Page 4 of To Trap a Soul

Her companion, who was much older than her, groaned as she stretched her neck to the side. She halted her peeling of carrots to alleviate a crick or an ache before tugging on the rigid muscles of her nape.I knew she pulled something earlier when she was outside.

Her lips thinned in annoyance as a concerned, albeit annoyed, glare slitted her eyes. She eyed the woman’s deep-navy woollen peasant gown and how the skirt of it was caked in dirt from where she’d leaned on her knees. Even her white apron, which should be pristine, had specks of dirt and grime on it.

Sweat had collected on the other’s forehead and beaded against her brown skin right along her dark-brunette hairline. Although the day was luckily warm, it wasn’t hot enough to incite such a reaction in the woman – especially as they’d been sitting next to the window together for quite some time. A cool breeze fluttered in past the open wooden blinds, but a droplet trickled down her temple, revealing the light fever that continued to ail her.

She never listens to me. Why does she continue to go outside when she knows she mustn’t?

Instead of staying inside and resting like she was supposed to, she insisted on helping.

“Don’t give me that look, Lindi,” her mother bit playfully, albeit sternly.

A set of vibrant brown eyes slipped to Lindi’s, and they squinted back, returning her glare and catching her off-guard. Lindi’s back immediately went ramrod straight. She darted her gaze away with a coy expression, fixing it upon the wooden slatted ceiling above her.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Lindi muttered sheepishly, yet she couldn’t contain the curl of humour that pestered her lips.

The woman’s thick brows descended, and her full, mauve lips pulled inwards disapprovingly. Although it was an expression that indicated she was quickly getting on her mother’s nerves, her rounded facial features were too gentle to make her appear truly angry.

“You listen here, Lindiwe Bernadi. If I wish to pick my own carrots for supper, then so be it.”

Her mother then proceeded to pick up discarded carrot and potato peels from the bucket with the threat that they might be thrown or dumped onto her hair. In retaliation, Lindi pointed the tip of her knife at her – although a safe distance away.

“Try it. I dare you.”

I just cleaned my hair! She better not dirty it.

“Oh!” Her mother gasped as she dropped the peels so her hand could flitter to her chest in false and overdramatic shock. “You would threaten your own dear mother?!”

Already, it was obvious they were both trying their hardest to hold back giggles.

Before Lindi could respond, a pair of large, warm hands smacked between hers and her mother’s shoulder blades. A deep voice filled with mirth interjected, “What are you two bickering about now?”

A quiet shriek left both of them, Lindi’s heart nearly in her throat. The man carelessly laughed at their distress, and even when he had to duck, his laughter and touch persisted as his shoulder was accosted in retaliation.

“You rotten scoundrel!” Her mother screamed, one of her feet slipping to the side as she reached forward in her seat to keep smacking him. “You almost stopped my heart.”

His amber eyes fell to Lindi with a plea, just as the bangs of his loose, spiralling brown curls fell across his strong brow. “Why does your mother always hit me?”

His bronze skin was slicked with sweat from being outside in the sun all day working. His white tunic and brown slacks were caked in grime as they always were, but at least he’d changed his boots before coming inside.

With chiselled features, a roguish smile, and a cleanly shaven face, his age only made him more handsome. The peppering of grey in his hair merely enhanced his good looks. His clothing also hid a very strong and muscular body – the result of someone who had worked the land all his life. It was leaner than it should be, as most commoners who worked the land were, but his strength was enough to lift one of them onto his shoulder and mischievously run off with them.

Lindi’s features dropped into a cold, emotionless mask. “You’re lucky I didn’t accidentally stab you with my peeling knife. Sneaking up on a woman with a blade in her hand is just asking for a bad scar.”

His lips drew downwards as his eyes dipped to it in her hand, then to the knife her mother had accidentally dropped from being startled, and finally to the bucket of discarded peels between them. A large smile pulled at his full lips before the corners of his eyelids crinkled in humour once more.

“Now that would have been bad. I should pick my moments better, no?” Then he shoved forward and kissed the side of Lindi’s temple before repeating the action on the top of her mother’s long, springy coils. “How are my two favourite women on this fine afternoon?”

“We’re the only women you talk to, so calling us your favourites is a bit underwhelming,” Lindi retorted.

Wrinkled laugh lines deepened on his face at Lindi’s playfulness. “Fine then. How about... my two beautiful women? My most cherished flowers? The lights of my life? My...”

Lindi’s features screwed up in disgust as he peppered them with compliments, which only humoured him further.

“Better if you’d stop dirtying my dresses,” her mother stated when she looked down at his dirt-encrusted, calloused hands. She tsked as she dipped the bottom corner of her plain-white apron into the wash bucket between them and began carefully, and lovingly, cleaning his hands. She tsked once more as she inspected his fingers. “You always hurt yourself, Nico. I wish you’d be more careful.”

Her mother stood with a harrumph to no doubt obtain some medicinal poultice or other, her navy skirts swaying as she walked down the short hallway. Nico looked at Lindi, only to roll his eyes.

“What’s a few bumps and scrapes to a hardworking man?” He elbowed Lindi in the side gently. “She always acts as if I’ve lost an arm.”

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