wrong moment. The lash bit into her back, and the very end of it caught her under the chin. She didn't feel the pain at first, on the shock of the blow. After a time, she couldn't feel the pain any longer.

Cat lay where she had fallen, unable to move, exhausted beyond caring. She closed her eyes, hoping for sleep or perhaps death, whichever would relieve her. Someone entered the stall; she didn't bother to look. She felt her unseen companion lift her dress, peeling the fabric from her wounds, and she moaned. Hands smoothed a sticky substance over the lashes on her back, cooling their fire. She moaned again, quieter this time. No-one spoke, but she felt a hand on her hair as gentle as Sister Giavanna's. After that, nothing.

Cat became the resident scapegoat. Jorn forgot to shut the barn doors; he blamed her. Maryn burned the bread--Cat's fault. Who broke the kitchen-garden fence? Must have been Cat. After a few more whippings, Cat learnt to keep eyes and ears open and to disappear at the first sign of trouble. She found the best hiding-places on the farm: high in the apple-trees; up on the barn roof; under the straw in old Tom's stall; amongst the milling sheep in the cote.

The weather grew colder. Cat slept now in Tom's stall, often with Jem the collie or the barn-cats for company and warmth. Old Tom was very careful, stepping around her and putting his feet down as delicately as if he walked on eggshells. Often, he would nuzzle her neck, blowing soft jets of warm air over her. Jem would snuggle his black-and-white body close to her when she shivered. It was the only place she felt safe.

As the months wore on, Cat grew tough and wiry; hard work and just enough food saw to it that she lost most of her baby-fat. Calluses formed on her hands. She wore Maryn's hand-me-downs, the ones that weren't fit to be passed along to her sisters. Her shoes developed holes, and she tied rags around her feet.

Cat became more cunning, too: hiding the whip and herself; distracting Varas when he came after her by letting the sheep loose or stirring up the hens; sneaking more food onto her plate when Jadis' back was turned. The only time she let her guard down was when she slept, and then she had Tom and Jem to warn her.

Spring blew in with warm, blustery winds that brought long rains. Cat found herself wet more often than not as she went about her work under Varas' and Erec's watchful eyes. That was what she hated the most, especially when it was Erec doing the watching. Something about the way he looked at her raised the hairs at the back of her neck, though she couldn't put her finger on why.

Eventually, the weather turned drier. Lambs cavorted at ewes' sides, and seeds sown in the fields began to sprout. A gypsy troupe in their brightly-coloured wagons happened along. Cat had seen a few gypsies in Ashby, but always from a distance; the Sisters rarely had dealings with these nomads. The leader, a swarthy fellow with a thick black beard, asked Varas for permission to set up camp in one of the pastures. Varas grumbled about forage for his animals, but when the gypsy offered payment, he agreed readily enough. "We won't be staying long," the bearded man assured.

"See that ye don't," Varas snapped; at his side, Growler rumbled ominously. The gypsy bowed to the farmer; catching Cat's eye, he gave her a wink. Cat smiled. "What've ye got to be smilin' about?" Varas snarled, raising his hand to her. "Get to work." Her eyes flashed, but Cat said nothing as she heaved the bucket out of the well. Erec gave her one of his long looks; she forced herself to meet his gaze as she crossed the yard.

The next afternoon, Cat stood on a milking-stool in Ben's stall, stretching up on tiptoe to reach the gelding's withers with a brush. Ben stood still except for the flicking of his ears. "Good boy, Ben," she crooned. "That's it."

"Why don't ya talk to me like that?"

Cat nearly fell off her stool when Erec spoke. His pale eyes raked over her. "When's your birthday, Cat?" he asked.

She had to grope for her voice. "What business is it of yours?"

Erec grinned as he grabbed her around the waist, pulling her from her perch. Cat felt the bulge in his trousers as he pressed her close. "I've got a present for you."

Cat dug her short nails into his arm, trying to free herself as he dragged her into the hayloft, but it was wasted effort; Erec carried her as easily as he did a sack of potatoes. She kicked and fought, but it didn't make one whit of difference. Erec threw her into a pile of hay; she hit the floor hard and gasped painfully. He touched her head; she jerked away. "God, you've got pretty hair." Pinning her arms across her chest with one broad hand, he threw her skirt aside and tugged her knickers down with the other. "I'll show 'ee what you was made for."

"Get off me!" Cat panted, wriggling beneath him.

"Yeah, that's it, keep doin' that, you'll like this." One-handed, Erec unfastened his trousers. Cat has seen the farm's bull mount the cows, and she knew what Erec meant to do to her. Terror flooded her body with adrenaline. "No--no!" she screamed, struggling harder. Erec's grip loosened. Somehow, she got her feet up, and she kicked him with all her strength, driving her heels into his crotch. Erec let go of her with a howl, both hands reaching to cup his injured member. Cat rolled away from him, scrambled to her feet, and fled down the ladder, leaving her knickers behind.

She hid in the root cellar, eschewing all her usual hiding-places for the dark and the quiet, trying to stifle her hysterical sobs. Cat didn't know how long she'd lain in the darkest corner of the cellar before she heard footsteps on the ladder. She tensed, heart pounding. "Cat?" Jadis called softly. Cat remained as still as stone, not even breathing. She heard the woman set something down on the floor, then retreat up the ladder. Not until she heard the cellar door shut did she venture from her sanctuary. She found a plate of food and, nearby, a pair of neatly folded knickers.

Cat didn't emerge until nightfall. She'd noticed earlier that the gypsy troupe were packing their tents, getting ready to leave; now she could hear them hitching their horses to the wagons. Going into the barn, she picked up a pair of shears. God, you've got pretty hair. Cat cut her hair as best she could without the benefit of a mirror, leaving piles of long tresses in the straw. Back outside, she found the day's washing still hung over the kitchen-garden fence and grabbed a pair of woollen trousers and a homespun shirt that belonged to Jorn. The clothes were a bit loose on her, but they'd do.

Creeping into the house on silent feet, Cat grabbed a half-loaf of bread and a large chunk of cheese, wrapping the food in her handkerchief. She slipped out the door and was gone.

The last of the gypsy-wagons was slowly moving into the road. Cat slithered out of the bushes and underneath the wagon, pulling herself onto the luggage-platform bolted over the rear axle. She squeezed in between two trunks, lay down, and closed her eyes. She didn't care where the gypsies took her, as long as it was far from here.

© Catherine Thompson, 2002. All rights reserved.

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